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authorautumnbanks · 1 year

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Wish I Could Curse You (1)

Summary: Geto just wanted the perfect base. When he chose the Higurashi shrine, no one warned him that he would find the perfect weapon too. Now if Gojo could stop sniffing around his - Kagome - that would be great. The last thing he needs is for Gojo to convince Kagome that he's the bad guy, not when he has her right where he needs her.

If there is one thing that Suguru Geto hates, it is non-sorcerers. Ugly weak humans with no regards to how their disgusting lack of control over their cursed energy affects everyone around them. The worst part is that these humans breed like fucking roaches and no matter how many of these insects he has killed, more just seem to sprout up. Nearly as numerous as the number of curses they create.

It does not surprise him that this shrine, Higurashi, is filled with non-sorcerers as well, which is a damn shame, since they specialize in warding off evil spirits. The fucking audacity of them when they are the ones that are causing their customers to be plagued with more curses than the ones they came in to get rid of.

Scammers.

Especially the older man with his beady eyes, short beard, and hunched back. The old man should fall over and die. He thinks perhaps he should help the old man along. It would be the nice thing for him to do. His good deed for the month, if you will. Getting rid of scammers who only cause the curse problem to grow even more out of control.

The sun begins to set. He hopes to wrap this up in time for dinner with the family. The twins have been pestering him about trying out a new restaurant.

"What's the play?" Suda asks, stepping to his side with her notebook in hand. She looks around the shrine, surveying like the good attendant she is. Her hair is pulled into a taunt bun. Her purple dress is pristine, not a speck of blood on it.

Good, he thinks, she did not have to dirty herself during her mission. He knows how much it pains her to get such disgusting blood on her. Sometimes a little blood is unavoidable, hence why he makes sure to always keep a bottle of sanitizer on him in cases where a sink is too far away.

"This would make an excellent base to suit our needs. Gets decent traffic daily and they have a house on the property. I need you to work on the backend. Set it up so no one is suspicious of the change of ownership." He slants his eyes at the younger man, a family member, Geto deduces, from the way the younger man helps the older one.

"Did you two need something? The shrine is closed now." The young man approaches with a serene smile on his face. Geto's lips twitch with the urge to frown, but he pushes through and plasters an equally easy going smile on his face. It would not do to let his true feelings show. At least not yet. There is much that needs to be done. Geto tilts his head towards Suda, who nods and turns away to set up the curtain.

"I've been having a bit of a problem here lately," he replies, the same easy smile on his face as a small curse (nothing too powerful) slithers up his shoulders and readies itself for his command to strike, "you see, I came here last week and I was given a charm to help with this shoulder ache, but the ache is worse." Geto rolls his arms, faking a pained look as he steps closer to the young man. "Higurashi-san said to come back if the pain does not go away. Would you be able to assist me?" Geto looks over his shoulder and sighs. For an old man, Higurashi moves fast.

"Oh," the younger man says, his smile falters. Even blind mouses know when they are in the presence of a predator. "I'm afraid we do not have any charms on us at the moment since the shrine is closed. Perhaps you can stop by tomorrow when we are open again? Gramps will want to sit down with you if you have time to discuss a better remedy." The man rambles on, a bead of sweat drips down his brow.

The curse on Geto's shoulder leaps as the curtain is laid and lands on the man's shoulders, wrapping its arms around his neck. The man turns all shades of colors even as he struggles to get the words out.

"Just tell him that Sota told you to stop by for a consultation." Sota wheezes and pulls at his neck collar. "I think I'm coming down with something myself. So, if you would please excuse–" the words die as the curse cuts off his circulation. This time, Geto allows the smile on his face to broaden with glee at the misery of yet another disgusting monkey wilting away as they should.

If only he could rid the world of these non-sorcerers and leave only the strongest alive. Ah! What a wonderful world that would be! Nothing but sorcerers and in the end, there would be no more curses. No more misery. A joyous day that would be. Geto knows he has his work cut out for him. He ponders on how to move as the man - Sota- falls to the ground with an interesting shade of purple tinting his face.

Suda steps back into his line of view. She glances down at the corpse and claps her hands. "Amazing," she praises, "Now we won't have to clean up any of their blood."

"Yes, but this monkey breathed in the same air as me." Geto sighs and stuffs his hands into his sleeves. "Take inventory and note anything important about the property. I have an appointment with Higurashi-san and the woman." Geto hums as he walks towards the house.

Should he play the freaked-out role from seeing Sota collapse in front of him? Hm? perhaps. Or maybe he should just get it over with and be done with the situation. His body trembles with excitement. No, he should savor this. Savor killing this scammer and his enabling caretaker (or is it his daughter?). Hm. It does not truly matter, he supposes, who the woman is, since she is of monkey blood like the old man.

Geto decides to summon a semi-grade one curse, a bit overkill for the assignment, but the death will be glorious indeed. It would not do to have every person on this shrine die from an apparent choking hazard. No, there needs to be some jazz to it. Something to spice it up just because. Even if it makes Suda's job a little harder.

He bangs on the door, frantically, and yells out, "Someone help! This young man has fallen over! Please help!"

It is too bad he is not getting this on camera. Maybe next time. It would be a nice way to relax at the end of the day and review footage of how to rid the world of one non-sorcerer at a time. Even the professional baseball players review footage of their last games to see how they can improve. Geto is no different, he reasons.

The door opens and a woman with a short bob stands in front of him. Her face is alarmed. The curse energy leaks out of her like a faucet. Disgusting, filthy creature, she is. His lips threaten to curl up in a snarl at how the cursed energy continues to pour out of her. Geto is not sure what is worse. Those with no control over their cursed energy or those that have none. Both need to be eliminated.

"Who is hurt?" she questions, stepping outside, trying to glance around him, but Geto is a tall man. Not taller than his old friend, Satoru Gojo, but tall none the less. "Are you okay?"

"Daughter! Step away from that man!" Higurashi-san rushes forward with a sutra in hand. Geto's eyebrows shoot up. Oh? So, the old man has some sense to him yet. Interesting. The semi-grade one curse behind him giggles with glee at the feast before it. Come to think of it, that younger man seemed to be aware of the trouble he was in, though he continued to aid Geto despite the curse wrapping its arms around his neck. Now Higurashi-san is brandishing a sutra at him instead of trying to figure out the situation.

Hmm. The old man is more spiritually aware than he gave him credit for.

Nevertheless, playtime is over too quickly and he should just rid them of this world. No need to go back and forth.

"What are you doing?" the woman scolds as Higurashi-san throws a sutra at him. It lands on his chest, but sits there like the piece of paper it is. Frauds. Geto sighs and crooks his finger. The semi-grade curse with its four arms shoots out and grabs the woman's arms and legs. It stretches her apart, slowly, drawing out the sweet screams of one who does not deserve to live.

A beautiful symphony. He wipes a tear from his eye. Oh, never mind, that was just a speck of blood.

Ugh. He'll have to disinfect their bathroom before he can wash this blood off of him.

Higurashi cries out and throws more sutras his way, but they do nothing but stick to his clothes. What's the point? Geto wonders. Clearly, Higurashi-san is delusional. No wonder he thought his charms actually did something. Why, this old man truly believes that he has some kind of gift. For him, Geto will make an exception. Geto leaps over the mess of blood and limbs and lands in front of Higurashi-san. The older man's lips wobble with anger even as the tears stream down his face and get lost in the wrinkles.

"I understand it is not your fault, Higurashi-san." He smiles placatingly. "You were simply born weak. Useless. But fear not, your death will bring about a new age. You will help fulfill my cause, so take pride in that."

"You demon!"

Geto snarls and bashes Higurashi-san's face in with Playful Cloud. More blood splatters on his clothes and he is utterly repulsed.

"How dare you call me a demon, you vermin," he hisses at the corpse. If Higurashi-san had any sense of self-preservation, he would have dropped to his knees and begged Geto to spare him. To offer himself up for the greater humanity. But he did not, because like all monkeys, he was warped in his way of thinking and created more curses than alleviate those in need. "What a hard task I have been burdened with."

Geto freezes at the spike of energy. Energy he does not recognize. The curtain is still in place, so how did someone get in? Suda knows to ensure that no one gets in and no one gets out. He rolls his eyes and walks back out of the house. Geto nearly loses it as he steps in the pool of blood. Just great. Now his sandals are bloody and he'll have to scrub those too.

This is turning into a long day. Suda greets him near the wellhouse, but he waves her off. Whatever this is, he will handle it. Suda bows and hurries away from the area. How odd that the energy would be coming from the well house. At least this means Suda did not let him down with the curtain, but how did they both miss this energy? It does not feel cursed at all.

A woman with long black hair, even longer legs, and a short green skirt appears from the well house. On her shoulder is a quiver. He blinks at how quickly she readies her bow. So, she is the source of energy, then. But how did she hide out in the well house without him detecting her?

"Who are you!" She aims at him, her voice stern. Geto presses a hand over his heart.

What the fuck?

Is he attracted to a monkey?

He wants to recoil in disgust, but his body moves on its own, bypassing the logical side of him.

"The people," he pauses, "they've been hurt." His voice wavers deliberately as the semi-grade one curse slithers over, now that it is done mutilating the corpses even more. The woman's eyes widen and she shoots the arrow. The hairs on Geto's neck stand up as the energy whips past him, leaving behind a purifying feeling in the atmosphere. His curse turns to dust with one hit. Geto wets his lips and turns to where the dust lies. "What did you do?"

"I purified it." She lowers her bow and walks over to him. "Take me to the people." Her voice leaves no room for argument.

Purified it? How should he play this? She exorcised a semi-grade one with ease. One hit.

"Amazing. Even I would have had a hard time fighting that curse," he says, lying through his teeth. "I suspect it is the reason for the destruction. I came here to speak with Higurashi-san about his charms." He motions for her to follow him.

"Is Gramps hurt?" She speeds up, her eyes darting around. This close, he can smell the scent of honey and lilies. He leans towards her and then pulls himself back. "What are you?"

"Human."

"No. Your energy is dark. Negative. Almost like it is cursed. Have you been cursed?"

He ponders on this. Not a sorcerer then, he reasons. And yet, she did not flinch at the sight of the semi-grade one. She was not afraid. More importantly, she does not seem to be afraid of him.

"I am a sorcerer. I use the cursed energy I have to exorcise the cursed spirits." He steps back as they approach what remains of the woman and Higurashi-san. "I'm afraid I was too late." Geto lets out a big gasp.

"Mom! Gramps!" She rushes forward and then turns to him with distrust in her eyes. "You said they were hurt."

Geto feigns a look of unease. "They were beat up when I saw them. I was able to exorcise the curse that did this." He puts his hands up. "I'm deeply sorry, Miss. It must have happened in the moment I went to investigate the energy coming from the well. I was not aware that it was more than one curse at work here."

"Kagome," she says, clenching her fist around the bow. "I should have never left."

"Kagome-san, if you are not a sorcerer, then what are you?"

She wipes at her tears, but more follow. "A priestess. And just Kagome." Kagome blinks rapidly, not focusing on any one thing. "The wards must have fallen or gramps must have..." she trails off and stands with shaky legs.

A priestess with actual holy powers. His mind is made up.

"Kagome." He sinks to a squat in front of her. His face is earnest and filled with warmth. For once, in front of someone that is not a sorcerer, he does not have to fake it. "Please aid me in ridding this world of these curses, so someone else does not have the same fate as your family." He holds out a hand. She stares at his hand and sniffs back the next wave of tears.

"I don't even know who you are."

"Geto Suguru. But you can call me whatever you want." His smile is light, but inside his mind is warring with itself. If she does not agree to join him, then he might have to kill her before people like Satoru catch wind of her, and what a tragedy that would be.

"Okay, I'll help you." She ignores his hand and gazes back at the remains of her family.

Geto clenches his jaw, more upset at how his heart breaks at her refusal to touch him.

Clearly, the stench of monkey blood on him is clouding his senses.

"Welcome to the family, Kagome."

#jjk geto #Geto x Kagome x Gojo #kagome crossovers #jujutsu kaisen x inuyasha #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #inuyasha fanfiction #enemies to lovers but not really

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arafilez · 6 months

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ▰ ▰ ✶ WØRLD EPISØDE FIN: WILL ⪨

ㅤㅤ➛ ㅤvi.ㅤ SILVER LIGHT 𒉽 song mingi❛ 𓇿

🥂̸̤ㅤㅤfluff angst suggestive cf2lㅤ ✸ㅤyou and mingi have been literal partner in crime since you were kids, and today it is perfect too, almost!ㅤㅤ───ㅤㅤ w: fighting, blood, injuries, use of gun/weapons, seducing (both sides) ㅤㅤ»ㅤㅤ wc: 3.5kㅤㅤ𠈔ㅤㅤ moodboard

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❛ looking at the night sky 'n your eyes ❜

Silver Lights. Neon. Red. Purple. And then all those together reflected in your eyes. You twirl the ends of your hair and toy the empty wine glass on your fingertips as you look around.

“Is he in sight yet?” Mingi’s raspy voice fills our ears and you pass a quiet ‘no’ subtly scanning the bar. You wait for the signal and as soon as you see Jongho put the glass on his lips you get up and walk towards the back room.

Your job is easy. Because all you have to do is seduce. Seduce. Get the information. Get in the car. Run.

And horny men, oh who are you kidding, any horny gender is easy to get information from because everyone is high on hormones. Their sensations are heightened and logical thinking reduces as soon as they are given what they want.

You push a strand of your hair to the back of your shoulder and walk in your heels towards the private pool table inside the room. You chuckle lightly at all the restraints lying around and the wine bottles and glasses along with the toys you knew were hidden under the pool table.

The room is built only for the high officials and you smirk lightly when you hear the door creaking and the footsteps behind you.

“Oh darling, I am the one in a treat for tonight,” a hand slips up your waist and you put on your seductive smile and turn around to look at him. The man in his fifties sports a disgusting smile on his face and caresses your cheek with the other.

If anyone would have told your five-year-old self and your ‘partner in crime’ Mingi then that you two would be doing this you would have stared at their faces. Would have even thrown a paper ball at their faces while you two would run.

The old man presses his fingers against your skin and you crawl your fingers up his arms and latch your mouth to his neck. You are so used to this right now you don’t even feel like gagging at the musky scent that infiltrates your nose.

He hums in content and you start your work as you continue the ministrations and ask, “So what brings you here?” He purrs at your voice and you smirk lightly at how good you have become at this.

The conversation continues while you continue the foreplay but always be in charge because that is key. Dumb yourself down to ask questions but always be top when it comes to seduction.

After the man high in his bliss has spluttered all the information you needed you suddenly make an excuse and he complies easily while you tell him to wait with a wink and a flying kiss and make your way towards the back door quickly zipping up the dress.

You see Jongho getting the signal as he drags himself and his partner away and you run, light on your feet, towards Mingi’s car. You see him sitting there, his elbow resting on the open window of the car and as soon as he sees your figure in the rear mirror he starts the engine.

You jump lightly to get inside and he starts the car and you both flee.

“I remember the first time you sanitized your whole body,” Mingi chuckles and you smile looking at him with wary eyes. You had told Hongjoong you wanted to do this since you had always been told how your face can deceive well by your friends before.

“I was twenty, almost fucking a fifty-year-old was never on my bucket list,” you laugh lightly and he looks at your figure with his small eyes making crescent shapes.

“Don’t you ever feel annoyed by it anymore?” he asks and you look up at the boy you have grown up with who knew your every wish and dream you wanted to achieve and shake your head slowly to a ‘no’.

“It’s not like any of them are doing it forcefully, I am the one deceiving them and I have applied myself for it. Also, it is not like either side is forceful, so their minds and bodies allow me to do it too,” you answer and look away not wanting to see his reaction.

“That’s way too damn philosophical,” he huffs and you let out a small laugh reaching for Hongjoong’s door.

You knock on Hongjoong’s door and hear a hum of approval and getting inside you hand him the recorder that was previously attached to your ankle.

“Another day of filtering out moans,” he sighs and you laugh at him and wink while Mingi hands him the papers he needs for it.

You two walk out as Hongjoong sets to work and Mingi takes your hand in his much larger ones. He always does this after a mission, or after you do anything together. It is a ritual sacred to the both of you.

In prep two at school, you had tried to hold his hand and he denied and you clung onto him clutching his hand tightly as he winced. And that is how it all started. He wanted revenge and ate an ice cream and then rubbed his mouth with his hand and then held yours making ice cream get all over it.

The hand holdings went from pranks to care, when one day you two got scolded for breaking the swing set as you jumped on it. The scolding was about how you two could have gotten seriously injured but then at the age of seven, you held Mingi’s hand tightly as he sniffled.

He was your partner in crime, at eight, ringing the neighbour’s doorbell and running, at ten, climbing on the half-made tree house your parents told you not to, at thirteen, putting toothpaste in his older brother’s shampoo, at sixteen, changing the disc of the DJ at junior prom, at eighteen, going to college and losing the schedule ‘accidentally’ on the very first day.

At twenty-one you joined Ateez as an act of revenge when your parents got killed as hostages.

Back when you were young, you had made fun of Mingi calling him princess, and he demanded he was a prince and vowed to keep you safe playfully.

“The sky is clear tonight,” Mingi voices out and you smile at him knowing what he means. You two would lay underneath the stars and point out all the constellations you knew. It has been years since you did that so the idea was tempting you all over again.

“Let’s go to the roof,” you giggle and the biggest smile etches his face as he drags you two through the stairs.

Lying down on the clean roof, clean due to courtesy of Seonghwa, you place your head on the ground and Mingi lies down beside you. He looks at your twinkling eyes taking in the night sky.

You inhale a deep breath and Mingi smiles when he hears your voice softly pointing out the constellations, knowing the name of every star that was twinkling. You list the importance of the stars, the memory of your text book an easy knowledge that you held and your voice grows sadder every moment you take in the vast night sky. Your throat tightens when you realise how well you know these.

Mingi has never seen you cry, not when you fell off the swing set, not when you twisted your ankle while playing with him, not when your date ditched you in senior prom. So when he hears your soft sniffles it comes as a surprise to him.

He doesn’t speak a word and instead holds you close and makes you rest your head on his chest and you fist his shirt, your tears dampening the material. You feel his hands run through your hair and you choke badly as you speak, “I had a dream, Ming.”

“I know, honey,” he says softly as he holds your shaking figure tightly against his body,

“I wanted to be an astrophysicist so bad, Ming, and then this happened and everything messed up, and we didn’t even get the revenge and it has been so many days and all I can do is fuck people,“ you cry softly, sobs rocking your body, pouring your heart out at your childhood friend.

He interlinks your fingers and speaks softly, “These take a lot of time, but you don’t have to worry, we can finish this and I promise I will make you complete your dream.”

“That’s fucking unrealistic and you know it,” you say in between your tears but Mingi shakes his head lightly and chuckles saying a quiet ‘no it’s not’ against your ears.

You look up at him, suddenly hyper-aware of the proximity but still place your head on his chest and hear the rhythmic heartbeat. He holds your wrist, softly pressing his lips on the inner side and you feel your pulse quicken at the action.

You decide not to notice, he decides not to point it out.

You attach the recording device to your ankle as Mingi races through the streets to get to the destination. None of you brought it up last night; you are glad it is that way instead of an awkward interaction.

Today your victim is known for being notorious. It’s not like you haven’t handled this type before but some palpitations still reach your skin because today will be hard.

Suddenly Mingi hits the back of your head and you look at him ready to retort and realise you are already in your destination.

“Been here for at least ten minutes,” he deadpans and you wave him off with your gesture while making sure you got everything ready as and when you need.

“Don’t die,” Mingi jokes and you stick out your tongue saying, “I try to every day.”

You strip off your jacket throwing it in the back seat while Mingi laughs at your answer and then sees you walk towards the bar.

You enter quietly, strutting towards your designated chair when some man easily slides his hands up your waist. You turn around slowly, ready to spew enough words of rejection when you get surprised.

He is your target.

Your target approached you.

Alarms blare up in your head at this incident.

It is just some weird coincidence, right?

“Play along,” Jongho’s voice in your in-ear screams you back to reality. You smile the best seductive one you can muster and trace your nails along his arms and he smirks at you.

“Hey pretty girl,” he speaks and you check his every detail. They match perfectly. Twenty-seven, blue eyes, sharp nose-bridge, hair slightly permed and a mole under his chin on the right side. Yunho was right, he is smooth and knows his way with words.

His hair has shades of blue at the ends and suddenly your mind shifts to Mingi who had done this kind of style before. His hair looked good in that, but maybe the blond highlights he has right now in between his black hair make you trip on air.

You unconsciously run your fingers through the man’s hair and mentally note how much better it was when you did that to Mingi. Even though he complained and still complains when you touch his hair.

“Who are you thinking of when you are with me, hm?” the man’s voice brings you back to reality and you suddenly become hyper-aware of your current situation and feelings in your heart.

Focus on now, your mind scolds you now, and you blink lightly, smiling up at him and letting out a light chuckle. “Nobody, but you,” you say in a sing-song voice and he hums in satisfaction of it.

Enough, now take the lead, you tell yourself but it falls short when the man pulls you close by your waist and slides you to the corner. Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see and now hear Jongho and his partner quickly informing the backup team about the situation.

You wonder lightly if they will inform Mingi too, and you scold yourself this time. Why are you thinking of Mingi and getting distracted so much?

You try again pulling him by his shirt to take the lead finally, but he overpowers and traps you between him and the table.

Play it cool, calm down, you reassure yourself but it didn’t stop you from getting palpitations at his attitude.

He leans close to your ear and whispers, “You know I could go for the cheapest and easiest weapon a man has, and use it in front of everyone, the one you take advantage of but killing you is easier.”

He didn’t finish the sentence when you kicked him on his knees and got off his arms. He takes out his gun and the bar gasps at the scene of other trapped citizens trying to flee.

He doesn’t stay down for long, immediately fighting back and you take out your gun. You knew something was wrong, you knew it and yet you still walked into this trap. You take up a bottle of alcohol throwing it in his direction which he dodges but not without getting some light marks all over. The fight continues, neither of you giving up and he is a good fighter and thus you know what you had to do.

You have to do this or else Ateez will not be able to complete the mission.

“Mingi slams the car through the bar,” you choke out the last part of the sentence and you can hear Mingi’s distant ‘what’ before the man rips off your ear and points his gun at your head.

You are faster as you shoot his stomach but that doesn’t faze him enough and he shoots just below your chest right back even though he falls. Pain surges through your body and you buckle up falling to the ground and see him groaning with blood pooling in his mouth and dripping on the floor.

You feel your clothes dampen from the blood and the light-headedness coming in and desperately wish Mingi had heard you.

Your head falls back against the counter and you see the car crashing, lights blinding your vision. You close your eyes hearing voices of the undercovers and fighters near you and you make out the deep voice right after.

You limp back in his hands as soon as Mingi holds you and a string of curses leaves his mouth. You register being picked up and slightly rejoice that in the end you still had the upper hand on the notorious man. He is already killed or at least now he will be.

Your consciousness slowly gives up and you feel lighter and better already succumbing to the pain you were going through. “If you die on me I will kill you,” Mingi pants as he runs with you in his arms towards the car and you let out a chuckle.

You register his hazy face and close your eyes again saying, “It will be romantic though.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hear his words before you feel darkness taking over you.

Apparently, some nerves were damaged due to the bullet but everything else made you unconscious and weaker than usual, is what Mingi hears the doctor say to the three eldest.

He stands in the distance quietly waiting to see you. You have woken up as soon as the anesthesia ended, as per the doctor but only one person at a time is allowed to see you. The doctor leaves and Seonghwa notices Mingi calling him towards him.

“Why don’t you go and be the first person to see her?” he proposes in a soft voice and Mingi nods quietly. Sliding the door softly he sees you crack open your eyes and your face immediately brightens up seeing him.

“Mingi Mangi,” you giggle and he shakes his head looking at your monitors.

“Pay attention to me, you idiot, not those monitors,” you scold him lightly and he raises an eyebrow asking, “So you are now in your sick and ‘I need you’ state?”

“Shut up, I- what are you doing?” you ask when you see him picking up some bottles and seeing them around.

“Checking your medicines and the times for them.”

“Hey, I am a grown up I can do it myself.”

“No, you can’t, shut up and lie down.”

“Woah, the tables have changed now?”

“What do you mean?” Mingi looks up at your last sentence and you shrug saying, “You are taking care of me and are worried when I clearly remember to Band-Aid your knee when you scraped it so that you can hide it from your mom.”

“That was so long ago,” he groans and you laugh even though it physically hurts a bit in your body.

“Can you just stay safe for me?” he whispers and easily slides beside you, sitting on the bed and you look away. You have feelings for someone who you grew up with but was never on your Wishlist.

And the way he acts, you can’t help but think he feels the same.

He waves your hand lightly and he notices the strips in your hand providing the saline. Then he notices a beaded wristband resting there. He looks at his own one in his right hand and then says, “You still have it?”

You look at him pointing at the band you two made when you were seven and you nod saying, “Wouldn’t lose it for the world.”

“That’s cheesy,” he grins but his heart swells at the thought of you treasuring it and you scream at him and try to punch him and he giggles and gets up showing his tongue.

You stick your tongue out too and his quiet but extreme laugh comes up at him and you roll your eyes as he goes through a fake asthma attack.

With the help of Mingi, you two went up, to the rooftop again today. This little habit back then has come back and you aren’t complaining. He helps you lie down and he does too and looks up at the sky littered with stars.

It has been two weeks and you are healing well. You look at Mingi taking in his side profile that was beside you and smile lightly. He is the best person you could ever have asked for.

“Do you know stars depict love too?” you suddenly say and he hums and you point in the sky at a cluster of constellations.

“The constellations of Perseus and Andromeda are with each other. Perseus freed Andromeda who was chained to a rock and saved her from the sea monsters. Later he married her and thus they are depicted side by side in the night sky. The-“You get interrupted when Mingi starts speaking.

“The bright W is Cassiopeia, Andromeda’s mother, and the wonky K on the left is Perseus and on the tip of his sword is Andromeda’s constellation,” he says and you grin at him and he shrugs as you push him by his shoulders.

“When did you study all this?” you ask, and he makes a face at you and you scoff affectionately.

He rolls lightly on the ground laughing and you pout lying back down. Mingi grins, his black hair ruffling on his face and you yelp as you suddenly see him hover over your body, balancing himself on his elbows and knees.

A comfortable silence settles and you look up at him and he looks back, his small eyes that hold such a large part of your heart and your life and brush away the stray strands of hair on his forehead.

Mingi looks at you, in your pyjamas, hair messily done and glass perched on your nose bridge and under the night sky and the light of the moon he feels you have never looked prettier.

“I love you so much, it’s stupid,” he whispers and you exhale lightly hearing his confession. Love is such a big word how can he say that so easily to you of all people?

“Mingi-“ you trail off your voice betraying the emotions on your face and he breaks into the grin you have seen ever since and the thin slits his eyes turn into when he smiles and you look away being overwhelmed by everything of Mingi.

He tilts his head and holds your gaze asking, “Can I kiss you?” You whisper a ‘yes’ unable to move and he presses his lips to yours. You feel stars exploding inside you and his body falls on yours softly.

You close your eyes kissing him back and you feel his hand on your waist as you hold his arm, the material of the shirt crinkling under your touch. His lips taste like your favourite dessert and you smile against his mouth when you feel him do the same.

He pulls back softly later, then presses quick pecks on your lips and you giggle spilling, “I love you too.” He halts abruptly and you look at him again. He scans your eyes which hold all the stars he can ever count.

You caress his cheeks smiling and put a small peck on his nose like you did when his sandcastle got broken by the waves when you were five and he giggles the same way he did back then.

The day you became friends and now the day you realise you are in love.

✸ㅤ ara's notesㅤㅤ───ㅤㅤ finally reached the point where everything got deleted last time ㅤㅤ»ㅤ series mlistㅤ ateez mlist ㅤ main mlist ㅤ naviㅤㅤ𠈔

✸ㅤ taglistㅤㅤ───ㅤㅤ @haneagerr @tunaasan @evidive @huachengsbestie01 @philijack @atiny-lizbeth @chxnnii @nakiiko @therealcuppicake @weird-bookworm ㅤㅤ»ㅤㅤ comment here or in series mlist to be added or removedㅤㅤ𠈔

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gaoau · 9 months

Text

"anything else?"

tell your dog i said hi warnings — none. word count — 1.0k

prev. — next.

sachirou never knew that his precious puppy showing up with a cut underneath his fur could excite him. he wonders how, in the short span of a few minutes he was left unsupervised, koutarou managed to slash his own skin open. it would seem as though the universe has aligned for sachirou, manifesting every excuse possible so he can drop by his safe haven again. he's definitely taking advantage of the circumstances, and although a quiet, piercing voice in the back of his head insists this is wrong of him, he chooses to indulge himself in the overflowing sense of peace he can find in a small place such as the local vet. he finds comfort in many different places, but a particular aspect of the veterinary draws him closer with much more vigor than the textbooks scattered on his desk or the stone fence along the rode with too many memories attached.

it's a thursday—he's unbelievably overjoyed to find it's a thursday. koutarou wags his tail at the threshold when he sets off in a sprint. before he can ponder over the forces of nature and the shape of his existence, he's already grasping the handle of the building's door. the bell chimes above him to announce his entrance at the same time his eyes instinctively dart towards the counter.

it's this particular aspect of the atmosphere he can't help but crawl back to; a warm person who shares the same amount of love, if not more, he feels towards animals. it's an understanding, a gentle embrace of acceptance, of finding a place to belong after tirelessly searching for so long. mistakes pile up and create mountains of concern behind him, yet just a glance towards the volunteer girl he met two weeks ago can make all of them crumble into dust.

sachirou sees her scribbling down on some papers, punching numbers into a scientific calculator—probably the only one she has because she needs it for school. there's one other person aside from them two, bouncing their leg anxiously on the waiting benches. it's with sympathizing eyes that he casts his gaze back to the girl handling finances behind the counter. his shadow is looming over her but she seems too engrossed in chewing her pen to realize she's got company. a chuckle tumbles off sachirou's lips as he rings the bell by the bottle of hand sanitizer.

her posture straightens on pure instinct when the chiming of the bell pierces into her ears. her wide stare shoots upwards behind the frame of her glasses, but it softens almost instantly upon recognizing his familiar face. the smile tugging at her lips is charming and welcoming, not jarringly practiced as the polite gestures she's forced to offer left and right to seem professional. "welcome back, how can i help you today?" she crosses out wrong numbers on the papers and sets her pen down to give him her full attention.

"he says hi today, too." the way she laughs lightly at his comment despite having heard it before makes him wish for routine. his smile mirrors hers with equal brimming adoration for the same dog—she's never met koutarou, but she doesn't need to; owners are the same as their pets, and she's seen enough to confirm this statement. sachirou leans over the counter in a childish fit of proximity. "he also got himself a cut. i don't think i need to bring him in, but i'd like to make sure it doesn't get infected."

worry flashes over her features for a brief moment as she mumbles, "oh, of course." he's never met anyone that cares about other's animals as much as she's expressing. he hears her knees pop when she rises from her stool, proof of how long she's been sitting and working. from the array of products on the shelves behind her, she's quick to choose a long box without even glancing at the label. when she presents it to him to give him the final say, sachirou recognizes the printed words as ointment. "clean up the fur with some warm water and put this guy on. works like a charm, trust me." then she gives him a nonchalant shrug, "you can bandage it if you think he'll lick it off, but he should be fine with just this."

he hands the box back to her with a nod, "thanks, you're a life-saver."

she lets her hands unconsciously take care of ringing up and bagging the ointment as she meets his gaze with sparkling eyes. "that's my job," she lilts with a chirping tone so refreshing to caress his ears. she sets the bagged product on the counter and pushes out her practiced, "anything else?"

"yes," the words leap off his tongue before he can consider them a mistake, "can i get your name?"

he sees the way her brows rise into her forehead in surprise and names it cute in the depths of his mind. her smile only enlarges when she rips the ticket off the register. she motions him to grab the cardboard bag and simultaneously offers him her outstretched hand. "[surname] [name], pleasure to formally meet you."

"hirugami sachirou." he finds fascinating the way [name]'s fingers fit so comfortably around his, warm and careful of every life they are trusted with. she's surely made plenty of mistakes with those hands that so securely wrap around his own with gentleness and adoration, yet they carry on, not to forget but to make up for all they failed to achieve. he feels the scars on his knuckles fading as the cool breeze grazes his cheeks when he opens the door.

"thank you for your patronage, hirugami-san!" she calls from her place at the counter. her voice is louder than the chiming bell above his head. "tell your dog i said hi." he waves his hand over his shoulder as he exits the vet. he'll tell koutarou all about [surname] [name] again today.

#tell your dog i said hi #haikyuu #hirugami sachirou #hirugami sachirou x reader #sachirou x reader #haikyuu x reader

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suckitsurveys · 2 years

Text

What are your plans for the day ahead? Work. Then I need to stop at the store and get a couple things. What was the last thing you cleaned? Part of the apartment. We've been rearranging everything.

When do you go to your soonest appointment? Lol.

What did you last order online? Stuff for the apartment.

Can you see any bottles from where you’re sitting? Yes, a hand sanitizer bottle and some cleaner.

What time do you usually try to wind down in the evening? It depends. I guess I usually wind down after dinner.

What’s something you have been putting off? Health shit.

What restaurants do you frequently eat at? Sushi places lol.

Do you like banana pudding with a lot of bananas or more vanilla wafers? Either.

How many books would you guess you’ve read in the last 5 years? Close to 0 haha.

What was the last message you sent? Uhhhh it was to my friend Lolly. We were talking about Bowie's birthday.

Have you ate anything green today? What’s your favorite way to add greens to your diet? I haven't eaten anything yet.

When did you last light a candle or incense? Last night.

Is it currently warm where you are? No, it’s 31F.

Have you ever fallen out of bed? Yeah.

What do you like on your hot dogs or burgers? On hot dogs I like them "Chicago" style with mustard, onion, relish, tomato, pickle, and celery salt, or just the first three. On burgers, it depends. I'll usually opt for a "gourmet" type burger over a traditional one, so my topping choices vary. More often than not, mushrooms, grilled onions, and swiss cheese is my go-to.

Are you currently listening to anything? Nope.

What did you last put in storage? I mean, I don't have a dedicated "storage" unit, but I put some things in our hall closet recently lol.

What’s your favorite thing to do outside? Swim. I also like just being outside in general.

Are there any celebrities that you are a big fan of? Oh yes, several.

Do you ever watch award shows? Rarely.

Do you usually run out of shampoo or conditioner first? Shampoo. Do you have any LED lights in your home? Yeah.

What is your biggest challenge? My relationship with my brother in law.

What was the last sweet thing you’ve eaten? A caramel.

Do you prefer buying new clothes or thrift shopping for clothes? New clothes. I'm fat so there aren't many options for me in thrift stores.

What is something you need right now? Sleep, always.

What’s something you like that is blue? My nails right now lol.

Have you treated yourself today? I mean, I had a couple caramels lol.

Have you ever traveled alone? Yes, but to meet up with friends in their city.

What color is your most worn jacket/hoodie? Black.

Who is someone you would like to get to know more? I don't know. I wish I knew my neighbors a little better.

What toy do you miss the most from your childhood? So many things.

Have you ever lost something valuable to you? Yeah.

What or who has impacted your life the most? My nieces.

Would you say you are toxic in any way? I'm sure I might have a trait or two but I don't think I am toxic overall.

What’s one of your favorite memories from the past year? Seeing Billie Eilish AND John Mulaney with Ellen!

How often do you use a straw? At least once a day.

What’s your current favorite song? It changes like everyday.

What are some books you’d recommend to someone? Don't ask me bro.

#surveys #at work

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vaynessa · 4 years

Photo

Pete Davidson- Stuck in the House

#pete davidson #snl skit #stuck in the house #adam sandler #snl #saturday night live #this song is really catchy though #petey looks so cute in his quarantine clothes #quarantine #quarantine 2020 #snledit #petedavidsonedit #myedits #mygifs #mystuff #oh how i wish i was that hand sanitizer bottle #thats weird to say but whatevs lol

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lemonlillybee · 2 years

Text

Sicktember Day 1: How To Take Care of a Peter Parker

Sicktember Day 1

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41403822/chapters/103829082

Title: How To Take Care of a Peter Parker

Prompts: #1 ‘Do You Know How To Take Care of a Sick Person?’ , #2 Homesick and #16 Care Package

Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU)

Word Count: ~1300

A/N: I combined three @sicktember prompts for my first fill of the month! HAPPY SICKTEMBER!

Ned : Hey

Ned : Do you know how to take care of a sick person?

Ned : Because Peter is super sick and gross

Ned looks over at Peter, asleep in his bed and snoring so loudly that Ned almost doesn’t hear his phone chime with MJ’s reply.

MJ : Be right there

–- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 --

MJ : Peter is sick again

May Parker : aww poor thing. 😭 he was just sick last month!

May Parker : I’m at work for another 8 hours. I can call Tony?

May Parker : does he need me?

May Parker : I can try to get off early

May Parker : how sick are we talking?

May Parker : he won’t say it, but he’s definitely going to want campbell’s chicken noodle soup and juice

May Parker : does he have a fever?

MJ : No fever, coughing a lot. He’s asking about you but he’s just a little homesick, I think, no need to leave work. Ned and I are taking good care of him. I’ll keep you updated. Thanks!

May Parker : I know he’s in good hands, thanks sweetie! ❤️❤️❤️ I’ll text Tony

–- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 --

May : hey, sounds like Peter is sick. I’m not even halfway through my shift or else I’d drive there right now

Tony Stark : Again? Damn, poor kid

May : do you think you could pick up some things for the kids? maybe check in on them?

Tony Stark : On it. Thanks, May.

May : ur the best!! 😘

–- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 --

May : hi sweetie! sorry you’re not feeling well. I larb you!

Peter : Thanks, larb you too. I’ll call you later if I have a voice

May : u better!!

May : ❤️❤️❤️

–- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 --

Peter is napping again, this time curled up against MJ, when Tony calls.

“Hi,” MJ answers, moving her hand to run her fingers through Peter’s hair when he blinks awake at the sound of her voice, looking confused and sleepy. “Yeah, he just woke up. I’ll put you on speaker.”

“Hey, Underoos. I hear you’re feeling a bit under the weather?”

Peter tries to croak out a response, but his voice doesn’t cooperate and he ends up coughing instead. He clears his throat several times before he’s able to get anything out. “Hey.”

“Oh, you sound awful,” Tony says, unable to hide his surprise. “How’d you get so sick?”

Peter coughs some more, then sniffles, sounding miserable.

“It’s actually not too bad,” MJ says, rolling her eyes when Ned scoffs in disagreement. “I mean, he’s coughing a lot and he basically has no voice. It just sounds a lot worse than it is.”

“He’s still a walking germ factory,” Ned adds from his spot in the corner, the farthest he can get from Peter while still being in the same room.

Peter and MJ both snort, which makes Peter cough again. MJ rubs his back and grabs his water from the nightstand for him to drink.

“Do you need anything, Peter? I can come out there?”

MJ hesitates, watching tears well up in Peter’s eyes. She keeps rubbing his back, waiting for him to answer and frowning when he scrubs his sleeve over his face and sniffles wetly.

“Just wish I was home,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and cracking on the last word.

“Want me to send Happy? He can pick you up and take you home. May is at work but she’ll be there tonight.”

MJ watches Peter’s face light up at the mention of May, but he quickly closes his eyes and stuffs down what sounds like a whimper, shaking his head.

“No,” he whispers congestedly. He digs a knuckle into his right eye and heaves a raspy sigh, then clears his throat. “I’m just being a baby. I’ll be fine. I have MJ here and she’s taking great care of me,”

“And me!” Ned chimes in, eyes flitting to the bottle of hand sanitizer next to him when Peter pulls the blanket up to cover his face before sneezing three times.

“Bless you! Well, I have no doubt MJ and Ned are both taking great care of you,” Tony says as Peter begins to cough again. “I’m going to let you kids go. Get some rest, Peter.”

“Thanks, Tony,” MJ says, hanging up and pulling Peter in close, rubbing his back and letting him sniffle into her shirt until he falls back asleep, not missing the single tear that falls from the corner of his eye before he does.

–- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 --

Tony : Just talked to the kids. Peter sounds terrible but he’s in good hands with MJ

Tony : What time are you off?

May Parker : aww 🥺

May Parker : 7pm

Tony : Want to grab dinner tonight? I’ll have Happy pick you up

Tony : Also, can you send me a list of things Peter likes when he’s sick?

May Parker : sure, can’t wait!

May Parker : chick noodle soup

apple juice (NO orange)

tissues. like a ton. double what you think he might need lol

cough drops (the cherry kind only)

harry potter movies

hot chocolate

blankets

cherry jello

Tony : Thanks, you’re the best! See you tonight

–- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 --

MJ : Thanks for calling earlier. Peter took a long nap and he woke up feeling a little bit better

Tony Stark : He doing okay?

MJ : He gets a little homesick when he’s not feeling well. We’re going to call May when he gets his voice back

Tony Stark : I’m with May right now, I’ll let her know

MJ : Perfect, thank you

Tony Stark : Hope he can get some sleep tonight with all that coughing

Tony Stark : Make sure you and Ned are getting rest too

MJ : Will do, thanks!

–- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 --

In the morning, MJ checks her mailbox and finds a slip indicating there’s a package for her in the office. Brad, the RA on duty, hands her a large box with an overnight shipping label on the side.

“Someone paid a lot of money to get that to you,” Brad comments, eyeing MJ curiously. “Know what it is?”

“Nope,” MJ says, lifting the heavy package and leaving Brad to wonder alone.

As she walks back up the stairs, her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she shifts the box under one arm so she can pull it out.

Tony Stark : There’s a package for you kids, it should have been delivered this morning

Tony Stark : Mostly just a few things for the sickie

MJ : Yep, just got it!

MJ : Just a few things? It’s heavy, I’m counting this as arm day lol

Tony Stark : Sorry, I know it’s a lot. Hope it’s not too heavy to carry

Tony Stark : How’s Bug Boy doing this morning?

MJ : No, it’s perfect, it’s sweet of you to send something

MJ : He still doesn’t really have a voice and he’s super stuffed up, but I think feeling a little better. I think he had a low grade fever last night but he’s back to normal temp as of 30 minutes ago

MJ : He also almost puked but I think it was just from all of the coughing

Tony Stark : If he changes his mind, I can be there in less than an hour. Just call or text, any time of day

Tony Stark : Take care of yourself too. Send Peter my love

MJ : Thanks, I’ll let him know. He’s lucky to have you in his life

Tony Stark : Not as lucky as I am

–- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 --

Tony : How are you feeling?

Underoos : Better, almost have my voice back!

Underoos : Ned freaked out when he saw the lego set

Underoos : Thank you

Tony : Anytime, kiddo

Tony : You feeling up for a visit from May and me?

Underoos : You don’t have to come all the way out. I can video call?

Tony : Or, you could open the door?

–- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 –- –- 🕷 --

Tony : Just dropped May off. Thanks for the visit. Feel better, love you!

Underoos : Love you too, Dad

#sicktember #sicktember 2022 #irondad #spiderson #sick peter parker #sickfic #hurt/comfort #spiderman #mcu #30 days of prompts #tony stark #college student peter parker

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after-witch · 4 years

Text

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you.

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh.

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat. And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure." His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know. You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do."

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge. Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine.

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing. You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours.

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant.

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

#yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere #yandere x reader #overhaul x reader #afterwitch writes #uhh I added 2000 words in between last night and now

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blueknightdg · 3 years

Text

Consideration and Generosity

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Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug and Chat Noire, DCU

Characters: Marinette, Damian

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She sat on a park bench that day; the weather was hot yet, cloudy.

Despite the uncomfortable sweat clinging to her being and the buzzing noise of her surroundings, she smiled happily. She would do anything for inspiration, even endure the blistering feeling of the sun.

Soon enough it has been hours since she began to sketch and draw designs for clothing she wishes to make true.

She feels her head is off, so she takes a break to answer a text from her mother.

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(Mom) Marinette, are you still at the park? It's been five hours.

(Me) Yep! Just taking a break.

(Mom) Just now? It's really hot outside, have you eaten? What about water?

(Me) Don't worry! I'm fine! I stayed in the shade the whole time.

(Mom) Okay, but I want a picture of you eating.

(Me) Okay, I will. I love you!

(Mom) I love you too.

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

Marinette, packs her sketch books and other materials a way in her bag. She stands up, only to tip over onto someone walking past her.

"Hey, you-"

The person stops to keep her from falling all the way down.

"Uh... I'm sorry, I guess I should have taken a break earlier."

She tries to break a way from the strangers grip. They let her go easily. They began to walk a little further a way with a eye in her direction. She sits down again to collect herself. She takes a few breaths and thinks about how to get up without falling and embarrassing herself.

"I wish I packed a water bottle or something, I knew it was hot but I thought I would be fine....", she thought to herself.

She checked her bag in case she just forgot. Lo and behold there was a water bottle in one of the outside pockets.

"Huh....? That's strange, I was sure I......oh well.", she shrugged it off as her forgetting.

Feeling a little better, she carefully stood up. Having not fallen, she smiled and picked up her full bag. She walks in the direction of a small restaurant to eat, since she wouldn't make it home before hunger got to her.

She walked like she wasn't being followed. Casual and slow, she took in the buildings a round her. The same as her memories told her, but still just as beautiful.

Once she got to an empty table, she sat her bag down in front of her. The waitress walks up to her with a smile.

"Hello! Here is the menu, please take your time. Though I do suggest today's special! Mushroom soup with broccoli, carrots, and rice."

"Thank you."

"No problem!"

The waitress leaves her be and she focuses on the menu. It seems that this restaurant is all about healthy living.

She hums to herself as she thinks of her order. However, everything sounded wonderful and she couldn't decide. Then she heard a waitress bring someone's order of a tofu and veggie stuffed bell peppers with a side salad. So she looked over to see the meal and found that it looked delicious. She also saw they ordered tomato juice.

Looking at the menu one more time, she located the meal, drink and picked out a dessert on her own.

As soon as she put her menu down, the waitress came up to her with her pen and notepad out.

"Ready to order?"

"Yes, I would like the Tofu and Veggie stuffed Bell peppers with a side salad, tomato juice, and the vanilla, soy bean ice cream."

"Would you like a topping?"

"Yes, let's see....oh! The coconut sprinkles and strawberry drizzle."

"To repeat: Tofu, veggie stuff bell peppers, side salad, tomato juice, vanilla soy bean ice cream with coconut sprinkles and strawberry drizzle?"

"Yes."

"Okay, we will right on it!"

Marinette took out her phone as she waited. She texted her mom, that she was at a restaurant nearby. Her mom reminded her to send a picture of her eating.

A few minutes later and her food was brought to her.

"Thank you so much!"

"It's no problem, dear, tell me if you need anything!"

The waitress leaves to let her eat. She sends a picture of her food to her mom, who responded with the words 'smile and heart'.

--------

Change perspective

--------

His day was normal. He woke up and dealt with the hooligans that plagued his life. He was currently in Paris as a part of a stake out group. His family dispersed during day to do individual actives. His father wanted him near by, but he argued that he didn't need to be monitored.

His father conceded by saying he must practice being considerate of other people and to update him on how it is going and if he needs help. He was more than reluctant to agree. Regardless, he did.

He didn't like the loose nature of his apparel for the day, but had no chouce due to the heat.

Though by no means is his clothing loose in comparison to others definition. He prefers to be dignified at all times.

Most of the day, he had nothing report to his father that was particularly considerate until he notice the ragged look of a girl a round his age. She looked dehydrated and ill. He scoffs at her lack of self preservation until he notice she was immersed in some kind of sketching. He also remembered his has to be 'considerate' today so he will say she was lost to passion. After all, this is Paris, the city known for passion.

He watches her as she unconsciously squints and makes a grim expression at times. She sways ever so slightly.

In his observations, she stopped her work to look at her phone. Her condition is not well. He walks a little closer with a water bottle he bought. The moment he walked next to her and she stood, he stabilized her and slipped the water bottle in her bag as she spoke, trying to clear her head. She was drenched in sweat.

"Father better be grateful, I am being more than generous with being 'considerate', disgusting.", he thought with distain.

He hurried a way from her only to stop a short distance a way to watch her more and to sanitize his hands; to rid himself of the horrid feeling of her sweat.

The girl swayed less than before, but after updating his father of what happened, he was ordered to tail her. What if she collapsed? His efforts would have been in vain if that was so.

He was slightly frustrated and her slow pace did nothing to help. He only felt a bit better at her choice of eatery. He saw that she was heading for a Healthy Living Restaurant and went a head of her to sit down. He typed to his father that the girl was trying to decide what to eat. He was instructed to do what he thought best if he were to interfere at all. So he picked the most sensible option for her condition, in return, she followed and added something to her order.

He ate quietly and finished before her. He then left a large tip; the service was quick, the food palatable, atmosphere was pleasant and he doubted the girl had much on her. Enough to pay perhaps, but she would then be left with nothing else.

She seemed to be middle class, and the middle class does not make much little wealth, to him at least. Sure, her clothing was quite good with quality, but her manners weren't all that remarkable and nothing else about her was either.

Polite, is what she was. Quiet, unnoticeable, and polite.

To him, she was a foolish girl that dreamed too much and did little for her own well-being. Truly the epitome of moronic whelps.

After he left the restaurant, he watched from a distance. Through the window, he saw her tempt to pay, only to be denied. He smirked, perhaps he should visit this particular restaurant again and maybe even invest a bit?

He felt his phone buzz, his father typed, wanting to be updating on the status of the girl. It became apparent that some of the hooligans are now aware of his sudden punish- mission. Yes, this is a mission.

Protecting such weak plebeians is the duty of his father and him, also the unsightly hooligans- not well in his opinion- but he shall add them this once.

"Father is surely proud of how 'considerate' and 'generous' I am.", he believes, "Excessively so."

------

The day ends with Marinette safely returning home and the still mysterious young man facing his mismatched family.

The young man remained considerate as he ignored the jeers of the hooligans until he realized, he didn't have to any more and retorted as though his words came from the high heavens.

---------

The next time he checked in on the young lady, he had some knowledge of her background he shouldn't and decided to continue to see to it that she is well taken care.

"It's called being an arrogant, egotistical xsshxle with a God complex. She doesn't need your 'consideration', she is not a charity case!"

One loud problem claimed as he tuned him out.

---------

The young man did visit the restaurant once more and she was there. She would visit often and order the same thing as he had the first time. There were times she ordered something else and he would try things she experimented with, minus the meat.

She ordered meat less and less the more she came to the restaurant, he noticed. He had no clue why, since she obviously had no problem eating it.

He didn't order sweets as often as she did, but he would on occasion, get something with a little bit of sweetness to it; like the dried fruit sandwich with any type of sauce it can come with. The sandwich had fresh, and air dried fruit. There would be other ingredients and such to change the flavor of the sandwich, making it a popular item on the menu.

------

Change Perspective

--------

She felt like she has seen the same guy a lot over the past two months and is slightly worried. After some thought to it and the more she believed she was over thinking it and that it was pure coincidence. She did know, however, he had good taste in food and art. Plus that animals are so cute!! He couldn't be all bad if animals liked him.

She would walk a little closer and sometimes walk a little farther from him and since he never moved, she felt better. It really was a coincidence to her knowledge.

Eventually, she would would stop seeing him. He was a tourist, so of course he would leave at some point. Still, she was a little sad.

Oh well, school is starting soon, maybe she'll make friends to fill the loneliness her pretend friend left her.

She liked to pretend this stranger was her friends and that they hung out, since she saw him in most places that she was. She saw him at the restaurant and sometimes the park and rarely he would be at the museum. Technically he wasn't everywhere and not as frequent as she made it seem like he was, but if was often enough to remember him.

"You should have talked to him, get his number."

"But then he might have thought I was hitting on him! I just wanted a friend..."

"Sweetie, look on bright side! Either you can cherish memories that made you happy or you can forget him and move on. You don't know what life has in-store for you, it could be fun!"

"Thank you, mom. You too dad, I will see what happens."

"On that note, want help me frost some cakes?"

"Yes!!!"

-----

The end.

#marinette #au #maribat #damian #daminette

67 notes · View notes

binniesthighs · 4 years

Text

call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: ahhhhh wow WOW cuties LOL i was not expecting this fic idea to keep me up in my sleep and occupy all my waking thoughts BUT thank you so so much for you words of support!! hehe well....here we goooo i hope that ya’ll are ready teehee--also tags will be added as they come! You can read part one here

Two

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, skz side characters, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, jeongin in this fic is my bb and i will protect him, sexy and smart jeongin tho still hehe

CWs: mentions of death, people dying/killing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of getting drunk, hungover, and vomiting, a bombing.

Word count: 5.2k

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE

The road was long and winding, pitch black, desolate, quiet and foreign. In the backseat of the car, Chan had slumped his head over on Jeongin’s shoulder and bobbed with the motions of the road. His nose would twitch in his sleep, and he would make little grunts of nonsense words. He had worked himself up after the banquet, and actually hadn’t stopped his “love confessions” until you told him to shut up or you would shut him up.

Your partner’s glasses were illuminated from the screen of his laptop which he tapped quietly away at. You too felt drowsy, but sleep would be for later once you had properly arrived at the safe house, or safe hotel, or safe hole in the ground...whatever it was.

“You hear anything from Carroll?” You slung your arm over the seat and lowered your voice.

“Nothing yet.” His eyes flicked around the screen. “It’s almost like it’s too quiet. I’ve already told her that we have the prince and that he’s safe, but..nothing.”

“You don’t think...they got targeted too?”

Chan snored lightly on his bodyguard’s shoulder, and he didn’t dare to move an inch.

“I sure as hell hope not. But...that would explain why things have been so quiet. If this was a larger scale attack...I don’t know what this could mean then.”

From the darkness of the outside world in the car windows, you passed a forest of pines and oher types of stoic trees making up the mountainside.

“Well, I think that we should be optimistic for the time being.”

Jeongin nodded. He looked to be a mess: blood had splattered at his white shirt collar and in specks on his neck. His cracked lenses however, didn’t keep him from his work. He had pulled his tie loosely around his neck, and had also provided his jacket as a pseudo-blanket of sorts for the prince. The prince, had offered his own jacket to you seeing as you only had your dress, but you had been managing just fine. You accepted it, but only because it could soothe his chivalrous ego. He had a hard night already, so you saw it best.

“Two, where are you taking us?” You called to the mysterious driver.

Ever since meeting him at the hotel, he had been nearly silent the whole ride.

The man cleared his throat, “As far away from here as I can. I don’t know of any safe houses so...I’m just trying to remove us.”

“I can find one for us if Carroll doesn’t get back to me....which she should...”

Jeongin was not one for speaking of his mother as anything other than his boss. Since he had been assigned to be your partner a few months ago, he had never referred to her as his mother, nor did he ever seem to harbor any emotion for the stern woman. Both of them had been a bit allusive to you, but that was simply how it was in this line of work. You didn’t know things about the people around you, and you didn’t need to ask. You had wondered if he had worried about her, or thought about her when you were on missions. The young man had trained rigorously, and had passed each exam from the academy with flying colors. After considering it for a while, you figured what immense pressure he must've been under: son of the woman in charge, a master at infiltration, espionage, manipulation, cybersecurity, and a million more things; he had to prove himself and more.

You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, but you almost did wish that you had known more.

Two fiddled with the radio, settling on a station that played some kind of country-western type music.

“What’s your specialty Two? How’d you end up a part of this shitshow?”

The driver laughed, then hummed along with the music for a moment. “This has been my gig for few years, but I’ve never been a part of this unit before. Carroll always saw it best for my services to be used in other places.”

“You have a specialty?” Jeongin asked while still typing furiously.

Two scratched the back of his head. “I do a little bit of everything. But...let’s just say that I’m good at making friends. That’s why Carroll likes me.”

“--You know her personally?” Your partner quipped, but the edge to his voice didn’t sound like judgement, but rather caution.

“We’ve had a few meetings.”

“Hm.”

You kicked off your heals to massage your aching toes. If only they had attacked at a time when you had the proper footwear.

“You said we could also call you J?” You sprawled over the back seat in an attempt to make yourself more comfortable. Still, the plastic seatbelt buckles poked into your back.

“Yes. You can call me J.”

And that was that. No “What’s J stand for”, or “where are you from”, “where’s your home base,” “how did you rank at the academy?” You added questions to the list of things that weren’t allowed as well.

Jeongin tore off his glasses with an exasperated sigh to rub at his tired eyes. Chan made a happy little noise, presumably because he had found a cozier spot on Jeongin’s shoulder. He had now gotten the chance to sleep off his drunken stupor that may or may not had contributed to his sudden confession, and the reason behind the two pitstops you had taken for him to retch on the side of the road.

If he was a prince, he might’ve also been one mess of a prince. In all of his grace and confidence, the pleasures that he partook in would often get the best of him at times too.

You gave up on trying to get some sleep, but rather sat up to watch that paradoxically handsome and misshapen prince. Just like this: sleeping, vulnerable, with some kind of lopsided smirk on his face, he was much less than the regal figure that you had painted him to be in your mind. For maintaining appearances the whole day long, you hadn’t ever really gotten the chance to see him like this before. His façade faded, and you surmised that maybe he really was different from the way that he let on.

“I’m so fucking tired.” Jeongin yawned.

“Get some sleep then. I’ll stay up to watch things.”

“That’s just it. I can’t sleep even if I tried.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you pass me some hand sanitizer or something? There’s...blood on my hands.”

Your partner’s voice cracked slightly. It was then when you realized that this had been the first time that he had fired at real people.

“I’ve got a water bottle? Is that enough?”

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

He splashed the liquids around while wiping his hands away, then flicked the remnants of water away.

“Something about this doesn’t sit right with me.”

“How do you mean?”

Chan’s coat draped over your shoulders, and you pulled it in closer around your arms. The night had been cool, and the AC blasting in the car didn’t make it much better.

Jeongin licked his lips. “Nothing was supposed to happen tonight. We made sure of it. No one was suspicious, we ran background checks, we checked the whole area...”

“Hey,” You attempted to turn your tone softer, “We couldn’t have seen it coming. They just rolled up out of nowhere, there was no way that we could’ve stopped it--”

“--Innocent people died tonight. If they were out for the prince, or maybe they weren’t, why so much collateral damage?”

“Obviously they don’t care.”

“Bastards.” Jeongin took the last bits of water to slug. “We’re gonna fucking find out why they did all of this.”

Two shifted in his seat, “Any word? Hate to mention it, but I’m getting kinda tired. It’s past three already.”

“Fox?”

He clicked around, then shook his head. “Still nothing.”

Chan snorted a bit in his sleep: an action which woke him up.

“Wha-what? Where are we? Are the there yet? What time is it? Fuck...my head feels like it’s splitting...”

“We’re finding somewhere, your Highness. We’ll be there soon.” Your partner motioned for you to hand him another water to give to the disorientated prince.

Chan nodded while he rubbed his temples. “Shit. Please tell me that I just made this all up. That it’s some kind of fucked up nightmare...”

You threw Chan’s coat back to him. “Unfortunately, no. We’re trying to figure out everything that we can.”

“Who the hell were those guys?” Water dripped down his neck in a way that you pretended not to notice. “They were wearing crests. I couldn’t tell, but weren’t they red?”

“Very observant, your Highness. F?”

The younger man bit his lip, “I’ve already tried finding where the crest is from, but I can’t find anything that resembles it within our database. I was able to see one up close. It looked like a heart or something like that, and a diamond. I’m guessing that it could’ve been maybe a spade? Like the kind that you see on playing cards? Still, since we’ve never seen it before, we can only assume that they must be a new group.”

Chan nodded, but anyone could tell that the information had flown right over his head. He licked at his wet lips, then sighed.

“Bee, You okay? Fox? I suppose that I should ask you both.”

“I’m...fine.” His sudden concern came as a surprise, and your partner looked just as shocked.

“I-I’m fine too. No holes in me or anything.” Jeongin suppressed a laugh. “But you’re not, your Highness. How much did you have to drink?”

“Oh...enough. I guess that I lost track at some point. Those kind of things are boring anyway.”

“Fox? You’ve got that locale?” Two clicked the turn signal.

“Oh! Yeah, I’ve got one. Sorry, It’s about an hour from here.”

“Locale?” Chan cocked his head.

“A safe house. Or something like that. We need to lie low while we wait for instructions.”

“No one has said anything...? Not even...my father?”

Jeongin shook his head gravely. “No.”

The young prince fell silent, and you watched as worry fell over his clouded eyes that were lined with bags. Normally his expression was anything but strained, but in this moment, you saw doubt sweep over him like the darkness on the road ahead. You leaned the farthest you could from your seat to grab at his hand behind you.

“You’re safe with us. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

His hand was warm, maybe a little clammy, but it was soft, like that of a prince, naturally. Still, it was strong and veined. Chan’s thumb rubbed soft little circles into your own skin, muttering, “Thank you.” For once, his eyes which would normally devour you like some kind of rare dish held you earnestly. I trust you, they said.

“Two. Let’s switch.” Jeongin slammed his laptop closed. “I’ve got it from here.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The safe house was quiet. As most of them where. It was even a bit stereotypical: a little cottage in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods on nearly all sides. It had a little overgrown garden, and a shed that looked like it held either all kinds of gardening equipment, or the real thing that sheds were meant for in your business: ammo. It had a white painted porch with cracking paint, as well as porch swing with rusting chains. In the early morning the windows were are black, but still faintly reflected the massive array of sparking stars above your heads. The only thing less antique about the home was the touch keypad on the front door. It beeped with a little tune, then flashed the insignia of the agency: a ticking clock.

“Two, can you find a generator or something? Get the electricity up and going?”

“Can do,” He said, then disappeared.

Two was mostly a quiet man, a feature that gave you both reasons to trust him and to be suspicious. Besides him being a bit smaller in stature with thin legs and characteristically round cheeks, there was something different about him that you couldn’t place; something unexpected. You wished once again that questions weren’t on the list of things that weren’t allowed.

“There should be clothes around here somewhere.” Jeongin padded his way through the dark rooms. “You shower first your Highness.”

Chan tripped over his feet as he spread out his arms to find his way. You giggled lightly at the action. A man really was stripped down of any and all sense of composure when his life had been threatened and he had to have his bodyguards pat his back while he had gotten sick after one too many royal drinks.

The lights flashed on, flickering at first with the sound of the lightbulbs waking up after a long sleep. The interior design of the place was exactly as you had expected: it was a family home with a fireplace and several chairs and couches covered in dust. Bookshelves were full with the strangest assortment of reading material and board games there held a thin layer of grey dust too. The kitchen was small and cozy: it had all the necessities. A stained glass chandelier hung over the wooden table for eight, and was decorated with glass hummingbirds and pink flowers. In odd corners of the house, children’s toys had been sitting untouched. A family must’ve been living there, and you wondered what must’ve become of them.

Two returned with spiderwebs caught on his dress coat. “Water should be hot in about thirty minutes or so I think.”

Your partner crossed the room, raking a hand through his snowy white hair. “I’m gonna try and make the calls again. See if I get anything. If not, we’ll have to...begin Operation Cheshire.”

It was the phrase that you had hoped neither you nor your partner would have to say.

Chan slumped down in one of the upholstered chairs, throwing dust into the air as he did. Compared to the rest of the room, him and his designer clothes seemed comically out of place. “Wha-what’s that?”

Two pinched between his eyes, and your chest shook with an unsure inhale.

“It means that we assume the worst. HQ got taken over and we’re all at risk. Information about us could be accessible to anyone. Essentially, we go into sleeper mode until we can reconvene with other agents...if there are any more. We dissapear. Next, we work on getting you back home, no matter what it takes.”

“HQ?” What are you talking about?” Chan toyed with his diamond set cufflinks. “HQ? Like whoever manages the bodyguards??”

“Your Highness...” You and your partner exchanged knowing glances. “We’re more than bodyguards.”

“What?!”

“We’re operatives. Agents. We work for an intelligence agency that specializes in a bunch of different things...protecting royalty if needed.”

“What the fuck?! Why didn’t anyone tell me? Chan slapped his leg. “Fuck! No one tells me anything!!! I get that I’m a fucking prince but I’m not fucking useless!”

The memory of the confidential file reemerged in your memory: the promise that you had made to His Majesty The King after he had requested a “special hire” to watch over his son. The file itself had contained a several thousand words or so that you hadn’t bothered to read, but rather skimmed till you got to the signature part. Carroll had simply nodded before you put your pen to the paper.

“It was for your saf--”

“--My father did this, didn’t he? Didn’t he? Some kind of sick way to keep tabs on me? See what I’m doing?? God! The man never trusts me. If the thinks that I’m that much of a disappointment...this is just--”

“Your Highness, it’s been a long day, you’ve been through a lot, just take a shower and get some rest. Alright? We’ll talk more about this in the morning.” Two stepped forward with his hands folded in front of him. His interjection was unlike his previously quiet presence.

The prince sighed, tapping his tragically expensive shoe on the hardwood.

“Fine. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Chan’s eyes grew dark with an authoritative air that you had seen before. His façade had slipped over him like a cloak. He rose, buttoning his jacket, then tweaking his sliver brooches decorating his neck.

“Fox. Bee. Two. Thank you. Good evening.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Chan knew that it was you at the door when you would knock two times, then pause, and knock twice more. In your hands, you held a cup of warm milk. For a prince, even he couldn’t reject the beverage to help him fall asleep at night. You had seen him order it at hotels on more than one occasion. Jeongin had found a nearby store to get food for the morning. The two of you had suddenly found yourselves as now both his bodyguards and his servants. While you waited, you hoped to God that Carroll would compensate you for the extra work.

The door creaked open, revealing your prince modestly dressed in plaid flannel, hair dripping slightly in wet strands. You had never seen him as simple as this before: no princely persona or cold exterior to upkeep. He looked...normal.

“What is it Bee?”

“I thought you might like some...well, this.” You provided him with the cup. “I know that it’s nearly morning, but you should still try to sleep in. We’ll take care of things.

He took the ceramic mug from your hands, fingers barely brushing against yours for mere moments.

“Thank you.” He hushed with a thankful smile. “Would you like to come in? We could...just kind of...sit for a minute.”

Behind him, sun peaked at the horizon, a splitting of red piercing the navy deep of the night. The colors muddled, blurred, a bit like the color of blood fading into the deep fabric of one’s formal wear. It was desolate, but still beautiful.

“To be honest,” His eyes fell, “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

You had saved the biggest room for him. It smelled of mothballs and other old things like sheets that had rested in a dark room for much too long. Still, there was a kind of familiarity to it all and the way that the matted rugs and brass vintage lamps lit the room with a soft yellow light. The full sized bed creaked once you had sat down. In his golden halo, Chan’s brown strands appeared to be softer, and not as prim and staged.

“I’m sorry for snapping earlier. I realized that there are things that are out of my control. You know more than I do, and I accept that. I trust you...a-and Fox.”

You rubbed your hands into the jeans you had found in the cupboard. They had dirt and grass stains from work in the garden you presumed.

“It’s okay. I understand that you would be scared. It’s okay to be. I...get scared sometimes too. I know that it might look like it, but I fear...for my life too. So does Jeong--Fox.”

Chan’s voice cracked. “Is someone out to kill me?”

You sighed, sensing his hesitation. “I don’t know. But we will know soon.”

The prince stared down at the white bubbles in his milk, then swirled around the liquid to watch the way that that it moved.

“I don’t think I’d like to die. Would be pretty unfortunate, don’t you think? I feel like I’ve got so many other things to do. A kingdom to manage, people to govern, much more bottles of Scotch to drink, parties to attend...”

His eyes met yours, and you could see the very fragility of the life that he spoke of right in them. He was right in that dumb speech of his. He really was just a person.

“...I like to think that I’ll get married someday to someone that I love. I actually would really like to do that.” He chuckled. “Lame, right? Someone like me who always bounces around. Wouldn’t take me for one?”

“Mm. No. I think that from what I’ve observed of you, and I’m trained to observe, I think that bouncing around...means you’re looking for the right thing. And, I guess that it’s fun too.”

Chan chuckled, “You’re good at observing.”

You paused, remembering Lee Minho from earlier.

“Were you looking when you were talking to that man at the banquet? He was very handsome.”

The prince placed the cup down. “He was. I don’t know. He just seemed kind of interesting. The kind of mystery that only a stranger has. I would’ve liked to have talked to him more now that I think about it. Maybe it would’ve been worth my time.” Chan twisted his back to crack it. “I don’t know if you saw but he had some really nice fucking thighs.”

“Ahhh. Nice thighs. Didn’t know that you cared for that.”

The two of you laughed together a bit like old friends. It felt nice.

“...Bee. I should also probably apologize for how I acted back before we got in the car. I was...drunk, scared. I said some things--”

“--That you were in love with me?”

“Yeah...that. I realized that...I’ve been...unfair to you. You don’t deserve the ridicule. You’ve only ever been helpful to me and--”

“--Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” You shrugged. You had met hundreds of guys like him before, at least you thought.

Chan sighed as if he was gathering himself. “Bee. I did mean what I said.”

“What? Ch-your Highness, you don’t mean that.”

He laughed, “It’s alright. You can call me Chan. And...yes. I did. You’ve got a kind of mystery to you too. Frankly, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“This...this is inappropriate.” You shifted, the rising off the bed. Your cheeks warmed, but you couldn’t know why. Maybe he was just too damn charming. But, he was like that with everyone.

He rose too, hastily following you on your way to the door. “Bee, wait.”

“Chan, you can’t do this. It makes things...complicated.”

He advanced, slowly, closing the space between you. “It’s only complicated if you feel the same.”

“I-I don’t.”

The prince’s hand carefully rose to cup your face, a gesture so gentle that you shied from the feeling. Even this close still he smelled of white roses.

“Have you ever heard of conflict of interest?” Your breath hitched.

Chan grinned, “There you go making this complicated again.”

A wandering hand of yours acting on its own reached to tug hold of his shirt.

The prince leaned in closer, nearly close enough to breech the gap between his plush lips and yours.

“What if I don’t mind making things...” He whispered the word, grazing his mouth over yours, “...complicated?”

“Ch--”

He pressed his weight fully into you, a smashing of lips met with incessant heat and your back shoved into the door. His tongue easily twisted around yours, and his soft gasps filled up your mouth. It had taken you a couple seconds to realize what had happened, and to decide what to do with yourself. His mouth was blazing, it was as if he was weaving a spell, or perhaps you had made it up for yourself. He kissed you with vitality; like he had never tasted anything like you before and was starving for you. You realized, perhaps you had wondered what it would’ve felt like. One hand squeezed tighter to his shirt, and you kissed back, meeting his heat.

Jeongin’s voice called down the hall, “Bee? Bee, are you there?” The sound of your bedroom door shut.

You pushed Chan off you with flat hands on his chest and an amazed smile on his face.

“This...this doesn’t mean anything.” You gasped, reaching for the knob after a moments pause.

Chan snickered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Goodnight your Highness.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

For a man so young Jeongin liked his coffee black, and drank it like an old man too with his nose buried in a newspaper while it fogged up his glasses--or what was left of them.

“I finally got correspondence from Carroll this morning. She said that HQ experienced some kind of blackout and all the systems went offline. It wasn’t safe for her to contact us on a regular line. They got everything back up and running and everything seems fine, or so they think.”

Your partner had already made himself comfortable in a pair of sweatpants and a cotton tee with slippers. You never would’ve guessed that he was a trained assassin on the side.

Two returned huffing in the door from his morning run. He was one of those people.

“Any word?” He rubbed his face off with a dishtowel.

“Disgusting.” You sneered at the crude action.

“Well, we’ve got thousands of miles between us and the kingdom and what seems like a hell of a lot of guys on our tail, but, after I sent Carroll the info about the red crest, she wants us to do some digging.

“With the prince in tow?” You lowered your voice lest the sleeping royal heard you. “I don’t think so.”

“It sounds like she’s convinced that the person behind all of this could be someone who attended the charity ball. And, I don’t really disagree. They must be good at keeping secrets if they evaded us.”

“Hm. You’re right. A high profile event like that, even though its for a good cause it’s always a competition with those snobs. I just don’t know who could order something so cruel...all those people in the same place...”

“Since it’s a new group, they must still be underground. So, to see who lives underground, you’ve got to go there yourself to find out. Or, in our case, find someone who knows the rabbit hole.”

Two grabbed a chair, ruffling his deep brown soaked hair. “What does that mean?”

Jeongin flipped his laptop around. “This is the man that we need to go see. Codename White Rabbit. Or as he calls himself--”

“--Bun.” You cut in. “Yeah, I know him.”

Both of the men chimed, “You do?”

“Yeah, he’s undercover ops for the agency. He’s sort of a jack of all trades. He owns some kind of front out in Egypt. It’s called The Tea Party. Bar up front, but in the back he provides all kinds of information--for both sides. His cut is that for any information he gives to the agency he gets cash compensation. If anyone would know about anything underground, it would be him. As I’m sure Carroll told you, he’s a stickler for meeting in person. He’s one of us. I think.”

“You think?”

“He also does...other deviant things. I heard that these days he’s had a couple dealings in some...substances. Black market stuff. Carroll also provides safety for his business in return for his information.”

“That...sounds illegal. Immoral even.” Jeongin’s eyes widened upon hearing the news about his mother.

“You’ve got to pay to play you know.”

“So Egypt then?” Two wiped off the back of his neck with the dishtowel, stretching out one of his toned arms. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“Oh--one more thing.” Jeongin took a rather long sip from his cup. “The King’s counsel reached out to me too this morning. They asked me if the Prince was safe and where we were. I have them loose details of both. They seemed somewhat relieved.”

Chan sauntered down the steps with a massive yawn, stretching up his arms and shirt to reveal an inkling of his abs. You also pretended not to notice it.

“Gooood morning everyone. Fox. Two.” He dished out a wink. “Bee.”

“Morning your Highness.” Jeongin nodded, and crossed his legs. “Feeling well?”

“Ahhh much better.” He poured himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, staring out the little window over the sink, then took an indulgent sip. “It’s peaceful here. I kind of like that.”

“Your Highness, we’ve received word--”

Chan rose his hand to shush your partner, then languidly took another sip. “I’m still enjoying my drink F.”

A light buzzing resonated somewhere in the house, a bit like the sound of a dryer, and the home started vibrating. Your water glass on the table rippled.

“Two, did you notice if there was anything strange about the house?”

The buzzing grew nearer.

Two looked puzzled, “No, why?”

The vibrating grew more violent, and your glass shuddered off the wooden table, shattering on the ground upon impact.

Chan squinted out the window, “Is that a--”

“CHAN GET DOWN!” You shrieked.

Within milliseconds the whistling of a bomb screeched through the air, then crashed into the rickety ceiling, splintering wood everywhere and demolishing the furniture.

You had seconds to act while the matte black bomb hissed with a steam releasing from some seam and ticked. You sprinted to grab Chan’s arm as hard as you possibly good, all in a blur, pummeling your bodies against one of the shattered windows, and hurling yourself out to the morning dew. You had no time to see if Jeongin or Two had made their exit, but looked out, towing the prince so hard you must’ve done some damage to his shoulder. You stumbled to your feet, tripping, and grunting until the bomb diffused, and exploded the cottage altogether. You covered Chan’s head and most of his body with your own as a shield and the shards of wood, metal, and brick came flying.

“Ar-are you okay?” You patted the prince down in his shock, who stared blankly with empty eyes.

The prince’s flannel had been torn to shreds with glass, and blood oozed onto the fabric on his arms.

“Yeah...yeah...I’m...fine.”

“BEE! Y/N!” Jeongin screamed over the flames to find you.

“OVER HERE!” You bellowed back, and your partner came running with Two behind him with terrible cuts on his face.

“They knew. They FUCKING knew.” He panted after reaching you.

“We have to get out of here.” Two gasped, and blood ran down his face, nearly into his eye. “If they know where we are now, they’ll come to check to see if the damage is done. We have to move.”

The sky filled with an angry smoke, and the once peaceful forest filled with the colors of orange and red.

“The car?”

“Broken windows from the blast but I should be able to get it going. There’s spare parts in the shed. And ammo. A fuck ton of it.”

“We’ll need it.”

You pulled the prince to his feet as he blinked wildly at you and your team.

“Fuck.” Was all the could manage.

In your complete surprise, Chan’s bloodied and cracked hands pulled your face into his, kissing you with lips that tasted of the salt of blood.

“I fucking love you Bee. I’ve decided.”

Jeongin’s jaw dropped in the corner of your eye, so you promptly slapped the prince upside the face.

“You’re in shock. We need to get out of here.”

A wrinkled smile danced on the royal’s face, and you might’ve thought that it was a bit charming.

“Admit it. You love me too Bee.”

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @julesinthesoop

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dreamywriterinthedark · 3 years

Text

Losing you pt II: Dressed to kill

Introductory part

Pairing: Spencer x fem!reader

Category: angst.

Resume: Reader goes undercover to trick an unsub and help the team catch him but things go dramatically down hill. She regrets not listening to Reid’s advice, he helps her cope. Basically, this is what would happen if Linda Barnes was the leader of the team and you joined.

Trigger warnings: Linda Barnes slander, death, blood, injuries, trauma, weapons; a gun and a knife, medication. (please let me know if i forgot something <3)

You checked yourself in the bathroom mirror. You wore a little black dress with glimmers that suited your morphology better than anything you’ve worn before. You ran your hands on your silhouette anxious at the thought of being so close to a serial killer. The worst part is that you had to pretend you liked him so he could trap you. You felt slightly dehumanised like you ridiculously were the cheese on a mouse trap.

“Are you done, Y/n ? I’d like to see how the dress looks on you.” JJ asked knocking on the door. You unlocked the door seeing Tara and JJ stand right in front. JJ slightly gasped and Tara’s mouth formed an ‘oh’ in reaction to your sultry beauty.

“Well, Tara, if you were ever considering an alternative career stylist might be just for you.” said JJ complimenting Tara’s choice.

“Are you okay, Y/n ? You look horrified.” Tara asked concerned putting a hand on your shoulder. “Oh, I’m fine. Let’s go see the guys,” you answered stepping out between them your heels clicking on the floor. They glanced at each other shrugging exchanging a contentment frown.

Spencer was rambling without catching a breath to Luke until he slapped his shoulder when he noticed you were out and ready. Luke made his way towards you. “Well, will you look at that ? Looks like I’ve got competition on the team’s most attractive member.”

“Shut up.” you answered playfully to which he laughed putting his hands up in defeat.

Spencer stood behind but not as far as he was before when he was chatting with Morgan. He licked his lips, hands in his pockets looking at you and only as if everyone around him disappeared. He saw you before and the fact that you wore a tight dress did not change that. His stare was more of the analytical type. As you walked down the few steps you almost tripped catching yourself thanks to the rampart. You closed your eyes with a hand on your chest to calm your heart throbbing at your ribcage. Before anyone had the time to say anything you laughed it off; “Stupid heels, pretty but could kill you in a flash.”

The team went along and laughed with you except Spencer who only furrowed his eyebrows. You did not trip because of your shoes but because you were dizzy. You hardly slept or took care of yourself before this; you were too anxious. Spencer giving you the cold shoulder did not help either. You did not understand that very well, you thought things were good between you two. It’s not like you could guess every single that ra through his head when your own was spinning already.

Once you were all in the elevator Spencer whispered in your ear “You know, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to ?” You felt his warm breath on your neck, this closeness along with his voice made you feel fizzy inside.

“This is the only way.” you whispered back nodding your head now looking into his eyes.

You were going to meet the unsub at his favorite hunting spot; the dive bar. You were sitting aside Tara at the back of the SUV while Penelope was at your right violently typing at her laptop. At the front was Luke at the steering wheel. He pulled up by a secluded spot a few blocks away from the bar. Penelope was rarely on the field but you were glad she was. She was not only an anchor for you since the beginning, but your first true friend within the FBI. She liked to call you “kitten” or her “little protégée.” Plus she was taking care of your spying devices such as your ear piece and the mic she would hide in your dress including your GPS tracker.

Luke’s phone started ringing, he answered. After a very brief conversation he debriefed it to you three. “It was Barnes, they’re ready. Once you get out of the car, Y/n, the rest of the team is going to join us in this car to listen to your conversation enhance the unsub’s confession. Except JJ is going to be on the field undercover to update us on your every move.” You nodded to let him know you understand the instructions. “Then we’ll follow you to the location the unsub takes you to and arrest him. Tara and I will be out there in hiding in case anything happens. Got it?”

“Got it.” You said gesturing toward the door at your right. Penelope got out with you, before you left she said “Just know, we’ll be right here listening to everything but please be safe. I don’t want to lose my best friend.”

“Penelope, you’re not going to lose me.” You hugged her tight, “Plus you know if I died I’d haunt all of you.” You chuckled as you detached yourself squishing her hand before walking away for good.

Everything went according to plan, you gave the eye to the unsub, you perfectly fit his idea of the perfect victim. You acted naive and what if you were ? Because even though the whole time you had the worst gut feeling you still went thinking that was going to grant you validation from the leader of the team, Linda Barnes. The cold hearted one that can not trust a woman yet you trusted her, how pathetic.

The unsub took you to a dark alley but before Tara and Luke could get out of the SUV, Barnes told them to stand their ground.

“Why ?” Tara asked.

“Because I can’t risk the unsub seeing you and lose his confession or evidence.” he answered.

You started panicking, going from anxiety to a state of agony as the unsub pointed a knife at you.

“Well, can we go now ?!” asked Luke.

“We can’t take this risk just yet.”

“You know what ? I can’t risk Y/n being dead!” Spencer said rising from his seat but getting slammed back down by Linda.

“It’s okay, we’re not going to let anything happe-“ A gunshot interrupted this back and forth conversation. Everyone ran to you seeing you on the floor, blood slipping through the cracks of tar. Your shaky hands dropped the small gun right next to your boy bag purse. You tried to stand up but you couldn’t, you wished you could cry but you were too shocked, too numb to even let a whimper out. Spencer took off his windbreaker before running to you helping you up and slinging it over your shoulders with an arm around them.

As he guided you towards the medics he bit back at Barnes, “Not going to let anything happen, right, Linda ?” He did not respond instead he looked down at the floor which would now let him forget the repercussion for his actions since it was tinted crimson. What the team was doing in your tear stained glory you were unaware nor did you care. You sat on the edge of the ambulance as Reid made sure you were taking care of properly like a polite version of a scientific Karen. He leaned in towards you, his head titled looking at your face.

“She has a scratch on her cheek, you might want to check for a concussion.” advised the genius doctor. He straightened his index finger a few inches from your face asking you to follow it with your eyes. As you did the exercise, he noticed your eyes fluttering to hold back tears. When the medic was done with cleaning and sanitizing your bloody hands and went back inside the ambulance to gather anything needed to heal your wounds and medication, Spencer sat down next to you in silence as you stared in the distance. His eyes landed on your face when saw you put your hand down drying a tear. You felt him looking at you.

“Suit yourself, you can say you told me so” you said breaking silence.

“You know, Y/n…” he started taking your hand in his, you looked back at him, “I’m really glad you’re alive.” This made you immediately sink into his side taking him by surprise, unable to hold back the tears. He leaned into your touch, shutting his eyes feeling your pain and mentally sending you his energy in hope it might heal you.

The medic walking towards the two of you, when she looked up from the container in her hands full of medical products she stopped in her tracks; “Alright, I’ll come back, uh, in a minute.”

“You should hydrate yourself,” he advised handing you a water bottle as you put your arms in the sleeve of his jacket. As you took it, he rose from his feet a hand on your shoulder as he said; “I’m going to go check in with the others, you’re in good hands.” You nodded looking up at the medic smiling at you, you managed a weakened smile back.

When Reid was back with the team, he noticed they were arguing. Linda took Reid’s presence as his opportunity to shut the other members down; “Ah Reid, how is she ?”

“She’s injured but she’s holding up,” he answered fidgeting with his hands. The team was concerned about you but did not want to circle around you, make you talk to too many people at once since that would overwhelm you. Your injuries were quite superficial, you were scarred, you were bruised but you were going to be okay…physically.

Once back at the police department, you took off Reid’s windbreaker folding it on his desk with a post it note that said “Thanks :)” You went back to your desk changing into some more comfortable shoes than the heels you wore all night. You tried to channel your thought but as you were about to get lost in the turmoil, a low male voice made you breakout of your trans.

“Y/n, may I see you in the sheriff’s office ?” You nodded hurtfully knowing things were about to heat up for you, fearing you were in trouble.

You’ve been in Barnes’ office for quite a bit of time or at least longer than usual.

“How long ?” Luke asked.

“Oh at least 10 minutes.” Garcia answered, “and he isn’t the very chatty type.” The entire team was in front of the steps that led to offices, some leaned on desks, some fidgeted in place in impatience.

“He was going to kill me, Barnes!” You screamed.

“We would’ve protected you!”

“But you didn’t!” You felt your heart sink, “you didn’t.” There was a beat too long for your own taste. As you were about to leave Linda stopped you in your tracks; “Maybe you should take the rest of the week off, take some time for yourself.” You looked back at her in disgust, shocked she had the audacity to blame it all on you. “Sure, my pleasure.” you responded almost slamming the door behind you. However, you weren’t as pleased as your pride made you claim you were.

Once you were doing your walk of shame, Garcia hugged you and handed you her favorite cat squishy toy knowing you were in distress. They all encircled around your desk as you gathered your things.

“She is making me take the week off.” you informed them.

“Yeah, we heard so.” JJ said nodding sympathetically.

“We’re with you, Y/n.” Tara said.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let us know.” Garcia told you moving her hands. “Snacks, blankets, a shoulder to cry on.”

“If I do I will, thank you Garcia but I think I’ll be fine.” When you were ready to leave, Spencer offered to drive you back which you decline. They all stood there watching you leave confused at how ‘fine’ you looked despite experiencing a near death experience.

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iamtrebleclefstories · 3 years

Text

that same kind of joy

98 - “You scared the shit out of me.”

Now, I wasn’t really sure how I felt about this fic when I first started writing it and I had no idea where it was gonna go, but I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out. It’s not exactly what you might’ve had in mind, but I hope you enjoy! @andreagraham

this takes place in a wonderful world where 16x16 never happened :)

She remembers a bang. It was loud and deafening to the point that when she comes to, there’s an incessant ringing in her ears. She wants to just lay there and sleep, but that’s probably just the mild concussion talking. Instead, she painstakingly cracks her eyes open just enough to get a good view of her surroundings.

Metal. Bright. Debris. Blood.

Blood.

It’s not her own. At least, Jo doesn’t think it belongs to her. It is a trail of blood that extends in front of her, leading in front of a woman with a swollen abdomen who is crying out in distress. Jo picks herself up from the ground long enough to realize what just happened.

She remembers getting on the train back to Seattle after a weekend medical conference in San Francisco with Carina Deluca. It had been a spur of the moment decision, something Alex had surprised her with when he presented her with a train ticket, booked hotel room, and a weekend off. She had been thrilled at the prospect of hearing Addison Montgomery speak as she considered a career switch to OB. It had been the perfect getaway, until about ten minutes ago.

Now, Jo stands in the remains of one of the train cars she’d been traveling in and looks around in horror to see multiple individuals in varying states of trauma. She quickly canvasses the area to determine who seemed okay and who looked as though they were in immediate need of assistance. After getting help from a nursing student, dental PA, and off-duty officer that happened to be riding in the same train car, Jo leaves the other passengers and makes her way over to the pregnant woman who was clearly in labor.

“Hey,” Jo crouches down in front of the woman. “My name is Jo Karev. I’m a surgeon at Grey Sloan Memorial in Seattle. I see that you’re having some contractions. Is it okay if I examine you?” Jo waits until the woman nods her consent before gently pressing her hands on the woman’s bump to determine position. “What’s your name?”

“Alyssa,” the young woman breathes out heavily. “My name is Alyssa Belmont.”

“Nice to meet you Alyssa. Can you tell me how far along you are?” Jo looks down at her watch to monitor the length and interval of the contractions.

“I'm only 35 weeks,” Alyssa’s voice betrays her anxiety. “It’s too early.”

“It’s okay, the ambulance is going to be here soon and we will be able to get you and your baby to a hospital safely where some really nice pediatrician will make sure that they’re just fine,” Jo takes the hand sanitizer from her purse and uses it to disinfect her hands and ruffles through her first aid kit to find a single pair of gloves. “Do you know what you’re having?”

“A boy,” Alyssa nods. “My fiancé is stationed overseas but is supposed to come home in two weeks. He was supposed to be here for the delivery. I’m not supposed to be doing this alone.”

“Hey, Alyssa. Listen to me. You are not alone. I’m right here with you and I promise I won’t leave your side until you are holding a healthy baby in your arms,” Jo locks eyes with the young woman in front of her. “I need to know some things if I’m going to better care for you. Did you get hurt when the train derailed? Did you feel a tearing or a sharp pain in your abdomen?”

“No,” Alyssa shakes her head. “Just the contractions. But I had already been feeling some sporadic contractions throughout the day and the past week if I’m being honest. That’s normal though, right? Like Braxton hicks?”

“Yes, it's completely normal to feel a couple contractions here and there once you’re nearing the end of your pregnancy. It’s your body trying to prepare itself for birth,” Jo takes off her jacket and drapes it over Alyssa’s lower abdomen and pelvis to maintain some semblance of modesty. “Okay Alyssa, I’m going to push up your dress and remove your leggings and underwear so that I can get a look at how much you’ve progressed.”

Prior to the surprise delivery she was pulled into a couple weeks ago where all she had to do was catch the baby, it had been a long time since Jo had delivered a baby that wasn’t a c-section. It had been years since she had to check for dilation and effacement and in that moment she found herself really wishing that Carina - who had opted to stay in San Francisco for a few days more with a friend - had been on this train instead of her.

“Okay, Alyssa. It looks like you're about eight centimeters dilated and I'd say somewhere around eighty to ninety percent effaced,” Jo informs.

“What does that mean?” Alyssa brushes her hair out of her face and winces as another contraction comes over her.

“That means that pretty soon it’ll be time to push,” Jo looks around to the surrounding passengers. “Does anyone have a clean towel or blankets in their bag? And water. I need an unopened water bottle.”

A few of the lesser injured passengers step forward after ruffling through their bags to present Jo with the items she requested, “Here are two bottles of water, one clean towel, and three blankets.”

Jo does her best to keep Alyssa comfortable and wait until the paramedics arrive. But within minutes, Alyssa is fully dilated, effaced, and ready to push. Jo looks down at Alyssa and keeps her face as calm as possible so as not to alert the young woman to the anxiety currently building up inside of her.

“Alright, Alyssa, once you feel your next contraction I need you to push. You’re going to push for ten seconds and then take a break. Do you understand?”

Alyssa grunts in response, “Yup.”

After what seems like an eternity, the train car fills with a sharp, loud cry. Jo feels some tears prickle at her eyes as she’s the first person to hold this little one as it enters the world, “Hey there, little man. You’ve got a set of lungs on you. That’s good. I was worried about your little lungs. Let’s get you cleaned up so your mama can hold you.” Jo uses the surrounding materials to clean and warm up the infant before placing him on Alyssa’s chest.

“Oh God,” Alyssa chokes out a quiet sob. “You’re here. Hi baby. I’m so sorry your daddy isn’t here but I know that he’ll be so happy to meet you.”

Jo wipes a straying tear from her eye on her arm, “I hate to intrude on the moment but we do have to cut the cord and deliver the placenta.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alyssa shakes her head. “Can I just hold him for one more second?”

“I don’t see why not,” Jo barely has time to get those words out of her mouth when paramedics come rushing through the train car. She breathes out a sigh of relief and flags one of them down. “Hi, I’m a surgeon at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital in Seattle. This woman just gave birth to a premature infant at thirty five weeks. She and the baby need to go to the hospital immediately.”

The paramedic quickly calls her partner to assist her as they make quick work of getting Alyssa out of the train and into an ambulance. Just as Jo is about to turn around and head back inside to help in any way she can, Alyssa puts her hand on Jo’s arm, “Can you come with us? Please. You said you’d be there and I really don’t want to be alone.”

Looking up at the paramedic to make sure that it’s okay to ride along, Jo squeezes Alyssa’s hand gently, “Of course.”

+++

Jo shouldn’t have been all that surprised when she feels a familiar set of arms tighten around her, bringing her close to his chest. She sighs contently as she allows her husband to hold her tenderly. She whimpers in protest when Alex pulls away to get a good look at her.

“Jo,” he breathes out in relief. “You scared the shit out of me.” Alex presses a light kiss to her forehead. “When I saw the crash on the news I almost had a heart attack. I tried calling you and the hospitals but no one was saying anything. No one knew what was going on. All we knew was that the train derailed in the middle of nowhere Oregon and some of the cars detached and got flipped on their sides. What the hell happened?”

“I delivered a baby today,” Jo huffs a laugh. “After the crash knocked me out for a few minutes, I got up and there was a woman in premature labor. Her name is Alyssa. I-I delivered her baby. I was the first person in this entire world that got to hold him. The world was literally crashing down around us, but I got to deliver this beautiful baby boy with a surprisingly well developed set of lungs for how early he was born. I’ve been with her ever since it happened. They’re moving her up to a room right now. I’m supposed to meet her up there.”

“Baby, that’s incredible. But have you gotten checked out?” Alex asks quietly. “I need to know that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay, Alex,” Jo assures him. “I have a mild concussion and a couple of bruised ribs. Nothing that some ibuprofen and rest won’t fix.” Alex scowled unconvinced, causing Jo to laugh. “I’m fine. Really. Now do you want to come with me to see them?”

“Okay, fine.”

They make their way up to Alyssa’s room and Jo introduces Alex and Alyssa to each other. They spoke softly for a few moments until Alyssa’s doctor showed up outside the room.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the doctor smiles sheepishly at the group. “But you can go ahead and see your baby Miss Belmont. I can get one of the nurses to take you up to the NICU.”

“That’s okay, we can take her,” Jo and Alex help Alyssa out of the bed and into a wheelchair, carefully bringing her to stop beside her son’s warmer. “There he is.”

Alex looks up at the monitors as he listens to a resident list off the results of the studies they’d been conducting over the past few hours, “His SATs and his APGAR look great, all things considered. He’ll probably spend a week or two here before he’s sent home. He’s a strong and resilient little guy.” Alyssa and the resident both look at him in question. “I’m a peds surgeon.”

The hours go by quickly and before anyone knows it, night has fallen. Alex nudges Jo slightly, “Hey, I think we should get going. You need some rest. I got us a hotel room for the night.”

Jo nods in agreement and goes to move when Alyssa places a hand on her shoulder, “Wait. You can’t leave without knowing what the baby’s name is. I finally decided on a name.”

“What is it?” Jo asks expectantly.

“His name is Joseph Benjamin Harold. Joey for short,” Alyssa reveals. “It’s only fitting that he be named after the person who helped bring him into this world.”

“Are you serious?” Jo’s face breaks out into a wide grin. “I-I feel honored.”

“Thank you, Jo. For everything. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Those words stick with Jo all the way back to the hotel. As they’re getting into bed that night, Jo cuddles up to Alex and sighs dreamily.

“What was that for?” Alex’s face turns up into a half smile as he glances down at his wife.

“I’m just so happy right now,” Jo shakes her head. “I know I shouldn’t be. Today was a horrible day for a lot of people. There was a tragic accident. But in the midst of all of that, I helped bring a baby into the world and I feel so much joy because of it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Alex pulls her closer. “A big part of why I love peds is because of the joy you feel every time you’re able to save a kid and give them hope for a future. And I’ve assisted on quite a few deliveries and it’s pretty incredible.”

“I think I wanna switch. I wanna make the switch to OB,” Jo exhales. “I love surgery, don’t get me wrong. And maybe one day I’ll venture into maternal-fetal surgery, but I want to be an OB, Alex. I want to deliver babies and feel that same kind of joy every single day.”

“Okay. So as soon as we get back to the hospital, we’re going to talk to Bailey and see about getting a letter of recommendation to the OB program so that you can switch specialties without repeating an intern year,” Alex rubs circles on Jo’s back.

“Are you sure? I know this is a big decision. I’ll be a resident again. I’ll have longer hours and be making resident money again,” Jo eyes widen at Alex’s simple response to her desire to make the change.

“Jo, I make plenty of money for the both of us. We’re married, we have a joint bank account. You don’t need to worry about the money. We dated throughout your entire surgical residency and everything was just fine. I want to support you however I can, and if what you want is to be a part of the vagina squad then I’m going to support you in that. I’m going to be there for you every step of the way,” Alex’s lips curve into a smirk. “Besides, I think you’ll look really hot in pink scrubs.”

“Shut up,” Jo laughs and shoves him lightly.

“What? It’s the truth. But then again, I think you look hot in everything.”

“You’re so good to me,” Jo’s eyes shine with happiness. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

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