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paragon-writer · 2 years

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Soothing Showers

Mark/Nolan from Invincible - https://archiveofourown.org/works/42220341#main

Yes this is father son inc*st so don’t like, don’t read :)

cw: besides the obvious, nothing else

hope you enjoy!

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Mark walks into his bathroom and immediately starts peeling his superhero suit off, laying the headpiece on the sink counter. It’s been a ridiculously long day and he wants nothing more than to take a hot shower and then sleep for the next twelve hours, or the rest of his life.

He stumbles out of the fabric before carefully hanging it on the hook attached to the door. Blood stains mottle the material, not his, for once, he considers thankfully. Turning around, he makes his way to the shower and twists the nob just short of the maximum temperature setting.

When he finally gets under the steam producing spray, a content groan spills past his lips. Like this, with his eyes closed and semi scalding rivulets of water pouring over his skin, he could shape his life, the world even, however he saw fit.

He presses the heel of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars behind his eyelids. Dragging his fingers through wet hair, he loosens some of the matted strands that had gotten the same bloody treatment as his suit. Then, suddenly, he’s startled out of the serene pocket of existence he’s began to make for himself when the shower curtain flings open.

Cool air rushes in and Mark shivers but he thinks it has more to do with what stands just outside the bathtub. His father stands nude, expression unreadable, arm outstretched against the curtain.

An awkward, floundering moment passes and Mark finally manages to sputter out, “Jesus, dad, what’re you doing here?” He valiantly keeps his gaze on the man’s face rather than following the sharp line of his jaw down the column of his neck to strong, wide shoulders and impossibly firm pecs and - Dammit! His eyes flit back up to the now mirthful face of his dad’s.

“Your mother and I’s shower is busted. You don’t mind if I join you, right, son?” His tone is as carefully pleasant as always and Mark knows this is less a request for permission and moreso a generous relay of what’s going to happen.

Taking his silence as all the invitation that’s needed, Nolan steps into the shower, his hulking figure easily filling up the space, and closes the curtain behind him. The heated air is quickly contained once again, but it cloys more than comforts and Mark’s breath catches because of it as well as the towering presence of his father.

For his part, Nolan seems comfortable and… dangerous, his gaze never leaving Mark’s face and the younger man’s traitorous cock twitches in ignorant interest. Mark could swear his cheeks were hotter than the water they were standing in and he hastily turns away from the older man, missing the smirk that creeps onto his lips.

“What’s the matter, Mark? You seem tense.” His hands land on Mark’s shoulders which are practically at his ears with how rigid his frame is. Mark flinches at the sudden contact but does nothing to move away and Nolan kneads into the muscle. The same discomfort brought on by his father’s presence is soothed by the man’s touch, evident in the barely audible sigh that escapes Mark’s lips and the loosening of his posture. He absentmindedly sways into Nolan’s grasp.

Strong fingers steadily make their way down his shoulder blades and back, and the tension leaks out of Mark, flowing with the water into the drain. When his dad finally lands on his hips, Mark somewhat returns to himself and the precarious position he’s in. “Dad…,” he starts.

“Yes, Mark?” and the sound is much closer than Mark anticipated. His naturally low timbre floats into his ear on a soft pitch and the grip along his hips hasn’t slackened in the slightest. In fact, the fingers flex a bit, digging into the flesh and Mark feels him take a step closer until the length of body is flush with his own. A keening sound bubbles in his throat at the warm member that presses against the curve of his ass.

“Come on, son. Tell me what you want. How am I supposed to know if you don’t say it?” Nolan taunts. Palms glide over slick skin, passing his lower abdomen and frustratingly stopping at his pelvis, just inches away from his own straining erection.

“I- Will you please touch me?” Mark manages to rasp out past a heavy tongue and quivering lips.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you ask nicely,” he praises and dips his head down to mouth at the younger’s jaw, “Do it again.”

Soft lips and the coarse hair of the older man’s moustache send a dizzying rush to Mark’s head. He heavily swallows. The command is arousing and infuriating at once, but he’s never been one to disappoint his father. “Please, daddy. I really need you, okay?” Mark hopes he doesn’t sound too pathetic, practically begging for relief, but regardless, his words seem to do the trick.

A heavy grip settles on the base of his cock and slowly, so agonizingly slowly , shifts to the head. Still, a pleasured groan rattles out of Mark’s chest and his head falls back against a wide shoulder.

“Such a good boy, Mark,” he husks, warm breath ghosting over his ear, “Always so eager to please, to do your best. It’s something your mother and I love about you.” Mark’s breath hitches at the mention of his mom but he doesn’t protest further. “Although, we probably like it for different reasons.” Nolan twists his wrist at the sensitive head of his son’s cock, pulling another whine from the boy as he smears pearling drops of precum along the shaft.

Fuck, his dad’s hand on him feels so good, Mark thinks to himself. He doesn’t currently have the wherewithal to feel shame which is how he easily implores in a rush, “Faster, please, dad, just a little faster.”

Nolan tuts as if Mark was a child needing chastising. “I don’t know, Mark. We can’t have you blowing your load too quickly. Unless, of course, that’s your way of having us move on to,” he rolls his hips into the crevice of Mark’s ass, “other activities.”

Mark’s cock twitches at the movement and the spark of imagination it provokes. Christ, he’d be so full, he knows it. His father is big in every sense of the word and the desire to feel that length drag along his insides is damn near crippling. Burning, pulsing heat gathers at his core and he isn’t sure if he should try to stave it off or swan dive over the edge.

His father moans against his cheek. “You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you, Mark? I bet you’d open up perfectly, like a fucking dream.” It seems the man is taking the decision out of Mark’s hands with words like that. “I could fuck you for hours, days even, and you wouldn’t have a single complaint. Do I have that right, son?”

“Yes,” he cries out, wanting to buck into that grip but restrained by an arm wrapped around his waist, “Yes, it’s true, I’d let you have me whenever you want, however you want. I’d do anything to keep you inside me.” Babbling words fall from bitten lips and Mark should be embarrassed, he will be later he’s sure, but what he says is true and the images him and his father’s words call forth are pornographic, causing tremors to flood through his nervous system.

Nolan bites up the column of the other’s neck and gruffs out, “That’s right, Mark,” his teeth scrape against the pulse, “Mm, you’d be with me for an eternity by human standards.” Mark gasps as a fingertip gently rubs into the skin just under his cockhead.

“We would conquer worlds together, starting with earth.” A strangled, objecting noise is let out at that. “Shh, son,” his father coos, “Besides, you said you’d do anything, right? That’s all it would take to keep me. So, answer me, Mark. How far could you really go?”

“I- I can’t, dad, I-”

“Yes, you can, Mark. It’s in your nature, in your blood. You’ve always been more mine than anyone else’s. I can taste it .” He punctuates with a harsh suck on reddened skin.

He’s so close, he wants to cum so badly. “ Okay, okay ,” he bursts, “If it meant I’d have you, that you would be here and with me forever, then I’d do it, okay, fuck , I’d do it!”

The older man sighs, satisfied with Mark’s response. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Such a good boy, son.” He finally speeds up, rapidly stroking Mark’s weeping cock, the obscene sound of skin on skin worsening the heady fog that fills his head.

He doesn’t have a chance of containing the sobbing moan that escapes when his orgasm tears a blaze of heat through his body. His father caresses him through it, slowly easing the pressure of his grip as he strokes and presses affectionate kisses everywhere he can reach.

Mark can only raggedly breathe as his mind begins to clear and his environment filters back into his senses, the flow of cooling water murmuring as it softly pelts his body.

He wants to turn around and - “Mark! Hurry up and get out of the shower. You have school tomorrow and you’re using up all the hot water!”

The man in question opens his eyes, startling violently at his mom’s words, and is utterly shaken out of the trance he was in. He stumbles back into air with no solid frame to prop him up and nearly slips, just managing to catch himself at the last second.

His heart races and he turns around to confirm that - yes. Right. That was all in his head. The meager product of a teenager’s overactive imagination, though, he doubts many teenagers are out there having vivid sex fantasies about their fathers.

Mark hangs his head, water spilling over his forehead. “Mark, did you hear me?” his mother calls out.

“Yeah, mom. I’ll be out in a couple minutes.” There’s still some cum on his hand and the physical reminder makes him want to curl into himself. Instead, he turns back around and washes up on autopilot while scenes from his fantasy flit through his mind. He could almost trick himself into believing it was real, that his dad was still here and actually cared about him beyond his mission from Viltrum. He aches with the unfulfilled possibility, knowing it’s not true and it never will be. He’s made his choice and so did his father.

But, here under the lukewarm spray of the shower, he can pretend that he has any control over the world and his life. At least for a little while.

#mark/nolan #omniman/invincible #paragon writes

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wh6res · 4 years

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dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

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butterbeerblurbs · 3 years

Text

[29] kiss and kill

50 kisses with fred weasley / tag: 50kisseswithfred 🌼 29_staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force. [requested with spy!fred x spy!reader] - code names: 78 = fred / 15 = reader / 87 = george 🥴

“you’ve got fifteen. get ready and head in. invites should be in 78′s pocket. good luck.”

fred snorts, shaking his head as he effortlessly removes his bloodied shirt, reaching for a towel to wipe off the blood being tossed at his way. he grins and mutters a soft thank you, darlin’ before continuing his train of thought, voicing it out, “as if we need the luck, does the bloke forget we never failed a mission?”

you chuckle, easily zipping yourself up and move to the mirror, easily sliding past fred to get to where you want. it’s not like you can do anything to remotely fix how you looked but it doesn’t hurt to see what you had to work with. you tried to adjust your hair and wipe off any excess smudged makeup, almost forgetting to reply him, “well, a little luck couldn’t hurt,”

“he talks to us as if we’re–”fred’s words get stuck in his throat when he takes in your appearance. a simple red, sweetheart strapless bodice that hugs you top along with an a-line bottom that flows down, floating just by your ankles to reveal your stilettos that just works. he whistles lowly and tosses the towel aside, hands already smoothening around your waist from the back as he presses his tuxedo-clad body against yours, “my, my, just my luck.”

you chuckle upon hearing that tone along with catching the mischief in his eyes that sparkles over your shoulder through the mirror. your ears take in the soft bip as fred expertly switches off your earpieces. your body moves on their own accord, spinning around in his grasp and slithering your hands over his chest to reach up his shoulders. he groans when you run your fingers through his hair, then proceed to fix them. as you do this, he leans in awfully close that you can count the strands of hair falling between his eyes but all he can focus on is the way your lips look astoundingly kissable that he just has to - and you have to - kiss.

you find yourself reeled in, meeting his lips halfway and it feels like the world momentarily disappears. all responsibilities be damned as fred grips onto your waist tight, half-pushing you against the counter behind you, groaning when your arms wrap around his neck and tug him closer. his hands ghost lower, brushing your outer thigh, loving the feel of silk that greets his flesh along with the warmth of you. he gladly swallows your sighs and is about to push his luck for more but the sharp zing! that breaks the kiss soon makes you stifle a giggle when george’s voice comes back ringing.

“both of you are disgusting. just before a mission, really?”

“not my fault 15′s this good looking,” fred nonchalantly shrugs, momentarily ignoring george’s reprimanding as he continues rambling on about how if you two mess things up, it’ll be on both your asses and more.

“and now you’ve got whatever lipstick i had left all on you,” your voice is soft, but fred picks up all the syllables of your words, tenderly leaning into your touch as you brush his lips with your thumb to rid of the lipstick stains. "as if you ever had a problem with marking your targets,” he smirks, returning the favor to clean up the smudges of lipstick by the corners of your lips. it’s another moment left to be savoured for later when george pumps up the volume and makes sure the both of you listen.

“78, 15, i swear if you pull another dirty trick before this mission i will make sure the two of you end up in the isolation ward for days before you get out. now get a move on, target’s approaching the hall,”

later, fred mouths, almost as a promise as he winks at you.

“don’t drag me into this,” you press a kiss to fred’s cheek lightly, then you step away to make sure you have everything you need before the two of you step out of the confined hotel bathroom, “it’s all 78′s doing,”

“ridiculous,” fred catches up with you as the two of you leave the room, arm in arm as you strut towards the location of where your target was, “if you saw how 15 looks like right now, you’d do the same.”

#50kisseswithfred #50kisses #fred weasley fanfics #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fanfiction #hp fanfics #hp fanfiction #hp scenarios #harry potter fanfics #harry potter #harry potter stories #harry potter scenarios #spy!fred #spy!reader #:")

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aetherioswrites · 4 years

Photo

This ficlet was inspired by @poxei ’s incredible artwork. Go check out some of her other work! You will not be disappointed. Trigger warning: self-harm.

Sick of My Own Skin

It’s been four hours. Four fucking hours since he’s officially become a Death Eater and he has already killed three people. Draco braces his arms on either side of the basin and heaves deep, gasping breaths, trying to dislodge those sickening images from his mind.

Every time he closes his eyes, he swears that he can still feel Aunt Bella’s rancid breath on his neck, whispering to him to just kill the ‘filthy Muggle scum’ already. He can still see her wicked grin as a jet of green light strikes the young girl first. He can still hear her shriek of glee when he points his wand at the girl’s sobbing parents next. They were just Muggles, he chants to himself like a mantra. Only Muggles.

He looks down at his left forearm, at the serpentine embodiment of death and dark magic marring his flesh, corrupting his skin, his mind, his fucking soul. As if his soul hasn’t been corrupted enough, he chuckles darkly. The coppery stench of blood hangs in the air and bile rises in his throat, hot tears stinging behind his eyelids.

He can’t remember the last time he’d cried. He hadn’t when the Dark Lord performed bout after bout of the Cruciatus Curse on him for his father’s failures. He certainly hadn’t when his ‘master’ dragged the tip of his wand down Draco’s arm, leaving a trail of scorched skin in its wake. And he hadn’t — but had come damn near close — when the black tendrils of the Dark Mark lapped at his flesh like Fiendfyre.

But here, in the confines of his ornate bathroom, he lets his Occlumency walls fall and his tears fall faster. He cries for his mother, his sweet mother, who deserves so much more than this wretched life. He cries for his father, who should be here to help him but is in Azkaban instead. He cries for Albus sodding Dumbledore, who would be dead by the end of the year.

But most of all, he cries for himself because he’s just joined a homicidal cult of sadists who mindlessly devoted their entire lives to serving the darkest wizard of all time. He cries because he has twelve months to figure out how to get said homicidal cult into Hogwarts and kill the Headmaster of his own school.

He glances back at his arm and resentment bubbles within him, replacing the sadness. The raised flesh around the ink is red and itchy and he feels the overwhelming urge to just get rid of it. He pulls out his wand from his robes, levels it at the offending stain on his otherwise porcelain skin, and mutters a Slicing Hex. The skin tears open and Draco watches with disturbing fascination as dark red blood seeps from the gash, dripping to the black marble tiles. He grimaces when the Mark remains clearly distinguishable.

He slashes his wand again and another gash appears, deeper than the first but far shorter. No, that just wouldn’t do. He whispers the incantation once, twice more before his knees buckle and he sinks to the floor, vision blurred. His heart soars in delight when he can no longer make out the outline of the ugly skull and snake. Could it really have been that easy?

“Vulnera Sanentur,” he mumbles, mustering up the last of his energy to cast the healing spell, and his skin stitches itself together. He releases a strangled sob at the sight of the Dark Mark still intact on his mangled forearm. It was foolish to even hope, he knows.

“Draco!” shouts a voice, and he can hardly hear it over the steady pounding in his ears. Narcissa Malfoy scurries into the bathroom and kneels next to her son’s bloodied form, pulling his head into her lap. “What did you do, my Dragon?” she asks, tears welling up in her own eyes.

His heart skips at the name. She hadn’t called him that in years. The last time had been when he was seven years old, after he’d broken his leg in a flying accident. He would give anything to go back to the time when a broken bone was the worst of his worries. “I hate it,” he whispers, eyes darting to his Mark. “I hate this. I hate him.”

Narcissa strokes his hair. “I know,” she says, pressing her lips to his forehead. “I know you do. It’s just a matter of time, my Dragon. It will all be over soon.” Draco, for his part, hopes that she’s right.

#poxei #self harm #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco's dark mark #draco: death eater #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #narcissa malfoy #year 6 #angst #war

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decayandfanfics · 3 years

Text

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

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

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

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

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

As always, let me know what you think!

_____________________________________________________

Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Out of sight, out of mind (interlude)

They disappear one night the same way they appeared.

Without a word.

It feels like waking up after a long dream. The way the sunrays enter your little kitchen, splashing your space in golden light looks almost ethereal, no longer their figures staining your white walls, standing out of place in the middle of your living room.

It feels a lot like the mornings after some heavy rainstorm.

It’s over. You think, breathing heavy and tired.

The apartment is quiet and cold, foreign to you. It reminds you a little they way you feel in hospitals. Places without personality, places without any personal touch. Even when everything is in place; the blankets are neatly folded in the closet and your toothbrush is the only one in the bathroom (Toga surely took her time tiding everything up) but you cannot feel at ease in it.

Maybe you are no longer the same person that use to live alone in this place, because it doesn’t feel like you belong inside the four walls that began to close too tight around you now, and even when you know you should run to the next police station and ask for help and protection because you’ve been hostage in your own home for weeks, you can’t get yourself to do it. It feels like a betrayal, somehow. Even when they held you captive, even when they’ve threat you and berated you. Even when there is no guarantee they would not be back to end the job after what you did to Dabi, after what happen with Shigaraki.

He looked like he wanted to hurt you last time.

Sorrow soft and silent start to rise, your heart breaking slowly with realization, smothering you, drowning you gently as you stand alone in the middle of your home, because they will never be back.

He will never be back.

It’s fine…I’m…safe. I’m safe.

You feel the jarring stab of grief, your heart cracking open under the pressure and the loneliness you’ve been trying to keep under control all this time, so you let out a shaking sob, finally admitting to yourself the ugly truth.

This is more than a little crush.

More like falling in love.

And your sweetheart has red eyes like jewels and a starved need for ruin.

So, you curl in a corner of your couch, hugging a pillow that smells way too much like soap and leather, finally allowing yourself to cry because this is painful, the kind of infatuation that can get you killed, that can destroy your life and ruin you. Him never coming back is a gift made of grief and poison, but you’ll take it because you know this is what you get in exchange of an attachment like this for a man who does nothing but harbor resentment inside the dark pit that is his chest.

You cry your eyes out, you cry desperate and lonely, holding tight to the pillow that still smells like him, no longer trying to suppress the nasty wound his gaze carved into your heart the moment his eyes met yours.

You cry because you think he hates you, because he didn’t just decide to go. Shigaraki choose to run away from this just to spite you and your infatuation because he wanted to stab you back. Because that’s the kind of man he is, that’s the kind of man that you allowed to hold grip onto your heart.

So, you stay curled in the corner of your little couch, sobbing and weeping over the painful mess you’ve made, wishing for the kiss you didn’t get the chance to steal and swearing that if you ever see him again, you’ll squeeze that devious grin out of his sharp face with your bare hands because if he wanted to hurt you by leaving without a word, then he should be fucking proud.

_____________________

He wasn’t joking when he asked her if she could handle rough.

“Oh my god” she sobs, inked tears staining her cheeks.

She looks like a mess, but he prefers it that way. He favors that she’s different, a complete opposite with her heavy makeup and revealing clothes, her smudged lipstick painting her chin and her breasts bouncing heavy, scaping her torn little dress. A perfect depiction of ruined and lewd.

She gags when he squeezes her neck hard, his index fingers curled as he yanks her body against the brick wall, too angry to care for his companion. No. He just wants to thrust into her as fast and rough as he can so he can get off the soon.

“Oh my-” she pants trying to hold herself against the wall, but he pulls her neck to him, pressing her back to his chest and then he yanks forward and bites her hard in the shoulder, his teeth leaving a purple mark on her skin.

“Shut up.” He grunts maddened when she sobs and squirms against his body, her smell entering his nostrils, making him gag instantly because he cannot stand the cheap perfume mixed with cigarettes, sweat and sex.

He cannot stand the smell of her hair, nor the shape of her body, or the height difference.

He cannot stand her lewd screaming.

So, he covers her mouth with his hand and shut his eyes tightly closed before resuming his brutal animalistic pacing, trying not to think in the salty flavor of her skin in his mouth. He just needs his release; it’s been a while since he gave himself to this kind of pleasure and for all things he’s ever done, he never fucked this angry before.

Tomura thinks he’s not particularly sexual on a daily basis. He doesn’t go walking around thinking about the next time he gets laid, not when he’s never been that interested in girls anyway, because he just…doesn’t like things nor people. So, his approach on sex is more like a task to be filled if anything else (like eating), rarely relying on another body since he doesn’t want to be touched at all. Now, of course he’s done it now and then, sometimes paying for it, sometimes a nightstand after some vodka in a seedy bar, but always quick to dispatch the person involved.

For Tomura, sex is about him wanting something and obtaining it the easiest way possible to just keep on with his life.

Or at least that’s how it was, but some reason he’s been feeling incredibly starved for it lately, and after being in a heck of a terrible mood and some heated lash out at his crew out of nowhere, he decided to pick his anger and put it somewhere else before killing one of his comrades.

Now, the woman is drooling all over his hand with all the choking, making him feel nauseous so he lets go of her and just digs his fingers on her hip keeping his index up, his long nails clawing at her skin, making her whine, squeezing him tight in reflex.

She tries to catch his wrist to move one of his hands to her breast, but he yanks away to pull her hair, growling a curse against her ear, swallowing hard.

This feels so wrong.

It’s not the right cup size.

It’s not the right smell.

It’s not the right height.

It’s not the right woman.

The mechanic friction is finally working its wonders because Tomura feels his low abdomen tighten before finally getting off.

No, he doesn’t see stars, nor grunts in feverish pleasure. He doesn’t taste her neck nor smiles when he cums. As soon as he releases, he shoves the woman as far away from him, removing the condom with disgust and decaying it (the thought of feeling her bare wet cunt against his naked skin revolving his guts).

He adjusts his clothes before throwing the woman some cash and just walks away, concluding that this was the most unsatisfying fuck in world’s history.

Tomura looks at his hands, feeling the sticky sensation of her saliva and her sweat, troubled because his face it’s super itchy but he feels so disgustingly dirty, that he doesn’t even need to smell them to know that her musky tacky perfume now lingers on his palms.

Maybe if I rub my hands, I can decay it away. He thinks, trying his hypothesis to no avail. ‘kay, that was pointless.

He manages to rub the fabric of his sleeve against his brow until the skin begins to show red dots of blood as he thinks seriously that he could kill for a hot shower, even when he’s not the cleanest guy around (he showers when he can. If he can’t do it, then he just doesn’t think about it), but he can’t stand the way the prostitute’s scent remains on him like a sin, and the thought is so ridiculous, because he’s done plenty of horrible disturbing shit in his life to now feel all guilty and nasty for a “less-than-mediocre” fuck.

So, he walks away, utterly unsatisfied. His anger dragging behind him, leaving a bloodied mess of chaos and longing for something far brighter than a rough fuck behind some lost alley, because he wants more than that. He wants the name, the body and the holy spirit that inhabits the girl with dangerous gaze and healer hands. He wants her violence, her anger and wild bravado, all for him to feaster and be consumed by it.

A violent delight that he can’t afford, not when he’s busy surviving until he finds the doctor or his master’s weapon, so he repeats himself that his infatuation, this sickness will disappear eventually, he just needs to get his priorities straight and focus.

He’ll do it, time will get everything in place again.

Cold creeps into him, the city lights filling the streets between car noises and people returning their homes. All of them busy minding their own lives, completely unaware of the hooded serial killer walking by, quietly sneaking into the fire escape of some old building.

_____________________

III

Internal medicine is one of those courses that drains every bit of life out of you. Arguably the hardest in a career full of hards, you now live under the constant threat of failure because this shit is a monster, and you know the statistics too well to not being aware that this course has the highest rate of reps in all the damn faculty.

So, you enter your uni mode; sugar-rush based diet and coffee like the world is ending to keep your brain functioning like is a nuclear reactor, sleeping four hours at nights and barely dreaming. Of course, it’s not just that class, is that you have three more besides that one, all of them of high difficulty for you to rejoice in your misery, so yeah. You live like a zombie.

I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich… You repeat to yourself every morning after showering, watching your body in front of the mirror, admiring the sharp angles and purple eyebags that already began to claim your face.

Oh, and the hair loss due to stress is just the cherry on top of the cake, really.

Yes, your brain is at the brim of collapse right now, but classes start again, and your friends are there to suffer with you and it makes you feel accompanied and secure. Is just another semester of tears, panic, pizza and everything that implies to be a twenty something student, so you are thankful nonetheless, because you don’t have the time to think about the other thing…

You don’t think about it.

You don’t really think about it.

You don’t even think about it.

And you don’t say the name either, you refuse because you’ll do anything to forget about him, anything to erase the memory of his dark figure like a shadow against your white kitchen, too clever and insolent for your own good.

But it’s okay, you don’t think of him, or his slender fingers taking the bishop to strike down your king, and the way his dry lips curve upward before some smartass remark. You don’t think of his lean body towering over you, touching yours in so many places but none at the same time.

No, you don’t think of him while awake, but sometimes he visits your dreams to terrify you with his cadaveric hands and his face hidden by his hair. Ready to strike you down, a hand extended in motion to decay you into oblivion.

Sometimes he hovers over you, kissing your neck while ravaging you, incredibly close and raw and intimate, his mouth snarling dirty words you’ll never dare to say out loud. Dreams where his warm chest press against your naked body and your lips sings lewd lullabies just for him, welcome him to feaster on your skin with your face nuzzling against his scarred cheek, covering your face with his silver hair.

Sometimes he just sits in your kitchen as the sunlight reflects over his milky locks. His hand holding his cheek over the table in serene expression, calling your name to play again as the black king spins between his delicate fingers.

___________________

Tomura has a meeting with this new allied Twice found, like three days from now.

He’s not particularly excited about it, surely, it’s just another capo wannabe with grandeur delusions, but it could be worth it. Maybe he could get some money out of it since the league is completely broken after his sensei’s incarceration. They are in desperate need of a hideout, now more than ever since Kurogiri vanished and he’s sure the heroes must have captured him. (Thinking about this is pointless anyway because he doesn’t have the means to get him back)

Minding his own business, he walks with his hoodie on, passing between civilians like he’s one of them, completely invisible when he sees her.

It catches him by surprise. His heart stopping dead on its tracks, wide eyes and tight lips, uncertainty filling him all of the sudden, but he’s accustomed to make hiding spots out of nowhere, so he gets behind some store sign where he can watch her safely.

She stands outside a coffee shop, animatedly talking with some guy who wears the same clinic uniform that she has on. A school mate maybe? She’s an intern in a hospital so, they are probably on shift. Another doctor like her.

She looks tired and paler, but beautiful, nonetheless. The way her lips move give away she’s talking about something clinic, because her face has that firm expression she always does when she’s being professional.

She already looks like a doctor and God knows he’d gladly be sick every day of his life if she’s the one to treat him.

His feelings betray him. He was sure after a month she would be completely out of his system by now, this stupid illness already cured, but shit just doesn’t go away. It pisses him off to no end because she’s not worth the aggravation. C’mon, she’s just another boring normal civilian, she doesn’t do anything important or interesting. She’s not remarkable in any way that serves him, because not even her quirk is truly useful. Not when it threatens to kill her every time she uses it.

And looking her objectively, she’s not even that pretty, but somehow, he’s torn between his desire to make her see him and get as far away from her he can.

Searing jealousy pierces him, hate raw and jarring dripping from between his ribs when the man leans over and whisper something that makes her laugh and for a moment, he seriously thinks he’s going to kill him right there, no quirk needed because he would just love to gut him out in plain view for her to see what he thinks of her stupid friend.

He hates the man, but he hates her more because she dares to laugh, she dares to enjoy life and people meanwhile he crawls hungry and cold between ruined places.

Like sensing his glare, she suddenly turns her head with her eyes directed to the spot where he hides, her expression changing from joyful to confused in seconds, making him laugh because even when he’s sure she cannot see him, she knows he’s there and it feels like she’s tied to him somehow.

Her face gives away disappoint when she fails to catch him and the thought of her grieving after he left delights him, but he’s sworn to let her behind, so he rejoices for a moment in this little victory of his pettiness over her charms, before turning away from her, fully believing that this is the last time he thinks of her.

Chapter 13

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Hey lovely readers! since English is not my native language and writing Shigaraki is kinda hard because he changes and grows, and because he usually says many things about himself, but then he goes and do completely different things (like when he says he hates everything, but CLEARLY he’s fond of twice and stuff like that) so much in manga, it would be lovely to know what you think of this! I think it’s the only way to be better at something really, So, any questions, comments and concerns, please feel free to comment!

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #bnha 306 #bnha fanfiction #the great book of sayings

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afictionalwork · 3 years

Text

[ Can you smell me ? Sense me? ]

A drag from knives on plates raise my hairs on end, feline flight or fight. Density settles like settiment. Internal concrete churns, like butter for toast. My food is burnt. With a thick and sad sound, leftovers thump to the bottom of the trashcan. Swallowed in a blue light, organic sounds of emails flood my inbox and the hollow filling of my lungs occupy me as the minutes pass. 11:29. A couple more minutes. Hours? My time is measured by the swells of hunger, grit of plaque on my back teeth. Hip bones press against my inner thighs, how odd my stance is. Hunched over spindled legs and open books- notebooks thrown open with half loved pages. A coffee spill on one or two.

[ The microwave is beeping, softly. So absorbed in shapes with no diameter, symbols with origins from the depths of watery tea leaves. You ended up unplugging it. This is the last time its mechanical bird song will cry to an empty room. ]

I'm trying to state myself clearly. To whom? Old friends in monolog, to a board of learned little boys- to eye me like grass fed steak? There were people before me. Like there will be after me. Aching joints almost flood my ears with noise, I lurch even farther upstairs to the cave I've made. 10 to 12 thousand different protein molecules aid me, aid me to tuck my hands under a heavy torso. Eras of evolutions, of model made DNA. Leaves me twisted like the helix on a carpet of synthetic comfort. Bent. Crooked fetus, mangled child, stunted adult. Cracking my bones in a melodious lullaby as I stumble into a soundless room to wander into another life.

[ This won't be the only time, nor is it the first. Get used to the rough hands of life on your naked body, hard and sturdy for your spine. ]

It's too early to open my eyes. Too late. You find it impossible to move now. The red sweet warmths of my mothers womb show themselves as the cover of my eyes, a heavy blackout curtain. Motes of dust in the air settle down on my cheeks, rising up from the deep shelter of sleep. In this hovering moment- there is someone standing over me. As quickly as I feel the breath on my cheeks, we exhale in a flow of air and my eyes flutter open to a beige wall and the corner where the imprint of my body stains the carpet. There is a wet and sick feeling in my stomach. Coiled. Black. I want it to slide out of me like a limp snake.

[Can you imagine living with the sun? You’d spend all day staring at the floor, wishing for something. Your mind will never learn how to breathe. ]

My phone hasn't shook the palm of my hand for a couple months. I remember the way I throttled its small body, threw it across the room whenever its gentle ring would echo. Poor hands reaching out, and now it's gone silent. I don't miss it. Not one bit. Moving to the bathroom like a sailor in vertigo, I hunch my sack of a body over the sink. My ribcage hovers on the ledge, bearing my weight. I heard on the radio recently that it is now officially the winter of our discontent. Is this what they meant? Curled up as the wind is pushed out of me, cold. I'm so tired of this. I know I'll stay here for a while, with a dark green mark along me- bruised and beautiful. The cuts on my fingers throb. Is this healing, or some bloody message to the things that feel out of my world?

[This type of tired never ends, hold on to it. It means your alive. ]

#poet #poetry #modernart #absrtactart #queerartist #transartist #poetrylovers #reality #writerslife #writerscomunnity #digitalpoetry #tumblrpoetry #nichepoet #personalpoetry

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sugarandspace · 3 years

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Don't Fall in Love There's Just Too Much to Lose (Buddie)

Summary: Eddie's rescue, the aftermath, and a hell of a lot of feelings.

Warnings: near-death experience

A/N: I started this fic in March. It was supposed to be just a short 2k thing but then it kept growing and growing and Buck just wouldn't stop thinking. Then uni got in the way of writing, then work and my million other WIPs. Special shoutout to my friends Spark and Emryn who have patiently listened to me talk about this fic and who have always been so encouraging! Not sure if I would have ever actually finished this fic without you two 💙

Title from Terrible Things by Mayday Parade!

AO3

They are standing around the map just like they were a few hours earlier, trying to find clues of potential tunnels underground. It’s so much like earlier, but at the same time it’s not, because there’s one person missing from around the table and Buck feels that empty space like it’s a physical ache, a feeling he hasn’t been able to shake since he felt the weight leave the rope earlier when Eddie cut it and let himself fall.

“How about there?” Buck asks and points at a part on the map. He ignores the way his voice comes out hoarse but he can’t ignore the bloody mark that stains the white paper. He’s about to pull his hand back but Hen is quicker, taking his hand to hers.

“When did you get hurt?” She asks but he pulls his hand back.

“I’m fine,” he says and turns back towards the table and the people who had stopped talking and had turned their attention to him, “We have more important things to worry about.”

“Buckaroo,” Hen tries, her voice annoyingly gentle. Buck’s heard her use that tone with patients on the field and he hates that Hen thinks he’s fragile enough to need that tone.

“I said I’m fine!” Buck repeats. He hates to raise his voice at Hen but he needs her to remember that it’s not him they need to worry about. Everyone’s attention should be on Eddie and how to get him safely back because Buck refuses to think about anything else being a possibility.

“Fine,” Hen agrees. “But as soon as we have a plan you’re following me to the bathroom where I’m going to clean and wrap your hands.”

Buck gives her a tense nod, knowing that he can’t escape it and needing the conversation to end as soon as possible so that they can go back to planning.

They do, and they talk about thermal cameras and searching the surrounding area in hopes of finding another well. Buck’s hands curl into fists and he focuses on the feeling of grains of sand stinging in the broken skin of his fingertips, clinging to the moment of clarity it gives to his mind. The moment he lets them wander his thoughts go to what-ifs and Christopher and the pressure of tons of wet sand and the damage it can do to a fragile human body and he can’t afford that now.

He focuses on his turnout gear, his coat wet and heavy, trying to weigh his shoulders down. He squares his shoulders and ignores the way his shirt clings to his back from where the water has dripped down past the collar of his coat. He’s a professional and they have work to do.

-.-.-

When the rest of the team disperses to get everything ready, Hen makes sure of her promise and drags Buck to the downstairs bathroom. It looks clean and Buck feels sorry for being there, his clothes no doubt leaving mud all over the white tile. Hen doesn’t seem to have any problem with that, and she puts the small medkit she was carrying on the counter next to the sink.

“Now let me see those hands,” she says as she pulls a pair of gloves on.

Buck knows it’s useless to argue, so he puts his hands in front of himself, palms up so Hen can see the extent of the damage. There’s sand under his nails, one of his already short nails has broken, and the skin of his fingertips is rubbed raw. Back when he was frantically trying to dig Eddie from the ground with his bare hands, he hadn’t paid attention to how hard he was pressing against the rough ground and how the small rocks had broken the skin of his ungloved hands. The pain hadn’t even registered then, his mind too occupied with panic.

“Okay,” Hen says and guides the hands under the faucet, using warm water to wash the sand away. “The cuts don’t look deep, so I’m going to clean them and wrap them so we can go back to helping Eddie.”

“I can do it myself,” Buck says. He knows that there’s little they can do until the thermal cameras are ready, but he hates to hold Hen here when she would be more needed out there.

Hen makes a noncommittal noise and continues washing Buck’s hands, and Buck doesn’t fight her.

“How are you feeling?” Hen asks, and really, Buck should have expected this.

“I’m fine,” he says, a familiar line to leave his lips. “I can barely feel them.”

“I didn’t mean your hands, Buck,” Hen says kindly. “I know how much he means to you.”

No, you don’t, Buck wants to say. No one knows, and while he used to be happy about being able to keep it a secret, the thought that Eddie might never get to know it now kills him. While a big part of Buck’s mind has always been convinced that it could never happen, that telling Eddie would just mean making their friendship weird, there’s also always been this tiny part of his heart that is optimistic, that thinks that his feelings could be reciprocated. Maybe, just maybe the small things that hint towards it haven’t just been Buck seeing things where there’s nonthing to be seen. Maybe they’ve been more.

Now he fears that in his attempt to guard that part of his heart, he might have missed out on something wonderful.

He bites the inside of his cheek so as not to fall apart. The situation doesn’t allow him to be anything but fine.

“He’s my best friend,” Buck says, wincing a little as Hen dries his hands and the paper towel brushes against the small wounds. “He’s my partner and it’s my job to have his back when we’re on the field.”

It’s quiet for a while, save for the small hiss Buck lets out when Hen disinfects the wounds.

“Eddie cut that rope himself,” Hen reminds him as she starts wrapping his hands. She places small gauze swabs against his fingertips and secures them to place with a roll of gauze. Buck is aware that his fingers start to resemble that of a mummy’s, but when the thought would usually have led to jokes, it doesn’t even bring a smile to his lips now. “He did it to be able to save that small boy. Because that’s what he’s like. You know what else he’s like? He’s tough, and I know he’ll do his best to get back.”

Buck doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods. Hen must sense that Buck’s not up for more talking because they spend the rest of the time it takes for her to wrap his hands in comfortable silence.

“I want you to keep these on the rest of the time we’re working outside,” Hen says and hands her own work gloves to Buck. To be fair, Buck has no idea where he’s left his own pair. “We can’t have the dressings getting wet or dirty.”

Buck thanks her quietly and pulls the gloves on, careful not to pull the gauze away. When he’s done Hen pats him on the shoulder.

“Let’s go find Eddie.”

-.-.-

Buck’s mind is somber as he stands outside, listening to Bobby brief everyone on what they are going to do. He already knows his task and can’t help but let his mind wander to how Eddie might be right below them as they speak and if he is, what state he’s in. Buck ignores the thoughts of him laying there motionless and focuses on breathing deeply as he thinks of how they are going to find him and how Hen and Chimney are going to help him with whatever injuries he might have sustained while down there. He doesn’t let himself feel anything but determination.

He feels all his breath leave his body when he hears a familiar voice and sees Eddie stumbling into their circle. He’s by his side in an instant, helping him stay upright as he struggles to walk.

There are so many words Buck wants to say to Eddie, a ‘I love you so much never do that to me again' on the forefront of his mind, ready to leave his lips any minute he stops paying attention to where they are and how there are a million reasons he shouldn’t. It’s just that Eddie is there and Buck is holding his hand and while the hand is cold the fingers are squeezing Buck’s hand back with a sure grip.

Eddie is safe and making jokes about having an important meeting on Friday and Buck feels like he could cry as he and Hen help Eddie to the ambulance where Chimney is already waiting for them.

Buck gives them space as Eddie sits down and Hen and Chimney start checking him over, giving him a once-over before they need to bring him to the hospital for a more thorough check. They don’t know what Eddie went through under there but Buck can see that there are some scrapes on his face, his eyes look irritated from the water, and he’s sopping wet, which indicates that at some point Eddie has been completely underwater.

Buck keeps cataloging the injuries he can see and he doesn’t even notice Bobby coming up next to him.

“Go,” Bobby says and nudges him towards the ambulance where Hen and Chim are helping Eddie out of the harness and the red protective gear, leaving him in his uniform that looks to be mostly dry. Next, they help him lay down on the gurney so that they can get to the hospital.

There’s no force on this earth that could keep Buck from following Eddie to the hospital right now, but he doesn’t stop to tell Bobby that. He climbs into the ambulance next to Chimney who’s working on hooking Eddie to oxygen as Bobby tells them he’s going to meet them at the hospital once everything is done at the scene. After all, their shift was supposed to be over nearly two hours ago, but the prolonged rescue had resulted in all of them staying longer. Hen is in the passenger seat while another member of 118 is driving, probably having been tasked to drive the ambulance back to the station after, so that all three of them could stay with Eddie.

Eddie should have been home an hour ago. They hadn’t needed to inform any of Eddie’s family yet since Christopher was going to spend the night with Abuela because it was a school night and it would have been too late for Eddie to pick him up after his shift. No one knows what he went through tonight. They don’t know how a relatively normal shift turned out to be a nightmare.

And Buck is glad for that since he wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.

Buck wonders if he should inform them now, but he decides to wait until he knows what to tell. Eddie is awake and cracking jokes but there’s no telling of the damage that could have happened when he was underground.

Things like internal bleeding, secondary drowning, and head trauma go through his mind and Buck curses the medical knowledge he has. He wants so hard to focus on the fact that Eddie is here and he’s alive and things look good for the first time in hours.

“Keep him awake,” Chimney says and brings Buck out of his spiraling thoughts. Buck looks at him and nods, watching as Chimney turns away to do something before Buck looks at Eddie and tries to start a conversation.

“Come on dude, you know the drill,” Buck says to Eddie as his eyes keep trying to drop closed. “No sleeping in the ambulance.”

“I must admit,” Eddie starts, his voice a little slurred. Buck doesn’t know if it’s because he’s so tired or because he’s so cold, maybe a mix of both, but nevertheless he tucks the shock blanket a little tighter around Eddie and places his hand on top of the blanket, over Eddie’s arm, hoping that even a bit of the warmth seeps into his skin through the blanket. “Now I understand why the patients are always so tempted.”

“Yeah well,” Buck starts, trying to keep his tone light and joking. It seems to be what Eddie needs right now, and Buck would do anything to make him feel even a little bit better. “Tempting or not, you’re not allowed. You’ll have plenty of time to nap later when you’re home.”

A small smile appears on Eddie’s face, softer than it should be among all the cuts and dirt.

“Yeah,” he breathes out so quietly Buck can barely hear it through the oxygen mask he’s wearing. “Home.”

The rest of the ride to the hospital follows a similar pattern of Buck saying whatever lighthearted nonsense comes to his mind and Eddie attempting to respond, his eyes trying to close against his will.

Everything is looking better now, but the weight on Buck’s chest is not letting up. If anything, it gets ten times heavier when they roll Eddie out of the ambulance and the ER staff takes over. With Eddie out of his sight, it feels difficult to assure himself that he’s fine and Buck finds himself frozen on his spot outside of the ER doors, even when Hen appears next to him and Chimney and the ambulance leaves back to the station.

“Come on,” Chimney says. “Let’s go to the waiting room.”

-.-.-

“How fucked up is it that I’ve been to this waiting room so many times that I have a favorite seat?” Chimney says after a while of silence. “You guys really need to stop injuring yourselves so often or they are going to name a ward after our team.”

“Do you think you have any right to complain?” Hen says from his side where they are sitting next to the window. It’s late so there’s not much to be seen outside, save from the lights on the hospital parking lot. “I think out of this team I’m the one who gets the rights to complain about everyone being hurt. How many times have you been here to see me in the past two years? A round zero. And I can clearly remember you nearly dying twice during that time mister rebar-through-a-brain and multiple-stabbing-wounds.”

“At least I’m not as bad as Buck,” Chimney tries to argue.

It’s dark humor, but they know each other and know that it’s sometimes needed. They’ve been through a lot, and sometimes it’s better to laugh and joke about the times when they were seriously injured, in hopes that making light of them strips away some of the fear and worry that lingers.

Buck knows that at some point they will laugh at the fact that Eddie’s injury makes Hen the only one out of their team they haven’t visited in the hospital yet, but right now the fear is still too fresh, the uncertainty of the situation making them too afraid to joke about Eddie.

Buck knows he’s being uncharastically quiet, but the other two don’t call him out on it. He’s pacing in front of Hen and Chimey’s chairs, impatient to hear what’s going on with Eddie.

The clock on the waiting room wall nears midnight when Bobby joins them. They talk about how the cleanup at the scene went. Buck tunes them out and ignores the concerned glances Bobby keeps giving his way. They make him feel like Bobby knows more than he says, and it makes Buck uncomfortable. He might wear his heart on his sleeve and generally be like an open book, but this is a secret he doesn’t want to get out. It’s a secret that has the power to destroy the friendship he has with Eddie, and Buck would rather spend the rest of his life pining than lose what he has with Eddie. Eddie is his best friend, first one he’s ever had if you don’t count Maddie, and he won’t let his stupid feelings ruin that.

Just a little over an hour ago he had been despairing over the fact that Eddie would never get to know how Buck feels about him, but now that Eddie is safe, when there’s no immediate danger, the idea of telling his best friend that he loves him makes Buck freeze up in fear.

So Buck prays that Bobby doesn’t say anything and he tries his best to keep it together when they wait for news.

Another hour passes until a nurse walks towards them.

“Are you here for Edmundo Diaz?” he asks. He must have already known the answer, considering three of them are still wearing their uniforms, Bobby being the only one who had the opportunity to change to civilian clothes. The only thing Buck has done is take off his gloves and put them in his turnout coat pockets, the coat way too heavy and warm to be worn inside but providing comfort that Buck isn’t willing to let go of just yet as he’s nervously picking at the frayed gauze in his fingers.

“Yes.” Buck is the first to reply, stopping his pacing and walking to the nurse, searching his face for any clue of the news they are going to get. “Is he okay?”

Buck can hear the rest of the team stand up as well, and the nurse looks at them all before answering.

“He’s fine,” he says. “You can follow me to a room where we have him and he can fill you in himself.”

“He’s awake?” Hen asks before Buck has the chance to.

The nurse nods.

“Right this way.”

-.-.-

When they arrive at the room, the doctor is there, talking with Eddie. Eddie looks a little better when his face is no longer smeared with blood, but the hospital gown makes him look small somehow, something Buck didn’t think was possible considering that Eddie is not a small person. The redness of his eyes is even more apparent where he’s sitting up against the white sheets, and his skin looks pale.

“How are you doing Eddie?” Bobby asks as they are all in the room.

“I’m good, Cap,” Eddie replies. “The doctor was just explaining how all my scans came out clear. There’s no liquid in my lungs and even though I’m bruised like a peach, there are no signs of internal bleeding.”

The doctor nods at Eddie’s words and continues,

“Mr. Diaz is understandably tired after everything that happened today and he’s going to feel cold for a little while until his body temperature gets back to normal, but we’re not worried. There are bruises and a couple of small cuts on his face but like he said, there’s no internal bleeding or fractured bones,” she says. “It’s going to take several days of rest before he’s able to get back to work, but there’s nothing stopping him from going home now.”

“That’s great Eddie!” Hen says cheerily and walks to Eddie’s bedside, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Chimney joins her on that side of the bed while Bobby walks on the other, Buck trailing behind him to stand next to him.

“Someone will be over with discharge papers in a little while,” the doctor says before politely excusing herself.

“I brought your bag from the station,” Bobby says and sets the bag down on a chair close to the wall. “Thought you might want to wear something clean.”

“Thanks Bobby,” Eddie says and gives him a genuine smile.

Buck doesn’t know what to say, too overcome with relief after hearing that Eddie really is okay, that there are no hidden injuries waiting to make themselves known. He keeps looking at Eddie, wondering what is acceptable now that they are out of the woods and everything is okay. He really liked holding Eddie’s hand earlier, but taking it now when the urgency of the situation is gone, he’s not sure if he can do it. Would his team think that it’s weird, would Eddie? What would Bobby think, when he apparently already knows something?

Bucks’ head is spinning and it takes a moment for him to realise that someone is saying his name.

“Buck?”

It’s Eddie, and Buck shakes his head to clear his thoughts so he can focus on whatever he’s apparently missed.

“Yeah?”

“What happened to your hands?” Eddie asks, nodding towards Buck’s hands that he has in front of him, his fingers nervously picking at the gauze.

“Nothing,” Buck tries to deny.

“Something happened,” Eddie argues.

“Something dumb,” Buck argues back. He spares a look at the team around them, knowing that everyone else saw how he tried to dig Eddie up with his bare hands. It had been an instinct then, but now, under the bright lights of the hospital room, it feels foolish. He can feel the tips of his ears heat up and he hopes the blush doesn’t spread to his face.

He’s saved from answering when the same nurse from earlier returns with Eddie’s discharge papers, and they leave the room to give Eddie privacy to change his clothes.

-.-.-

“Does anyone else need a ride home?” Bobby asks the people around them as they walk towards the exit. He had offered to drive Eddie home since his truck was still at the station and he’s in no state to drive it home that night.

“Maddie is going to pick me up,” Chimney says. “And Hen is coming with us too since she lives in the same direction.”

“Okay,” Bobby nods. “How about you Buck?”

Buck doesn’t live in the same direction as Chimney and Hen, and even if he did he’d probably come up with an excuse to ride with Bobby, just so he could stay with Eddie for a while longer.

“If it’s not too much trouble?” Buck asks.

“Of course not,” Bobby says. “You two wait at the front, I’m going to get the car here so you don’t need to walk all the way to the parking lot, Eddie.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Eddie says. He’s dressed in his own clothes now, plus an LAFD hoodie that’s doing a pretty poor job at keeping him warm if the shivers running through his body are anything to go by. Buck wishes he could reach for Eddie and hold him close, help keep him warm.

They say their goodbyes to Chimney and Hen, and Buck stays with Eddie near the doors when Bobby goes to get the car. Eddie’s looking better than he did at the scene, but it’s obvious that he’s tired. He might not be stumbling anymore but the relatively short walk from the hospital room to the entrance doors has left him winded, and Buck knows that the reason why he leans against the wall isn’t to look casual.

Buck takes in a deep breath of cool night air through his nose, happy to leave the smell of hospital behind. It’s quiet for a while before Eddie breaks the silence.

“Are you going to tell me about your hands?”

Buck thinks about it. Does he want to tell Eddie? Not particularly. But he’s aware that Eddie will hear about it sooner or later. He’ll hear from someone in the team or he’ll see a news report or an online article of what happened today.

Buck thinks it’s best to get it out of the way now.

“When we first noticed that you were buried under all that dirt,” Buck starts, decidedly staying a couple of steps away from the wall with his back to Eddie, his focus on his hands and the fraying gauze he keeps picking with his wrapped fingertips. “I was terrified?”

He has no idea why he says it like it’s a question. It’s one of the things he’s the most sure about when it comes to the day they’ve had. At that moment he was absolutely terrified that they’d lost Eddie. “I tried to dig you up.”

“With your hands?” Eddie asks, and though there’s no mocking tone Buck feels defensive.

“Told you it was stupid,” he says and kicks a small rock on the ground.

Eddie is quiet after that and Buck fights the urge to turn to look at him because while a part of him is curious to see what kind of expression Eddie might be wearing at the moment, a bigger part is scared to know.

Confusion, pity, and understanding are all things Buck could see there, and he doesn’t know how to react to any of them. It’s safer not to know, better if he can leave this conversation and pretend it never happened and move on.

That’s why when he sees Bobby’s car pull up he pulls the passenger side door open and gets in, focusing on what he can see through the windshield as Eddie climbs into the backseat and Bobby starts driving. Buck tries his best to convince himself that the weight of Eddie’s eyes on the back of his head is completely imaginary.

It’s quiet in the car, save from the music playing low volume on the radio, until Eddie breaks the quiet.

“Could we stop at Abuela’s and get Chris?” Eddie asks, his voice hesitant.

Buck looks at the clock on the car radio and sees it’s nearing 2 AM, which means that Christopher’s bedtime has well and truly passed. The fact that Eddie wants to wake him up and bring him home speaks volumes about what kind of day he’s had. It doesn’t surprise Buck that Eddie wants to be near family now, and Bobby doesn’t question it either. His reply is sure, like there was never another option.

“Of course.”

Eddie calls Abuela then, saving her from details but telling her that something happened at work but that he’s okay now and he’s going to come to pick Christopher up soon.

His words make it seem so simple, like he sprained his ankle or maybe inhaled a little too much smoke, not that he got buried alive and almost died.

Buck takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and focuses on the sound of Eddie’s voice.

Eddie is safe, alive, and in the same car as him. If Buck were a braver man he could turn his head and look at Eddie right now, but he’s scared of what Eddie might see on his face if he did, so he keeps facing forward, hoping that the car ride to Abuela’s never ends so that he doesn’t need to go home alone with only his thoughts as company. He doesn’t know what will happen when he can no longer confirm by at least one of his senses that Eddie is okay.

Before long they arrive at Abuela’s and Bobby has barely parked the car before Eddie is getting out of the car.

“You okay, kid?” Bobby asks as they sit in the car and watch as Eddie rushes to the door and Abuela opens it for him, greeting him with a tight hug that must hurt Eddie’s bruised body but that he returns just as tightly.

“Yeah,” Buck says. He watches as Eddie disappears into the house and waves back when Abuela spots him in the car and waves as a greeting.

“It’s okay not to be,” Bobby says. Buck doesn’t know how to reply to that so he stays quiet, and soon they can see Eddie coming out of the house, carrying a very tired-looking but nevertheless awake Christopher in his arms. Abuela trails behind them, carrying Chirstopher’s backpack and crutches.

Buck plasters on a smile as he turns to greet Christopher, not wanting the kid to pick up on his somber mood. He hopes it’s convincing enough to assure Abuela as well.

The ride is quiet and when they arrive at Eddie’s house, Christopher is already back asleep, being none the wiser about what happened to his father earlier that day. Or technically yesterday.

“Do you need help?” Buck asks as he watches Eddie lift Christopher up into his arms, his crutches under his arm and backpack on his back. It looks complicated but there’s an ease to the action that has come by practice - this is hardly the first time Eddie has done this.

“No,” Eddie says. “We’re good. Thank you.”

“Okay.”

They say their goodbyes and watch Eddie walk to the front door and unlock the door, making sure they get inside. When they are safely in the house, Bobby turns to look at Buck.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” He asks. Buck turns his eyes away from the kitchen window where a light glow of the living room light could be seen.

“He needs to be with family,” Buck says. “I don’t want to intrude. Besides, I'm really tired and just want to get to my own bed where I can get some sleep. I’ve slept on their couch before and let me tell you, it’s not made for people my height.”

Lie.

Buck wants nothing more than to stay near Eddie, even if it means uncomfortable rest on the too-short couch. Even sleeping there would probably be more restful than a sleep in his own bed will be.

Bobby looks like he wants to argue but he stays quiet, nods a little, and reverses the car from the driveway.

They stay quiet the whole ride to Buck’s apartment and Buck keeps thinking about how much he doesn’t want to go there, but he pushes it back and listens to the music on the radio.

“Thanks for the ride Bobby,” he says as they reach his building.

“No problem,” Bobby says. “Call me if you need me.”

“I will,” Buck says and closes the car door. He waves to Bobby and starts walking towards the doors.

Buck tries to focus on how nice it is to be home after the day he’s had. How nice it will be to shower and get to clean clothes and wash away all the mud that keeps reminding him of earlier. How nice it will be to get to his soft bed and to put this day behind him.

But try as he might, he can’t ignore how empty the apartment is when he finally unlocks his door. It’s dark in there, but he doesn’t want to turn on the lights downstairs. He hangs his turnout coat next to the door and leaves the pants in a heap on the floor. He’ll deal with them tomorrow, will probably drop them by the station so they’ll be clean by the time they have their next shift a day after tomorrow. He heads up to the loft on the light provided by the tall windows and only turns on the light when he reaches his bathroom.

The sight that greets him in the bathroom mirror makes him stop for a moment and stare. There’s mud on his face and on his uniform, despite the turnout gear he’d been wearing when they were outside. There are dark marks under his eyes, and the white gauze at his fingers looks frayed. It looks like he’s had a hellish night, even though he was the one above ground.

He shakes himself back to present at that thought and moves towards the sink to gently peel away the gauze. He wants to shower and having soggy gauze on his fingers isn't going to be good. Besides, as he throws the gauze away and studies his fingers, he sees that they have mostly stopped bleeding, save for the few parts that were pulled open when he took away the gauze.

His shower is quick, the soap in his wounds making him reassess the thought that his wounds had closed, but he pushes through it. He has mud in places where mud should never go and wants it all gone. He wants to wash away those reminders of what happened today, even if he can’t remove them from his head. When he’s done he dries himself and wraps the few fingers that are still bleeding, not wanting any blood on his clothes or sheets. After that he gets dressed in sweats and a tee, going through with his bedtime routine like it’s any other day, instead of one of the most awful days he’s ever had. And it’s saying a lot, because life hasn’t always treated him kindly.

He tries to ignore the thoughts going through his head, thoughts of how close he came of losing Eddie and how Eddie must be feeling right now, of what kind of thoughts are going through his head. Buck doesn’t even know what Eddie really went through down there, and he fears that the reality is just as bad or maybe even worse than the scenarios he has in his head. And in the end it doesn’t matter, because all Buck has are those thoughts, those maybes and what-ifs. But Eddie has the reality, Eddie is the one who almost died, who had to fight his way out of an impossible situation, and who is alone in knowing how it really felt.

All alone.

As Buck sits on the edge of his bed, all ready to go to sleep but for some reason unable to lay down, he makes a decision.

Eddie might want to be with Christopher and to get some rest, but Buck isn’t going to leave him alone. He’s had to be alone too much today. He was alone when the hole collapsed, he was alone when he fought his way back to the surface, he had to be alone in the ER when they did all those tests and scans to determine what kind of damage it all did to his body. He’s had to be alone too much today, and like hell is Buck going to let him be alone right now.

Eddie might not be physically alone, and Buck knows that having Christopher nearby is probably the best kind of comfort Eddie can get right now, but he also knows his friend and knows that he’ll try to act okay for the sake of his son. He won’t let Christopher see him weak, won’t let him know the extent of what happened to him because he doesn’t want Christopher to be afraid.

Eddie nearly died tonight, and he’s allowed to be weak. Is allowed to be scared and vulnerable, and Buck thinks he might need someone to remind him of that. Someone who knows what happened, and someone Eddie doesn’t need to shield.

Buck might not be family, but he’s Eddie’s best friend, and it’s best friend’s job to make sure their friend is okay. He knows that Eddie said that he’s okay, and he knows that the doctors said that he was okay physically, nothing a good rest wouldn’t fix. But Buck also knows what it does to a person to nearly die, and he knows that Eddie is probably the last person to admit that he needs help, or just wants someone to be there.

So Buck makes up his mind, doesn’t even bother to change his clothes, just pulls on a pair of shoes and a hoodie, and leaves the apartment to get to his car that’s in the parking lot. To think that less than 24 hours ago it was just another day where Eddie had picked him up before their shift so they could head in together. It feels like a lifetime has passed between that moment and now.

Buck starts the car and drives the familiar route to Eddie’s house. The clock on the dashboard shows past 3 AM and the roads are calm, no sign of the early morning traffic yet.

When Buck parks on the driveway, he notices immediately that a small light is still glowing from behind the kitchen curtains. Either it means that Eddie forgot to turn the lights off, or it means that Buck’s not the only one who feels like sleep is the last thing on their mind right now.

He gets out of the car and walks to the door, knocking on it lightly. He never stopped to think what he would do if Eddie wasn’t awake. He had the key for emergencies but would it be okay to use it now, in the middle of the night?

Although, Buck thinks, if the urgency he feels is any indicator, this must fall under the category of emergencies.

He doesn’t need to think for longer because the door opens and Eddie is standing behind it. He’s dressed in sweats and a thick sweatshirt, and his damp hair is curling at the ends, indicating that he has probably showered earlier. There are still cuts on his face and the skin around his eyes is irritated, but he looks a lot better now that he’s clean and dressed comfortably. He’s a little confused but he doesn’t seem annoyed that Buck is behind his door so late (or early) after the day he’s had, so Buck takes in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Buck?” Eddie asks, as if he’s unsure if his tired eyes are seeing right.

“Hey,” Buck says and steps inside when Eddie steps aside to let him in. “I’m sorry I’m here.”

“Why?” Eddie asks after he closes the door and turns to face Buck in the living room. The hallway light is on, as is the small lamp in the living room. The door to Christopher’s room is closed, so Buck assumes at least one of them is doing what they all should be doing and is asleep. Buck turns to look at Eddie when he answers, even though he’s not sure if Eddie is asking him why he’s at his door at such a weird hour, or why he’s apologising.

“I’m sorry for barging here,” Buck explains. “I know you’ve had a long day and you want to rest and spend time with family. But I-'' Buck hesitates before he continues. “I thought that maybe you’d want someone to be there for you. Someone who’s willing to listen and who you don’t need to shield, because I saw what happened.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, Buck’s name coming out in a breath, a tone of awe in the name. “You are family.”

Buck’s at a loss for words because that’s not the part of his speech he was expecting Eddie to comment on, but he’s saved from having to come up with a reply when Eddie continues.

“I want you here,” he admits, his tone still quiet. Whether it is because he doesn’t want to wake up Christopher, or because he’s afraid to say the words any louder, careful with words that make him vulnerable, Buck doesn’t know. “I just didn’t know how to ask.”

“You shouldn’t have needed to ask,” Buck replies easily and steps forward to pull Eddie into a hug. It’s gentler than the ones they occasionally share, in part because Buck is still very aware of how fragile Eddie is, and in part because it feels fitting for the situation. It’s not the time for a happy hug that’s quick and accompanied by pats on the shoulder, the situation calls for something softer, gentle but solid that reminds the other that they aren’t alone, that the other is there and that things will be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like that at the moment.

Buck pretends that he doesn’t hear the small sniff that comes out of Eddie when Buck doesn’t pull away from the hug after a short while, letting Eddie decide how long he needs the hug to last, and he pretends that his cheek just happens to brush against Eddie’s shirt, and he’s not trying to subtly brush away a tear that escaped at feeling Eddie against him, solid and warm and alive.

Eddie’s been honest, the least Buck can do is return the favor.

“I was terrified,” Buck says. “From the moment I lost your weight on that rope I had a bad feeling in my stomach, and when the hole collapsed it felt like I couldn’t breathe. There are only a few moments in my life when I’ve been as terrified.”

Buck doesn’t mention any examples, but he’s pretty sure Eddie knows that one of those times is the time he spent apart from Christopher during the tsunami.

“I’m not sorry I cut that rope,” Eddie says slowly, his words a warm puff against Buck’s shoulder. Maybe it’s easier to talk like this, with the others’ warmth reminding them that they are safe, and not having to face the other. “I’d do it again if it meant saving that boy. But I am sorry that I caused you so much pain.”

Eddie pulls away after that, but instead of completely letting go of Buck, his hands find Buck’s, the mention of pain probably reminding him of Buck’s hands. Buck only wrapped the fingers with the deepest cuts after his shower, so the extent of his injuries is clear for Eddie to see. Buck feels embarrassed, because why did he think that he had any chance digging Eddie out of there with his hands? But he doesn’t pull the hands away, instead letting Eddie inspect them.

“You tried to dig me up with your bare hands,” Eddie says. It’s not a question but a statement, but Buck feels the need to reply.

“I would do anything for you.”

It might be too much, might reveal too much, but at that moment Buck doesn’t care. It’s the truth, and Eddie deserves to know it. Not because Buck wants him to know what Buck went through when the well collapsed, how much he hurt, and what he was thinking. But because Eddie went through hell today and Buck wants to help, wants to chase away some of those terrifying thoughts and make room for good ones, ones that remind Eddie of how loved he is and how happy everyone is that he made it out.

Eddie doesn’t reply verbally, but he lifts Buck’s hands, first the other one and then the other, and leaves a kiss on both of Buck’s palms, a safe distance from the cuts on his fingers.

It’s barely a brush of lips but it feels monumental, and Buck doesn’t know how to react. It feels like more than friendship, but after the night they’ve both had he doesn’t think now is the right time to reveal his feelings to Eddie. At least not more than he’s already done with his actions.

“Should have known you’d make it out of there on your own,” Buck says eventually when they’ve been quiet for a while, Eddie still looking down at where they are now holding hands, Buck trying to warm up Eddie’s cold skin. “I’m proud of you, Eddie. You must have fought like hell.”

“I’ll always fight to come back to my family,” he says, the word family emphasized with a squeeze of his hands, reminding Buck that he’s included in that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Buck asks, knowing that getting some of those things out of his head would probably do Eddie good.

“Not tonight,” Eddie says, looking up at Buck. “Maybe later?”

Buck nods, accepting that Eddie probably needs a little time to process everything. He must also be very tired if the droop of his eyelids and the exhausted way he's holding himself are anything to go by.

“You’re probably tired,” Buck says. “You should sleep.”

Eddie hesitates before he speaks next.

“Stay?”

“I’ll be at the couch if you need me,” Buck says, already knowing that there’s nothing that could make him go back to his apartment tonight.

“No I mean-” Eddie starts and hesitates, taking a step backward towards his bedroom and pulling Buck along by his hands, a wordless question. “I’d rather not be alone.”

One of these days Buck is going to talk to Eddie about how he never has to hesitate in asking Buck something, especially if that something is as simple as this. But today is not that day, and instead he toes off his shoes and lets go of one of Eddie’s hands so he can start walking towards Eddie’s bedroom and pull the other man with him.

The bedside table lamp is on, giving them enough light to see what they are doing. Buck lets Eddie get in bed before he tells him that he’ll be right back, and goes to turn off the living room and hallway lights, and then he gets into bed as well. When he reaches for the bedside lamp, a hand stops him.

“Please don’t,” Eddie says, his eyes downcast to the sheets between them. Then he explains, “The well was cold and dark.”

Eddie doesn’t need to say anything more. Buck knows how much it takes for Eddie to admit that he wants to sleep with the light on but Buck will never judge him for it. He even thinks he can help with the other thing as well.

“Are you still feeling cold?” he asks as he settles on his side facing Eddie. They are sharing the blanket but there’s a foot of space between them. Buck wants to let Eddie set the pace but wants him to know that Buck is here for anything he might need.

Eddie nods, “The doctor said that I might feel like this for a while. Said it takes a while for my body to catch up with no longer being in the cold.”

Buck scoots a little bit closer and lifts his arm, a clear invite if Eddie wants to get closer.

Eddie looks almost relieved when he scoots closer, and Buck has a feeling that at least half of that relief stems from the fact that Eddie didn’t need to ask. All fear about crossing a line leaves Buck’s mind as Eddie curls close to him and hides his face in the warm space under Buck’s chin, his cold nose making Buck shiver before he gets used to it. Buck brings his arms around Eddie, both to remind him that he’s not alone and to provide warmth.

“I’ve got you.”

The effect of the action is almost immediate and Buck can feel Eddie relax against him. He feels how his body goes lax and how the breaths against his neck get deeper and calmer.

And Buck sees the moment as it is. A moment of vulnerability that shows Eddie’s trust in him in a way he’s rarely seen before. Sure, he knows Eddie trusts him with his life while they are at work, but it is completely different to know that Eddie trusts him with his heart, with the side of him that’s vulnerable and that he normally guards with thick walls. It makes Buck feel like he might not be alone in his feelings, but he doesn’t want to rush it, knowing that now is not the right moment.

They have time.

Buck waits for Eddie to fall asleep first, his exhausted body giving in to sleep quickly as Buck’s hand cards through his hair. Buck tries to stay awake as long as he can, both to appreciate the moment and hoping he will notice if Eddie starts having a nightmare. But the day has been a lot, and having Eddie in his arms - safe and alive - makes the last bits of fear loosen their grip around Buck’s heart and he feels the tension leave his body and he drifts to sleep between one of Eddie’s steady breaths against his neck and the next.

They both get to leave the day behind.

It won’t disappear, things aren’t magically better tomorrow. Just Eddie’s physical injuries will take a while to heal, not to mention the work he has to put on dealing with what happened mentally. Buck knows it won’t be easy, but he’s going to be there for Eddie every step along the way, in whatever way Eddie wants him to.

And isn’t that another thing to think about? This new step they’ve taken in their relationship. What will it look like in the light of a new day? Buck doesn’t know, but he’s not scared anymore.

It’s him and Eddie. They’ll figure it out.

#9-1-1 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic #my writing #i'm finally yeeting this fic here #feels good #i'm done changing little things #this is as good as it'll get now

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speakergame · 4 years

Text

ko-fi snippet

for my darling @queen-scribbles who simply said “you know what I like” and she’s right, so have some Sebastian/Speaker hurt/comfort :)

---

“Sebastian, let me see.”

“I’m fine.” He crosses his arms over his chest, face blank, and if it weren’t for the bright red blood stain seeping over his white shirt you would almost believe him.

You roll your eyes. “You’d rather bleed to death than let me help you?”

"You’re being dramatic. It’s just a scratch.'

"Then let. Me. See."

He sighs deeply, as if the sound was pulled from the depths of his soul, but he unbuttons his shirt and lets it slide off his shoulders to pool on the floor.

He does a good job of downplaying his size, with the long sleeved shirts, the suit jackets tailored to minimize the width of his shoulders and hide the definition of his biceps. You knew theoretically that he must be muscular, you're aware of how strong he is, how well he can fight. But seeing it for yourself…

You can feel heat rise in your cheeks as you try very hard not to stare at his bare arms, an act made harder as he crosses them again. Focus. More important things to worry about right now.

“That one too.” You indicate his undershirt, which is more red than white at this point.

You quickly turn and head toward the bathroom to get the first aid kid so you don’t have to watch him take it off. It’s easier that way.

When you return a minute later with a bowl of water, a washcloth, and the first aid kit, Sebastian is completely shirtless, sitting on the edge of one of the motel room's tiny beds.

You wish you could enjoy the view, but without the cloth in the way, you also have a clear view of the wound in his side. You grab the single wooden chair from the desk/table/tv stand against one wall and drag it with you as you approach him.

Sebastian sits completely still as you clean the blood away, revealing the nearly-perfect circle of tooth marks in his side. Tooth marks from a werepanther, because he decided that his rib cage was a better chew toy than your throat.

You want to be angry about it, but you’re too busy being relieved to still be alive.

“Are you sure you don't want me to call Liam?” you ask. You’re proud of how little your voice shakes.

“It's not that bad. I don't need a healer.” He hisses as you press an alcohol-soaked cotton swab to the wound, and he grabs your wrist before you can do it again. “And I don't need you fussing over me either.”

You pull your arm out of his grasp. He lets you go without argument. “Well, tough luck. You jumped in front of a metaphorical bullet for me, so you're gonna have to deal with my 'fussing'.”

Sebastian lets you finish your work without further argument, sitting in stiff silence as you finish cleaning and bandage the wound. When you’re done, you pat his shoulder lightly and climb to your feet, gathering up the bloody rags to take them back to the bathroom.

Before you can move away, he catches your wrist again and calls your name. “Thank you,” he murmurs when you turn back to face him.

You smile at the warmth in his voice, and take a step back toward him, wet rags in your arms completely forgotten. “You don't mind my fussing?”

With him sitting on the bed, he’s almost the same height as you, and when he pulls you another step closer, you struggle to look anywhere except for those green eyes, bright in the dim room. “I might go so far as to say I enjoy it.”

He gives you a small smile, the kind that lights his eyes more than showing on his face, and lifts your hand to brush his lips across your knuckles.

Then he stands and slips past you to find his bag and a clean shirt, leaving you standing there in mute shock.

#speaker game #snippet #sebastian wynric #the speaker #I do love a hand kiss with some intense eye contact I'm not afraid to admit it

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jawsandbones · 4 years

Text

You Sleep, I’ll Keep Watch

He stands alone, and all else seems so very, very far away. Voices, footsteps, every single noise seems to blend into one, a cacophony of sound. Blood drops from his fingers, onto the already stained planks of the Hanged Man. Drop, and red petals bloom wide. There are people moving around him, he knows, and doesn’t react when one bumps into him, apologizes. It’s as if he’s watching from behind, a ghost of himself. Separate from his body, from all that tethers, until she gently places touch at his arm. “Fenris,” she says. He turns his head, slightly, white wisps of hair crossing his forehead. His gaze remains fixed on the floor. “What were you thinking of doing?”

He’s quiet for a moment, re-learning how to speak, choosing what words to say. His head raises slightly, but he still can’t bring himself to face her. “I had only planned on returning to the estate,” he tells her. A drop. The bloom. Hawke steps closer to him.

“By yourself?” she asks softly, words meant for his ears alone. The guards are hauling another body to the pile. He watches this one, and this one alone. He forces himself to look at Danarius, the gaping hole in his chest. He affirms it to himself, over and over again. He memorizes grey, lifeless eyes, pale skin. His hand squeezes into his fist, the pointed tips of his gauntlet biting into his palm. His other hand tightens its hold around the hilt of his sword, which he’s been unable to let go of since the fighting stopped. It’s slipping, again. That whirling cacophony is growing louder, an overwhelming ocean, drowning him in its sound. “Fenris.” He realizes he’s been holding his breath, and slowly lets it go.

“I apologize. You asked –?” His stomach churns.

“I was wondering if you wanted some company,” she says, and her fingertips are still so light against his skin. She doesn’t intrude. She still moors him. His markings ache all but for where she touches him.

“Oh.” There’s blood on her trousers, an already healed gash across her midsection. His fault? There’s bloody streaks across her neck, from where she’s touched herself. His eyes reach her chin, and he casts them back down once again. “I would appreciate… company,” he says.

“I’ll let Aveline and the others know we’re leaving,” she says. Hawke briefly rubs her knuckles up and down his arm, an affectionate thing. As she goes, he closes his eyes. He knows he should sheathe his sword. He’s not quite ready to let go of it yet. His bones still tremble with the feeling of slicing through flesh, of the lyrium burning down with overuse. His free hand trembles for a different reason. There’s still a weight in his palm, heavy and beating. He begs himself not to forget the feeling. To know it always. He opens his eyes as he pulls free the fist, looks at the pinprick marks bubbling more blood to soak him with.

“Fenris,” she says, and he’s grateful to how she always announces herself. Hawke’s hand slips into his, over his palm. He closes his hand around hers without realizing, holds it carefully there. “May I heal this for you?” A small nod, and it’s only when he feels her warmth does he realize how little energy for magic she must have left. His stomach churns once again. “There,” and he knows she must be smiling, “all better. Ready to go?” Another thing he is grateful for is her normalcy. She treats him no differently than she does any other day. He has stopped mistaking her kindness for pity. He nods as he slowly lets her hand go.

He follows her firmly planted footsteps. She holds the door of the Hanged Man open for him. He knows he should sheathe his sword. The middle of the afternoon, and there are people crowding everywhere. He follows her firmly planted footsteps. She marks her trail and people automatically part to allow her to pass. Both of them being bloodied and carrying their weapons helps as well. He allows his thoughts to drift, carry him far. It’s only when Hawke finally stops, her feet turning in his direction, does he realize. He reaches into one of his pockets, and hands her his key.

“Would you like to wash up? I could heat some water,” she says.

“No, thank you. I can – myself, if you don’t mind,” he says. Hawke shakes her head.

“I’m going to quickly run to mine to clean and change. Probably also grab us some dinner and a pack of cards. I’ll only be a few minutes. Okay?” He nods silent acknowledgement over his shoulder, listens to the sound of her moving back to the entrance. She closes the door tightly behind her. There is a drawer of her clothes in his dresser. She has used his bath countless times before. She gives him a chance to be alone, as he needs – safe in the knowledge that it will not be forever. The stiff line of his shoulders falls, the sword clattering out of his hand. He scrabbles at the clasps of his gauntlets, sheds his armor as quickly as he can. All the while, he heads towards the bathroom.

His fingers slip over turning dials, the pipes groaning before water begins pouring in. He doesn’t wait for it to warm. He submerges himself entirely, still in his leggings, tunic. He gasps breath as he sits back on his knees. His hands squeeze around the edges of the tub when he leans forward, back prickling cold with gooseflesh, and holds his head under. From his fingertips, down white porcelain, a red swirling stain invades the steady stream of water. He stays there for as long as he can, listening to his heart in his ears, drumming against the water pressure.

Fenris sits back, pulling up his legs. He rests his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands, takes a heaving inhale. The exhale is slow, turning to a shudder as the sobs begin to wrench away at him.

---

Hawke practically kicks the door shut with a resounding slam. She winces slightly at it, cowering as she turns. She straightens up when she sees Fenris standing on the landing of his entrance, stopping amidst the motion of dragging a towel through his hair. He’s half bent over, the towel covering his face, his hands at his head. “Sorry,” she says as she begins to climb the steps, the bag in her hand, “that was harder than I meant it to be.” A small grunt of forgiveness, and Fenris well knows that it was meant on purpose, to let him know of her return.

She’s wearing lighter shoes, casual clothing. Not the Champion of Kirkwall. Just Hawke. She puts the bag on his table, begins pulling out an assortment of food. The towel comes to rest around his neck, his hair still damp. “I know it’s early for supper still, but that’s why I brought so much desert,” she says. “I got those pastries from the shop you like.” A small twitch of his ears betrays his interest. He’s left his sword, his armor, where he had discarded them. They both step over the pieces, say nothing of it. She’s shuffling the deck in her hands as she goes to sit on the edge of his bed.

One leg is bent underneath her, while the other dangles off the edge, her foot pressing into the floor. Finishing shuffling, she pats the empty space in front of her. “Come on, I’m going to teach you how to play Go Fish,” she says. He drops the towel onto the back of a chair before he takes his place across from her. He sits cross-legged, and wraps his hands around his ankles. “It’s very easy. I’m a master at this game. Bethany and Carver always refused to play with me and accused me of cheating. It’s basically about making pairs…” As she hands out the cards, she explains in full, tells him he’ll get the hang of it once they start playing.

Sure enough, after a few rounds, he does. Hawke deftly robs him of most of his cards, creating a stack of pairs in front of her. They play again, and again, usually with the same results. They talk about nothing as they pick at food, light the fire place. They find themselves back at the bed, playing again, as soon as they’re finished.

“Do you have any threes?” he asks.

“Go fish,” she says. He looks from the deck in the middle, his cards, hers, and frowns.

“I agree with Carver and Bethany. You’re cheating.” Hawke snorts with laughter.

“A lot of it is just luck, I swear,” she says, holding a hand over her heart. He narrows his eyes at her over his cards. She’s leaning back in laughter, having adopted his crossed legs. He takes a card from the deck, adds it to his hand. She fans her cards, hums dramatically.

“Do you have… a… king?” Fenris stares at the three kings in his hand. She shrieks with laughter as he darts forward, meaning to grab the cards from her hand. Cards fold under their knees, their feet, Hawke generally trying and failing to get away. She ends up backed against the wall, one leg bent against her, the other trapped underneath him. His cards are scattered, one hand around her wrist, the other pressed into the mattress. Her eyes are so blue. Her free hand moves upwards, curling warm against his cheek, with a smile to match.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” he says. She doesn’t call attention to it, but it’s recognition that he’s finally held her gaze. He moves to sit next to her, back against the headboard, shoulder against shoulder. They stretch their legs out long, pay no mind to the cards scattered and bent all around. “Thank you. For this.”

“Mhn.” She shakes her head, smile renewed, “I should be the one thanking you. This was nice.”

“Hawke. Thank you,” he tells her, lacing their hands together.

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am…” he trails off.

“But,” she helpfully continues, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“I am,” he sighs deeply, “but at the same time I am not. I know I should be celebrating the fact that Danarius is dead.” He looks at the palm of his free hand, now clean of blood. “Yet, it doesn’t yet feel…” he clenches his hand into a fist. “When I first arrived in Kirkwall, I was unable to sleep. One moment of letting my guard down, and that would be when Danarius would strike. It was the same when we took this estate. I… I thought he might come back to reclaim it. What sleep I did have was filled with – my own fear.” He lets his hand fall to his lap, lets the fist loose.

“When the boat pulled away from Seheron’s shore, with Danarius still aboard…” even now the smile springs unbidden to his lips at the memory of his shock, fury, and complete panic at leaving his precious investment behind. “I felt light, as if a weight had been lifted, and I – and I have told you this before.”

“Go on,” she encourages gently.

“During my time with the Fog Warriors, I had fooled myself into thinking Danarius had truly left me and would not find me. When he walked into the camp,” he tilts his head towards Hawke, his thumb moving over her knuckle, “he didn’t need chains to bind me. Now I have held his heart in my hand, yet I still fear Danarius walking through that door and ordering my return, just as I always have. I’ll sleep tonight, and wake to find slavers pointing their swords at my throat.”

“One day, you’ll wake up and realize that you haven’t thought about Danarius in ages and the fact that he’s gone, really gone, will feel real. I can’t promise that day will be soon, but, it will come. In the meantime I could… you sleep. I’ll keep watch,” she says.

The pastries flake in his hand. She laughs when he shakes the crumbs off his shirt. They sit opposite each other, in the winged back chairs by the fireplace. They talk quietly with each other, and it always feels easy with her. Conversation lulls, renews, and it’s never forced. Silence is comfortably shared, and they wash dishes together. True to her word – he sleeps, she keeps watch. He curls underneath the covers, turns towards the wall. The fire burns low. When his breathing finally evens, his body relaxing, Hawke moves.

She collects his armor, his sword. One by one, she cleans each piece. Each twisting knot, every fold. She cleans away the blood for him. What cloths she uses, she keeps. She dries them by the fire. She looks over his room, some place to keep them. If he ever needs assurances, he’ll have it with these. Her search is stopped by a sudden noise. At first she thinks it may just be the shifting of embers. “No… please…” She closes distance quickly, half kneels on the bed, leaning over and wraps her arms around Fenris’s shaking form. So deep does he dream, he doesn’t wake to her touch. She leans over, her forehead gently knocking against his temple.

“It’s alright,” Hawke murmurs, “Fenris, it’s just a dream. You’re dreaming, you’re dreaming. You have your sword with you, don’t you? You’re strong, you know that. So it’s going to be okay.” She keeps her weight against him as she runs a hand through his hair. “I’m here too.” His clenched fist is slowly letting go of the bunched together sheets. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

#fenris #hawke #fenhawke #dragon age #fenris x hawke #fenris x f!hawke #f!fenhawke #f!hawris #f!hawke #fenris x femhawke #dragon age 2 #da2 #writing #mine

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whump-tr0pes · 4 years

Text

Honor Bound 4 - 19

Honor Bound 4 - 19 (Bleeding Through the Bandages) @badthingshappenbingo

Requested by anon

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3.

AO3

Cw: permanent injury, blood, mild gore (popped stitches), pain medication, discussion of addiction, amputation mention, death mention, brief suicidal thoughts (to escape pain)

Sam jerked awake. Pain lanced through their arm and dragged them out of the fevered nap they’d slumped into after breakfast. They whimpered as the pain spiked and burned, flashing warm across their skin. They groaned and sat up in bed, cradling their arm.

The warmth moved down their arm to their elbow, where it disappeared into the numbness on the inside of their arm. Sam swallowed, their hand shaking as they held their arm out slightly away from their side, their shirtsleeve cut away to give Finn better access to the wound.

Blood was running down their arm from the bandages.

Sam swallowed again, and harder, as they maneuvered themself up and out of bed. Their arm settled in the sling they never took off. Sweat broke out over their skin as they steadied themself, the pain rocking through them again until their vision went black for a moment. They stumbled towards the door and into the hall that led to the living room.

Finn and Ellis were doing a puzzle on the coffee table, their legs touching, their shoulders bumping together. Ellis had barely let Finn out of arm’s reach since they’d escaped. Ellis had been broken, and then healed again when they were returned to their family. Sam was still broken, and now they always would be.

They gritted their teeth and stepped into the living room.

Finn glanced up as they heard Sam come in, then sat up, eyes wide, as they saw the look on Sam’s face. Sam did their best to hold their voice steady.

“I’m, um, b-bleeding,” they rasped.

Finn leapt to their feet and crossed the room in three strides. They guided Sam to a couch and eased them down. Their hands went immediately to the gauze on Sam’s arm, and the blood soaking through it, partially hidden by the sling. Finn lurched back to their feet and disappeared down the hall.

Ellis was pale as they stood, their eyes fixed on Sam. “Sam,” they breathed. “Are you… um… okay?”

No, I’m not okay, Ellis. I’m bleeding and I hurt and I just want the pain to stop and…

Sam bit their lip. “Um, I’m, I’ll be okay.”

Ellis’s hands shook as they took a step towards Sam. “C-can I… um…?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam breathed, nauseated with the pain. They leaned forward and cradled their arm.

“Wh-what happened, did you—”

Finn rushed back into the room, the bag of supplies they’d gathered up from Gray’s stores held tight in their hand. They knelt beside Sam on the floor and started rummaging through.

“Did something happen?” Finn said, their voice low and strained. “Did you fall or something? Or, or catch the stitches on something? Did you—”

“I was asleep,” Sam said, holding back tears. “I was just, um, finally a, asleep and I sort of startled awake, and I guess, and my arm was bleeding.”

“Okay,” Finn said softly. They reached behind Sam’s head and carefully undid the knot tying the sling in place. “I need to get this off you, so I can look. Go ahead and hold your arm up— yeah.” Sam cradled their arm in their hand – they had to stop themself from thinking of it as their good hand – as Finn pulled away the sling. Finn sucked in a quick breath, and Sam glanced down at their arm; the bandage was entirely soaked through, and the side of Sam’s shirt was stained with blood.

“Let me see,” Finn said as they unwound the bandage from around Sam’s arm. The bandage was sticky with blood. When it fell away, Finn let it drop into Sam’s lap. “Going to have to wash those anyway,” they muttered. They grabbed another packet of gauze from the bag and tore it open.

Sam’s head swam as Finn gently pulled the bloody gauze away from the wound. They bit their lip as Finn caught the tiny rivulet of blood in the fresh piece of gauze. Finn carefully inspected the wound, then covered it up again. They pressed gently into Sam’s arm, and they bit back a cry.

“You popped two stitches,” Finn said gently. “It’s okay. Doesn’t look like there’s any serious damage.”

“It feels like there’s damage,” Sam said through their teeth. Their vision blurred with tears.

Finn pressed their lips together. “The best place to repair those is in the bathroom. If I help you, do you think you could make your way over there?”

Sam drew in a slow breath, then nodded.

“Okay. Good. Good. Ellis?” Ellis’s head snapped up and they met Finn’s eyes. “Can you grab the bag and bring it to the bathroom?” Ellis nodded, near frantic. Finn grabbed the bloody bandages from Sam’s lap and pulled them to their feet, the bandages in Finn’s hand staining Sam’s shirt. They kept their other hand on Sam’s wound. Sam bit their lip and wobbled on their feet.

“You good?” Finn asked softly.

“Um, y-yeah,” Sam said, pain thudding through their arm like a jackhammer. “Yeah. L-let’s—”

“Sure.” Finn began to guide them into the kitchen.

Sam looked at Finn, confused. “I th-thought… the bathroom…?”

Finn’s eyebrows pulled together. “Yeah. There’s one just off the laundry room. A bit more room in there and there’s a walk-in shower with a bench if you need to—”

“Sounds good,” Sam bit out. Finn’s hand pressed against their arm felt white-hot. Burning them. Keeping the blood in.

Sam stumbled through the kitchen and into the laundry room that doubled as a mud room. Finn turned and pushed a door open. Sam’s head spun. How did I miss this before? They bit down hard on their lip. The pain in their arm didn’t overshadow the pain in their other wounds, it sharpened it. Intensified it. The whip marks on their back flared as if they were brand new, and the pain in their ribs threatened to crush them with every breath. Sam panted and slumped in Finn’s grasp.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sam, come on, just a little farther, okay? Just let me get you to the bench. Just a few more steps.”

Sam lifted their head and saw a plastic bench against the wall in a tiled shower, stained gray with years of use and grime. They stumbled forward and nearly fell out of Finn’s grasp in their need to just sit down.

Finn eased them to the bench, leaning them back against the wall of the shower. Ellis appeared in the doorway with Finn’s bag, their eyes wide. They dropped the bag to the floor and wrung their hands.

“Finn,” they said, their voice shaking. “Do you need—”

“Help me get their shirt off,” Finn said curtly. Ellis stepped forward.

Sam let their head fall back against the wall. “Finn,” they whimpered. “Why, why does it hurt so— Finn, please…?”

“I don’t know,” Finn said darkly as they and Ellis carefully eased Sam’s shirt up their chest and over their head. Slowly, slowly, they drew the shirt down Sam’s arms. Drying blood made their skin sticky.

“Oh, god,” Sam whispered, their stomach roiling. They lurched forward and shuddered, their skin breaking into a cool sweat.

Finn darted to the side and held Sam’s arm steady. Their other arm stretched across Sam’s chest, keeping them upright. “Sam? You gonna throw up? What’s wrong?” Their voice was calm on the surface, but twisted right at the end.

Sam trembled and squeezed their eyes shut, fighting down the bile that clawed up their throat. They moaned and leaned back. “N-no,” they said softly. “Sorry, Finn.”

“No, no, no, you’re okay,” Finn said gently. They glanced at Ellis. “Make sure they stay—”

“Yeah,” Ellis whispered. They sat down beside Sam and stabilized them on the bench.

Finn pulled their hand away from Sam’s wound again and crouched on Sam’s other side, inspecting closely. “Shit,” they breathed.

“What?” Sam whimpered. “Finn, what, is, is it—”

“It’s a little infected,” Finn murmured, and prodded the wound gently.

Pain exploded through Sam and they cried out raggedly. “Finn, no, g-god, please don’t do that again…”

“Sam, I have to…” Finn leaned in closer, chewing nervously on their lip. “Shit. I can’t do stitches through infected skin. I should… I just have to…” They turned and washed their hands in the metal sink near the door.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked, their voice wavering. “What, what does that, ahh…”

“Gray had some butterfly closures in here. They aren’t as good, but at least I won’t be…” Finn absentmindedly dried their hands on the clean towel hanging beside the sink. They checked their watch. “Dammit. I was hoping enough time had passed that—”

“I want another pill now,” Sam panted, leaning into Ellis’s arms. “Please, Finn, they aren’t doing anything, and I need… Please, Finn, the pill at breakfast let me sleep for the first time in, in weeks, and maybe if I have one more, I can…” Sam heaved a sob, tears running down their cheeks. Their ribs screamed at them.

Finn stepped towards Sam and knelt beside them again. Their head dropped forward and their hand rested on Sam’s knee. “Sam… I can’t. If I just keep ramping you up, it’ll be that much harder to bring your dose back down. You’ll start having pain just as a reaction of withdrawal. It… it sucks, I know, but trust me, this is much better in the long—”

“You don’t know,” Sam whimpered, the room lurching around them. The pain was blinding. “You… you don’t. Finn, I was sleeping for the first time in days and now I’m bleeding and it’s infected and…” They shivered and heaved a sob. “Wh-what if it, it doesn’t matter? What if I get, get septic again and you have to take my arm or I die from it this time or…” Tears rolled down Sam’s cheeks. “Please, Finn. I just want to stop hurting. It just… We can handle it later if I get, um, get addicted. I don’t care about that right now, I just want… please…”

“Hey. Sam.” Finn guided Sam’s head up with a hand on their chin. “Look at me. I am not letting you die from this. Okay? I won’t let that happen.”

“But what if it—”

“Then we figure it out,” Finn said fiercely. “Just like we always do. I’ll get better antibiotics. I’ll find another medical provider, a doctor or something. There’s no way there isn’t a single doctor in all of the north. I’ll find someone who can help you. Okay? I am not letting this kill you.”

“Then… you can give me something else for the pain, and help me stop when I need to,” Sam murmured. Their skin shone with sweat. “You can… you can do anything, Finn.”

Except fix my arm.

Sam shuddered and bit down hard on their lip at the thought that forced its way into their mind. Immediately on its heels was guilt, shame, ingratitude for all Finn had done. Sam would have died in Lucy and Topher’s garage if not for Finn. Sam would have died almost a year ago.

Finn hung their head. “S-Sam…” They squeezed Sam’s leg. “Once I, um, get rid of this infection, it won’t hurt as much. Okay? And…” They raised their head, thinking. “Maybe I could get my hands on some Toradol. Definitely not a long-term fix, you can only be on it for a week or so, but… it does really good things. Or maybe I could get some…” Finn fell silent as they thought. “I don’t know. We’ll see what Gray brings back.” Slowly, their eyes focused. “But for now, I can do things here.” They reached for the bag again.

“No more stitches, right?” Sam begged, sagging in Ellis’s arms. “Please, no more stitches…”

“No more stitches,” Finn said softly. “At least, not today.”

Sam’s lips trembled with a weak stab of relief. “Okay, um… I’ve been taking the antibiotics like you said, why hasn’t—”

“You’d be a lot worse if you weren’t,” Finn said as the rummaged through the bag. “A lot worse. This is small. We caught it, and I can probably stop it from getting any worse.” They pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “This, though…” They looked apologetically up at Sam. “This is, um… g-going to hurt.”

Sam’s head fell onto Ellis’s shoulder. Ellis gently stroked Sam’s arm as they cradled them gently. “No,” Sam whimpered.

“I’m sorry,” Finn said, their voice breaking. “I’ll make it quick.” They unscrewed the lid, poured some onto a square of gauze, and pressed it to Sam’s wound before Sam could open their mouth to beg again.

Sam threw their head back and screamed. Agony seared through them, burning their flesh, razing their nerves, as Finn pressed the gauze against the wound. Sam twisted away from the pain. Ellis’s arms constricted around them and held them down on the bench, while Finn pinned Sam’s arm against the wall and wiped the wound clean, gently scrubbing away the drying blood. Sweat soaked into Sam’s clothes, and they convulsed against the holds on them.

“Finn, please, no, no!” Sam pleaded, yanking against Finn’s grip and crying out as it only made the pain burn hotter. “Finn, no! No, no, no, please…”

“I’m done,” Finn said urgently as they dropped the gauze to the floor and pulled Sam close. “I’m done. Worst part’s over.”

The lash marks on Sam’s back flared and they sobbed brokenly, twisting out of Finn’s embrace. They pushed Finn away and cringed back against Ellis. “No!” they shrieked through their teeth. “Finn… d-don’t, don’t touch me…”

Finn froze. Tears shone in their eyes as they reached into the bag again. Sam scrambled back, trying to hide between Ellis and the wall. “Finn, please, no, d-don’t, no more, please…”

Finn’s hand emerged from the bag with a tube of ointment. “It’s okay,” Finn murmured, their voice shaking. “It’s alright. It’ll numb you a little. It’s numbing antibiotic ointment. It’ll make you feel better. I promise.”

Sam stared at Finn, their eyes darting over Finn’s face, trembling in Ellis’s arms, desperate for relief. “Finn…” they whispered. “Please… do you, do you promise…?”

“Yes,” Finn said fervently. “I promise. No more alcohol. Just some numbing ointment, then the butterfly strips and bandages, then…” Finn swallowed hard. “Then another morphine. Then we’ll get you back to bed. Okay? That’s all.” Finn reached for Sam’s hand. “I swear.”

Sam huddled against Ellis’s side. They could feel Ellis trembling, could feel the tension in their chest as they held back a sob. Ellis’s hand went to Sam’s hair and smoothed slowly through. Soothing. Gentle. Sam’s eyes slid shut and they whimpered against Ellis’s shoulder. “O-okay, Finn,” they whispered, and let Finn take their hand, turning their arm so they could reach the wound. Sam’s eyes flew open and they watched Finn, shuddering.

Finn squeezed out a strip of ointment onto a square of gauze and held it up to Sam’s arm. “Just a little bit of this, and then the strips. Okay?” Finn waited for Sam’s nod. Sam squeezed their eyes shut and turned their face against Ellis.

As Finn smeared the ointment against the wound, Sam stiffened and bit down on their lip against the scream that built in their throat. They panted and strained to keep still, to let Finn help them. To let Finn save them again, even though in that moment Sam wished they could just drop dead on the floor. Tears soaked into Ellis’s shirt, and Ellis gently cradled Sam’s head.

“There you go, Sam,” Ellis said gently, and kissed Sam’s hair. “There you go. Almost done.” Their voice had an almost sing-song quality to it, and it soothed Sam’s nerves. They groaned softly and relaxed a little into the touch.

Finn wiped away the excess ointment and reached into the bag again. They pulled out two butterfly strips. “Okay, Sam,” they said, their voice pitched low. “This is going to hurt again.” Sam whimpered and pressed their face into Ellis’s shoulder. “But it’s the last step, then you get some pain meds. Last step, then you can go to bed, okay?”

Sam bit down on their lip and nodded slowly.

“Okay.” Finn reached up and pinched the wound shut.

Sam shuddered and flinched back against the wall. They locked their muscles and forced themself to hold still for Finn.

Finn smoothed the strip over the wound with their fingers and reached for the second one. “Almost done, Sam,” they said urgently. “Almost done.” Sam cringed away as they pinched the wound shut again and put on the second strip. Sam slumped with relief when Finn pulled their hands away.

“Okay,” Finn said, and reached for more gauze. “Bandage, morphine, bed. You’re so close, Sam. Ellis, would you mind going and getting Sam a new shirt and pants?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Ellis eased Sam against the wall and slid out of the room. Sam shivered at the cold tile on their back.

Finn reached for the towel beside the sink and turned on the tap, waiting until the water was steaming before wetting down the towel. “Let’s get you cleaned up a little more,” they said weakly. They dropped to their knees and brought the towel to scrub the blood off Sam’s arm, away from the wound, smeared and stained all the way down to their right hand.

Sam flinched at the heat of the towel, then relaxed into the warmth as Finn cleaned the blood off their skin. They bit down on a sob as Finn gently scrubbed at the blood on their side, pressing on the bruises spread across Sam’s ribs. The pain in their arm was dulling a burning ache, like a hot coal was trapped under their skin. They slumped back, exhausted.

Finn took both of Sam’s hands in theirs and squeezed. “I’m so sorry,” they said quietly. “But you did so well. I… I really needed to do that.” They raised their gaze to Sam, their eyes rimmed red, the shallow lines on their face made deep with stress. “Thank you.”

Tears rolled down Sam’s cheeks, and they nodded. Ellis came back in with a clean shirt, this one too with the right sleeve removed, and a pair of pants. Finn helped Sam sit forward, and they and Ellis eased the shirt over Sam’s head. As it came down over their chest, Ellis blinked and shifted their eyes away. Sam flushed with shame.

They’re looking at my bruises.

Finn cleared their throat. “Ellis, will you hold their arm away from their body?”

Ellis adjusted their hold on Sam and reached around them to gently support their arm, keeping Sam firmly in their embrace. Finn gently placed the gauze over the wound and wound a fresh bandage around it. They tied it in place and tied a fresh sling under their arm and around their neck.

“How does that feel?” Finn murmured, checking the sling and bandages. Sam drew in a breathless gasp and nodded. Finn nodded once and looked to Ellis. “Okay. Help me get them up?”

Sam groaned as Finn and Ellis eased them up off the bench and to their feet. Finn steadied Sam as Ellis gently pulled Sam’s pants off their hips, and gently sat them down again. Then the clean pants went over their legs, and they went back to their feet so Ellis could pull the pants up. Sam wobbled in place, their cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Can’t bathe, can’t dress myself, can’t eat without help. Their hand latched onto Finn’s sleeve until they could stand without the room pitching around them. They took a step forward. Finn and Ellis supported them and guided them out of the room.

Sam walked through the kitchen, barely feeling the hands on them. They shivered as the pain in their arm spiked and faded, twisting their stomach but nowhere near what it had been when Finn soaked the wound in alcohol. They shuffled their feet as they moved through the living room and down the hall to their room.

As Finn pushed open the door, the black cat on Sam’s bed lifted his head and trilled at Sam. Sam’s lips pulled into a tentative smile as Finn and Ellis eased them down until they were seated on the bed. The cat got to his feet and stretched, first arching his back until he was nearly folded in half, his orange eyes sliding shut, then sticking his back feet out behind him, one at a time.

Finn took the ever-present pill bottle from their pocket and dumped a pill out into Sam’s hand. Sam tossed it back, and gratefully took the cup of water from their nightstand out of Finn’s hand. Finn gently cradled Sam’s shoulders and helped them lay down on their left side, taking the pressure off the lashes on their back. Sam sighed as the room stopped swaying for the first time since they woke up. They slumped back against the pillow, their eyes sliding shut.

Finn drew the covers up over Sam, brushing their sweaty curls back away from their face. After a moment, Finn bent and kissed Sam on the forehead.

“If you need anything,” Finn murmured softly, “You come get me. Okay? If you start bleeding again, if the pain is… is too much, you come get me.”

Sam nodded weakly. “Okay,” they sighed. They felt the jostle as Finn stood up. They heard the door close as Finn and Ellis left the room.

They felt the air move as the cat – Nata, Gray called him – sniffed Sam’s face. They felt the warmth against their chest as the cat curled up in the space between Sam’s slinged arm, and their chin.

They felt the vibration as the cat began to purr. Then they drifted.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @inaridriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump

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admdmrtn · 4 years

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7 with your edith & adam! <3

this took way too long for me to finish i’m so sorry!!!!! AHHHHH thank you for sending one in though! ❤️

7. routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing alt. title: the food is too salty, you must be in love

“—an absolute idiot!”

Adam winces visibly at the sound of loud slamming against what hopefully is merely the countertop before wondering momentarily if he should intervene lest someone gets hurt.

He sighs afterwards, recalling how simply stupid he’s been to have stood outside the apartment for the past few minutes - a duffel bag full of both her and his clothes combined hanging on one shoulder - just trying to work out a good enough clarification for his visit to inform Edith’s unexpected guest whilst also listening to said guest’s disastrous date tales from tonight. From what he had gathered so far, it seems that Officer Poname has had to cut her dinner plans short due to the impeccable stupidity of her evening’s companion and had since decided to come straight to her friend’s home for a venting session.

Unbeknownst to her however was the fact that he and Edith have plans of their own too.

“It doesn’t take a bloody cop to know the difference between dried wine stains and fresh lipstick marks!” Tina groans. When she speaks again, her voice is muffled, possibly from having her face in her hands. “I’ve never wanted to strangle a man—”

“Tina.”

“—hypothetically strangle a man,” the distressed officer corrects herself quickly. “You get what I mean, though.”

“I do,” Edith assures her friend. “Honestly, it’s good he messed up now,” she continues, “saves you the time.”

Tina huffs in resignation before clicking her tongue. “Yeah, I guess,” she finally concedes, a lot calmer than previously.

“And money.”

“Now that,” Tina snorts. “That’s very true— y’know I almost got a Brazilian today?”

As she yarns a new story, Adam focuses his attention onto Edith’s sporadic hums - her verbal cue to let her friend know that she’s listening. He hears the soft beating of her heart, thumping rhythmically in the background like a ritual drum, and smiles lazily to himself.

Ever since their first meeting, it’s not her brilliance in combat or scientific matters that has continuously impressed him. Instead, it’s been Edith’s natural ability to see the silver lining in most things. As stoic and blunt as she may be, she is still undoubtedly one of the most positive persons he’s met; always so full of hope even if she doesn’t express them as openly as others. And Adam’s been left in awe numerous times whenever he sees her work it on someone, even more so when she works it on him.

Before he realizes it, Adam lifts a hand and knocks on the front door. Almost instantly, a shout in reply comes back.

“No one home!”

“Tina,” Edith chuckles.

“Worth a shot,” her friend says dismissively before shouting to the door again, and Adam does all he can this time not to grimace. “One second!”

Amidst the leftover ringing in his ears from her loud, sonorous voice, the locks on the door click before swinging open just as hastily. Tina peers from the inside, her mouth open as if ready for another booming statement but upon noticing who it is before her, it’s left hanging from slight shock.

“Officer Poname,” he greets first.

“Oh!” She exclaims. “Adam, er, sir agent—”

“Commanding Agent,” Edith calls from the kitchen. Adam’s gaze snaps over to where her back is facing them, and he forgets briefly that there was ever someone else in the same vicinity.

“Right, Commanding Agent Adam du Mortain, sir, yes,” Tina grins, winking and clearly having too much fun. “Come on in! Are you here for business or pleasure?”

Adam’s eyes widen for a split second and he quickly recomposes himself, clearing his throat when he replies, as coolly as he can, “just business.”

Edith hums softly, meant only for him to hear; they both know that’s a lie.

Tina raises an eyebrow as she watches him remove his shoes, a habit that’s slowly come to form from the numerous times he’s been over, but she remains quiet before motioning him to follow her.

While walking into the kitchen, he explains to the two ladies present, hoping to sound casual. “Agent Oshiro had instructed that I return the Detective’s belongings,” he says too simply. “From the last time she had visited the Big City Headquarters, that is.”

“Did she now?” Edith asks, eyes not straying away from the vegetables she’s cutting. The slight uplift at the corners of her mouth tells him that she is not convinced - as she should, considering the blatant lie Adam had just pulled out of thin air.

He watches her, comfortable in the kitchen, composed and confident as always. When no attempts are made to further the conversation, Tina claps her hands together, eyes swinging back and forth from Edith to Adam.

“Well,” she announces, “I’ll be in the wee girl’s room if anyone needs me. Or not.” She finger guns to them both, walking backwards before spinning on her heel and skipping away.

Adam barely hears the bathroom door slamming shut even though it’s done so with more force than necessary; he’s much too keen to get closer to Edith. Moving to set the bag down on the island, he then silently makes his way to stand behind her, his hands finding their favourite place on her waist. He leans down right as she tilts her head sideways towards him, offering him her cheek.

He complies without question nor hesitation, pressing his lips onto her soft skin before dragging damn slowly to the little spot just under her ear. Another favourite.

“I’m sorry about Tina,” Edith says, now gently sliding the chopped peppers off the cutting board and into the pot; Adam wrinkles his nose at the pungent smell of it. “I didn’t know she’d come over tonight.”

“A minor complication,” Adam replies, fingers still firm on her, his thumbs carefully kneading into her side while he remains nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Really, all he ever wants tonight is to keep staying this close to Edith - if not closer. But the thought of getting caught by their sneaking guest nags at the back of his head, and he contemplates letting go.

Still, his plans go to foil when he feels Edith leaning into him. When she turns her head to look at him over his shoulder, Adam does nothing to stop himself from meeting her lips with his own.

He sighs, deepening the kiss almost immediately, lifting a hand so that he can hold the side of her face. All these years, of all the things he’s slowly come to accept, Adam has tried over and over to experience once again the pleasure of getting even the slightest bit tipsy; one wine glass after the other, he never would’ve thought that when he does eventually find himself high on intoxication, it’d be off the taste of Edith’s lips. When she moans into him, Adam’s hold on her tightens, wanting nothing more to keep drinking every bit of her.

But then the toilet flushes, the sound making the both of them break apart.

Edith sighs as she turns back to the pot of stew she’s brewing - Tina’s choice. At the same time, Adam glances quickly to the bathroom door as it opens and takes a step back out of caution before whispering. “I’ll be back.”

She looks at him again, unresolved desire looming in the depths of her dark eyes.

“And I’ll be waiting.”

Adam makes quick work to leave, merely explaining that he’s needed somewhere else to Tina when she asks. After he’s gone and Tina’s locked the front door, she sits on the island again, eyeing the duffel bag suspiciously.

“That was nice of him to drop by,” she starts, clasping her hand together on the counter and smiles knowingly to her friend.

“It’s been long overdue,” Edith waves it off with one hand, the other busy scooping stew into bowls. “He must have been tired of me whining about not having time to get my clothes back.”

Tina hums, dragging it like an exaggerated detective would before they bust a culprit. “Huh,” she nods, “so was he also tired of you whining about not making out with him or..?”

A big smile stretches itself across Edith’s lips, and she sticks her tongue in her cheek, shaking her head. Carrying over two full bowls of spicy kimchi stew, she throws a look to Tina. “Shut up or no food for you,” she threatens mockingly.

“No, please,” Tina pouts, “I need the food, I’m starved.”

Rolling her eyes, Edith settles into a stool across the island.

“But really though,” her friend persists. “Impulsive is a good look on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Edith brushes it off as she brings a spoonful of stew to her mouth, blowing at it lightly and then carefully tastes it. The startling saltiness makes her blech, and she makes a face while trying to swallow the hot food. “Weird,” she mutters. “I usually have the recipe down—”

She’s interrupted by Tina chuckling; when Edith glances over, she sees her friend with her own spoon raised. “Das essen ist versalzen, du bist verliebt,” she winks before eating another mouthful of stew - it being spicy, hot or salty not concerning her one bit. “Explains a lot.”

tags | @katbee @masonsfangs @agentsunshine @echohauville @vienocalledmebuddy @freckles-spangledvampire @lilas (please let me know if you want to be on/off the tag list!)

#i'll start including the tag list for art too maybe #n e ways #a du mortain #detective edith oshiro #edam #twc fic #the wayhaven chronicles #kissing prompts ask #long post #mutual ashley #ask alicia #masterlist

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cosmiclatte28 · 4 years

Text

Broken Angel (Yuta)

idol! Yuta x Angel! reader

ANGST! SAD ENDING... you’ve been warned

MENTIONS OF BLOOD AND SUICIDE please do not read if you’re sensitive to these contents, instead head to my master post and find my other fluff stories!

happy angst-ish!

You take one last look over your once big strong silver wings. The one that would glow under the moonlight, get so heavy if drained under the rain, and of course the strong one that would fly you through the sky. You hold your breath and bite your lips as you saw them slowly turning black. The feathers wither as the clock strikes twelve times in mid night.

You stifle your tears, bite your lips in order to keep your voice low so the human sleeping on the bed won’t get up. The calendar mocks you with one box encircled with big red mark. Tonight, is the night, the night you lost your wings for failing as an angel. Yes, failing the mission and surprise surprise! breaking the rules.

The last pair of silver feather turned black as gravity drags them down to the ground. Your back hurts and you see your broken reflection. You walk slowly to the closet Yuta has in his room. This is a Japanese room, there is nothing wrong about having a samurai in your closet. Yuta had told you about this and you made sure to remember where he store it, because you knew one day you’ll need it. That day has come, tonight to be precise.

You’re an angel sent to the world to look after a young idol. A Japanese man who debuted as a kpop boyband member. Your mission was to make him fall in love and find his other half, but you failed miserably.

From first sight, you felt in love, you felt jealousy, and obsession. Angels could actually never feel jealous and obsessed, yet there is you. Sitting on top of his cupboard at nights, keeping yourself invincible until he’s ready to meet you. Every night you look after him, making sure there is no one breaking into his room, no mosquitos that will disturb him, even worse no saesangs in his room.

For 100 days, you have to make him fall in love. And he did, so as you

First ten days, you spent them looking around for anyone suitable for him. He got billions of fans, but you don’t feel anyone can be his other half.

The next ten days, you follow him everywhere he go and you keep yourself hideous. Yuta still did not know you, until day 15.

You were using his kitchen, thinking he won’t be home before seven. You used his kitchen on six to cook yourself some food, you forgot your camouflage since you’ve got so little energy. Yuta freaked out at first, but you quickly showed him your wings. That was the only way Yuta finally agreed to let you stay there. He did pull and tried to take off your wings, thinking those were fake. Alas to no avail, he can’t pull what the god had planted on the angel in his house.

By the next morning, you told him your mission and you broke the first dangerous rule. You stepped so far into the human life, telling him all about angels, the rules, and everything he was not supposed to hear.

Day 30 in mission, you’ve totally fell for this man with a healing smile. Yuta flirted with you and your sensitive heart can no longer hold back.

Day 50, he had bravely asked you to try and date him. You agreed thinking maybe in the last 50 days you can still find him a girl and you can leave Earth and Yuta without any problem.

Yuta was the type of man to protect you and super possessive. He did not hesitate to show the world you are his. Yes you can shape shift, hiding your wings and just walking on the roads casually like you’re a normal woman.

Every day, he sneaked in to see you between practices, your ability to be invincible made it easy to be here and there. You could always meet him in the small vocal room, big dancing room, in the changing room, even bathroom.

Day 70, he took your first kiss. Touching has been insufficient; Yuta craves for more and you forgot the eternal rules to never let a human kiss or touch your intimate parts. For every kiss, you feel your body and heart burning, you feel your head super heavy, and for every touch, you will pay them back with the burden of the wing demolishing process.

Yes you know you’ll need to bare the crazy painful wing demolishing process. You’ve lost count his sweet kisses and you mis count his teasing hands. Though it was painful for you, you’ve never told Yuta nor have you the idea to stop. The super wonderful feeling whenever his lips collided into yours, failed to slap you to your senses.

Twenty last days on Earth, Yuta is totally in love with you too. You thought it’s a happy ending…. You love him, he loves you bam the two of you are each other’s missing piece. However, life was never that beautiful. Angels could never become one with human and as hard as you want to try and deny that, you were forced to agree that you two can’t be together. The god above had punished you with lowering your abilities and power day by day. You thought there were only small amount of time, and you bare the pain by yourself to make Yuta smile every time he sees you in between hard times and tiring schedules.

You thought everything was worth it, until ten days your last day in Earth, you saw him looking at a girl with a very different look. You noted his eyes were full of hearts, his voice even sweeter, and his smile… the best smile you saw on a man.

Your heart aches when you saw him showing interest to her and as day goes by you saw him seeing her more often. The last straw was seeing the two of them kiss in front of you. Your tears flooded your face and you ran all the way back home. It feels like heaven had punished you into a painful truth and reality. You could never mess up with fate, coz fate will always come to make his story as planned.

Day 99, you feel the lack of love Yuta has to you. Every night where he hugged you, now felt different. He still hugs you, but the warmth and safe feeling were missing.

That night, you corrupted his mind and made him sleep with you. People have slept with the devil, but Yuta… Yuta slept with the angel. You swore that was the best sin you ever did. Sex with Yuta was everything you could imagine. He whispered you an “I love you” when you both reach your high.

That and a last kiss was enough to end your chapter and for him to go into deep sleep.

That night when the moon shines so beautifully over your silver wings, you glance to Yuta. Sleeping peacefully like a baby and you bring yourself to the mirror. You walked through your punishment by your side, not even with a helping hand from the man who was also responsible.

You grab the samurai in your hands. Trembling, you saw your tear stained face over the shiny polished blade. When you close your eyes and swing your hands to stab yourself in the heart, you heard a loud scream and someone pulling yourself away.

Yuta cradled you in his tight embrace, your weak grip left the metal. Yuta fell with you to the ground, his cries were hysterical and you found your peace when he hold you close next to his heartbeat. From your peripheral view, you could see the shattered black feather around the two of you slowly turning into an ash.

“Stay with me.. why.. why did you do this?” Yuta managed to speak them up between his tears.

He hold you tight, ignoring his white shirt turning dark red, ignoring the wet feeling of his hands as he hold you with all his might.

‘Hold on.. I’ll call the ambulance.” He almost leave you, but you hold him first.

‘Don’t I won’t survive. It’s my punishment Yuta…” you were crying as your eyes start to blurr.

“Yuta.. Don’t leave me… I can’t see you.” You said weakly

He bring your hand to touch his cheeks, they were wet from the tears and you could see pain all over his eyes.

“Go with that girl, she loves you” you speak very slow, you even wonder if Yuta could catch the words.

He shakes his head, “No… you’re the one I am inlove with.. how could you leave me?! Why did you stab yourself.. why (Y/n) what should I do?!”

You force a smile, when he pressed your hands on his cheek, “Tell me how I can save you.”

“Smile… tell me you love me..” you gasped “and kiss me”

He forced himself to smile, he whispered to you tons of I love you and when your breathing gets harder, he placed his lips over your bloody ones.

He tasted the metallic blood of yours in his mouth, tears are competing one another to fall to the ground. For every tears touching your skin, you burn.

“no!” Yuta screamed when he realized your skin are melting away. Those moon white skin, the perfect porcelain skin only angels can have. You did not feel them though, for you’ve train your body with the burn whenever Yuta kisses you.

‘Stay with me Yuta… When this is all gone, take my ashes… drown them to the sea.” You look at him for the last time

He looks so wrecked, you feel bad now seeing him this miserable.

“Promise me love, be happy, find your soulmate, and let go off me. Thank you Yuta..”

‘I love you”

Those were the last words I said before closing my eyes and slowly turning into ashes in his hugs. Yuta cried himself to sleep.

He woke up the next day, body curled in a fetal position, ashes and black feathers all around him, the once bloody samurai was now clean but with traces of burnt on the shiny metal.

Yuta actually cannot accept your lost, he actually never loves that girl, he kissed him coz he lost control. You are everything he wanted.

But you’re now gone, you’re following the rules, angels that broke rules and failing mission will follow the textbook of punishments.

In grief, Yuta did your last message. He collected your ashes in a jar and with a black suit, red puffy eyes, Yuta walked under the rain with a black umbrella and your ash.

He took you to the beach he remembered you really love, and as he sits down on the sands.

The young man took his time to spill his heart out. While holding back tears, Yuta did your last request.

He however did not promise you to find the love of his life. No, for now he will grief upon your lost and he won’t open his heart for someone else.

the end

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a-lonely-tatertot · 4 years

Text

Finding Home

A/N: HIIIIIII IM BACK BOIS! Anyways this is a shorter chapter I didn’t wanna mess with outline so you get tiny chapter. sooo woot woot for like barely 2k words? But like the doc im writing this on is at like 19k and 29 pages i am in shock. trying to get back a consistent updating with this so uh yeah dont keep your hopes up tho- working on ch. 7 rn hope you enjoy! As always betaed by the glorious @bookwyrminspiration

words: 2208

tw: none

wattpad ao3

Chapter 6: These Secrets Stain Us Red

They had gotten off the bus at the last stop before Kull, stepping out into the cold air. Sophie glanced at the trees in the distance turning orange and yellow. Distantly, she remembered when she was younger this was her favorite season, how the leaves would fall and crunch at her feet, and how it was actually somewhat bearable to be outside. She smiled at the memory as she held Linh’s hand, walking quickly to the gas station, her stomach already grumbling.

“Linh?” a voice called from behind them as they stood in line. Linh swung around, trying to find the source of who called her, nearly startling Sophie into almost dropping her water. The mystery person stepped out from behind a small cluster of people with an overly energetic wave. “Linh! It is you!” he called.

Sophie watched as Linh’s eyes landed on the man and her whole expression shifted. As opposed to the man’s own happiness, Linh seemed to put a wall between her real emotions and the rest of the world, her face betraying nothing. “Hey, Sameul!” Linh said in pretend excitement; Sophie knew that her words carried an undertone of malice.

This Sameul was not the man Sophie had seen in the memories, but from Linh’s reaction, he seemed to probably be involved in whatever Linh was in.

“That’s me,” Sameul responded, clearly not getting Linh’s annoyance like Sophie was. “Geez, it’s been what, how many months since I last saw you?”

“Yeah it’s been a while,” Linh said, her shoulders rigid and her jaw set. Who the heck is this guy? she thought. Their name was called and Sameul followed them to go pick up their food. Sophie tried not to feel trapped with the way Linh’s eyes darted.

Sameul smiled ruefully, “Last time I saw you you had a little backpack and were running out the door in the middle of the night.” Linh took in a sharp breath and stuttering to a halt, her tray of food almost dropping. Sophie raised her eyebrows, more confused than ever. There was a beat then a sharp ring interrupted the weighted silence and Linh’s eyes widened with relief.

“Oh Sam, I’m sorry, that’s her sister calling. She’s really gotta take that. Why don’t you come with me?” Linh asked, more of a command than a suggestion. Reluctantly, Sophie pressed accept on her phone, ready to unleash the crazy whirlwind of shit that she had found out on one completely unprepared Amy. “What up checking in blame Tina she was worried,” Amy said, boredom concealing her concern.

“Uhuh sure Tina was worried,” Sophie chuckled. “Anyways, Linh is being super suspicious.”

Amy made a startled noise, “O-okay then so not well.”

Sophie nodded even though Amy couldn’t see her, “Yup, also uh side note, totally did not watch another one of her memories.” “Sophie! It’s like you’re trying to do it on purpose!”

“It was an accident I swear!”

“Mhm, yeah, definitely.”

Sophie grumbled, “Oh screw off. Anyway, I was in this bathroom and her knuckles were all bloody like she had punched something. And then this guy came in and said that she wasn’t allowed to be reckless anymore, but from what I saw it was like she was living with some other runaway people I guess?”

Amy was silent for a moment. “Well damn.”

“Yeah,” Sophie agreed. “You shoulda seen her when this guy recognized her while we were getting food; she got like scary tense and for a moment I thought she was gonna water power him.” “Water power him? Really? That’s what you’re calling it?” Amy said. Sophie could practically hear her raising her eyebrow. “At that point just call it water bending.”

“I refuse to call it that.”

“How dare you; you’ve disrespected our childhood.” Sophie laughed. “But seriously,” Amy continued, and she knew she wasn’t going to like what she was going to say next, “Soph, what happened to telling her about the memories? Instead, you just spied more.” “She’s the one with the sketchy past!”

“That you don’t have any right to!”

“She’s been weird and I need to figure out why. Once I do I’ll tell her everything.”

“No, you don’t need to figure it out yourself! You need to talk to her and she will tell you if she’s ready to.” “Don’t tell me what to do Amy. She lied to me. The first night we were together we talked about how we got here and she lied to me like it never happened.”

“This isn’t war Sophie. Just because you’re scared, just because she lied doesn’t mean you get to invade her privacy. She’s not the enemy Sophie, she’s your girlfriend.”

Sophie hung up and her phone buzzed twice more while she watched Linh walk back over to her. This wasn’t Amy’s problem, this wasn’t Amy’s life, so screw her for trying to tell her what to do. She had the abilities and she was sure as hell going to use them. “Sam left,” Linh said with a clearly fake smile. “Said he should probably get back on the bus and didn’t want to intrude.”

At that Sophie raised an eyebrow, she didn’t need to use her telepathy to know it was a lie.

Stepping on the bus felt like placing the weight of the world on her shoulders. She knew that man was something to Linh, or Linh was something to him; maybe he was what Linh was running from. She didn’t have regrets when she reached carefully out to Sameul’s mind and glanced at what he said to Linh. Maybe she should’ve regretted it, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She needed to know, when she had left the Lost Cities it was her way of saying “I will not be lied to even if it seems better that way”. So much had been kept from her and here she was, getting things from the source instead of waiting for someone to tell her.

The words, “You haven’t changed Linh,” rang in her ears as she pulled back, not letting any emotions show on her face as Linh followed behind her. Linh didn’t say anything so Sophie didn’t say anything and they settled into a tense silence as the bus around them buzzed with noise. Sophie tried to think of something to say as the words played on repeat in her head but Linh beat her to it.

“You never told me much about Mari, about what she means to you,” Linh said. Each word seemed rehearsed as if she had said it in her head a thousand times before speaking the words into existence. “I didn’t know you cared,” Sophie responded quickly before she could think it through.

“Tell me about Mari?” Linh asked softly.

Despite what Sophie was hiding from Linh and what Linh was hiding from her, she couldn’t stop herself from talking. The words may have meant nothing as she rambled on about her life there, only meant to be a distraction, but she let them spill from her lips without hesitation. She talked of Tommy, Angie, and Mari, of her weekly game nights, of the regulars at the diner. The people she had come to love yet when the time came she didn’t hesitate to leave ‘cause she was scared. Scared of the permanence of it, scared she’d lose herself in the dream of it. And how when she burned those bridges all she felt was a gaping hole in herself. As she talked she thought of the people she had left in the Lost Cities; how she burned it all like she had when she was young and reckless and angry burning her mark, the moonlark, into the ground desperate to prove something, desperate to mean something. But now she was afraid of that, tearing everything to shreds, burning it to ashes because she didn’t know how to mean something to someone. She thought of what Amy had said and briefly wondered if she would ever be able to just talk about something instead of treating everything as a mystery she was destined to solve. Eventually, her words lulled Linh to sleep and she let out a soft sigh of contentment as she laid her head on Sophie’s shoulder. Sophie glanced at Linh, only allowing herself a quick look at her girlfriend’s soft and relaxed face before staring out the window watching the gravel pass, not allowing herself time for her guilt and sadness to rise. She wasn’t allowed those feelings. With every fiber of herself Sophie dreaded and couldn’t wait for the moment they stepped off of the bus into Kull, the town with as weird of a name as people.

An hour later, as the sun started to fall behind the trees and the sky began to turn dark, that moment came and Sophie found her entire body filled with anxiety. They made their way to the front, Sophie in front of Linh, her hand stretched behind her holding Linh’s hand like a lifeline.

They were the only ones getting off and within seconds they were left standing on the dirt road, the bus was long gone. The air was cold, and the wind blew lightly, tossing around Sophie’s ponytail. Neither spoke to the other, standing in silence, staring at the buildings in front of them. It felt like they’d break a spell if they moved, if they talked, so Sophie didn’t. But Linh did (a spell didn’t need to last an eternity in her mind, just for the moment that it was intended for). Linh squeezed Sophie’s hand three times, dragging her out of her haze to stare at Linh confused.

“It’s a human thing,” Linh said sheepishly. Distantly Sophie remembered Amy teaching her, three squeezes, “I love you”. Four squeezes back and Sophie had said, “I love you too.” She didn’t have time to think if it was a lie because with that she started walking, entirely on autopilot, the familiar route to Mari’s house ingrained in her mind. It was after hours, so there’d be no point going to the diner. So she dragged Linh down main street, taking a left about halfway down, and then it was another block til she found herself outside the door on the white porch of the bright mobile home with her whole body buzzing. It was almost too much to be there; staring at it again it was like nothing had changed. But something had, because she didn’t have a key, and so she knocked with all of the impulsive courage she had left.

Three rapid knocks.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five seconds.

The door opened with a creak.

It wasn’t Mari.

There was a man, about her height, hair pulled in a bun and silver bangs over glasses. He was familiar, why was he familiar? Linh drew in a harsh breath of air and squeezed Sophie’s hand as tight as she could. That was when the puzzle pieces fell into place. That’s when it all made sense. The man standing in front of her was someone she hadn’t seen in two years other than in the memories she had unrightfully stolen from him. The man standing in front of her, still with his signature silver, was Tam Song.

Amy’s phone buzzed next to her, pulling her away from rereading her homework question for the eight time. Ever since Sophie’s call and her following silence Amy couldn’t focus; she tried to distract herself, and pulled herself away from texting Linh and telling her everything Sophie had told her. It’s not my place, she would think. It’s not part of the plan. Her phone unlocked and she slowly processed the photo and message. It was a picture of Sophie leaning her back against the gas station with her hand holding her phone to her ear. It was just like her co-conspirators to be that dramatic they had to send a photo too.

-Operation Collect the Dumbasses-

Braincell Holder: You know we heard that call. Pure of Heart Dumb of Ass: I thought we said that I would start this conversation? No Thoughts Head Empty: Yeah well you took too long. Braincell Holder: Not the Point. The Mental Stability: And the Point? This felt too pointed, Amy thought. Way too pointed and directed at her. Her phone buzzed again. Braincell Holder: Having second thoughts? Only slightly, Amy thought, but no no this needed to happen. The Mental Stability: No Pure of Heart Dumb of Ass: Thank the fucking ancients we can move on No Thoughts Head Empty: We’ve got a Phase 3 to begin

Phase 3, which they already had planned, would be the hardest to set up. Everything had to be just the right timing and just the right place.

Incoming call from Braincell Holder

Amy smiled as she accepted the call and long red hair popped into the frame. “Where is she?” Amy asked.

The redhead grinned, “She’ll be here in a minute, you know how Mrs. Sparkly Justice is; she’s got meetings but she said she’s got a friend who wants to help.”

Amy smiled, their little band of conspirators and their plan was working better than she could’ve imagined.

“So,” Amy said, “Where do we start?”

#appologies for italics i missed #tumblr was being shitty and i wasn't gonna do it all #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #amy foster #sophie foster #kotlc fic #kotlc fan fic #solinh #tam song #finding home #tater writes #kotlc sophie #kotlc amy #kotlc linh #kotlc tam

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