#they just come back to haunt me when I stumble on them 2 days later

[lily-alphonse]

Love seeing my followers like things that I post across multiple fandoms like hm, yes, you have taste, thank you.

This unique intersection of interests pleases me, I will look fondly upon your username henceforth

[engeorged]

In Good Hands?

Author's note: This is my attempt to write a ghost story, inspired by some of the amazing artwork out there featuring ghost hands. Also, I can't find a way to naturally explain what Yann looks like in the story, but as I'm writing to him, I'm picturing him as something akin to John Krasinski. Very tall and unconventionally handsome but with a killer bod underneath his scruffy clothes. Hope that helps?

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Day One

As part of my dissertation on paranormal activity in domestic properties I’ve searched the internet and found the most haunted airbnb that I could find. This is my diary to document my experiences whilst I live here for 3 months. It might be helpful at this stage to list some of the reported sightings that I have come across so far. Then that might give us some helpful data, post study 

1) Several reports of items moved around the house. Mostly furniture and food items found in unusual places

2) Numerous accounts of noises and banging, often around meal times

3) Sightings of ‘ghost hands’ in several places on the property. These are mainly visual sightings with a few vague physical encounters. Interestingly all the people who encountered the hands touching them didn’t want to elaborate. 

4) One person reported feeling uncomfortable when undressing, as if they were being watched

An unusual observation is that so far, all witnesses are male. Normally, the majority of spectral anomalies that are reported are from female witnesses so this is something to ponder as we go forward.

I have set up my equipment around the house with several cameras and heat detectors. I will endeavour to report on a daily basis

Day Two 

Nothing so far. I did wake up in the night to a banging but then discovered a cat had gotten into the property and wanted letting out.

Day Three. 

Again, no actual sightings and no recorded 'feelings' around the house. There have been none of the sensors going off and no recordings on the equipment. The only unusual thing so far was two pizza deliveries to the house that I didn’t actually order. I expect that to be the neighbourhood kids having a laugh. They were paid for though?

Day Four

I’m not sure how to report this but in the spirit of scientific advancement I will forgo my own embarrassment. 

After eating two large pizzas yesterday I woke up in the night needing to go to the bathroom to relieve myself. Stumbling through the house naked in the dark I found the toilet and proceeded to use the facility. The light wasn’t working and so I used the light on my phone to find the paper. I was a little sleepy and disoriented but in hindsight I think someone, or something, handed me the paper. It wasn’t hanging on the wall  anyway and I think it was actually held out for me. I didn’t really notice this at the time but as I was wiping myself clean I stood up to flush and felt a hand grab my left ass cheek and squeeze it firmly. 

I’m not ashamed to say that I ran pretty quickly from the bathroom. It wasn’t till I got to my room that I thought to check the cameras. I was now fully awake and checked everything but with no luck. The camera facing the bathroom was also powered down. I think I need to get the batteries checked. 

Once I calmed down I recorded my findings and headed back to sleep. A promising start

Day Five

It's been an interesting day. Pizzas have been arriving pretty much every hour alongside grocery orders. None of which I’m ordering. I’m starting to wonder whether they are more than just pranks. There is a phone in the house and when I pressed the redial button it connected me to the same pizza place. They were pretty busy and refused to give out order details for data protection purposes, but they guy did ask if I was having some sort of party. 

I’ve been grazing on the pizzas all day. (An important piece of data for later) It was later on in the evening when I was setting up some more equipment and I hadn’t quite realised how much pizza I’d eaten until I felt my belt digging into my lower belly. I’m pretty naturally toned and so it was noticeable. (I’m recording this factually for the study but please understand that’s not a brag)

As I stood up I realised how bloated my stomach was and so I stretched and went to take my belt off. When my hand went to my belt it brushed past another hand also holding my belt. I slowly moved my hands away and looked down. A fairly large male hand was resting on the belt buckle. As I watched, it undid the buckle for me and slid the belt out of the loops and landed on the floor. The hand reached back round, undid my button and then moved up to my lower abdomen where it rested on my belly for a few seconds before dissipating into the air. I physically felt the hand on my skin and it was cool but felt very corporeal.

No more encounters that day.

Day Six

Despite my efforts I have had no more encounters today and no more pizza orders. 

Day Seven

For the sake of the research I endeavoured to repeat day five’s conditions. I had stashed the pizza in the fridge and so tried to eat the same amount I ate on that day. The results were the same and my stomach was yet again visibly distended. I waited for a while in the same room with my belt dowe up and no further encounters. After an hour I decided to call it a night and head off to bed. I was a little surprised to find several pizza boxes in my bed when I got there. There was no sign of the hand and I hadn’t heard any movement. I placed the pizza on the floor and got ready for bed. Still no sightings. I set up an extra camera to track any activity and turned the lights off. Almost immediately I felt rapid movement in the bed and turned the light back on to find all the pizza boxes back on my bed. 

I moved them back to the floor and turned the lights off and yet again they arrived back in my bed. This repeated four more times until the final time when not only did the pizza end up in my bed but one slice found its way into my mouth. I turned the lights back on and found the hand resting on the pizza slice. I took a bite and began to swallow. The hand then waited patiently for me to chew and swallow and then proceeded to feed me the rest of the slice. It paused briefly in the air before yet again dissipating. 

I am left wondering if this apparition is trying to feed me up? I felt no malice towards me and no sense of anger or unrest. Perhaps I need to allow it to do what it wants and see where we get?

Day Eight

Throughout the day, the hand appeared to me several times. Usually during meal times and when I have been in any state of undress. It made no attempt to feed me but did bring me sauces and a few times put additional food on my plate. The hand has not shown up on the cameras but you can definitely see the objects it’s moving. I’m not sure if that will be enough proof though as it does look like I’ve edited it myself. One thing of note is that It tried to help me clean myself in the shower and if I’m being completely objective it actually just sort of felt me up. It was as if it was pretending to help but in actual fact was touching my ass and stomach area. Its touch was gentle but inquisitive? I felt as though I was being explored by something benevolent. 

Day Nine

More of the same today. The hand is getting bolder. Touching me more and bringing me more food throughout the day. I’ve been eating as much of it as I can to appease it but honestly it’s a lot of food. I’m struggling to eat it all. After dinner I was pretty much maxed out and crashed on a sofa. I left my belt to see if the hand would undo it for me and lo and behold it did. This time after undoing my belt and top button it slid up my shirt underneath and began to massage my belly for me. I have to say, for the record, that it was actually very pleasant. I can usually eat a lot but I’d lost track of how much I’d had that day and my normally flat stomach had quite a curve to it. The massage lasted for a good 20 mins and I think I had actually nodded off. 

I awoke with a start to find the hand was joined by a second. The left hand, also male. I wasn’t surprised to see both of them had food. I opened my mouth to see what would happen and the sandwich the right hand was holding was pushed in straight away. It was a little firmer than last time and more insistent but I obediently chewed and swallowed. I think the massage actually helped and I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I was a little hungry!

The left hand brought me a hotdog and began alternating offerings. Not long after, both the sandwich, and hotdog were gone. I waited to see what would happen next. The right hand continued to rub my distended stomach and the left hand appeared with a large pitcher of beer. I would guess maybe four pints worth. I was a little taken aback but the jug lurched towards me and pressed to my lips. I didn’t really have a choice but to swallow as the liquid began to flow. I kept swallowing whilst the other hand continued to massage my expanding stomach. I settled into a pace with no let up from the hand pouring the beer. I was beginning to feel totally maxed again as the foamy beer kept coming. I tried to move the hand but it wasn’t budging. I had no choice but to swallow until the beer was gone. The pitcher fell to the floor and the second hand joined its twin in massaging my bloated stomach. They had at this point pulled my shirt up revealing my distended gut. They were firm but gentle and I can’t lie, it felt really good. As I lay there I couldn’t help but feel safe. Like I was in good hands (if you’ll pardon the pun)

The attention lasted for a good half hour and again, in the interests of recording all the detail, I think they actually got rid of all my gas. The beer and food combo made me belch a lot and the hands seemed to be getting them up. Even giving my stomach a little tap after a good burp. And then just like that they were gone. Leaving me like a beached tourist after a buffet.

I have several questions around the intentions of the hands and why they are so set on feeding me? Is this something that others have experienced? There was no mention of this in the reports I have. Maybe I should contact some of the people who have stayed here and ask some specific questions. I’ll have to word them carefully?

I will have to do this in the morning as I can’t quite think straight whilst I’m this full. 

Day Ten

After the events of the previous evening I slept in until midday. I wasn’t disturbed in the night but I awoke to the smell of coffee and pastries. Heading downstairs I discovered a set table with the hands poised on the back of the chair. After sitting down I attempted to eat the offering but the right hand gently held me back whilst the left proceeded to feed me the croissants. I didn’t think I could be hungry after last night but I managed to eat everything I was given. The hands then disappeared. 

Throughout the day at regular intervals they would appear and continue where they left off. A brunch of poached eggs and avocado, lunchtime sandwiches. Afternoon tea and a main meal of steak and chips. The meals they present are hearty and as the day wore on I struggled more and more with the portions. The hands remain gentle yet firm, I haven’t resisted them yet but I’m not sure what would happen if I did. For now I will oblige as what I am recording is unprecedented in this field. I am yet to capture them on film but I am seeing interesting readings in the infrared spectrum. I need to keep tweaking but I wonder if this data will help me modify a camera to get some footage. 

Heading to bed I half expected more food but as I lay on my bed, my distended belly loudly digesting my feast, the hands appeared one final time to explore my body. The previous encounters had been purely massages of my abdomen or a cheeky squeeze of my ass, but this time the hands started there but quickly covered the rest of my body over. I’m not sure if they are turning into a sexual encounter or not. They have not touched any private areas but the intention of the massage definitely felt more intrusive. I have to admit that I was beginning to feel quite aroused during the whole experience. 

Day Eleven

More of the same today. The hands fed me an even larger breakfast of pancakes, brunch, lunch and two afternoon meals. I wasn’t sure my stomach could take any more when I discovered my evening meal. I walked into the kitchen to find the dining table was filled with what looked like a meal for four! A whole roast chicken dinner was laid out on the table with all the trimmings. I felt a little sick just looking at it. My gut was still packed full from the whole day's feeding sessions. I hesitated at the door, wondering what to do when the hands appeared behind me and gently pushed me forward toward the banquet. They weren’t aggressive but I definitely didn’t have a choice but to move. When I reached the chair the hands pushed down on my shoulders and indicated to me to sit. They set about unbuttoning my shirt and removing my belt, which I allowed. The left hand began to massage my stomach, which I also allowed. (They are very good at massaging my stomach when it feels super stuffed and full). I decided to resist slightly to see what would happen. I spoke to the hands to tell them politely that I wasn’t really hungry this evening after all the food they had already given me. This didn’t deter them in any way as the right hand pulled off a chicken leg and brought it to my mouth. I shook my head and politely declined. The leg stayed in front of my face. We waited for a little while in a bit of a standoff. It was even more unexpected then, that the left hand then reached round to my side and began tickling me. It was so out of the blue that I opened my mouth to laugh out loud. At that point the chicken leg made it straight into my mouth. I bit off a mouthful and laughed, I submitted to their feeding yet again. This time the hands were much more persistent and felt even more attentive. As I ate, they paused to give more belly rubs, and would move me when I slouched or needed to belch. At one point they even tipped my forward and rubbed my back to help me belch which also made me laugh. 

I was so busy trying to keep track of what they were doing that I didn’t notice I had eaten the whole meal. The moment of realisation was as I saw the hands withdraw and I saw all the plates were empty. I looked down at my stomach and saw how distended I was. It was as if I had swallowed half a basketball. In fact that’s inaccurate. It felt more like half a bowling ball. 

The hands seemed very happy with what they had accomplished and did a small clap as I tentatively gave my own stomach a quick explore. The fullness at that point hit me and I felt incredibly uncomfortable. I tried to stand up but they stopped me. I began to protest but soon found my mouth full with beer. The pitcher from the previous evening had been brought back out and they were pouring it down my throat. I had no choice but to swallow or choke but the pressure of the beer in my stomach was increasingly difficult to handle. I tried to push it out of the way but the hands kept on pouring. As the pitcher was finished I coughed and sputtered and pushed one more time and the now empty glass jug flew across the room and shattered against the wall. The hands immediately began to make me stand and I began to worry that they were angry but I was yet to feel that from them. They helped me get to my room and almost laid me down on the bed. 

As I lay there they began to undress me. Pulling my trousers down and taking my already open shirt off my back. I lay there bloated and aching only in my underwear and socks. The hands began again exploring my tightly packed abdomen. Tracing the curve of its distended rise and gently massaging some of the aches out. I closed my eyes and let them continue. At some point I must have drifted off to sleep but when I awoke the following morning I was in the same position but totally naked. My stomach had gone down some from the previous evening but I was still pretty distended. 

From a scientific viewpoint I am incredibly excited about the results I’m getting. An encounter like this has never been fully documented. I feel like Davies exploring the Antarctic for the first time. This will be groundbreaking research into the paranormal and may even get me a full residential post. 

But from a human perspective I am totally baffled as to what is happening. Ghost hands have taken a shine to me and are regularly and consistently stuffing me full of food and giving me sensual massages. What the actual fuck is going on. And I’m being totally honest with myself, they are actually starting to feel really good? I'm finding myself looking forward to encounters with the hands. I sense they are intrigued by me and that they are also enjoying this as much as I am. There seems no mal-intent and nothing malignant about what’s happening. From a purely detached perspective, I need to understand if my feelings are mine or if the hands have some sort of supernatural ability to manipulate my emotions. I have to admit, it all feels very real though. 

Day Fifteen

As I write this, I’m finding it incredibly hard to sit upright, I'm so full. After the enjoyable but intense feeding session on day eleven I have been subjected to something a little more intriguing and a little more sinister. 

The hands didn’t really bother me at all for the whole day on day eleven. The occasional appearance where they would just touch me but no food and nothing sustained. I was beginning to wonder if they were done with me. As dusk approached I was busy setting up some equipment in the kitchen, as I was starting to wonder where the food was coming from and I wanted to see if they were actually cooking it themselves when the light all went off suddenly. I found my phone and turned on the torch and tried to find my way to the  fuse box. As I stumbled in the darkness down into the cellar I felt the now familiar hands on the base of my back, guiding me down. They clearly wanted me to go somewhere and they were pushing me a little harder than I was expecting.

When I reached the cellar I found lights already on. The fuses obviously hadn’t blown, but the hands had done something else. I could smell food in the air and instantly felt my saliva glands begin to water. As I turned the corner I saw they had set a lazy-boy in the middle of the floor and there were two tables full of food laid out. And when I say full of food I mean a full banquet for a few dozen people. A whole thanksgiving meal was laid out including a whole turkey and hams and pies aplenty. I felt strangely worried and also very hungry. Guided by the hands I sat in the chair and waited to see what would happen. I suddenly remembered that I had not set up cameras there yet and went to stand to go get some, but the hands came thumping down on my shoulders, forcing me to sit. They were not keen on me leaving. This also didn’t feel as playful as before and I felt a little nervous that there was no way I would be able to eat all this food? (How wrong I was)

The hands began removing my t-shirt, which was something they had done before. Unbuckling my belt was next as they pulled my trousers off, folding them neatly and placing them amusingly to the side. They began to explore my body gently but firmly. As they did so I began to see that I’d put on a little timber in the past few weeks. My normally flat stomach was a little more puffy than usual. It had been blown out and bloated for a few days and it was only now that I hadn't eaten for a few hours that I could see its newly acquired pounds. The hands had definitely noticed as they both mainly stayed around that area, clearly enjoying themselves.

I lay there (enjoying the attention if I’m honest) until abruptly they stopped and I felt the hands lifting up my arms above my head. This was new and I should probably have been more suspicious of this than I was. I wasn’t aware of what they were doing until I heard a click and looked up to see they had placed handcuffs on my wrists which were attached to a rope tied to the ceiling. As I struggled to free myself, I heard two more clicks as my ankles were also cuffed to the bottom of the lazy boy. I wasn’t stretched out but there was no way I was going anywhere and that’s when the food started coming and let me tell you it did not stop.

I completely lost track of time down there, suffice to say the hands were determined to get every last mouthful of food into me. They would take it in turns pushing fistfuls of pie and meat and roasted vegetables into my mouth. I wouldn’t say they were increasingly aggressive, but they were very insistent. At the beginning, I would be given a bite of something and allowed to chew and swallow but the next bite would come straight away. The pressure in my stomach would increase and increase until I thought I would burst and then they would pause, returning to the belly rubs and massages. I would eventually fall asleep only to be woken a few hours later for the next round of feeding. More and more food pushed into my mouth until I couldn't take any more. This pattern continued for what I now know was 3 days. That’s how long it took me to eat the whole banquet. And I tell you that every last mouthful was fed to me. Not a crumb was wasted. 

I am now fully aware that I was under some sort of supernatural influence here. My stomach is way bigger than humanly possible. It's gone from a basketball size when full to to a pregnant looking beer gut. Perfectly round and tight and engorged. There is no physical way a person would be able to eat the amount of food they have packed in me, even at the rate they fed me over the past few days. Also, at no point did I attempt to spit the food out or refuse, I simply gave in and let them stuff me. 

I will at some point try to document exactly what I ate and how it happened but for now this is all I can manage. If I think of how much food is currently inside me I begin to feel quite nauseous. If I can manage to get to my feet, my belly now starts straight under my ribs and sticks out at least a foot before curving underneath my belly button and tapering in at my v line. It's as tight as a drum and warm to the touch and as I breathe only my chest goes in and out. I don't think I have ever seen anything like this.

In addition, I should note that the massages became a lot more personal in nature. Again for science I admit that as my stomach was filled, so too were other parts of my anatomy. A state of arousal which the hands most definitely noticed. As they massaged my food baby they also began to massage other engorged parts of my body. To climax. Being totally frank, these have been the most intense orgasms I have ever experienced in my life. The climax started as normal but as it built it spread up the bottom of my distended stomach giving me a whole body experience like nothing I have experienced. It seems that a supernaturally full abdomen is capable of a belly wide orgasm. I need to ask one of my female friends if that’s what a female orgasm feels like. 

I am beginning to feel like I need to leave the house at this point. The experiment has already brought me a huge amount of data and I’m worried if I stay I will end up even larger. I am worried to think what they are going to try and pack in me next. I should have weighed myself before the past experience but alas I only have my memory of my weight beforehand. I can’t imagine how my body will digest this amount of food and what will happen to my already bloated stomach after the next day or so. 

As I wrote that last sentence the hands have come back. They are currently resting on my belly shelf and I feel they are pretty pleased with themselves. I’m going to see what happens next but for now I’m turning off my laptop. 

Find the rest of my stories here

[sweetmilkbread]

2, 6, 13

2. Do you read/reread your own fics?

Sometimes I reread my own fics if I'm working on a new WIP and need to remind myself how to pace/structure things, or how to convey a certain mood/tone. It's like reassurance for my brain, saying: 'Look! You've written before and you can write again!' But apart from that, I usually toss my fics into the void and run away lol.

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

There's so many! If I had to list them off I'd be here forever but three fics that come to mind (please heed the warning tags on each if you check them out) are:

•daddy's little deathstick dynasty by blueparacosm - There's so much to say about this Succession fic..the stunning characterization, the humor, the grief, the painful way member of the family is a little responsible for what happened because they don't know how not to be, the fucking story Connor tells Roman about the sheep....In a weird way it's a comfort fic to me. Every few months I reread this and tell myself that I'm not going to cry. I end up sobbing every single time.

•The Thirteen Letters by dropdeaddream and WhatAreFears - way back when I first started reading fanfic, I wasn't involved in fandom so I had no recommendations to work from, but by my lucky stars I stumbled upon this masterpiece. I don't think much about the MCU these days but 'womb to tomb, sweetheart' still lives deep inside my heart.

•Twenty-Four Victors, Twenty-Four Tributes: Meet Your Quarter Quell Contestants by aimmyarrowshigh - during my Hunger Games phase, this was my favourite fic. Everything from the OC's and worldbuilding to the literal sentence lengths are haunting.

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

It varies. For some fics, I try to draft a brief plot outline, bulletpoint story beats and jot down certain details or sentences to use for later. Other times I just wing it and write fics freestyle in the notes app on my daily commute.

Thanks for the ask! <3

[theoldtimemoan]

When I was a kid growing up in northeast Ohio, I used to go along with my grandma to her weekly chemotherapy appointments at the old Lake East Hospital in Painesville. As I sat waiting with my mom, I’d pore over the pamphlets of historic photos that were scattered throughout the hospital. I was too young to really grasp what was going on, but I knew that it was painful and I needed a distraction, and so I was happy to let my mind wander to imagining what life had been like in my own town all those years ago.

My grandma passed when I was in the sixth grade, and the loss left a void in my life that couldn’t be filled. My grandfather, her ex-husband, was a big presence at times, but his relationship with my mom was marked by long periods of estrangement. My parents had split up while my mom was pregnant with me, and so I never knew my dad or any of my family on his side. My stepfather had lost his dad as a child and had had a bitter parting of ways from his mother after that. When my grandma died a portion of her collection of family photos was passed on to me. It turns out that that’s a lot of responsibility to put onto an eleven year old. My home life was scarred by domestic violence, drug and alcohol addiction, and a chronic instability. We moved around a lot, sometimes unexpectedly. Somewhere along the way almost all of those photos were lost. I was haunted by the sorrow and guilt of losing these invaluable connections to my own spotty history.

As time went on, I started bringing home photos of other people’s families, photos from antique shops and flea markets cheekily marked “Instant Relatives!” I didn’t know what I was seeking from them, but I knew that I needed them. I knew that they needed to be seen and that they deserved to be cherished, and if nobody else was doing it, well then it was up to me. 

In the summer I was forty, I was in my bedroom in my adopted home of Chicago looking through ancestry.com for information on a name I’d found scrawled on the back of a photo I’d picked up. I’d researched my own missing family before and I’d come up with very little, but on this day I stumbled upon my paternal grandmother’s remarried name, Synenberg, and with a quick internet search I found her contact information. That night I wrote her a note asking if she’d be interested in meeting, and she called me on the phone later that week. The next month I visited her for the first time at her home in Madison, Ohio, and I returned the next month to help celebrate her eighty fourth birthday. In the last years of her life we were very close, and when she passed away earlier this summer (June 22 to be precise), I stood next to her husband as her casket was closed for the last time. 

I miss my grandma a lot.  It is still very painful.  Sharing this is therapy for me.

The photos that make up The Old-Time Moan come from shops I frequent in and around Chicago, as well as places I visit in the tiny towns I grew up in back in Ohio. I can’t bring home every photo I find, but I know when I find one that I need. It’s more than “Instant Relatives!”, it’s more than kitsch. I think about the preparation that went into taking them, the anticipation of waiting for them to be developed, the pride of seeing them displayed. Somehow, somewhere, something went terribly wrong and they just disappeared. When I bring them home it’s my way of saying, now you’re with me. You’re far from your home but you’re not lost anymore. 

I don’t want to be forgotten either. 

That’s it. That’s the why.

*******************************************************************************************

Photo 1: my maternal grandmother, Jeanne Boxerbaum, 1982ish Photo 2: my paternal grandmother, Joan Synenberg, Christmas 2019

[marauderundercover]

Crashed Dates (Day 2: Scarecrow)

Marinette grins at her boyfriend, swinging their intertwined hands back and forth as they walk around the pumpkin farm. It was so nice, finally being able to go on cute dates like this. They’d first started dating while he was in Paris on business, around a year ago. Sure, he’d made trips to Paris and she’d made a few to Metropolis, but it was different now that she had moved to Gotham. Now they were able to go on random, unplanned dates, instead of dates that had been planned for weeks. He was definitely worried when she first told him she was moving to Gotham, but she had reassured him that it would be fine. (Not that she had a choice in the matter, Tikki had informed her on her last trip to Metropolis that Gotham was sick, that it was calling out for help and that as the Guardian, it was her job to help it). Gotham was….interesting, but she’d settled in just fine in the two weeks she’d been there.

And so, when he had called her out of the blue to tell her he found a place he thought she’d love, she made sure she had enough layers and jumped at the chance for a day with him. So far, the day had been absolutely perfect. They’d drank hot apple cider, ate warm donuts, taken a trip around the farm on the hayride- everything was great. But for some reason, her amazingly stubborn boyfriend didn’t want to go into the corn maze. 

“Please! You’ll be my favorite person in the whole world.” She begs again, her grin quickly switching into a pout. She keeps pouting, leaning against his arm, until he sighs.

“Fine, we can do the maze.” He says and she cheers, standing on her toes and tugging him down slightly to give him a quick kiss. 

“You are the best!” She says, over enunciating every word. He just grins, giving her another soft kiss. 

“If we get lost, I’m calling the Demon Spawn to come get us out. Pretty sure he has a tracker on my phone.” Jason says, letting her tug him along towards the maze. She just rolls her eyes, grinning. 

“You know you’re secretly touched that he cares enough to track you.” She teases as they near the entrance of the maze.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbles, glaring at the scarecrow situated at the entrance of the maze. Marinette raises an eyebrow. 

“You have a problem with men made of straw?” She asks, legitimately confused by his reaction. 

“Geeze M, I knew you were new to Gotham but I forget how new.” He says, pulling her closer. She melts into him, still confused by his reaction, but happy to be close. As they walk through the maze, frustratingly running into deadends, Jason explains Scarecrow. Marinette decides that he’s number two on the list of villains she never wants to meet. Joker is number one. (Joker is also number one on the list of villains she wants to meet, but that’s because she’s always wondered what it would look like to cataclysm a psychotic clown). She’s just about to suggest they call Damian and utilize the tracker that was, undoubtedly on Jason’s phone, when the screaming begins. 

“There isn’t a haunted house here, is there.” Marinette says, her face pale. She wasn’t ready to be a hero again. She’d only defeated Hawkmoth a year ago. Just before meeting Jason. She didn’t want that part of her life again, not now. 

“No, no there’s not.” Jason says, eyes glancing around wildly. Marinette’s heart breaks at the panic on his face. She knew that, despite his tough guy appearance, he struggled. A lot. He had nightmares, constantly, mostly of the time Joker had kidnapped him (hence the whole, cataclysm Joker thing). Pushing down her own fear and doubt, she tightens her grip on his hand and squares her shoulders. 

“Come on.” She instructs, tugging him behind her as she darts through the maze, determined to get out. She stumbles over a rock and lets go of Jason’s hand in time for her to fall into a larger clearing. She curses as she falls, her palms stinging. 

“What have we here?” A voice says. Marinette sits up, staring up at a man in a scarecrow costume and suddenly, Jason’s fear, or rather, dislike, of scarecrows makes more sense. So much more sense. She glances around and lets out a sigh of relief. She’d let go of Jason quick enough. He wasn’t caught up in this. Hopefully, he could call his father. She wasn’t sure if the rumors about Bruce Wayne and Batman dating were true, but Batman was always quick to interfere if it was a Wayne or Wayne adjacent involved. 

“A girl who’s a little pissed that you crashed her date.” She retorts, standing up and brushing her stinging palms off on her jeans. She’d have to get the blood out later, which would be a pain. Better than having the blood on her palms mix with the dirt that also now covered her hands. 

“You’re either very brave or very stupid, little girl. Let’s see how you deal with my newest strain of fear toxin.” He says, and she lunges towards the man, not willing to go down without a fight. Almost immediately, a sharp pinch on her neck has her stumbling back away from the man as she tries to take in her new surroundings. 

She was back in Paris, but it wasn’t the Paris she had left. The city that was healing. Instead this Paris was underwater. Buildings were toppled over, and the moon was in pieces in the sky. She was back there. A place she hadn’t seen in person since she was fourteen, a place that had haunted her nightmares for ten years. She inhales sharply when she sees him. Chat Blanc. But instead of fear, she’s just angry. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir. And Adrien was….turning, she realizes that she can almost see him. Out of the corner of her eye, she can almost see Scarecrow, watching her. Waiting for her to react. Anger coursing through her, she charges the man, tackling him all the way to the ground. She pulls back her fist and punches him, repeatedly. 

“How dare you! How dare you use his face like that! You son of a bitch!” She screams as she hits, the roaring in her ears blocking out all other sounds. She keeps her focus on feeling the man she’s hitting, because the second she lets her focus wander, she gets sucked into her surroundings again. The way the sky just looks wrong. The odd haze over everything. And now, the corpses floating in the water closest to her. Adrien. Maman. Papa. She’s not scared, she’s pissed. Sure, those were her biggest fears and that’s definitely why she was seeing them all like that, but she’d already seen it. She’s lived it. They were gone, not coming back. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to fall down and break about it. Not when some asshole with fear toxin was running around randomly injecting people. Suddenly, something is wrapped around her and she’s pulled up. She kicks frantically, trying to get out of the steel grip she’s trapped in. She had to- what did she have to do? Another sharp pinch in her neck makes her eyes droop sleepily. She struggles again, barely able to hear the voice calling her name as she succumbs to the darkness.

---

Jason Todd feels like a major prick. He watched his girlfriend trip and instead of helping her up, he uses it as a distraction to try and call B. How the fuck was he supposed to know she tripped right into the Scarecrow? He’s cursing himself mentally as he rushes towards the ambulance. Replacement had texted him. 

Marinette was injected. At ambulances near front of farm

And Jason felt like shit. She’d never forgive him, not that he deserved it. He’d left her with one of Gotham’s biggest villains. His heart sinks when he sees the blood on her, and the oxygen mask attached to her face. Fuck. He’s almost to her, when one of the asshole cops stops him. 

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t go over there.” He says and Jason scowls. 

“Like hell I can’t. She’s my girlfriend, let me through.” He says, and the man shakes his head. 

“Family only.” He states. Jason’s about to argue, when a hand lands on his shoulder. 

“I still need to get a statement from Mr. Todd, if you’ll excuse us.” Replacement says, leading him away from the cop. 

“I left her.” He says, the second they’re far enough away. Tim frowns.

“What do you-”

“I mean, I left her. She tripped and instead of checking on her, I was a complete and total asshole and left her so I could call B to get his ass over here and solve the goddamn problem.” Jason says, feeling like even more of an asshole now that he’s said it out loud. 

“Did you see Scarecrow?” Replacement asks. Jason scoffs. 

“Of course not! You really think I would’ve left if I had?” He asks with a glare. 

“No, I don’t. So stop blaming yourself. I literally peeled her off of Scarecrow, she was beating the crap out of him. She’s gonna be tired and scared and confused when she wakes up. Just be there-”

“Jason!” Her terrified voice echoes out and Jason turns, sprinting for the cot he’d seen her on a minute ago. She had ripped the oxygen mask off her face and was looking around while arguing with the paramedic. 

“Ma’am please-” “Marinette!” Jason calls, and her face relaxes as she leaps off the cot and launches herself into his arms. He holds her as she shakes, sobs wracking her body. 

“I saw them.” She mumbles once she calms down a little. He frowns. 

“Saw who?” He asks. 

“My parents. Adrien. Their bodies.” She says, and suddenly, Jason has another name to add to his kill list. Being a complete asshole to all of Gotham, sure. Making his girlfriend see the bodies of those she’d lost? Nope. Now the bastard better hope he didn’t meet Red Hood in an alley. 

“God, Mari, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry I left.” He apologizes, his heart aching when she pushes him away. She frowns up at him and he winces, certain she’s about to break up with him. 

“Left?” She asks and he nods. 

“When you tripped, I swear, I didn’t know Scarecrow was there.” He says. 

“But you got Batman here.” She says and he jerks back. How the hell had she figured it out? When did she- “I know Bruce said he isn’t dating Batman, but honestly, I think he’s just in denial.” She adds. 

“I- what?” 

“Batman always comes when anyone in the Wayne family is in danger. Like, so quickly. And I know that Bruce says it’s just a bunch of rumors, like the whole ‘the butts match’ thing? But I also think that Batman is head over heels for Bruce, and your dad is just kinda clueless.” She rambles. Jason just laughs before pulling her into a deep kiss. She was okay. They were okay. He pulls back and grins at her, until he notices the blood again. 

“Shit, that’s a lot of blood.” He says, taking her hand in his to try and find the source. He glances at her face and raises an eyebrow at the blush that had taken over her face. 

“Oh, um, it’s not mine.” She mumbles. 

“Then who-” “Apparently I beat the hell out of Scarecrow. In my defense, that fear toxin sucked. And I was kinda pissed.” She says, frowning down at the blood on her hands. Jason takes one of his hands and gently tilts her chin up so that she’s looking at him again. He grins at her, giving her a short, soft kiss before pulling back. 

“I love you.” He says, and if the kiss she gave him in return meant anything, she felt the same way.

Next

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[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor. 

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language. 

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here 

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here 

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it. 

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar. 

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp. 

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough. 

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined. 

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull. 

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes. 

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet… 

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall. 

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air. 

The street in front of you was a warzone. 

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe. 

Safe… 

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way. 

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part. 

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention. 

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit. 

The villain. 

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears. 

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.” 

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.” 

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer. 

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way. 

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop? 

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts. 

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar? 

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below. 

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you. 

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood. 

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements. 

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask. 

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.” 

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks. 

You had thought that very brave. 

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire. 

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach. 

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk. 

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows. 

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention. 

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene. 

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm. 

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor. 

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions. 

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view. 

Oh, fuck. That was a person. 

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it. 

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch. 

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg. 

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be… 

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human. 

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye. 

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet. 

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening. 

He was bleeding. 

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes. 

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on. 

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse. 

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut. 

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it. 

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body. 

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it. 

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin. 

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath. 

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach. 

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.” 

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye. 

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment. 

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—” 

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood. 

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain? 

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped. 

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question. 

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.” 

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you. 

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear. 

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion. 

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance. 

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.” 

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat. 

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?” 

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack. 

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood. 

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap. 

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital. 

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five. 

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision. 

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned. 

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest. 

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint. 

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts. 

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum. 

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero? 

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms. 

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion. 

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk. 

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero. 

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp. 

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you. 

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you. 

But was it worth it? 

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie. 

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet. 

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first. 

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure. 

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it. 

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion… 

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you. 

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again. 

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you. 

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor. 

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in. 

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees. 

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone. 

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window. 

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?” 

“I—” 

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder. 

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?” 

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?!  You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment. 

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first. 

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch. 

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own. 

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown. 

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?” 

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right. 

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?” 

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed. 

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again. 

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?” 

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name. 

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.” 

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing. 

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch. 

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall. 

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?” 

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.” 

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips. 

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing. 

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment. 

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported. 

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability. 

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t. 

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you. 

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this? 

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight. 

“Your hands are all fucked up.” 

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself. 

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty? 

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.” 

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit. 

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully. 

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.” 

Well, maybe not that carefully. 

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.” 

“Let me see.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me? 

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.” 

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that. 

And none of his current ones would, either. 

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion. 

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder. 

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted. 

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.” 

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you. 

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric. 

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden. 

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you. 

“Hello?” 

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch. 

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize. 

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese. 

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his. 

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?” 

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all. 

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.” 

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head. 

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows. 

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation? 

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero. 

Was he confessing your secret already? 

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view. 

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and— 

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.” 

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them. 

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood. 

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.” 

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window. 

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street. 

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth. 

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago. 

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.” 

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.” 

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero. 

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall. 

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone. 

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete. 

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you. 

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.” 

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?” 

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum. 

“Okay, hold on.” 

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone. 

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out. 

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people. 

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too. 

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little. 

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief. 

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful. 

But your stomach was still in knots. 

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers. 

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying? 

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped. 

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.” 

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum. 

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears. 

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.” 

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you. 

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life. 

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed. 

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole. 

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.” 

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior. 

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory. 

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.” 

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.” 

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.” 

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over. 

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.” 

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?” 

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.” 

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow. 

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop? 

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?” 

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand. 

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.” 

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded. 

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say. 

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.” 

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel. 

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them. 

“I-Is that all?” 

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?” 

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?” 

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?” 

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?” 

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything? 

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance. 

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.” 

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.” 

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.” 

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression. 

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished. 

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm 

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.” 

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone. 

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found. 

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit: 

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret. 

But I’m going to have to face him again.

[pastelsandpining]

Whumptober Day 1

all trussed up and still nowhere to go

“you have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

kingdom come - corrupt!zelda au | part 2 

warnings: survivor’s guilt, trauma, gory imagery/body horror (descriptions of Ganon), injury mention, burn mention, blood mention, nausea, head injury, loss of consciousness, acceptance of death, binds, manipulation

____________________

Looking out at the rolling plains, the baby blue sky, the lively green grass, and the flourishing wildlife nearly everywhere he could see, it was hard to believe that Hyrule was decimated a century ago. Where life bloomed now, death had once spread, and it was anything but beautiful when the fields were burning—when guardians and monsters alike chased down any and all living things. It was hard to take down powerful beasts and even more so when they didn’t stay down.

But just like those vile creatures who only wanted to cause chaos, Hyrule never really died either. It was the quick and clever thinking of Princess Zelda that saved them all by containing the beast of Calamity inside of the very place she once called home. She was a thing of myth some hundred years later when people recalled her beauty or her bravery. If it were not for the moons scorched with blood, or the chilling cry of a colossal demon, or the guardians still roving over the land, one could find themselves thinking that the story of Hyrule was nothing more than a cautionary fairytale. What moral could come from such devastating times? Do not run from fate, or you will end up as caged as the Hyrulean Princess? Do not put heart above duty, or you will fall just as the legendary hero? Or perhaps, do not put trust in things you cannot always control?

Really, there was no lesson to be learned. Destruction would come as it did, and there was nothing they could’ve done to stop it. At least, that’s what Link told himself on the many nights he was found unable to sleep, too haunted by the ghosts of his past and terrorized by the stalling sensation of guilt. How solemn that sounded, how pitiful. He did not want pity. What good did that do him, when he’d already lost everything? He’d fallen once, and that cost him his friends, his life, the place he called home–pity would not bring that back. Hymns of brave soldiers and lost princesses would not bring that back. Stories that turned a traumatizing cause of devastation into a life lesson would not bring that back.

The only thing he wanted, months after waking in a shrine to a beautiful voice and with a fractured soul, was peace. He wanted to toss the sword of legend aside and never look at it again. He wanted to curl up in the bed of his Hateno home and sleep for another hundred years, or at least, until the pictures of a burning kingdom and the unholy screeching of Calamity Ganon disappeared just long enough for his mind to go quiet. He wanted to try to be normal, for even just a moment. No hero, no revenge, nothing of the sort.

It was a shame that the image of what he wanted was incomplete without the princess he’d once devoted his heart and soul to. He could not remember her in the way he would’ve liked. Link was granted a glimpse of her face here, a whisper of her voice there, a ghost of her touch when the loneliness became too much. On the few occasions he remembered more, when he could see her so very clearly in a moment framed in time, it felt almost like a dream. A dream that he didn’t want to wake up from. And just like a pleasurable dream that left one feeling warm and special, Zelda slipped through his fingers like liquid, faster than he could process and unable to be stopped. In its wake was a blank space of aching emptiness, right where he knew she should be. She was all he had left, the one thing that could connect him to the world he lived in, because without her, he had no purpose. He had no guidance. He was nothing.

So Link scoured the whole of the continent, from icy tundras to scorching deserts, climbing active volcanos and harnessing what the wild gave him, to grow stronger. He tamed the Divine Beasts and freed the shackled spirits of his long lost friends. He offered his company to the princess on the nights of the blood moon, where she would warn him and assure him that he was doing well, and that she was alright. He sought out the legendary Sword that Seals the Darkness and underwent trials upon backbreaking, painstaking trials to prove himself worthy of the full power the Master Sword was capable of. 

And then, he hesitated. He hesitated because he could not recall what Calamity Ganon looked like, or was capable of. Freeing the Divine Beasts became something horribly tedious, something that stoked a new sort of trauma in him, because the Scourges were certainly not for the faint of heart. The first time the malice surged past him and combined to form a twisted amalgamation of a beast, Link thought he was going to die again, with no hope for recovery this time. Every blight was grotesque, dripping with the glowing incarnation of hatred, and over twice his size. Their sickly skin stung to touch, leaving angry red burns everywhere it could. Their weapons were brutal and chaotically, skillfully wielded, and it was by miracle alone that he’d survived this long. There was nothing quite as agonizing as being shred alive by an ancient demon, only for his fire-filled nerves and ragged skin to stubbornly patch itself back together before his very eyes. Mipha’s Grace should not have been used so kindly on him.

For as much trouble and agony the Scourges were, they were only extensions of Calamity Ganon, small pieces of the monstrosity awaiting him deep within Hyrule Castle. Just thinking about it rendered him on the brink of a panic attack. Princess Zelda had faced it utterly alone for decades, so what if he failed to do the same? What if he could not defeat the beast, and would therefore be responsible for yet another destructive wave? All of the friends he had made, all of the new life that’d bloomed, it would be devastated by his hands if he could not slay the Calamity. What of Princess Zelda, then? Surely it would kill her, too. Picturing her expressive green eyes dulled by the kiss of death made Link feel so nauseated that he could not eat for hours. 

Shamefully and pathetically, he put it off. He searched for that hundredth Korok Seed, he filled the Hyrule Compendium, he ran every single errand and helped every single person that he could, all the while wishing that the darkness of night or comfort of walls could hide him from Zelda’s ever watchful gaze. It did nothing to quiet the screaming in his skull, the longing in his chest. It was only when his guilt had him by the neck that he swallowed his nerves and stormed Hyrule Castle before the courage could leave him.

Every room was empty. Sad, decrepit, and empty. Of course, the Calamity would want the biggest stage it could find and so, to the top floor of the castle he climbed. The guardians were pesky and the monsters relentless, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the beast, free of its prison, towering over him like it was starving and ready to feast.

He thought he saw a glimpse of golden hair, precious and fleeting, just outside of his peripheral vision, but the Calamity lunged for his neck and Link was forced to throw himself to the side, searching for any opportunity to counter the attack. For a monstrosity of a size that rivaled the Divine Beasts, it was quick. 

A jump at the wrong time, a split second too late, caused the Calamity’s ancient axe to slice through his skin. It was nothing more than a nick, but it stung enough to make him stumble and gasp, clutching at his arm through his rapidly soaking shirt. In the pause it took for him to steady himself, Ganon had crawled up onto the second floor like some ginormous spider. It looked ready to pounce on him and, Hylia above, there was nowhere he could hide. It would crush him easily. 

But it did not crush him. He wished it had, because it aimed the rapid red dot of a guardian’s laser on his chest, sending a spiral of panic through his spine and into his stomach, where it curled and lurched and made him want to vomit. He raised his shield, but the blast sent him spiraling through the air until his back hit a solid beam, knocking the wind right out of him. The Master Sword was sprawled uselessly out of his grip and he reached blindly for it, but his supporting arm slipped out from underneath him and his head hit the ground with a sickening crack. His vision was blurred. He wondered why he could see something walking towards him, something far smaller than the Calamity. It was Hylia, perhaps, coming to resolve his hideous fate at last. He tried to summon Mipha’s Grace, tried to will the strength back into his body, to will the excruciating pain away, but then Hylia was crouched before him, and her fingers felt so lovely and comforting in his hair that he wanted to fall headlong into her touch. He wanted to let her take him away.

“That’s it,” she cooed softly, brushing the bangs from his forehead. The motion was so jarringly familiar, the voice was haunting—this was not Hylia. “My dear Hero, look what they’ve done to you.”

Link choked on his attempt to speak, trying with everything in him to move, to take her hand, to see her clearly, but her hands pushed him gently back to the Sanctum floor and he groaned, his voice strained with pain. 

“It’s alright, Link,” the figure assured him, threading her fingers through his hair again like she was trying to subdue him. “The pain will fade soon, I promise. Can you do something for me?”

Death must’ve been approaching. He tried to nod, to tell her he would do anything for her, but the heavy ache in his head made it hard to do much of anything. She must’ve gotten his answer somehow, though, because her hands were cupping his face.

“You have to let go,” she whispered, her thumbs brushing against his cheeks. “Let go, Link, and I will catch you.”

She sounded so sweet, so incredibly lovely, and she felt so warm. Link felt his body relax, going completely still beneath her hands, and he wondered, vaguely, if they had all been wrong. If she was not sealed, but dead, ever waiting for her knight to join her so that she may be the one to welcome him into the afterlife. Princess Zelda’s green eyes came into clarity for no longer than a second, but comfort washed over him and he was quite happy that, for a second time, she was the last thing he was going to see.

There was a high pitched ringing in his ears and his head was swimming. Link tried to fight the grogginess that kept his eyes from opening, but he had very little success when the light was painful and his head was pounding. He raised a hand to rub his eyes, but the rough and tattered surface of what must’ve been a rope rubbed against his wrists, leaving them stinging with a brush burn he already knew would scar. That was his first indication that this was not his only time fighting his way back to consciousness. The pain brought him a little more clarity, even with the panic welling up in his chest.

He could see the Sanctum floor below his head, but trying to turn it to get a better look at his surroundings made him wince and squeeze his eyes shut again. He took a shaky, shuddering breath and, in one quick motion, tried to force himself to sit up. All he’d managed to do was make himself dizzy. His vision swam again, leaving him vulnerable and impaired, and he could do nothing but lie there as still as possible, waiting for the feeling to leave. When it did, it took the ringing in his ears with it.

He heard soft humming instead, backed by the horrid squelching of malice and a rumbling that chilled him to his core. Link tried slowly to tilt his head and immediately wished he hadn’t, because Calamity Ganon was among the last of things he needed to see right now. The beast was sitting, if one could even call it that, on the floor just below a balcony, right across the room from him. It seemed content to just sit there, watching him through orange, evil eyes. He tugged on the restraints again, sending another spike of pain down his spine, but he was stuck. Should it pounce, he would be done for.

But it didn’t. It sat there, staring him down. He thought he could make out a smile, cruel and unsettling and awful. It unhinged its jaw then and made a noise, a screech of unimaginable volume, and Link curled in on himself with a quiet whimper.

“I was just beginning to wonder when our guest would come out of his slumber.”

His eyes opened, wide and wild, and he tilted his head up towards where he thought the voice had come. There, sitting on a throne in the deck above the Calamity, sat Princess Zelda. It was the first time he’d seen her clearly in over a century. He could not breathe then, choked by his swell of emotions and the scratchiness of his throat. 

“Then again,” she continued, tilting her head with a cruelly beautiful smile, “our little hero is prone to sleeping in. Do be gentle with him, Ganon, and try to keep your patience.”

Those words meant nothing to him, but the Calamity turned its ugly head back towards Link and growled. Zelda clicked her tongue, beckoning the beast into silence, and it struck a horror into Link so deep that he felt the ache in every joint of his body.

Calamity Ganon was obeying her.

____________________

masterlist | whumptober by day | whumptober by collection | original post

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

"I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met." memory loss angst? 👉👈🥺

anon... fam, this turned into an emotional rollercoaster and totally stole my braincell.

3.8k words. angst with a happy ending. 

tw: memory loss, minor anxiety, repressed memories, idiots to lovers, whump, angst with a happy ending, angst with a fluffy ending

---

It’s been three hours, five minutes, and forty-two seconds since the frigid breeze whipped Geralt’s angry words at him, shattering his fragile, stupid heart to pieces. Every syllable rings through Jaskier’s head over and over, slamming into him from all directions and crippling him with a bone-deep pain far worse than anything he’s ever felt before. The ache ebbs and flows, lancing through him with every step. Not even Geralt’s first frustrated blow to his abdomen had been this terrible.

Geralt… That’s the problem, isn’t it? He hadn’t been smart enough to get out of the gorgeous Witcher’s long, silvery hair soon enough. He’d overstayed his welcome, fallen in love in the meantime, and is now very out of sorts (and also alone in unfamiliar territory). The bard laughs but it’s a hollow sound. Jaskier has reached the edge of hysteria, his intelligent blue eyes now vacant and unseeing. Even as he stumbles through the underbrush, all he can picture is the snarl on Geralt’s face as the Witcher yells at Destiny to take Jaskier off his hands. 

Jaskier’s own hands are covered in sap and splinters from pushing tree branches away from his face as he traverses the darkening forest. His hair is full of debris and his clothes are torn and dirty; Geralt has all of his emergency supplies, still. Jaskier is pretty sure that his lute is still strapped over his shoulder but he realizes, with no small amount of surprise, that he doesn’t actually care.

He doesn’t have the capacity anymore. 

He can’t care… caring hurts too much.

If only Destiny had taken him off Geralt’s hands. Maybe then it would be okay. Maybe then, if Geralt was well and truly free of him and his irritating presence, the Witcher could be happy. He and Yennefer will surely come back around, they always seem to, and Ciri will be joining them soon enough it seems. 

There’s no need - no room - for a humble bard anymore.

Only five hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds after Geralt’s outburst at the top of the mountain, Jaskier’s delicate human body succumbs to the stress of the day.

He drops to the forest floor without a sound, grateful for the darkness.

---

Yennefer finds the bard in a heap a few miles away from the previous night’s elevated campsite. When she presses the back of her hand to his forehead she yanks it away almost immediately; he’s burning up, and his skin is clammy and sticky with sweat. The feathery bangs he flicks about and preens so much are stuck to his forehead and temples. He’s on the verge of shaking apart and Yennefer tosses her head imperiously, swearing.

“Damnit, Geralt. You and your incredibly foolish need to be alone all the time so you can brood and self-flagellate. Me, an ageless sorceress from one of the greatest magic schools on the Continent? I can handle a thorough tongue lashing. Fuck, I’m older than you and I’ve seen far worse but this… oh, you great lummox. You absolute bastard…” Yennefer mutters to herself as she assesses the bard’s deteriorating state of health, ranting to an invisible Geralt all the while. “You’re absolutely going to be hearing from me about this, Wolf.”

--- Three days, one hour, and fifteen minutes after Geralt dismissed him forever, Jaskier wakes up with a loud gasp and a violent shudder. He blinks slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light streaming in through a window. Whatever he’s lying on is comfortable and the sheets smell fresh and bright, like lilac and freesia. A hint of gooseberry lies beneath it all, delicate and sweet. He glances around the space and finds it to be relatively bare; a guest room, perhaps. Maybe he’s a servant at some noble house? 

Jaskier only really knows that his name is Jaskier and that he plays music. He’s also rather talented with floral arrangements. 

Shortly after he’s finished purveying his (borrowed?) chamber, the very image of grace, beauty, and terror enters the room. The woman, whose coppery skin and enchanting violet eyes practically glow in the midafternoon sun, smiles down at him in a way that toes the line between Motherly and Shark-like. 

“How are you feeling, Jaskier?”

“I’m alright. And you?”

“Just fine. Geralt really did a number on us, huh?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. He has the feeling that something isn’t right; she shouldn’t be looking at him so kindly. 

Her expression changes from friendly to horrified to confused in an instant, as soon as Jaskier manages to ask: “Who’s Geralt? And, pardon me, but I feel as if something is rather amiss. Who are you, my Lady?”

Whoever the gorgeous and terrifying woman is, she grimaces briefly. Then, as if by magic, the comforting smile returns. “I’m Yennefer, of course. I saved your life a few years ago, remember?”

Jaskier wracks his brain but cannot call the occasion to mind. “Unfortunately no, I don’t remember your no doubt heroic deed. Although I suppose that means I’m in your debt, doesn’t it? Do I work for you? Is that why I’m here?”

The woman blinks a few times, slowly, and then nods. “You’re my gardener and personal musician.”

Jaskier brightens, happy to have found himself in a safe environment. 

“But you’ve had a nasty illness and your mind is clearly fatigued. Rest another day or two and then we can see about getting you back into the fresh air.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Jaskier nods.

“Yen is fine.”

“Thank you, Yen. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he grins. 

---

Yennefer turns away to hide her pained expression. You’d probably still be with your beloved Witcher. 

She makes her way to the kitchen to fix Jaskier something to eat. He must be hungry after spending three days in a deep, healing sleep. She hadn’t been expecting the amnesia, though; it was an unexpected but not unsurprising turn of events. Heartbreak had done stranger things than a little bit of fever-induced memory loss. When she’d delved briefly into his mind she hadn’t seen any sign of Geralt. His face was absent from the bard’s consciousness; she would have needed to dig to unearth those memories. Whatever the Witcher had done was grievous, especially if Jaskier’s mind compensated with something as dramatic as burying Geralt completely to save itself from further harm.

No matter, she decides, the bard can stay here as long as he likes. It’s the least I can do for all the upset Geralt and I have caused him. Where is that idiot Witcher, anyway?

The sorceress quickly clears her agenda and her mind before returning to her guest room with a large tray of food, a bottle of Toussainti red under her arm. “Jaskier, darling, let’s get your convalescence started in style!”

---

2 months later

---

Jaskier watches a strange man ride up the long path to Yennefer’s manor, the hilts of his twin swords glinting in the sun where they’re slung over his shoulder. He has long white hair and the most devastating jawline the bard/gardener (or ‘bardener’ as he says to irritate his darling employer) has ever laid eyes on. He’s clad all in black, from his plain linen shirt to his tight leather trousers; Jaskier thinks he’d also look rather lovely in dark blue or perhaps forest green.

In front of him, wrapped securely against his chest by one strong arm, sits a little girl with ashen hair and frightened eyes. Haunted eyes. Jaskier’s mind fills with ballads, some familiar and some oddly dreamlike, their lyrics half-obscured and hazy. Ciri, he thinks for no reason. Her name is Ciri. And she is a Princess.

The brunette scurries from the garden alongside the house to the kitchen, searching for the familiar cloud of Yennefer’s strong perfume. “My Lady?” 

“Darling?” the sorceress replies, coming around the corner. She raises her perfectly maintained eyebrows and her lips quirk up into a smirk. “Did you sprint all the way from the west lawn?”

“There’s a- strange man- on the- drive!” he huffs. “White hair- horse!”

“Oh,” her eyes go wide with surprise. Then, in a split second, they narrow to slits. “Oh.”

“Do you, uhm, know him?” Jaskier asks, twiddling his fingers. “He’s rather handsome, Yen. Is he a former lover?”

“Unfortunately,” she growls. “I can’t believe it’s taken him two fucking months to get here. He’d better have a damned good excuse.”

By now Jaskier can breathe normally again and he straightens up, shaking his long, shaggy hair from his eyes. “He had a child with him. She looked scared, Yen.”

“Cirilla!”

Yennefer dashes for the front door and Jaskier follows instinctually. They’re always together and he can’t bear to let her confront this man alone. He’s spent every waking moment with Yen since he awoke that first day and she has grown to be his dearest friend; he’ll protect her even unto death. “Yenna, what’s wrong? Who is he!?”

“Geralt of Rivia,” she snarls. The name seems familiar; maybe from a ballad or story? Perhaps Yen has mentioned him before? 

“What about Geralt of Rivia?” a low, rumbling bass asks from the front hallway. Jaskier and Yennefer arrive in the doorway together and the man, Geralt apparently, takes a shaky step back. He recoils a bit, as if he’s been slapped, and Yennefer’s smile grows cruel. His voice, still incredibly low but now with a slight tremor to it, stutters out; “Wha- Yen, what is he- Jaskier? I only came to ask for help with Ciri, I didn’t know- I didn’t-”

Geralt’s stammered speech tapers off into silence and Yennefer’s brow furrows a second time. When the sorceress sets eyes on the child, who cannot be more than twelve years old, her expression softens again. Jaskier watches the most imposing woman in the world kneel, taking one small, pale hand in both of her own. “My name is Yennever of Vengerberg, former Sorceress of Aretuza. I am honored to meet you, Princess Cirilla. Geralt has come seeking protection, no doubt, and it is easily granted. I will do everything I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Lady Yennefer. And, uhm… Ciri’s fine,” the girl replies. Her voice is high and reedy, shot through with anxiety. She’s so young, Jaskier frowns. And yet she seems to have weathered an incredible storm.

“Ciri,” the bard bows from the doorway, low and dramatic. He sweeps his arm out to the side and bends his knees as awkwardly as possible, “I am Jaskier, private troubadour and gardener extraordinaire, under the employ of the magnanimous and dangerous Lady Yennefer, here. It is my greatest honor to make your very mighty and very royal acquaintance.”

“You’re silly, Master Jaskier,” the child giggles, hiding her mouth behind her hands. Geralt’s eyes grow wide and dart between Jaskier and the girl. Yennefer makes meaningful eye contact before nodding toward the door. Jaskier looks down at Ciri again when she asks: “Do you grow lots of flowers in Lady Yennefer’s garden, or just herbs and things for magic?” 

“I grow lots of things all over the property,” the brunette man steps forward and offers Ciri his hand, gesturing towards the front door with the other. “Would you like to come and take a look? I know all the scientific names, you can even quiz me if you like.”

“I know some,” she smiles shyly, accepting the offered hand. “May I go take a look at the gardens, Geralt?”

“Go ahead,” the Witcher nods dumbly. “Jaskier will take good care of you.”

“That I will. Now, let’s take a look at the flowers and let these silly adults have a chat,” Jaskier grins. He winks at Yennefer and disappears out the door, exiled Princess in tow. 

The two lively companions have toured through all the medicinal herbs and are halfway through Yennefer’s large collection of rose variations when the two other members of the party approach. Geralt looks sheepish, his eyes downcast. Yennefer looks triumphant; she is radiant in her victory as always. 

Geralt steps forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jaskier, I’ve come to apologize for what happened when we parted.”

“Excuse me?” the bard chuckles, raising an eyebrow.  "I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, exactly.”

“When I yelled at you after the dragon hunt. It was only two months ago, Jaskier, surely you remember?”

Jaskier blushes, glancing anxiously between Geralt and his friend, whose violet eyes are stormy with emotion, “I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met."

Geralt gasps sharply and takes a step back, as he did in the entryway. Jaskier winces, seemingly on instinct, and shies away from the larger man. “You don’t remember me?”

“No…” Jaskier sighs. “I really don't. Should I?”

“You don’t… You don’t even remember Toss a Coin?”

“Oh, that ditty from town?” Jaskier perks up. “I know that song! It always gets stuck in my head.”

“You… You wrote that song,” Geralt’s face crumples. “About our first adventure together outside of Posada. With the elves and the sylvan...”

“I’ve never been to Posada,” Jaskier laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “They hate bards. They prefer troupes of traveling play-actors. Posada is far too serious for my tastes.”

Geralt seems to be in agony. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if he’s on the verge of tears but unable to shed them. Can Witchers cry? 

How does he know that Geralt is a Witcher? Is it the two swords, the scars, or the strange eyes? How does he know that those are common Witcher traits?

His stomach lurches and he turns away from the group in case he needs to be sick. The ground spins and shivers in little ripples around him, unstable and impermanent beneath his feet. Yennefer is calling his name from somewhere far away and a pair of warm, strong arms are looped around his waist. Still, he can’t seem to breathe. Or focus.

There’s something missing. 

He starts to hum, trying to remember the words of that damned song.

The rest of the world fades in and out around him, finally disappearing altogether.

---

He’s gorgeous. 

Jaskier shoves another roll into his pocket. His eyes are focused on the man in the corner. He has long, snow-white hair and his shoulders are hunched forward protectively, as if he can hold the world out by sitting by himself. He’s glaring the table into submission, one fist clenched around his tankard. 

I want to write him a thousand ballads. I want to know what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning, before he brushes it out again. I want to know if he snores. I want… he stops himself. 

He makes his way across the room with eyes only for the stranger. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

The man looks away and Jaskier notices that his irises are gold. “I’m here to drink alone.”

Gods, his fucking voice… Velvet and gravel all at once. Melitele, does Jaskier want. “Good, yeah. Good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance… except for you.”

The man, the Witcher, Jaskier realizes, rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he wheedles, sitting down across from the gorgeous stranger. “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less.”

The man’s face stays stoic, expressionless. “They don’t exist.”

He realizes shortly thereafter that this man is not just any Witcher but the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. He could try to disengage himself from such a daunting character; he could easily make some kind of excuse and disappear back to the troubadour’s path, heading towards civilization, but it’s already too late. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt’s side ever again; he wants to write all those ballads he was thinking about earlier, when he glanced across the room. 

Jaskier has fallen head over heels in love. ---

Geralt cradles Jaskier against his chest and presses his nose deep into those chestnut brown waves. “Wake up, Jaskier. Come back to me, bard, it’s been too long.”

“Don’t you usually go all winter without seeing him?” Yennefer asks from the doorway. 

“It’s hell,” he replies easily. There’s no point in hiding his feelings from her. “I miss him every minute of every day.”

“Verbose this evening,” she remarks, taking a seat by the fire. “He’s dreaming, you know. He’s remembering you.”

“He’d forgotten?”

“He’d repressed it all,” she shrugs. “When I found him that day, feverish and nearly dead on the side of that godsforsaken mountain, he was barely coherent enough to open his eyes. He just kept asking for you, Geralt. Over and over he called for you, reaching his arms up, weak as they were. Gods, it was pitiful to watch.”

Geralt swallows. 

“I thought you were going to come back sooner. I was surprised when his memories didn’t resurface after two or three weeks. Short-term memory loss after a fever isn’t uncommon but repressing twenty years worth of feelings and experiences-” she whistles lowly “-it was impressive and tragic, all at once.”

“He forgot me?”

“Entirely.”

Geralt glances down, shame-faced. He adjusts Jaskier in his arms, holding him close and pillowing the bard’s head against his shoulder. “I deserve it, Yen.”

“He’s remembering now, though. He’ll probably be a little less than pleased to see you when he wakes up, but he knows who you are.”

“When will he wake?”

“Can’t say,” she shrugs again. “After I brought him back from the mountain it took three days for him to wake up. The first day was magically induced but after that it was just him… exhausted and heartbroken to the point of self-induced amnesia.”

“Fuck, Yen,” Geralt groaned, pressing his forehead into the soft warmth of Jaskier’s cheek. “How can I make it up to him?”

“Stay.”

“Hmm?”

“When he wakes up and he’s angry and upset, stay. Don’t stomp off or blow up or freak out,” she instructs. “If he asks you to leave, go, but otherwise… prove yourself, Geralt of Rivia. You wanted to be a knight once, didn’t you? Now’s your chance to play Prince Charming. Get down on your lovely knees and beg and apologize.”

“Hmm. How’s Ciri?”

“Fed, bathed, and put to bed. I’ll take care of her for as long as it takes you two morons to make nice again. Good luck, Geralt, I’m sure he’ll forgive you too easily for my tastes.”

She stands from her seat and leaves just as efficiently as she entered, carefully closing the door behind her. Geralt lays Jaskier back on the bed and takes a seat beside him on the mattress, kneeling just within touching distance, should Jaskier reach out for reassurance in his sleep. Geralt closes his eyes and slips easily into meditation. 

The Witcher is pulled from his trance a few hours later when Jaskier makes a startled sound and tries to sit up. Geralt opens his eyes and splays one warm, broad hand against Jaskier’s chest, forcing him back against the goose down pillows. “Stay still, Jaskier. You’re feverish and weak.”

“I’m still dreaming,” the bard grumbles, reaching to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It’s adorable and Geralt grins widely, warmth spilling into his chest from some newly discovered fount of happiness. “You’re being too nice to me, Witcher.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier, for everything.”

“What’s everything, Geralt?”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away when I was angry and confused instead of communicating with you. I’m sorry for hurting you with my brash words and foolish actions; you have always deserved so much better and I’m so afraid that I can never give that to you. I take the wrong step at every turn, it seems, and yet you stay by my side. I didn’t want to risk hurting you the way I’ve already hurt Yen and Ciri, by tying us together against your will.”

“Darling Geralt,” the bard sighs. The Witcher scoots slightly closer and Jaskier lays a gentle hand atop his thigh. “It has always been my greatest pleasure to travel the Path with you and write of our adventures. I appreciate your concern for my agency and wellbeing, dear heart, but I am quite happy spending my entire human life in your presence.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher frowns. “You’re going to die someday.”

“And? So are you. So shall Yennefer, maybe.”

“Not likely,” Geralt jokes. Jaskier grins and the sight of it is so heartwarming that the Witcher wishes he could break down into tears. At least then Jaskier could see just how deeply his feelings ran. “I’m sorry, Jaskier, for blaming you for things that I brought upon myself. I love you dearly, and I hope that someday you can choose to travel with me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hope that you’ll-”

“No, the other bit.”

“I love you?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh. Yes, I-” Geralt clears his throat and looks Jaskier in the eyes, gold and blue locked together, “I love you very much, Jaskier.”

“Fuck.”

“May I kiss you, Jaskier?”

“Yes,” the bard breathes.

And then Geralt is lifting him up into his lap, one hand cradling Jaskier’s skull so so fucking carefully. Geralt’s other arm supports his waist, holding him steady. Their lips come together softly, carefully, and Jaskier’s soul spirals up to the ceiling with joy, his body abandoned. He is merely a vessel for the happiness that comes with kissing his Witcher. When they pull apart, both men are grinning like fools. “Oh, dear heart.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Never stop calling me that.”

“I swear I won’t, my love.”

From downstairs, Geralt hears Yennefer mutter, “Fucking finally.”

It takes twenty-two years, seven months, and one day, but Geralt and Jaskier manage to figure things out.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Targets - ao3

- Chapter 2 -

It all happened very suddenly.

Fall was still warm enough for them to go swimming, and so Wei Wuxian had proposed, and Jiang Cheng agreed, that they sneak off to one of the pools not far off from the Lotus Pier. They’d been going further and further away, bored of the same old haunts, looking for adventure – they were eleven, after all, and it was time to start putting that whole attempt the impossible motto stuff into action.

Even if all they were attempting was a secret swim by themselves, with no shidis to have to watch over and no shixiongs to babysit them, it was still worthwhile, and even if they hadn’t exactly been the most subtle about picking up lunch from the kitchens to take with them, Wei Wuxian’s Uncle Jiang had very indulgently pretended not to know what they were up to. Even Madame Yu pretended not to see them as they went out the back gate.

In other words, the whole thing was practically endorsed, although the lack of actual disclosure added a frisson of illicit excitement to it all.

The swimming itself was fine. There was nothing like a nice swim on a warm fall day.

But when they were still playing – splashing at each other and shouting fond insults, each one already mostly thinking about the lunch they’d brought with them even though they’d already eaten all their snacks earlier – a group of men had come walking by, one of them calling out a request for directions. Their accents suggested that they were strangers; naturally, Wei Wuxian had pulled himself out of the water and started providing them, with Jiang Cheng, never one to be left behind, slithering out to stand beside him.

The man smiled upon seeing them both, and Wei Wuxian hadn’t been halfway through the directions when he’d drawn his sword and lunged forward.

Jiang Cheng shrieked and grabbed at Wei Wuxian’s arm, trying to pull him out of the path of the sword, and Wei Wuxian had tried at the same moment to dodge, ideally towards a position that would let him stand in front of Jiang Cheng, who he assumed was the real target here.

Even as he moved, he knew he would be too slow.

The sword would strike him down, and then there would be no one to protect Jiang Cheng.

They were only eleven, Wei Wuxian thought, anguished, angered; only eleven, with their golden cores not yet formed, and the men in front of him were full adults, cultivators, attacking them with spiritual weapons. Even if by some miracle they escape the leader’s blade, there were all the others – they had also drawn their own blades, and there were seven of them. He thought desperately as to what he could do in the split second that he had left to him, thinking that while it probably wouldn’t work if he shoved Jiang Cheng back into the water, telling him to swim to safety and leave Wei Wuxian behind, that was the only thing Wei Wuxian could think of that might work. It would be worth it as long as he bought Jiang Cheng a chance, if he could win even a little extra time at the cost of his life…

He never had the chance to put his thoughts into action.

Before he could even see it, there was a loud sound, metal hitting metal, and suddenly there was a giant standing in front of them, the saber in his hand pressing aside the attacker’s sword. The giant was wielding the fierce saber one-handed, and with the other was holding a kid about their age under his arm, the way one would hold a sack of potatoes – the kid was wearing winter clothes, weirdly enough – but a moment later he all but threw the kid at the two of them and lunged forward, his saber rising up into attack position, and all the attackers’ expressions abruptly changed from smug to horrified.

A moment later the kid hit Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng both and they stumbled backwards, the three of them tangling together, and it took a few seconds for them to wiggle free of each other.

“Hi!” the strange kid chirped. “We should run!”

Swimming would actually be better than running, usually, but not while wearing winter clothing; there was a risk the kid – he seemed younger than them, smaller – could drown, weighed down by the wet and heavy fabric. So instead all three of them got to their feet and headed towards the forest as fast as they could.

Wei Wuxian looked over his shoulder just as they hit the treeline.

“Oh wow,” he said, and came to a stop.

“What are you doing, we need to – oh,” Jiang Cheng said, seeing the same thing he did: the giant’s beautiful swordsmanship, his saber strikes aggressive and fierce and clean as if he was simply practing the steps in a training ground, even though three of the attackers were already bleeding out on the ground. He was like a hurricane, furious and inexorable, and suddenly so many of the things Wei Wuxian’s swordsmanship teachers had tried to convey to him about moving like wind and water, forward and yet fluid, abruptly made sense, clicking in a brilliant moment of enlightenment that was only slightly ruined by the new kid reaching out and grabbing them both by the ears and snapping, “Behind the tree!”

They hid behind the tree.

One of the attackers tried to turn and run, but the giant threw his saber after him, guiding it with a hand sign, turned and threw a talisman at another one’s face, knocking him backwards, and used his shoulder to ward off a blow from the last one, stepping in close and just flat-out punching him in the face. It felt like it was no time at all before they were all lying on the ground, unmoving. Probably dead.

“You didn’t have to grab us like that,” Jiang Cheng grumbled at the kid, who didn’t seem impressed.

“You always watch from a safe location, or else you’ll distract the person fighting,” he responded, sounding like he was reciting by rote. Anyway, Wei Wuxian supposed that it was pretty fair statement. “I mean, what if they’d tried to come after us? Da-ge would’ve still beaten them, of course, but he might’ve gotten hurt in the process, and that would be awful.”

“He’s your da-ge?” Wei Wuxian asked, focusing on the important part. “He’s amazing.”

Jiang Cheng’s irritated expression softened – he’d been wowed by the fighting, too, no doubt – and he nodded furiously.

That appeased the kid, who preened. “Yeah, he’s my blood brother, and he’s the best,” he said. “You should’ve seen us on our way here. We flew here really fast.”

“And we’re going to have to continue onwards really fast,” the giant said, striding towards them with his saber still bloody, although he was pulling out a cleaning cloth already. “If they’ve already gotten here, they may have already reached Yunping, and we only had a single disciple there that we were able to contact…you’ll have to come with me there, and we’ll return here afterwards to talk to the sect leader.”

“My father?” Jiang Cheng said, alarmed. “Wait, where are we going?”

“You were targeted,” the giant said, and Wei Wuxian nodded, having already deduced that Jiang Cheng had been identified. “Both of you.”

He hadn’t expected that.

“There’s another target not far away, in Yunping. I planned to go there only after speaking with Sect Leader Jiang, but there’s no time. We have to go at once.” The giant paused, then rubbed his face. “Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Qinghe Nie’s Nie Mingjue; I’m the sect leader there.”

That made Wei Wuxian feel better at once: the clothing color, the saber, the name, it all matched up with Qinghe Nie, and they were another of the Great Sects, an ally. Plus, he had in fact just saved their lives.

“Okay,” he said, and elbowed Jiang Cheng when he looked about to disagree. “Let’s go save whoever it is in Yunping.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng finally agreed after another moment of thought. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to – yeah. Let’s go. Can we take our lunch?”

“Oooh, please,” the kid – another Nie, presumably – said. “Grab it and we’ll go.”

Nie Mingjue nodded and put down his saber, letting it float not far above the ground, and that was when Wei Wuxian realized that they would be flying to Yunping on a sword – well, a saber, anyway – instead of going by carriage or horse the way they usually did when they travelled.

Awesome.

His Uncle Jiang would take them flying sometimes, but only rarely, busy as he was. It was a great treat every time, but invariably too short; they’d never gone more than a few li and back, and definitely not as far as Yunping City.

“You can each have one of my layers,” the littler Nie kid, who still hadn’t introduced himself, said. “You’re going to need it. It gets cold up there!”

[ynscrazylife]

Begging you to write a super angsty Nat x reader fix where the reader has a near death experience and has to deal with the ptsd after w Nat!!

You’ll Get Through This

Summary: After suffering a near death experience, Y/N develops PSTD symptoms and her girlfriend Natasha does her best to try and help her through it.

Trigger Warning: Being stabbed/near death

Note: I do not have PTSD. I have researched how to write characters with PTSD symptoms to write this accurately to the best of my abilities. I would never want for this to offend or hurt anyone so PLEASE let me know if my portrayal is offensive and I’ll fix or remove it.

When writing this, I did my best to accurately write symptoms of PTSD and triggers that I have researched. Here are some of the sources that I used: 1, 2, and 3.

* Thank you to @nyx-aira who nominated this fic for “Best One-Shot — Angst Fic” in The Tumbies 2021!

No one saw it coming. 

Literally. 

The Avengers were on a mission and they had been fighting some aliens. 

And one alien, apparently, had the ability to be invisible. 

One second Y/N had been fighting and the next she was letting out a bone-shattering scream as she fell, and an alien revealed themself, having stabbed her in the stomach with a sword. 

Natasha could never forget hearing her girlfriend mustering out a weak whisper over comms. Those desperate words would haunt her dreams forever.

“Guys . . . I’m down. Stabbed.” 

And then silence. She had passed out. 

Natasha lost it. She yelled. She cried. She ran as fast as she could and hissed out orders at everyone else. The fearless woman had never been so fearful. The woman who everyone thought was emotionless had never been so emotional. 

Of course anyone close to her would know that she was fearful and she did show her emotions, but they could never be prepared for this.

Days later, Y/N was stabilized. Weeks later, she was able to leave the hospital and stayed, resting, at the Avengers Tower ever since. 

Everyone was worried for her, especially Natasha. Y/N was numb to the world. She barley talked and when she did she was angry. Who or what she was angry with? No one knew. But she was angry. And normally, Y/N wasn’t angry. 

When Y/N had approached Natasha, saying that she had wanted to be in her own room rather than their shared room, Natasha respected her wishes. However, the redhead couldn’t deny that it broke her heart. All she wanted to do was help and support her girlfriend, but she also didn’t want to push her, so she let her be, let her move into her old bedroom. 

Everyone was trying and failing to think of ways to help their friend and teammate. Y/N was distancing herself from everyone and she refused to talk about what had happened. 

The Avenger was sitting in her old bedroom now, immersing herself in a book she always loved to read. However, she heard a knock on her door and it made her jump slightly. After a couple deep breaths, she quietly said, “Come in.” 

The door slowly opened and Natasha poked her head inside, offering her a warm smile in hopes of comforting her. “Hey. Do you have a minute to talk?” 

Y/N thought for a moment and nodded, putting her book aside. Natasha’s smile got a little bigger and she stepped inside the room, closing the door behind her. There was silence as she sat down on the bed next to Y/N. 

“I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing? If you need any support?” Natasha said softly. 

Y/N bit her lip and shook her head ‘no’, looking away. “I’m okay,” she murmured.

She missed the slight tears that welled in Natasha’s eyes before she blinked them away. “Y/N, I . . .” Black Widow hesitated before continuing. “I’ve dealt with PTSD. I know the symptoms and-” 

Y/N stood up, facing the wall and cutting her off. “I’m fine, Natasha,” she hissed. 

Natasha looked up at her, internally sighing. “I don’t want to push you. I want to be there for you if you’d like,” she started to say in a broken voice. 

Y/N turned around to face her girlfriend, enraged. For half a moment Natasha thought she was going to be yelled at and prepared herself to take it, but was surprised when something else happened. Y/N was clearly mad, but she was holding it back, and because she held it back, tears came instead. 

“I appreciate it and I know you don’t want to push me but I just can’t talk about this. I can’t think about this, Natasha. I’m trying not to think about how much it hurt and how I thought I was dying, okay? I know someone, maybe not you, but someone is gonna try and talk to me about it and I don’t want to remember it! It’s painful,” she interrupted, before letting out a noise of frustration and exhaustion, and walked out of the room, leaving Natasha speechless. 

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

A couple days after that, Tony Stark and Bruce Banner stood around a table in Bruce’s lab. That table had the sword that Y/N had been stabbed with, scrubbed of the blood. The two men wanted to study this sword, for it was unlike everything they’ve ever seen (it was alien, after-all). They also hoped it would give them information on the aliens they fought on their mission. 

“Tony,” Bruce said, staring down at the sword. The billionaire hummed, prompting the scientist to continue. “We've gotten everything we can out of this sword - it isn’t much. If we want to know more, we’ll need to ask Y/N.” 

Tony turned to him. “Y/N? What could she tell us?” He asked, confused. 

Bruce sighed. “She was the one who was stabbed with it. She got a good look, felt the, er, sword, and was the only one who saw the alien who stabbed her. Maybe she can help us find them? Or she can give us a hint on why the alien stabbed her if a different alien was fighting her?” He reasoned. 

The two Avengers shared a look, both conveying regret and hesitation. Despite wanting and, well, needing to know more information, they were reluctant to ask Y/N, and were doubtful she’d want to tell them much of anything.

After their silent conversation, Tony made a decision. “FRIDAY, please tell Natasha to come down to Bruce’s lab if she can,” he said to the A.I. 

Two minutes later, the redheaded spy appeared. She furrowed her eyebrows seeing her teammates, wondering what they needed her for, but her eyes widened when she saw that damned sword.

“What are you doing?” She asked accusingly, crossing her arms. 

“We need to talk to Y/N about the sword. Has she been talking to you?” Bruce asked. 

Natasha frowned. She sighed and opened her mouth to tell the men of what happened the last time she and her girlfriend spoke, when a voice interrupted them.

“Hey, Bruce, can I-?” All three Avengers turned around to see Y/N, entering the lab and in the middle of asking a question. She cut herself off abruptly, getting a clear view of the sword, and stared at it momentarily.

All those memories. All those memories she had ignored. She was now being forced to remember them, as that sword was right smack in front of her. 

She stumbled back, starting to breath in short, ragged breaths, and feeling the need to get out and get out now. She had to get away, away from the sword, away from the pain, away from the memories. You’d think she had superspeed with how fast she moved, practically running from the room and looking for any safe space. Subconsciously, Y/N went to that safe space. She went to Natasha’s room, formerly both of theirs, and sat on the bed, trying to calm herself or distract herself or do anything.

As soon as Natasha had seen her girlfriend there, and saw her face transform into that of like a deer in the headlights, and saw her turn around and run, she panicked. Turning back to Iron Man and Hulk, Black Widow ordered, “Get the sword out,” and followed her girlfriend. 

She kept going until she saw Y/N enter their bedroom and followed her in after, catching the door before it shut. She then carefully shut the door herself and focussed her undivided attention on the love of her life. 

Y/N sat on their bed, hands clamped on her head. Natasha could tell she was trying to take deep breaths and calm down, but it wasn’t working. She had shut her eyes closed, tightly, and Natasha lowered herself to be in front of Y/N and at her level. 

“Y/N,” Natasha said softly, gently cupping Y/N’s face. “Follow my breathing, okay?” 

She began to take deep breaths and after a few moments, Y/N did too. They kept that going for nearly five minutes until Y/N spoke up. 

“I’m so tired, Nat, and overwhelmed,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. 

Natasha nodded. “I know, love,” she said, and then moved to sit next to Y/N on their bed. “I’m sorry about our . . . what happened the other day. You’re going to get through this, though, okay? I’ll give you my full support if you want it. Whatever you need, whatever you want, I’m here for you.” 

Natasha wrapped an arm around Y/N who leaned into her arms, nodding. “I missed you,” she said. 

The former agent smiled, resting her chin on Y/N’s head. “Me, too. We can also find a therapist if you want it, yeah?” She said, and then added. “I love you.” 

Y/N smiled a little and nodded again. “I love you, too.”

[what-i-call-men]

Summoned

James Patrick March x GN reader

(I tried to go as gender neutral as possible with this)

Warnings: murder mention, not much otherwise just a bit of fighting then fluff with Mr. murder :)

Requested: by me for my fic thoughts “Another free fic thought for tonight! (Wow two in one night isn’t that much of a surprise) anyways the reader and James are dating, but have an agreement that on Halloween they get to go out and have a party/clubbing or just in general where James wouldn’t go. He summons them in the middle of devils night and they shows up wearing like a club outfit, in the middle of dancing too. They get in a fight over their agreement. Could be angst or smut or whatever”

(Pic is not mine)

You had come into the hotel purely on a whim. You had been searching out a place to stay because your relative you’d come to visit had kicked you out over some stupid disagreement. You’d come to the hotel in hopes of a cheap room with whatever money you had. Luckily enough you were able to get a room for a good enough price. Sadly though, you had been chosen that night by one of the monsters that lived in that hotel to be their victim of the night. Luckily though you were barely awake long enough to retain who it was.

For a few days after, you had walked down to the bar to talk to Liz and another woman you met named Sally, obviously there had been some others in there you’d met but Liz and Sally were the main ones usually at the bar. Although on a few nights you’d see a man come down from the elevator and sit further down the bar. Sometimes he’d be writing or reading something, sometimes he had a blonde woman with him and they’d talk quietly. He never really chose to interact with you so you would shrug it off and talk to Sally about her Instagram instead.

It wasn’t until one night that Sally couldn’t make it that you had instead spent the night with James, quickly hitting it off and soon going back to his room to talk pretty much all night. It wasn’t much long after that you two spent a lot of time together, slowly becoming infatuated with one another. You were murdered during the late 2010s and he was from the 1920s so you obviously had a lot of different outlooks on things.

After a few months of spending most of your time around James, you two became official and months turned into years of being together. About a year into your relationship you’d begun to go to devils night, which was not your choice, you only went for James. But it was the worst night of your life. Now you were fine with James murdering and whatever but his friends were the part you didn’t like. Aileen was really the only okay one in your book.

So you and James settled a deal after you throwing up for about an hour after Jeffery “had his fun”. The deal was that you’d spend the day of his birthday with him, doing whatever he’d like because the two of you could leave the hotel, but at night when he had his dinner party you could go out and celebrate Halloween with Sally and a few others that were more involved in the modern works. It was perfect for the both of you. You were not to disturb him and vice versa.

After a long day of spending James’ birthday walking around town, showing a few different places, but mostly doing some shopping for the two of you, you had gotten ready for your night out. James already had given a few disapproving comments and stares to your skantly clad body. Really you just chalked it up to his jealousy and lack of knowledge of the club scene. “Why don’t you just stay home and drink in the lounge dear? I want to be able to keep an eye on you.” He said as you adjusted your top that left little to the imagination.

“James, dearest, you could always come with us but I think the club scene would kill you again if you weren’t already dead. This outfit is tame compared to other people on Halloween.” You muttered and glanced at yourself in the mirror again. You turned to him, seeing him in his extra formal suit. “I’m going to meet Sally, Tristan and Elizabeth in the lobby.” You said and walked over to his frowning face, giving a quick peck to his cheek as you passed.

“Wait Elizabeth is going? I’m really not sure I’d like you to go out with her.” James walked after you as you made your way out the door. He followed after you and grabbed one of his suit coats, slinging it over your shoulders, a bit to “keep you warm” but also to cover you a bit more than the outfit you wore.

“We settled things James, remember? She’s coming with Will and she is your eyes and ears.” You muttered and pushed the down button for the elevator, turning to give him a longer kiss on the lips as the doors opened. You turned back to the elevator as Aileen walked out of them, flipping her hair back. She made a quick comment and whistle about your look as you got in the machine and closed the doors. “Love you my dear. I’ll see you later. I’ll be home before 3.” You called as the door finally closed.

You hadn’t been gone long into the night, you and Sally really splitting off and hitting the drinks hard as the others stayed reserved. What you hadn’t noticed when you left the hotel was that a witch had checked in for the night to do her spells in a haunted hotel. This was unfortunate for you but very fortunate for James who couldn’t get his mind off you not being in the hotel. His friends had even asked about you and were surprised you were allowed out, considering how possessive and controlling James was.

After enough comments from his friends and the time getting closer to your curfew, James beckoned Miss Evers to get the witch to him. She surprised down the hallways with the witch in tow only to be met with James at the doorway to the gathering. “You need to summon a ghost for me.” He said and there wasn’t much fight from the woman after his commanding tone scared the crap out of her.

You were having the time of your “life”, currently dancing against Sally as the loud music pounded through your chest, she was riding the wave of whatever her drug of choice was for the night. Being a ghost from the 2010s meant at least you knew most of the music and blended in well with the others in the club. Tristian had also come to dance with you and Sally for a bit before finding some other people to dance with.

This was the only downside of dating a man from almost a century ago, you knew he was too molded in his ways to ever join you for something like this. You knew if he even knew what twerking was he’d disapprove of you even thinking about doing it. But you currently were, right against Sally who was also learning to do it, but instead rather enjoying the attention you two drew from those around you.

At the hotel, the witch currently sat in the hallway outside the murderous dinner party, her alter around her and one of your rings that James had gifted you sat right on top of the alter. As she began her spell, you were dancing along with Sally, getting a weird feeling in your chest. You chose to ignore it because you’d already felt a bit guilty leaving James today so you assumed it was just the alcohol and guilt weight heavy on your chest.

As Sally wrapped her scarf around you and danced with it around your shoulders, suddenly the scarf hung loose around the air, and when you opened your eyes, you didn’t see your hypodermic friend, instead a very angry James, and his murder friends behind him, sat at the table. You realized the coat he had given you on your way out was very obviously not on you, instead it sat at the club with Elizabeth where all of your things were left.

You opened your mouth to ask how the hell you got here, glancing to the clock to see that it wasn’t even past 2 am, and it wasn’t the time which had pulled you because because all of James’ friend were still sat at the table. James grabbed your arm to pull you out of the room, but you ripped it from his grasp, a sudden surge of anger coming out. “James, why the hell am I here?” You asked and glared at him.

“You told me you’d be home before 3. And you-“ James began to lecture you and you cut him off. “And you promised i would come home to just you and that i could enjoy myself tonight, but obviously both of those were broken.” You raised your voice back to him and crossed your arms. His face became somehow more angry as you brought him down in front of his dinner party. Aileen let out a small whistle to you fighting against him with a quiet “get em” which was met with a glare from James.

“Y/n lets take this outside.” He said lowly and you huffed. “Oh I’ll take it outside. All the way back to the club with my friends.” You said and walked towards the door, letting yourself out, and stumbling over the alter outside the door. “You fucking summoned me, you asshole. Can’t even trust that I’d be home on time. I’m leaving and I will be home as late as i want.” You yelled back at James and he grabbed your arm properly this time, stopping you in your tracks.

He began to pull you back towards your shared room and when he threw you inside, he slammed the door behind the two of you, guests and friends long forgotten as you two stared at each other. You definitely were a change from the silent obedient women he was used to, and him a change from the lenient and careless men from your life. “Why are you so controlling? You get 364 and a half days with me every year for eternity and i can get that one half of a day in peace doing what I want to do?” You shot at him, but he didn’t respond, just pulled his tie off and his suit coat.

“You don’t just get to dress like that and go dance on other people when you belong to me.” James spat back as he grabbed your upper arm again, pushing you back towards your shared bed. “News flash James, we’re in the 21st century and you don’t ‘own’ me. Because I am forced to spend eternity here I wanted to make the best of it and spend it with someone who I enjoy, but until you decide to make a legal commitment to me I am free to be whoever I want.” You shoved yourself away from him as he stood above you, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Letting out a long sigh, James watched you turn to grab a cigarette from his bedside table. “Who said I didn’t want to commit with you, y/n?” He asked in an exasperated sigh. You rummaged around the drawer to search for his matches and looked back to him. “Well for starters, how about your wife? Hmm? How about you on multiple occasions? How about the 2 years of dating and endless arguments how to treat our arrangement with your wife and her boy toys?” You muttered as you couldn’t find a matchbook, now looking back to the drawer.

You paused and gently picked up a small box you hadn’t seen in the drawer before. “James-“ he cut you off and walked to the drawer, catching your attention. “I wanted to ask you earlier while we were out but the ring itself wasn’t ready until after you left for the night.” He muttered and grabbed it from your hands. “I would’ve been more comfortable if people out in the world knew who’s you were. And the arrangement with Elizabeth is over, she can live her life separate from us.” He said and you could barely comprehend his words through your head spinning.

You dropped the unlit cigarette to the ground, instead opting to grab him in a big hug, pulling him down to you. Your makeup definitely was smudged as he pulled away to open the box. “May I at least ask the question? I’ve been planning this.” He unwrapped himself from your arms, using his hand to help you stand up, and lowered himself to kneel before you. His speech was full of plenty of reassuring words, also euphemisms about how death was the thing to bring you two together and bring new life to each other. Your own thought were drowning in love for the ring and the man before you. It was dainty yet plenty jeweled with his own initials being engraved on the sides. It now sat on your finger, you pulling his own lips to yours.

Your solid kiss was soon interrupted by a knock on the door and an exasperated Sally at the door, holding your things in her arms. She paused as you stayed in James’ arms. “Oh thank god we’re not in deep shit.” She muttered and James tapped your back gently. “Go back out but be home soon.” He said lowly. You smiled and looked to the ring on your finger. “I love you.” You whispered and he kissed you before you ran back out after Sally.

[swiftiesimonriley]

hurts like heaven (divorced! frankie x lawyer! reader)

divorced! frankie x lawyer! reader, silver linings playbook! au

rating: teen (I guess), no explicit content except for drug use

warnings: depictions and descriptions of drug use (if this makes you uncomfortable you may want to skip this one), mentions of divorce and custody battles, mention of time spent in an inpatient behavioral health setting

word count: 3.9k (WHOOPS i got excited)

a/n: I am so excited for my first frankie oneshot!! thank you so much to @hailmary-yramliah​ for this request, I hope you like it!! here is my masterlist, and if you have any requests you can send me an ask! also credit to @hunterschafer​ for the beautiful frankie gif!!

"Mr. Morales, after a thorough review of the details of this case, including but not limited to testimonies of your close friends and NA sponsor, revision of your record, and speaking with the judge who oversaw the suspension of your pilot's license, I have come to the conclusion that you are currently unfit to have full custody of your daughter. I am hereby granting full custody of Eleanor Luciana Morales to her biological mother."

The minute Francisco Morales hears the words of the family court judge before him ruling in favor of his now ex-wife, he nearly passes out.

The former Delta Force soldier vaguely heard the protests of Pope, who is the only person sitting within the rows of seats on the side of the courtroom where he currently resides. He doesn't register his lawyer uttering a half-assed apology or even the cheers from his ex-wife and her family on the other side of the room.

All he hears is white noise as the judge bangs the gavel to settle the room, explaining that Ava now will have primary and sole custody and that Frankie will only be allowed supervised visits with a social worker, and that Ava can take her daughter home today.

Their daughter.

Frankie knows he isn't perfect - fuck, he is far from it but this just seems like a sick joke.

As soon as his license was officially stripped from him, he knew his marriage was over. The tension had started almost a year earlier when Ava suspected Frankie of using, to which he vehemently denied.

Of course, it was true, but how was he supposed to explain and admit to the love of his life that he needed the cocaine flowing through his body in order to feel anything anymore.

Things began to crumble soon after the initial suspicion by Ava. 

The best way Frankie thought to deal with this problem was to put some space between himself and his wife. He didn't want her to see him when he was strung out and begging for one last hit - God forbid his daughter see him like that.

In a way, Frankie was grateful that Ellie was still an infant, and that she would have no memory of the fights he had with her mother over his addiction.

He began staying out late at bars and other places downtown where he knew he could meet his dealer and get more of his fix, trying to keep it as far away from his home as possible. 

After a few drinks and a successful meeting with his dealer, he would make his way home where he eventually came down, the immediate rush of guilt and sorrow filling his heart as he would return home and see the bedroom door was locked, indicating he had to crash on the couch.

It was when he stepped through the threshold of his small cottage that he felt the shame bubble up from deep inside him, knowing that he couldn't just snuggle up next to his wife and pretend things were fine, or even cradle his daughter in his arms and rock her to sleep, as on these nights Ava made sure to keep Ellie in the bedroom with her. 

Those were the nights that haunted him the most.

Breaking Ava's heart was something long in the past - and he knew she wouldn't be able to just forgive him for what he put her through. She was always the one to give people the benefit of the doubt - something he used to tease her about but now feels scorned by. She was the one who stood by him when he admitted he had a problem - giving him support and resources for healing all while lending a helping hand. 

She knew he wouldn't try to harm their relationship on purpose.

But when his use began to impede more on their relationship, Ava put her foot down. She was getting tired of the cycle of hurt that came with each band of withdrawal and promises of this being the "last" time, only to see her husband relapse again and again. She tried her hardest to continue supporting him, her high school sweetheart, but she had reached her limit. She started spending more time with her parents, leaving Ellie in their care for most days so she didn't have to see her father stumble through the door after a night out. 

Two weeks later she served him with the divorce papers.

Frankie knows that he fucked up, be he never meant to harm Ava or Ellie along the way, especially his baby daughter, whose brown eyes were almost carbon copies of his own. He can't even stomach the idea of Eleanor growing up without her father in her life - she is his whole world, and since the day she was born he promised her that he would always be there for her.

But now, his heart aches knowing he is going home to a semi-furnished one-bedroom apartment, no wife or daughter waiting up for him like when he returned from missions or deployment.

Francisco Morales was not one to take the easy way out.

He clutches his patient belongings bag tighly in his right hand as he walks out of the lobby of the inpatient rehabilitation center, scanning the outside pickup area for a familiar truck. After looking around for a moment a truck horn beep startles him, turning to see a familiar mop of black hair peeking out of his truck.

Chuckling to himself, Frankie jogs over to the passenger side and hops in, feeling Pope immediately wrap him tightly in a hug. "I missed you Cat," he murmurs into the pilot's shoulder, giving him a comforting pat on the back before releasing the brown-haired man from his arms.

"I missed you too Santi," Frankie sighs, placing his bag down on the floor at his feet, "I don't know how much longer I could stay there without seeing a familiar face."

Santi lets out a low laugh as he starts up the truck and pulls out of the patient drop-off area before turning onto the main road. The two sit in silence for a few moments as Frankie stretches out his limbs, turning his head to look out the window as they drive down through the city.

The black haired man knows better than to pry and quiz the pilot about his 2 month stay at the local inpatient rehabilitation center. After the fallout of the trial, things got rough really fast. Santi knew deep down there was a chance of relapse, even with Frankie left the courtroom promising that this would never happen again - but it was all too much.

At 3:11 am Santi got a call from Frankie.

By 6:30 the pair were at the very same doors that Frankie had just emerged, with Santi comfortingly rubbing his hand up and down the brunette's back and they waited to check him in and head over to intake.

But Santi doesn't pry.

He just drums a tune on the steering wheel as he continues driving down the main stretch of road in the city. He watches out of the corner of his eye as they get to a red light as Frankie fixes his hair, running his fingers through the brown fringe across his forehead and he lets out a chuckle.

"What's so funny Pope? I don't wanna look like I'm fresh out of the hospital." He huffs, looking over his hair again before closing the mirror.

To say Frankie was nervous was an understatement. He had been out of the hospital for less than ten minutes and he was already on his way to meet a new lawyer. His new lawyer.

The previous week Frankie received a call from Santi during his afternoon rec time. At first he couldn't make out what the other man was saying, he remembers huffing out something the lines of "are you fucking drunk?" but made sure to keep quiet as he knew some people in the rec area didn't take too kindly to brash language.

He then remembers the hearty chuckle on the other end. "No I'm not fucking drunk 'fish, I'm excited! I just ran into one of my old college buddies-"

"Do you mean fuck buddies?" Frankie teases, letting out a quiet laugh as he hears a scoff on the other end of the line.

"No you idiot! I didn't sleep with every girl I knew back then, I know it's hard to believe," Frankie lets out a loud laugh, "I ran into an old friend of mine who went to law school, and let's just say she owes me a favor and she agreed to take on your case! Fish? Frankie?"

The pilot drops the phone as soon as the words are processed.

He has another chance. Another chance to see Ava and his baby girl. A chance to get them both back into his life for good this time, now that he has detoxed and spent his time working on his coping strategies.

They could be back in his arms once again.

"Mr. Morales? Mr. Garcia? She's ready for you."

"It's go time." Santi nods, standing up out of his seat and motioning for the pilot to follow him.

The pair make their way down the white and bright hallways of the law offices, walking past several cubicles full of lawyers and other workers chatting away before coming to an office with a glass door at the end of the hallway.

Frankie nervously plays with his fingers as Santi knocks on the door, hearing a soft "come in" from the otherside.

He follows the black haired man into the office and freezes in his tracks when he sees you get up from your desk and rush to pull Santi into a hug. He tries to keep his eyes from widening like a cartoon character but he can't help it - Santi didn't mention how gorgeous you are.

He listens to you both talk for a few moments before you reach your hand out and introduce yourself, a light smile playing at your lips. Frankie nods and takes your smaller hand in his before watching you go back to your desk. You open your laptop and pull out the file your assistant gathered on the details of the previous case.

"Mr. Mora-"

"You can call me Frankie," the pilot interjects, his cheeks turning red as you nod and take a mental note of that. "Frankie, do you want to start off at the start of your story for me? I always find it more beneficial to ask from the client's perspective about the details of the case, it makes a stronger case," you say, picking up a pen and looking at the brunette sitting across from you.

Frankie lets out a small cough and takes a soft breath in before laying his cards out on the table.

Santi stays quiet in the seat next to him, nodding along at the details of the story and offering a comforting hand on the back as one of his closest friends speaks about some of the darkest points in his life with you as if you have known him as long as you have known him.

It takes about 45 minutes of Frankie's explanations and your questioning to get all of the information you need for the initial meeting, making notes of the progress the pilot has made within the inpatient treatment center as well as Santi's testimony. You put your files away in the folder on your desk and stand up, making your way over to the two soldiers and giving them each a handshake, telling them both that you feel extremely confident in this case, and that you can't wait to help Frankie get his family back.

You can't miss the way he breaks out into a grin, probably one of the first genuine ones in a while, and you see Santi nod his head approvingly at you before giving you a quick "thanks" as the two begin to stand up and walk towards your door. 

Before they leave you quickly call out to Frankie, who turns around quickly and his chocolate brown eyes lock with yours.

"What's your daughter's name?" You ask softly, watching as his posture relaxes at the mention of his pride and joy. He reaches into one of his back pockets of his jeans and pulls out a small photo from his wallet and hands it to you.

You look over the tiny photo - it must have been from the day she was born. Her big brown eyes are the same as her father's, a small smile on her face.

"Her name is Eleanor, Eleanor Luciana," he smiles, a small tear welling up in the corner of his right eye.

A smile plays at your lips as you see the absolute adoration in his eyes as he talks about her.

You know you have to win this case.

You spend the next 3 months prepping for the case.

You know this process is not an easy one, especially for Frankie. At first, he came to your office twice a week in the afternoon right after his NA meetings, most times with Santi in tow. It was awkward at first for sure - I mean it isn't fun working with a lawyer about the bad choices he had made or the fact of the matter that he feels like a piece of him has died since he has been away from his family.

Santi helped ease the tension.

When it got hard for Frankie to talk about some of the details of his drug use, or the fights he had with Ava, Santi was there to help ease the conversation and help Frankie get through it. It helped that the two knew each other like the back of their hands, with Santi being able to crack a joke at a moment's notice and bring the pilot back down to the ground.

It was when Santi brought up old memories of your time back in college that you heard real laughter from the brunette.

They weren't your proudest memories, but the way that Frankie laughed at you and Santi's old college stories brought a smile to your face and gave you a feeling of butterflies in your stomach that you didn't want to go away. You knew deep down you shouldn't feel those butterflies, especially when dealing with a client, but something about the pilot made your heart flutter.

But the minute you would feel the butterflies, like after Frankie gave you a compliment about your outfit, you would feel the guilt wash over you in waves. Frankie was a father, a former husband who was working with you in order to win back his ex. How could you feel this way about a man who was fighting through hell to get his family back.

You were just his lawyer.

Seeing him open up each time he came into your office was something that struck you deep down, knowing that being this vulnerable is something that he doesn't take lightly. 

The two of you continue meeting twice a week after NA, with Frankie telling you about his feelings from his meeting and talking about his goals for this upcoming trial.

You continue preparing him with questions you know will be brought up by the family court judge, focusing on his plans for the future after his discharge from the inpatient center, focusing on the changes in behavior he has made of the past few months. His answers become more confident the harder you work, and you feel your heart start to swell as he talks about how excited he is to see his baby girl again.

But you also feel pain in your heart at the thought of the man before you leaving your life after this week.

It's the Friday night before the trial, a night you typically take off early on, but tonight is different.

Frankie was sitting here in your office earlier this week when he casually mentioned that he was getting his 6 month sober chip on Friday. Upon hearing this news you gasp and stand up from your desk, your feet carrying you over towards him before you could even register what you are doing - suddenly you realize that you have pulled him into your arms.

Frankie is shocked at first, a small "oof" escaping his lips as you held onto him, but he is grateful you cannot see the blush rising on his cheeks.

You quickly pull yourself back and subconsciously smoothing out your light green work pants before taking a step back. "I'm so proud of you 'Cat, that's so amazing!" You smile, brushing a piece of hair back behind your ear.

The pilot nods, a small smile playing at his lips.

"How about you come here on friday. You, me and Santi can have some pizza and a beer to celebrate," you suggest, watching as Frankie furrows his brow before letting out a chuckle.

"You don't ask all of your clients to have a pizza party in your office after hours do you?" He laughs, taking his hat off and fixing his brown locks before sliding it back on his head.

"I can't say that I do, but this is what Santi and I would do back in the day to celebrate, so why not celebrate this achievement before we get in the courtroom." 

You chuckle, remembering the days spent in the shitty apartment Santi had off campus. "Alright I'm in." Frankie smiles, "I'll bring the beers."

That night the three of you sit on the floor of your office like kids and chuckle at old stories, both from college and from the boy's times spent overseas. You watch as Frankie laughs at something Santi says and you feel the pain in your heart return, knowing that in a few short days your client would be back to his old life, and you would be stuck here back in the real world at your job. You know it's wrong, but these past months have been different than any other case you have taken on.

You know Frankie is going to be able to go back to his family after all of this - he is stronger than when this whole ordeal started and he has the support to prevent another relapse. 

Hell, you are proud of him outside of work, knowing this process wasn't easy - but the idea of this man walking out of your life brings you sadness. Knowing he won't be in your office twice a week for hours, cracking jokes and talking about nothing in particular towards the end. 

Sometimes you wonder what things would be like if you met under other circumstances. Maybe you two would have a shot - walking hand in hand at the local farmer's market, singing karaoke at the bar with Santi, Benny and Will, or even going on a flight with him.

You even opened up to him, telling him things even Santi doesn't know. But you need to remember why you are here - to win this for your client.

"Mr. Morales, after going over the details of this case, I see the dedication you have made towards your rehabilitation and future. I have talked with the treatment team at Maple Grove rehabilitation as well as your NA sponsor, and based on all of the information I have gathered is that you are fit to have custody of your daughter. You will now have shared custody of Eleanor Luciana Morales."

Before you can properly process the words of the judge, you feel two strong arms wrap around your torso and lift you in the air. You feel a blush come over your cheeks as you hear Frankie saying "thank you" over and over again as he sets you back down on the ground.

You both simultaneously pull back and hide your blushes as you thank the judge for his discretion and you faintly hear the bang of the gavel in the background as the court is dismissed.

You don't miss the way Ava storms out of the courtroom with her family and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Santi walks over to the two of you and pulls you both into a hug, rubbing a hand comfortingly up and down your back and thanking you for everything you did.

You nod as Santi pulls back and turns to his brother in arms, chatting about something you can't quite hear as you begin to pack up your white briefcase, pausing when you see a photo of Ellie on the table.

Since the beginning of the trial Frankie felt the nerves wash over him as this suddenly felt so real. You had suggested that he bring in a picture of Eleanor to place on the table so that whenever he became nervous, he could look down and see who he was doing this all for. Seeing the photo now brings tears to the corners of your eyes and you close up your briefcase - turning around to see that Santi has left the courtroom, just leaving you and Frankie.

"I just wanted to say thank you, for everything," he says softly, nervously scratching at the hair at the nape of his neck.

You nod curtly, trying to ignore the sore feeling in your throat - a telltale sign that you were about to cry.

Frankie tilts his head in confusion and walks closer, reaching out and grabbing your smaller hands in his. "I mean it - you have helped me through this whole process, and you are the reason I get to see Eleanor again, and for that I cannot thank you enough."

His words cut through you like knives - you knew this was coming. Your job is over, and it's time for him to move on.

"All in a day's work," you chuckle quietly, having to look down at your shoes to avoid letting the tears fall.

You suddenly feel softy fingers tilt your head up. Blinking through your lashes you see the pilot looking at you with only adoration in his eyes. You lock onto his chocolate orbs and nod slightly as he moves closer, softly crashing your lips against his.

You feel his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling him flush against his chest in a soft yet comforting way. You find yourself getting lost in the moment, one of your hands tangling in his hair as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

A moment later you both pull away, leaning your forehead against his as he lets out a small chuckle.

"I've been wanting to do that forever," he smiles, locking eyes with you once again, "I had to wait until I wasn't your client anymore, I didn't want to make it awkward or unethical."

You smile at his confession, brushing a piece of his brunette locks out of his eyes.

"Well now that you are no longer my client, would you like to go grab a beer?" You ask, looking at the way his eyes light up at your question.

"I would love that."

He watches as you grab your briefcase and wraps an arm around your waist as the two of you head for the courtroom doors.

He feels his heart swell in his chest knowing he not only has Eleanor back in his life, but now he has you too.

taglist: @hailmary-yramliah​ @babyprim​ @shadowolf993​ @jasterslegacy​ @collectorofexperiences​

[rapspud]

Bittersweet

Bittersweet    A/N: Decided to rewrite this one. Please enjoy.

Yoongi looked at your friends as he sneered at your prone form sprawled out on the ground, your fingers scrambling to find your glasses.

“Aw what’s the matter? The poor baby can't see?” He purred as he picked up your glasses and dangled them in front of your face before throwing them into the dumpster. “Have fun diving!” He cackles as he slides past your prone figure, cruelly stepping on your hand as he passes.

You could hear the snickers of his friends behind you. You watched as his best friend, Seokjin clapped Yoongi on the shoulder, and whispered, “Oi, I get the whole I hate “y/n” thing but seriously—that was a bit much don’t you think?”

Yoongi  couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “She ratted us out! So I fixed it-and now she can’t see to snitch! And shouldn’t you be on my side? You’re in just as much trouble as I am!”

Seokjin could only look at Yoongi like he had a third head, “ Yeah I guess, but still...there is-” at Yoongi’s raised eyebrow he swallowed what he wanted to say, instead choosing to leave rather than to help Yoongi’s victim, “Hey I gotta go I’ll catch you later okay?”

Yoongi smiled and waved good-bye before walking away from the group. How could he possibly explain how much he hated Y/N? No one here knew the truth about your families-how he had to share a home with you,  your family serving his. He had no respite from you. Yeah, Y/N deserved everything she got, he thought as he got into his car. Plus it's not like you wouldn’t rat him out when you got home about what happened. This time as he drove past you and saw you hunched in on yourself, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as he saw you clutching your injured hand, staring resolute at the dumpster, knowing full well that you would go in after the glasses. After all, he knew how hard your mother worked to buy them for you, he knew how you worked 2 jobs and also kept track of your younger brothers. Deep down, he really hoped that maybe this time you would finally explode and tell everyone about all the horrid acts he committed against you. 

Except that you never did tell on him. 

In fact, you avoid Yoongi like the plague.  After finally scrambling into the dumpster and reclaiming your glasses, you clambored back out, hand still screaming in pain. As you stand there wiping the garbage from the lenses and picking off random refuse from your clothes you honestly don’t think you can sink any lower than this. You swipe grimey hands at your cheeks as hot tears run down them, thankful that you are alone. And as you walk away you begin to make plans. You couldn’t keep doing this. And with renewed energy you begin walking home, not didn’t looking back choosing instead to forge ahead, putting one foot in front of another until finally you were in your mid=twenties, and had your own little place. You were happy with your life. But you should have known. All good things must come to an end eventually. You hadn’t thought about him in years, attending school, graduating, opening up a bakery with your best friend. Essentially you were hiding, but not really. 

And then by some ill stroke of luck, he found you.

You awaken to the blaring of your alarm with a groan. Was it really 8 am? The flashing numbers of your clock inform you that it was in fact 8:59. Shit you were late. Cursing your snooze butten, you scrambled out of your bed and grabbed the cleanest clothes you could find off the floor and stumble as you attempt a whole new balancing act: pulling up your pants while holding a hot cup of coffee and a piece of toast dangling precariously from your teeth. As you run down the street towards the bus, slinging your backpack over your shoulder while you scramble to tuck your shirt in you promptly run into a solid wall and fall on your ass. Your hair is covering your face as you look up at  what you had plowed into, an apology already leaving your mouth when you got to the face. “Um…hi, uh…sorry about that.”

“Y/N. From YHSN?”

“Yes?” you become wary, no one around here really knows you as you chose to keep to yourself…“Do I know you?”

The grin that spread across the man’s face could be described as nothing less than cruel and vicious. “Yeah, Y/N L/N right? I am here to inform you that you have 24 hours to vacate the premises. Good luck.” He stated before unceremoniously dropping an envelope onto your lap and turning on her heel to leave you in a stunned heap on the floor.

What the hell had just happened? Maybe you were still dreaming?

You were dazed for a moment as your brain tried to compute the absolute absurdity of what had just happened and then you were on your feet chasing the man, yelling at him to stop but he just kept on walking.

Finally catching up to the man, you grab her arm, “What the fuck man?” you yell, “this is illegal as hell! Thirty days is the minimum!” You shove the notice back at the man, hitting him in her (very solid) chest hard.

“Y/n, Y/n, I see you're still full of venom huh? It’s completely legal actually-you see I” he leaned forward, “own the building now. And to my delight, what do I learn? I find out that Y/N L/N happens to be a tenant! Guess how happy I was to finally find you again after all these years and then get to have you vacate your home.” he laughs as you gape at him like a fish.

“Min fucking Yoongi, I do not have time for your petty ass childish bullshit! ” you hers, voice laced with venom.

“Aw kitten you remembered! I am truly honored! But alas I cant stay and chit-chat, and well, neither can you. Tata chica!” With that he jerks her arm from your grasp, sending you back to the ground in shock for the second time that morning, before climbing into an expensive black car and driving away.

You scream curses to the sky, because after 8 peaceful years, the man you had spent so long  running from and then finally forgetting, had found you. But of course, the sky only decides to rain. And as you trudge back home to call into work, (because seriously fuck this day) you can’t help but wonder how everything came to this moment. After a shower and change of clothes, you fall into your bed, allowing yourself one moment of respite before you begin to tackle this new problem, closing your eyes.

You were back there again, trapped both in a small body and the cave that haunts you as you watch helplessly at the rising water. Your tiny voice is raised, tinted with fear, “I told you we shouldn’t come here! My mama said-“

The boy next to you cut you off, “Crying ain’t gonna fix it, I will save us”

“You can't even swim,” You yell, unable to remain calm. 

“I AM GONNA SAVE US!” the small boy shouted, “so don’t cry Y/N.” He gave you a small smile, one that made you feel slightly safer and he took hold of your hand. “Follow me and don’t let go no matter what.”

“Okay,” you say, for some reason feeling braver after placing your faith along with your hand into the boy’s hand. He said he would, so of course he would save both of you. After all, he was your best friend and you don’t pick losers.

It was a lot harder though, when all was said and done. Yes, the two of you made it out of the cave alive, but not without nearly drowning, and you had slipped and injured your ankle along the way. Luckily, you did make it out, and while the two of you spent a cold wet night huddled together on the beach, you were alive. In the morning, you were rescued further as the search teams found. And while your mother had you wrapped up in her warmth and was crying and thanking the people over and over that had saved you, the same welcoming was not happening to the young boy. You could hear screaming as a woman in a fine dress and her husband yelled at the boy, your tiny hero, before there was a loud smack. You watch as the boy falls, hand clenched to her face, tears streaming down her face as her mother continues to land hard blows upon her body until she is dragged away. You cried out for you friend and as the two of you met eyes, for the first time you saw hatred reflected back at you. That was the day Min Yoongi stopped being your friend and became your tormentor.

He followed you everywhere, taunting you, breaking your things, and ultimately breaking you. Your mother finally quit working for her house the day he’d thrown your glasses into the garbage and you had come home, broken glasses in hand, face streaked with tears and reeking of garbage -you had finally confessed what had happened, what all had been happening. You had moved away, your mom working several jobs and then as well as yourself working, then you working to  pay your way through chef school and finally moving out into your own place. And all of it had just been destroyed because he found you.

You sigh looking up at your ceiling letting your anger consume you as you curse Min Yoongi to a lifetime of diarrhea. And an itchy butt. And you hoped her eyebrows fell out, just for good measure.

You look around your apartment one last time before closing the door with finality. this asshole, you think to yourself. “Just wait” you say as you look down at the address your brother had just texted you.

An hour later you stand before a gated house and ring the doorbell. And ring it. And ring it. And continue ringing it (after all it was nearly 6 am, and as you had learned that morning, if you want to ruin someone's day, do it first thing in the morning) until a sleepy figure stumbles outside and smacks your hand away. You take this opportunity to dart inside the gate and into the house carrying your things with you.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Yoongi yells at you from outside, beginning to stomp back to her front door. You could only grin as you take in the pajama bottoms and robe, while you stand there like a goddamn Amazonian queen, “You took my home. this is payback.” and then you dialed the police, “Yes? Officer? There’s a half naked man on my lawn, please send help! I’m so scared”

You couldn’t help the grin that covers your face as you smile at Yoongi, “Good luck asshole.” You say sweetly, before slamming the door in her face. Nothing had ever sounded so sweet as the sound of the lock turning over, followed a second later by desperate pounding at the door. And Yoongi could only pound on the door until the cops showed up and he explained that this was, in fact, her home, as well as that the intruder was actually you. The officers had asked him if he wanted you arrested and for once he let it go, telling them that you were having a lovers quarrel and apologizing that they had to come out over something so silly. As the cops pulled away, he went to the back of the house and slammed the sliding glass door open only to find the house seemingly empty. As he walked from room to room he couldn’t help but get angrier and angrier. But when he found you passed out on her bed, he paused, somehow her anger dissipating instantly. He stood there, looking at your sleeping body and wondered if you would ever know her real feelings for you. If he would ever be able to tell you. And the real question: could you forgive him? He knew it was asking a lot, but he could only hope. He sat and thought about how to express to you the things he needed to say. He wondered how exactly did one explain how guilty he felt about how he treated you, how he didn’t really understand why he went out of her way to make your life miserable back then…and then you had left him. How, when you left he realized just how broken he was inside. When he bought the building he couldn’t believe her luck when he saw your name as one of the tenants, but her old ways came back hard and for some ungodly childish reason he couldn’t control himself. That he should have been apologizing that morning and telling you how thankful he was that it had also brought you back to him. He guessed that it was far too late for him to ever have your forgiveness and he couldn’t help the smile that played on her mouth as he approached the bed. He reached out a hand to smooth back some hair that covered your face when you wherpered, “Yoongi...” he stilled, “…I’m sorry” you mumbled. What could you possibly be sorry for? He couldn’t help it, but it made him angry that you would apologize to him after everything he’d done and especially while in such a vulnerable state that the next thing he knew he was grabbing the blanket and ripping it away from your curled form. It’s momentum  sends you over the edge of the bed to land in a heap on the floor. You sit up cursing her very existence,

 “What the hell Y/N?!” He yells right back, while you could only manage to stare up at him from where you sat on the floor. But this time you weren’t having any of her bullshit. You jump up and get in her face “ What the hell? What do YOU mean what the hell? Who the hell buys a building solely to evict one person?! Are you that rich? Do you hate me that much?”

Yoongi yelled back, “Hell yeah I do!“ 

"You have issues, Min Yoongi! I did nothing to you except be born! Do you know how hard I worked to forget what you did to me? And you come just back,” you pause, swallowing thickly, you would not cry. Not here. Not now, “But not anymore! I won't let you break me again Yoongi. I am worth so much more than that!”

Exhausted, you  move to push around him but he grabs your wrists instead and pins you against the wall.

“Let me go you asshole!” you yell at him fighting back for once in your life, all while trying to hide your face and the tears that were no longer just threatening to spill over. “Can't you just hate me from a distance? I’m sorry your mom was a horrid cunt to you! I’m sorry, okay! But please, just let me go! Leave me alone” And then her hands were gone, and you were free. You couldn’t help it, you looked up and stared him in the eyes, for once determined to make him see how he wrecked you.

Yoongi could only stare at you, watching as the tears fell, tears once again caused by him, and then he heard the five words that ripped open her wounds, words he knew he deserved, said in a voice so broken he didn’t know where he should start to even attempt to repair it.

“I hate you Min Yoongi.“

He couldn’t stand it, he knew he deserved them but he just couldn’t stand there and just accept them. Accepting those words would be like giving up, and giving up probably the only pure thing he still had in her life. Had. And so he moved, not thinking about consequences, only a desire to cleanse those words from the air around him. He grabs you again, pushing you against the wall, capturing your face in one hand, forcing you to meet her eyes, while he brushes your hair away with the other, "Good. Never forget it.”

And then he crashes her mouth against yours.

You didn’t know how what was happening was happening and some stupid part of you was excited to have him pressed against you,  mouth was moving against yours and then you were responding and for some reason it felt so good–like coming home. It was like your body suddenly was against everything you wanted-you found yourself wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, a giggle bubbling up when you nipped at her lip and he groaned. and then you both were tearing at each other's clothes in desperation. And then the world stops making sense. You and Min Yoongi, enemy of the state #1 were having sex. And it was good. It felt so right, like you two had been made to fit each other only. When it was over he lay behind you, placing gentle kisses along your neck and down your collar bone. The last thing you remember before falling asleep in your enemy’s arms was Yoongi gently wherpering a muffled “I’m sorry” into your ear over and over.

When you wake, you are surprised to find an arm wrapped around your waist and you freeze as the memories of the night before come rushing back and you begin to mentally beat yourself up as you carefully slide out of the bed and grab your clothes, making a mad dash out of the house, dressing yourself along the way.

No way had you slept with Yoongi and enjoyed it. You were an idiot of the highest order. You slept with the man who wanted you homeless because he hated you.

You let out a deep sigh as you did a very new special walk of shame to your job, where your boss, Mandi greeted you by yelling, “Oi ! What cat pissed in your cheerios?”

Causing the other workers to laugh until you pinned them with your patented Crazy-eye ™, at which point they scurried away except for that moron Seokjin who slung his arm around your shoulders jovially, “So why is my favorite girl doing the walk of shame?”

You glare and shrug his arm off, “None of your business.” 

“Dude its obs-you’re like a whole 4 hours late-and you are never late. So what happened? Anyone I know?”

“You’ll just call me an idiot if I tell you.”

“I swear on cake I won't.”

You raise an eyebrow before saying a name you never thought you’d say just to see him eat his words. “Min Yoongi.”

“Shut the front door! You’re an idiot”

“The cake is ashamed of you and asks that you keep your distance.” You say as you move to the back rooms to put away your belongings.

Not giving up, Seokjin follows you, even going so far as to hand you your apron, “Seriously? Didn’t he like-”

“Terrorize me to the point of moving? Then find me years later and evict me? Yep.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?” Seokjin asked worriedly, For the shit talking between the two of you, you smile to know he does really care.

“I have to be.”

“Did you at least use a condom?” He asks.

“Oh my god.”

“You really are an idiot. But don’t worry…you know I’ve got your back right? Well, we’ve got your back.”

You could only stare at Seokjin as your mind whirls through the consequences of last night, “It should be fine right?” you ask.

“Sure, cupcake. Keep telling yourself that”

There is a ding from the door and you see your brother Jungkook shuffles in with your other brother Namjoon, and giving Seokjin a look that clearly says “Keep your mouth shut if you want to live” you take a deep breath and head behind the counter to wash your hands, greeting them as you go.

“COFFEE. COFFEE NOW.” Namjoon grunts demandingly, taking a seat and burying her head in her hands,  while Jungkook adds a half-hearted “Please…and a raspberry jelly for me.”

“Rough night?” You ask as you pour the two men coffee and grab Jungkook her donut and slide it in front of them.

Jungkook grins, “Nah, Joon thought he could out drink me. He thought wrong.”

“Shhhhhhhhh!! You’re so loud,” hersed Namjoon, shoving a hand at Jungkook’s face and missing entirely.

You grin and speak extra loud, “Shouldn’t you know by now to let the kids drink and you go home and sleep?”

Namjoon just glares at you, “I have a gun.”

“I aint scared of you.”

The shop bursts into laughter as Namjoon buries her head in her arms on the counter, “Why do you hate me so much?” He whines.

“Mom likes you more, and I’m a petty bitch.”

Jungkook grins, “But she likes me most!”

Both you and Namjoon glare at him, “Shut up!”

Yoongi wakes up to an empty bed and he frowns, crawling out of bed and pulling on her boxers. He wanders around the house looking for you, hoping that you haven't run away and when he can’t find you, her heart sinks. Was he that awful that you would still run away from him even after what you had shared? And worse, what if he had gone too far this time?

He makes her way back to her room and grabs her phone, calling her secretary.

“Yo.” Answered Hoseok.

“Really that’s how you answer the phone? You do know that I am your boss right?”

“Debatable today.”

Yoongi rolls her eyes, “Anyways, I need you to find someone…”

“Well you know Imma need a little more…”

“Y/N. You remember her right?”

“You mean the girl you tortured in school because you didn’t have the balls to tell her how you lurrrrrrrved her.”

“I see you wish to die today.”

“No, not today. So you wish for me to find your wayward love?”

“Yeah.”

“Mandi’s shop.” Hoseok cheerfully replied, as if this should be common knowledge. 

“Oh yeah, great idea bring me some coffee please?”

“No, you idiot, Y/N works there. She is actually her partner” Hosoek irritatingly says matter of factly.

“The hell?! Why do you know this but I don’t?”

“Dude, seriously? You do know they were friends growing up and just because you made her run away by being a complete ass doesn’t mean they stopped being friends.”

“My best friend and my sister have been lying to me.” 

“It’s not lying when you never asked. But Yoongi…you should let her go. It’s been a long time and I know you had feelings but with how you treated her–“

"She was here.” Yoongi grunted, running a hand over her face as he stood in her closet trying to think of what to wear. What says “I come in peace”? Maybe he could get Hoseok to dress up as Spock and talk to Y/N before he does. 

“What? And you’re alive?”

“Yeah. We…um…she was gone this morning,” Yoongi sits down on her bed, running a hand through her hair.

"Oh…” and as realization hits, Hoseok intones sagely,” ...oh my god you’re fucking moron.”

“You know I can fire you.”

“Please bitch, I know all your deepest darkest secrets you ain’t gonna fire me.”

“Just…shit…what should I do?” Yoongi asks, finally letting go of her big bad boss act.

“Dude, I don’t know. You slept with her…maybe you should just…”

“I um…fucked up more than that…” He thinks about how you had felt, how he had felt...how absolutely perfect it had been for just one night, A flicker of fear strums through her heart at the thought that this was not salvageable at all. 

“No. no way. Our friendship is over.” Hoseok cracks from the other side of the phone.

“Just help me okay?” 

There was a long pause before he heard a heavy sigh, “Fine, but no games. She has a good thing going on and you-”

“I swear it's different this time!” Yoongi pleads. 

“Whatever. I should warn you though.”

“Warn me about what?”

“Her brothers.”

“Namjoon and Jungkook? We were old friends, what about them?”

“You were old friends until they found out how you treated her. And bonus points-they are both cops now. Partners even, so you should probably pray for your soul.”

With a groan, Yoongi finally gets up and begins to get dressed putting Hoseok on speakerphone. “I’m so dead.”  

“Yep,” affirms Hoseok, “So does that mean I can have your stuff?” 

Rolling her eyes and thinking he really needs a new assistant, Yoongi growls out“See you at the office.” only to hear Hoseok laughing before he hangs up the phone. 

Yoongi finishes getting dressed, and running a hand over her face as he contemplates this new information. You’d been right under her nose the entire time and everyone had kept it a secret. He guessed he deserved it though, he was a complete and utter ass to you. He also guesses it’s time to make it up to you and hopefully, you would forgive him and let him into your heart, where he belonged. After all, you’d always been in his.

2 months later

Yoongi stands outside her (former) sister’s shop watching as you serve your customers, and realizes sadly that it was the first time in a long time that  he’d really ever seen you smile. He wanted that smile for himself and himself alone, but he wasn’t sure how to get it. When he had remodeled your former apartment, expanding it through the two vacant units on either side of you, you just got mad at him for evicting you, when he was just redoing the apartment and you claimed it was far too large for you by yourself now. But that was the point wasn't it? He was hoping that somehow you would just...come back to him on your own and he wouldn’t really have to put any work in. Yoongi realizes then that he is an absolute dumbass.

After all, nothing he’d done so far had managed to make you smile at him or hell just give him the time of day and he was beyond frustrated. Couldn’t you see how hard he was trying for you?

Mandi pokes her head out of the shop interrupting his train of thought,

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snaps at him.

“Wow, do you greet all your customers like this?”

“Yoongi. Listen. Whatever it this is about now isn’t–”

Realization hits for the second time that morning, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Mandi pauses, looking him up and down, “There’s nothing to tell if you already know.”

He could almost feel the metaphorical walls slamming down around him as Mandi went on guard. “Mandi!”

“No. Not about ther.”

“I’ve known for almost a month.”

“Then you should go know somewhere else.”  Mandi stepped outside, becoming a most effective blockade. If someone was to ever wage war against his sister, his money, hell, his entire fortune would be on Mandi.

“Listen, you’re my brother and I love you and I know you know what you did wrong, and really it's sweet you want to make amends but …Yoongi, sometimes things…”

“I slept with her.”

“Do you want a trophy?” Mandi snapped, her fists clenched, before she  shook her head, “you have five seconds or I’m opening ther door and I’m calling her brothers out here.”

“We didn’t use protection.”

“Well then I guess today you die you little fucking weasel.”

“I love her.”

That’s when he remembered his sister’s left hook and then the lights went out.

Mandi stomps into the store grabbing you by the arm and dragging you upstairs ignoring your protests, shoving you into the bedroom and giving you a look reserved for her son’s Taehyung and Jimin when they are acting up. “Stay.”

Mandi goes back downstairs and motions Namjoon and Kookie over, “Listen, I know you hate Min Yoongi with like the passion of 7 fiery suns but I need you to hold that rage in and help me get his ass inside.”

Namjoon was already up and out the door at the sound of Min Yoongi’s name, and seconds later was dragging a barely conscious Yoongi in by the collar. While Kookie held open the door, Namjoon made sure Yoongi purposely whacked his head on the door frame and when Mandi winced he gave her a look that clearly said “sorry not sorry” before dropping Yoongi on the shop floor like the sorry sack of shit he thought he was.

“I’m sorry folks,” Mandi announces, “due to my crazy family, the shop will be closing early.”

The patrons all scrambled out of the shop while Jungkook handcuffed Yoongi to a chair and dumped a cup of ice water on him.

Yoongi jerked back, fully awake now and met by 3 pairs of eyes. 3 very angry pairs of eyes. He shook his head and tried to move but found himself handcuffed to the chair and he gives Mandi a look that says “Really?”

“Kook uncuff him. Seriously. And you and Joon leave.”

“No.”

“Did I stutter?”

“Okay, but we get dibs if you decide to kill him.” Jungkook, grumbles as he undoes the handcuffs.

“I’m not going to kill him. Today.”

“Fine.”

Jungkook finishes unlocking the cuffs and Yoongi immediately rubs at his wrists and watches warily as Jungkook and Namjoon leaves the shop, rolling his eyes when Jungkook gives him the international sign for “I’m watching you” while Joon drew his thumb across his neck. They were dramatic as fuck, but then again he might just be dramatically fucked.

Mandi pulls up a chair and sits across from Yoongi and stares at him for several long moments until Yoongi breaks the silence, “Just say it.”

“Why?”

“It just happened like that.”

“Bullshit.”

Yoongi sighed, “I’ve grown up since then. I no longer want to pull her hair.”

“Clearly. And you didn’t just pull her hair, you did a lot worse.”

“Shouldn’t you be on my side?”

“I am fucking Switzerland.”

Yoongi couldn’t help the anger that swelled up and choked him, “Clearly not. You knew where she was all these years and you never said anything. This is why you never let me come to the shop then? You knew I was looking for her, that I wanted-”

“Of course,” interrupted Mandi. 

“Why?”

“Because you are an idiot who doesn’t know how to communicate. Look at what happened--when you did find her, your first action was to take her home. Who fucking does that shit?”

“You’re right, I was. I was cruel and spiteful. Keyword: was.”

“Bullshit. Taking away her home wasn’t because you were being spiteful. You wanted what she had. That’s called envy. She left because she wanted to live, and the only way she could was to leave. You made it like this. I almost lost my friend. So of course I kept it a secret.” Mandi sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. “Look I know. I know what y

our mom and dad did. How they treated us. We were mere points on a checklist of creating a picture perfect family. But you had no right-”

“I was stupid. You think I don’t know? That I don’t regret it? I love her. I always have.”

“Actions-”

“Speak louder than words I know. I’m trying to fix that now!”

Mandi closes her eyes, debating her next few words  "Can I trust you? That’s the-“ ”

“Yes. I swear I'll spend my life…”

“Doing what?” You interrupt, “Sorry, since you seem to be discussing me I couldn’t stay put,” you say to Mandi. “Yoongi I don’t want your money and if you are worried because we didn’t…,” you swallow before continuing with a brave face, “....I’ll be fine. but you really have to stop sending me presents. I don’t want them. Can’t you just stay…”

“Y/N I’m sorry. I was an ass.”

“Still an ass.” Mandi interrupts, “Look, you two clearly need to talk this out so I’m out. Come on Seokjin, let’s go see a movie.”

With that Seokjin and Mandi beat a hasty retreat leaving the two of you alone.

“Your jaw is swelling.” You say after noticing the blossoming bruise that marred his handsome face. Handsome? What the hell were you even thinking?

“Mandi hit me.”

“Why?”

“I told her what happened. She’s very protective of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/N…that night…I shouldn’t have that.”

“I let you. It wasn’t just you alone.”

“Please, just listen. I’m sorry. For everything. And I’m sorry for not saying that when we met again. It's just…”

“It's just..what?” You questioned, meeting his eyes. 

“I don’t know. When I look at you I want you. You are so good and pure and you deserve the world. I wanted you to myself but I was scared…”

“Scared of?”

“You.”

“Me?” You scoff at the idea of anyone being afraid of you.

“Yeah,” Yoongi stood and walked over to you. “You had everything even though you had nothing. Brothers who worshiped you, a mother who did everything for you…what if I ruined that? What if my mother-”

“How would you ruin that?” You ask, finding patience from who knows where.

“I was messed up…and the older I got the worse…things got worse. You saw, you can’t pretend you didn’t. I took out my suffering on you because nothing good could possibly exist and you were just hiding your real nature. But you never retaliated. You kept reaching out to me over and over again. ”

“But I did retaliate.”

“By locking me out of my house after I took yours? Not really. I mean…I deserve far worse,” chucked Yoongi. He wanted so badly to touch you, to pull you into his arms and just...feel you. 

You stare at Yoongi. This broken version of Yoongi with tears in his eyes. Could you trust him? You wanted to give him a chance.

“Let’s….go on a date.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened, “What?”

“You like me right?”

“Well–I mean–I did when I was—I do”

“Take me on a date, final offer going in one–two..”

“Fine! I’ll take you on a damn date,” Yoongi smiles.

“No fancy shit tho. $100 limit.”

“I’ll take you on the best damn date of your life!”

“Good.”

Yoongi didn’t know why he was being snippy now, but as he left the shop he couldn’t help but do a little cheer when he got into his car. Hoseok rolled his eyes and politely ignored him.

Yoongi stood at the door of your apartment, and for the first time in his life he hesitated, hand poised to ring the doorbell, and then you swung open the door and suddenly the world stopped. You looked amazing. Your hair was curled, makeup accenting your eyes perfectly, wearing black skinny slacks, a hound’s-tooth patterned sweater over a white button down and pink heels. He took in the perfection that was you and thought, “She was made for me.”

And the fear was gone as he smiled at you and he took your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah let me grab my purse,” you say as you try to let go of his hand to grab the bag on the chair beside your front door but he wouldn’t let go. You couldn’t help the blush that blossomed over your cheeks as he stepped inside and grabbed the bag for you and waited for you to lock up so you both could leave.

He pulled you along, never letting go, until he reached his car and opened the door. It was only enough time for him to run around and get the car moving before he was locking fingers with you again.

“What’s up with you?” You smirk.

“Just…making up for lost time.”

“What?”

“I just…I should have been doing this for years now.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “So…are you always this cheesy?”

Yoongi’s eyes went wide, “I mean…I’m not…no…,” Yoongi stuttered and then stopped, “I guess I am cheesy it's just…I can tell you I’m sorry but…”

“Actions speak louder than words?”

“I see you have met my sister,” he joked softly, “And we’re here.”

“A movie? Really?”

“I always had wished to take you…”

Yoongi’s eyes stared into yours, “Yoongi…” you say timidly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not her anymore you know? I grew up…you grew up…let’s leave it behind us and start fresh yeah?”

“What do you mean?”

You stick your hand out, “Hi, my name is Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

Yoongi stared at you you’d suddenly sprouted a third eye on your nose before awkwardly taking your hand and shaking it, “Min Yoongi…the pleasure is all mine.”

You can’t help but laugh at his stunned expression, not knowing he was just in shock from receiving your smile. To him, your smile in that moment could have powered a thousand suns. 

Yoongi was quiet but still took your hand and you entered the theater with a smile on your face, happy that things were getting better, that you could almost believe you had your first love back.

2 hours later.

“Yoongi,  why are you pouting?” You ask as you take his hand.

“Look no matter how I look at it, it's just not fair.”

“What’s not?”

“Mandi. Seokjin. They have spent years with you…years that should have been with me.”

“I thought we were moving forward.”

“But.”

You sighed. “Look. You want to know the truth?”

Yoongi stopped and stared at you, “yes.”

“Okay then.” You face him, “You crushed me in every way possible. You were my world. I followed you everywhere. I trusted you, and you were always there and then you weren’t. The night we got stuck in the cave I gave you my faith—but it also is and was the moment I gave my whole heart to you, willingly, without any doubt. And the next day when we were found…you stomped on it. And you continued to stomp on it. I cried so many tears everyday because I hoped that one day my hero would come back. But he never did. He became a villain.” You couldn’t help the tears that fell down your cheeks, “And even through all that I still…” you sighed. “I can't do this Yoongi. I can't. I’m sorry,  I was wrong to try.” You turned on your heel and ran away, ignoring him yelling after you, you just ran until you couldn’t hear him anymore. 

And then you found the alcohol.

You sat at the outside bar drinking as you thought about the past two months. All the things you had done with Yoongi , and how disgusted you were with yourself for letting your old feelings come back so easily. You knew it wasn’t the right choice, but it was the one you wanted. You had decided to drown yourself in alcohol,  and you were on your third bottle when the object of your conflicting emotions, sat down across from you.

“Y/N.”

“Mmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Drinking!” Your giggle turns to a frown when you hear the heavy sigh come across from you, “Are you judging me? It’s not nice to judge you know! “

“Why are you drinking Y/N?”

“Because,” you leaned forward, whispering conspiratively, “I’ve been bad.”

“Bad? How so?”

You sigh dreamily, a wistful smile playing upon your lips, “There’s this guy…”

“There always is.”

“Shhh! This is my story!” You shout.

“Sorry.”

“Where was I?” 

“Something about a guy…”

“SHHHHHH! So rude interrupting me! Anyways…I’m supposed to hate him but…” you thump your chest hard as tears prick your eyes, “But…”

“But what?”

“I can't…I remember him before…and the him that I remember…he’s still there…and all the warning alarms are going off and I’m so scared to love him but I…I think…”

“You think?”

You lay your head on the table, mumbling, “Think it’s too late…think I love him. Think it has always been too late for me. Even after all the bullshit…you see…he’s still here” You thump your chest hard and sigh as you feel the tears slide down your cheek to land on the table, “ I love him and I don’t want to…I didn’t mean too…”

“Mean to what?” 

“To love him, but…”

“You do.”

“Yeah” you whisper softly.

“Yoongi…” you can feel the man smile, you don’t know how you know but you do, “why do I have to love you?”

“You love me?” He asks, the hope wrapped in fear in his voice twisting your heart even more than all the past crap that had happened. You wanted to let it go. You wanted to love him. You can only nod your head as your eyes slide close, and you struggle against the darkness when you hear him whisper, “I love you too Y/N…I’m just scared…I’m not good enough…I was such an ass…and I know you said to let it go…but God Y/N���I should have treated you like a princess…because the truth is…”

Those words cause you to sit up, eyes squinting hard as you try to make out his face, “Yoongi?”

“Yeah?”

You lean forward and his face comes into focus, a smile spreads on your face and you lean forward to press your lips to his, softly at first, and then he responds, a hand sliding up your arm to cup your neck as you express to him what you can’t say in words. This was so much better than petty arguments and revenge pranks.  

You pull away, breathing heavy as you rest your forehead against his, “Yoongi,” you whimper, keeping your eyes firmly on the buttons of his shirt, scared to look up, scared to see the fear in his eyes. Does he not know?  “Can I…can I be yours?“ You ask in a voice so quiet it is almost lost in the noise of the world that surrounds you. 

"Can you forgive me?” The pain in his voice was sharp. “I forgive you.” You whisper into his mouth as you make promises with your lips.

He pulls away for a moment, and you lock eyes finally. “Then believe me when I say, I was always yours, and you were always mine.” 

“I was?”

The amount of disbelief in your voice causes Yoongi to tear up as he pulls you into his arms, “Kitten?”

“Yeah,” you say as you rest your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

This time it was his turn to ask, “Am I yours?”

“You always were Yoongi. I was just waiting for you to remember where home was.”

Yoongi places the softest of kisses on each of your eyelids, and then he kisses away your tears and finally his mouth was on yours, and the kiss was full of yearning. “Y/N.”

“Yes?” You ask, sad he had pulled away. 

“Don’t leave me again…I love you too.”

“Okay.”

[thefallenbibliophilequote]

Bad Blood

Loki x Reader

1989, chapter 8

"She made friends and enemies"

Summary: It's hard to find the one, but even if you do find him it's always going to be a daily struggle to make it work. Can you even make it work after he broke your heart? The answer to that is complicated, but it all started when you found each other again in the stark Tower- and that's where our story begins.

Word count: 4,601

Warnings: language, sexism if you squint, angst, torture(Bucky style with needles and blood and knives etc), and a little fluff- not in that order.

A/N: I'm sure you guys will hate me after this. Sorry in advance? I'm saying this again- remember the timeline from the last chapter and this one...

A/N 2: thank you for @peterbenjiparker for helping me outline this chapter! And thanks to @chrissquares for the dividers! And of course to @nacho-bucky for reading this over!

No one is allowed to repost my writing or steal or copy my work! Reblog on tumblr is fine.

Series masterlist

Song on Spotify and YouTube

The pain in your head almost pulled you under and out of consciousness with the way your body felt heavy and all the- were they hands? That seemed to touch you. You shivered when you felt a spark of electricity travel through your body and your eyes shot open.

There was a blinding light directly from above you and both of your sides but after a couple of moments you managed to see through that. You saw the agents, the building, the chair you were seated in with equipment you did not know but you did not want to find out what they do. When they noticed you were awake, two men walked to you.

Mike was standing on the side, grinning, while the doctor from the warehouse seemed to look you over.

"And she is awake." His voice wasn't charming anymore, now it just sent red alarms in your brain. "She looks so cute asleep."

In a glare you looked at him and he fell to his knees in the agony that overtook him, his eyes were hazy and you wanted to make sure it hurt.

"Put her under!" the doctor yelled and a searing electrical pain ran through your body and instead of his yelling in the room, it was now filled with yours. You didn't hear anything anymore and then all you knew was black. Your body jolted in its place despite the restraints before it went limp.

"When are you guys going to solve the problem?" Doctor Zazu laughed at the remark.

"What problem?"

"Her powers, they are intense and harmful! When she wakes up again, this will keep happening!" the doctor looked at the young agent who was struggling to get up and shook his head, he was still young.

"That's not the problem- that is the solution!"

"How the hell is that a solution? We can't use her until we make her under our control." Mike looked over at you. "Besides, it took years to make the Soldat."

"We are making advances on detecting her powers, and with the new technology and knowledge that we have now, we will be able to overpower her. I doubt she will make such a fight, especially with what you've told me."

"She was quite fun, certainly worth working there for as much as I did."

"I'm glad you enjoyed her, now it's my turn to toy with that brain of hers." He stood at the railing and watched as agents prepared the room that will soon be yours, and the staff that stood proudly just outside of it.

•

Three months ago in Asgard…

"This is such a blessed day to unite the lovely couple!" Lady Iyllir's mother raised her glass during breakfast. It'd been mere hours since Loki knocked on her door and here he was sitting at the long table with his father and Iyllir with her family.

Glasses clunk against each other but they only made Loki wince when he came back to the reality of the situation.

"Indeed it is, I am glad we will be uniting the families soon enough," his father then looked at him. "And I am happy it worked out as it should've."

Loki couldn't speak against Odin. Your voice was haunting him and you were right- he could get away from this if he wanted to, but he can't. He needed this too much even if he didn't want it.

"We are so excited! Right, Loki?" the girl looked at him with bright eyes her ginger hair was just as bright. He nodded and spread a smile.

"Of course, my dear, I look forward to it." She gave him her hand and he was a proper prince after all, so he raised her hand to his lips and gave her knuckles a gentle kiss.

"When shall we do the wedding?" Iyllir's parents talked to Odin more than Loki and the girl who sat behind him.

"We could have it soon, I'm sure we are just as eager to have this wedding just as the two lovers are to getting married." The father talked to Odin.

"Actually, father-" Iyllir quipped up and he felt her hand tighten around his. "I thought we could have it a couple of months from now, the flowers will be the brightest then."

"Dear, don't be silly the flowers are still pretty now." Her mother shook her head at her.

Before she could go further, Loki spoke instead of the girl.

"Shouldn't the bride decide how her own wedding will be designed?" the mother in front of him smiled nervously.

"Of course, Prince Loki, you are right."

With this the conversation went into planning the wedding which left Loki only half listening.

"I want it to be golden, we can even have our clothes be of such too!" he heard her before zoning out of the conversation. Breakfast ended soon after, with a promise from Odin to send maidens that'll be at the Lady's disposal for any wedding idea she wants.

Loki was walking beside her in silence as he escorted her to her chambers.

"What made you change your mind?"

"Pardon me?"

"You didn't want me or this wedding before, so what changed your mind?" he was at a loss of words, not knowing how to answer that- he couldn't bring you up, but Iyllir was indeed clever so she must know already.

"I came to a few realizations lately, but I assure you that I want this marriage." She nodded to him with a smile and he decided to sway the conversation away from you, the redhead beat him to it.

"Thank you for standing up for me earlier." She took his hand in hers as they neared her room.

"Of course, I understand parents can be tough." She let out a huff at that. "I admire that you spoke up."

"My parents sure can be hard to deal with. They like to decide everything for me but one good thing they did was lead me to you." She giggled up at him and he couldn't help but think that she deserved someone who will actually love her, and he hoped for both of their sake that he will learn to do that with time, and time can heal almost everything right?

"Yes, now I will let you go rest."

"I hope I'll see you later."

•

The sting of the needle only grew when you resisted it, your body was shaking still trying to relax from the shock you were put through yet again.

Your eyes were hazy but you were more stubborn than to submit to pain.

"They will come for me, you know." You heard your own voice stumble out the words.

"You think the Avengers will come save you?" Doctor Zazu chuckled and your vision came back to reality. "How long will it take them though? By the time they manage to find you, you will have already become my new soldier."

You focused your stare at him, but before you could do anything he pushed a button that sent searing pain into your mind.

"Blue." You heard him say and it wasn't hard for you to guess what he meant.

•

"Tony, have you seen Y/N?" Tony raised his mask and looked over at Steve.

"I haven't seen her in a few days but it's alright we don't have missions now." He was about to return to fixing his suit. "Plus, she is probably shaking up with that new boyfriend of hers."

"Tony…" Steve groaned at it.

"She's an adult Steve, get used to it. She can fondue whoever she likes." He snickered at the supersoldier who only looked at him in a not amused look.

"It's been a couple of days Tony, I'm getting worried. She would tell me if she was going away- she never went away like this before."

Tony sighed at Steve's stressed face.

"Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y, do you know where Y/N is?" he called to the AI.

"I'm afraid I don't know, the last she has been in the building was a few days ago, she was in the garage and she took one of your cars alongside some of your wine bottles, sir."

"She did what now? I told her several times to not touch my cars." Tony got up from where he was sitting. "Okay, can you call her?"

A moment has passed before they got a reply.

"She is not answering, and it seems like she took out the tracker from her phone since I can't track her."

"You see Tony I have every reason to be worried!" Steve grew angry at the new information, he paced the lab. "F.R.I.D.A.Y where is Mike? The guy that Y/N was with"

"He has not showed up to work in a few days, on the same day Y/N drove away."

Silence took over the room. Tony looked at his friend's crestfallen face.

"I might know where she went to."

"What, where?"

"She has an apartment up in Brooklyn, I saved it for her."

"Why didn't I know about it?" Steve walked up to the billionaire who held his hands up in defense.

"She didn't want to tell anyone, she wanted it to be only hers. I only know it because she needed to buy it, so I bought the entire building."

"We are going now. Get Nat in one of your cars and I will go on my motorcycle." It was a command more than a request.

It didn't take them long to get to the building, Steve did not care about any traffic lights and Tony couldn't blame him. Natasha insisted that she drives faster than Tony and to her credit they arrived at the place at the same time Steve did.

It was eerily quiet and Tony used the scan on the door to open it. They reached inside and Natasha already had the clutch of her gun open,

"Y/N!" Cap called at the small apartment but no answer came. Tony spotted the two glasses in the living room, one full on the table and the other half empty on the floor next to the big red stain it left on the carpet.

"Cap," Tony put his hand on his shoulder and Steve turned and saw Natasha raising the fallen glass to her face and smelling the content of it.

"This is not good, boys."

•

"Blue." The words were distant.

"Five." You were fighting to stay awake.

"Airplane." No. You screamed, trying to get out of your head.

"No, I will not turn into one of your soldiers! I won't!" your eyes flashed to a group of guards and with your anger it took no time for them to fall screaming on the ground, they could barely move when you felt the pain in your head again and you were shot back inside your mind.

"Blue."

You didn't know how much time you've been in this chair, reality and fiction blurred as you eased in and out of your mind.

"I won't turn into your soldier." You repeated again and again every time the doctor played with you and let you be awake. You knew at this point it'll take a lot from you to use your abilities.

"Even if your little Avenger friends get here, you won't be theirs either."

"What?" you hated showing weakness but your inhibitions were low.

"Either you will become my soldier, or you won't be here at all." He laughed right at you and then looked at the scientists beside you. "Put her under again, restart her."

"No, please no." They pushed you back against the chair; put the mouth guard between your teeth, and you felt yourself sink into the numbness of the pain.

You were shivering next time you woke up, you still heard those familiar words.

The machine they put you in was now rusted, at the moment you had clear mind you picked up the discarded needle on the side of where you lay. You were weak but you won't go down without a fight.

You lay there silently until the next agent came next you. Attacking them, you took the needle and stabbed them right in the throat, red blood started pouring but before you could pull out the agent's gun another agent came and their knife made a really deep cut. You looked up at chocolate brown eyes that now only held darkness when you fell to the floor and other agents lifted you up and restrained you.

"Look what you've done! What happened baby? You never put up such a fight from what I remember." Mike mocked you, you really thought he could be trusted. You were certainly wrong when he pressed on your fresh bloody wound. "At least, not in bed."

"Don't worry, she can fight all she wants, the wounds that we will leave on her pretty little brain will last and they'll last no matter what you'll try to do." You recognized the voice of their commander.

"So, did your parents name you after the parrot from Aladdin or the traitor from Othello?" you snickered at him "Then again I don't think you're smart enough to read such a high level literature, all due respect Commander Iago. And don't even get me started on the good doctor over there."

"Oh don't think you have the upper hand here, see we know something you don't. Did you ever bother checking where your powers came from? I'm sure the great Tony Stark tried, but while he failed we didn't. So we are already smarter than your avenger friends!"

You were taken aback by that, whatever created those powers within you always remained as a mystery in your head. But if they knew that, then they know a way inside of your brain and powers that you don't want to imagine.

"Well then, if you are so sure that I will never get out of here- why not share the knowledge with me?"

"We never said that you'll never get out of here, trust me," he stroked your jaw and his hand went down to your throat. Disgust blossomed in your stomach. "We have quite a plan for you if you'll get rescued, I'm sure your friends will appreciate the surprise."

Your heart hammered in your chest, mind racing with possibilities.

"Give her a dose then send her to her new special room." He stepped away and then a needle was inserted in you again, pumping blue strange liquid into you, your mind was hazy with its heaviness, and you barely remembered being put inside a sealed room. You saw a blue glow from outside of the transparent room, barely seeing the long stick and cords that ran from it. Then a blinding light flashed in the room and you felt yourself sinking, sinking inside your own mind.

The light was bright as it shone from your window. Curiousity got the better of you and you almost got blinded by the light outside until it stopped and you could see clearly again. There in through the light Loki stood in some quiet unusual clothing but that all changed with a glowing green glimmer of light and he was in regular clothes looking like the Loki you knew.

You stood there by the window with wide eyes but you couldn't seem to move as you were frozen in place trying to understand the lucid dream that occurred right before your eyes in your empty street.

A knock on the door caused you to shriek and you stumbled down to the ground, looking at the door.

"Y/N dear, are you okay? I can hear you inside." Loki's voice called out to you when you have yet to open the door.

Gathering up the courage you walked to the door and slowly opened it, willing yourself to look normal.

"Hello Loki, hello." You mentally cringed at your awkwardness.

"Are you okay? I heard something falling." He walked into your apartment casually while you were trying to gather up your thoughts.

"Yes, I'm- I'm okay. How are you?" you closed the door and locked it, facing away from him.

"I'm alright, thank you for asking." Loki looked at your form still standing by the door. "Why are you acting strange?"

"I am always strange, you should know that," you turned to him and briefly met his eyes before you made a move to go to the kitchen. "Do you want water? I'll bring us some water."

Loki caught your wrist and turned you to him.

"Are you mad at me for something? Come on, out with it. You know I always find out what you're hiding." He laughed that beautiful laugh of his and looked at you again when you were quiet. "Come on, you can tell me anything, you know that."

He let go of your hand when you still didn't answer and looked at the ground. Deciding to let it go he walked towards your kitchen.

"I'll get you a cup of water then-"

"Why are you glowing?" you winced when your voice was too loud for your liking.

"What?" you turned to him.

"You can glow, like a lamp or something. You glow-" you didn't know how to explain what you saw. "I saw you glow outside!"

"Oh." You almost felt bad at your accusation when you saw his face fall. "Well I guess there's no point in hiding it anymore- I am not who or what you think I am. I'm sorry I lied to you, do you want me to leave?"

"No! I don't want you to leave Loki, of course I don't want you to leave." He looked at you strangely and you looked at him back, a silent chuckle leaving your lips at his absurd question. "No don't leave, can you just tell me what's going on? Please."

Loki studied you then as he saw all the nerves leave you, or at the very least the fear that he dreaded seeing in your eyes.

"Very well," you've never seen Loki this nervous before. "You might want to sit down for this."

You sat down on one side on the couch and pouted when Loki chose to sit on the far side of the couch, away from you.

The talk was long to say the least, and you couldn't tell who it was harder to.

"I can make you forget all about this if that'll make it easier for you." Loki told you after you took in the information he gave you. A god was sitting on your couch. Your best friend was a god. But he was still your best friend.

"No! I don't want that!" You shook your head at him. "Can you maybe show me?"

"Show you what?"

"Your magic, I want to see it."

"You want to see my magic?" Loki was taking aback by the request, he expected for you to be scared of him or hate him. He knew you were special to him, but he didn't think you will find interest in his magic over everything else.

"Yes!" The smile on his face sent shivers down your spine, you recognized that smile.

The next second Loki disappeared from his place on the couch and you stared at the place in shock. Cautiously you scooched forward until you were sitting right next to his former place on the sofa. You reached a hand forward, searching for him in the air but when your hand went through nothing you looked at it and tilted your head.

That's when you felt the breath in your ear. "I'm not there, love." His voice was right beside you and you turned too fast and fell off of the couch.

You saw Loki there sitting right behind where you were a second ago. Gaping at him, you huffed when he laughed at you.

"You can't just scare me like that!"

"You wanted to see my magic and I showed it to you. It's your fault that you couldn't handle it well." Getting up you took a pillow in your hand. "I am the god of mischief as I just told you. So come on what did you expect?"

"I don't care if you're the god of my ass, you are a little shit." You hit him with the pillow over and over again. "Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

"Okay okay I yield!" his laughter calmed down as yours started and he knew he was done for. Out of all of the scenarios he played in his head about this moment, he never would have expected this. "What are you laughing at?"

"I just punched a god with a pillow."

•

"Why haven't you killed her yet?"

"Well, it takes time to extract what we want from her. Don't you want to see her before it?" the commander stuttered a bit when he saw who stood in front of him, coming unannounced. The moment they heard the loud familiar noise from outside, they started to hide everything they were working on so that they won't be interrupted and killed.

The two of them walked towards where you still lay in the almost empty room. At the commander's order you were taken out of it and strapped to the chair again.

You slowly opened your eyes a small gasp leaving your throat at the cold shivers that you felt as you got back into reality. You couldn't tell how long it was.

You felt yourself being watched, warning alarms ran through your head and suddenly the shivers weren't from the cold. You forced your eyes to focus back and when you did you finally saw them clearly.

"So there she is, finally with us sweetheart?" Commander Iago's voice ringed in your ears.

"Is this the little girl that is causing so much trouble? She looks so delicate, so breakable."

The second was a voice you did not recognize, it was almost melodic.

"I'm afraid her powers are the danger here, nothing more. We are taking the powers away from her like we agreed."

The new information registered in your brain, you didn't call him out on his lie- not yet at least, not when you actually have an advantage.

"You told me," you could see his eyes widen. "That you know about my powers, so at least be decent and tell me about them before you drain them out of me."

"Go ahead, tell her." The Hydra commander swallowed loudly before he let out a laugh.

"Well, did it ever occur to you that maybe your encounter with a deity left some marks on you?"

"What are you saying?"

"Dear Loki must have put some ancient spell on you not knowing it would cause what it did."

Oh. Then you cast your eyes down and let it register in your brain. All the incidents, the weapons…

"And how would you know about Loki? Who are you?" you looked into those dark grey eyes.

"I guess you're not used to this kind of grace to recognize royalty. I'm Princess Iyllir, wife of your dear little Loki."

"Oh you're no princess." You won't let her see what you were feeling, the effects of her words.

"I will be soon, he was so eager to marry me. I must say I understand why you liked him," she leaned down to you a bit. "He certainly comes with perks with that silver tongue of his."

You knew he was never yours, but hearing her say that only put salt on your open wound.

"He is probably waiting in bed for me, so I should go. But I hope you'll have fun here, it's not like you will be staying with us for long." She then looked back at the agent. "Good job with her, I want you to finish this as soon as possible.

"Yes of course." You saw him pull the remote in his hand and your heart started to race when they put a mouth guard, tears gathered in your eyes as he pressed it and the pain began again.

•

"How did you not know that Mike is Hydra?" Steve yelled at Tony.

"We must have missed him somehow but we don't have time to blame me for that! The question we need to ask is how do we not know of other Hydra bases?" Bruce took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.

"Wasn't he working in analysis?"

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, scan everything Mike worked on ever since he and Y/N got together."

"It's his fault."

"Yeah we know- he kidnapped her."

"It's Loki's fault. Everything went wrong after he got here." Steve kicked over a chair and paced the room.

"Steve let's not focus on the blame right now, we need to focus on finding Y/N." Bucky put a hand on his friend's shoulder until he looked up at him and he shot him a reassuring smile. "We all care about her, it's not just you."

"I know Buck, sorry."

"Why would Hydra target her?" Natasha thought out loud.

"It must connect to everything that is going on with their Asgardian technology." Clint sat down next to Tony.

"What about the Asgardian things they stole?" Thor walked into the room and everyone stared at him.

•

One month ago in Asgard…

"The view from here is beautiful, isn't it?" Grey eyes looked up at him. Iyllir and Loki sat on a bench in the balcony of his room, the skies were clear and the sun shone bright.

He spent the day with the girl. They read books together and she was good conversation, he knew that.

"It is." He looked over all that was below them, the gardens and workers and surrounding all of that were the palace walls.

"It's been lovely spending more time with you, I'm sure the wedding will go splendidly!" she gushed to him and sat ever so closer to him. "It's so soon too."

It really was soon, Loki knew that. You were still there though, all around in his mind. In a crowd he sometimes thinks he sees your face, but he didn't.

He knew he was just chasing shadows, trying to keep himself away from Iyllir but it was of no use, the wedding is soon and he needs to forget about you. He looked over to her.

"I look forward to our new start together." She smiled back at him.

He tried to think clearly, he had to get over you somehow.

The girl in front of him was as beautiful as any Asgardian princess would be- from her soft eyes to her plump lips, and to the rest of her figure. She was smart and perfectly polite like any lady should be.

In the last four months he got to know her better, he couldn't deny her kindness and if only he could forget you he knows he might be satisfied with her.

He had to forget you.

He gently grabbed her chin, moving it slightly upwards to him. He had been dragging this for months, denying it all but the wedding is already planned and he wanted this, he couldn't live in the shadows anymore.

Loki saw the look of surprise on the redhead's face but it soon turned lustful when she leaned up as he leaned down to her. He captured her lips in his and gave it his all; there was no turning back now. She tasted sweet; he brought her even closer to him, deepening the kiss, starting to feel her lust take over him as well.

•

Tags: @ayybtch @buckys-other-punk @chaoticpete @madcrazy50 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @the-departed-potato @rogerrhqpsody @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @percabethismyotp14

[static-fanatic-1]

Chrollo + Phantom Troupe Teaser

Word Count: 5.2k

(Teaser my ass, holy shit this is going to be a long one)

Name: (y/n) Kurta

Nen Type: Conjurer

Nen Ability: Terracotta gauntlets with a lion head on top of the hand. The lion head can detach from the clawed gauntlets and act as physics-defying grappling hooks.

Example of Ability: You can use the grappling hooks to grab and throw whatever is caught, this can include people or other large objects. It will feel fairly weightless.

| Part 2 |

~~~

You remember the day perfectly, it was humid and moist, yet just cool enough to stop you from sweating. You had on your usual Kurta garb, purple and yellow with symbols and designs in honor of your heritage. You stayed home that day, being two months pregnant with your future child made your father worry too much.

You were barely showing at this point, but he still kept you home despite your line of work. You were a protector of sorts, a guard to your clan, keeping everyone protected as well as leaving to explore the world and bring back new things. You enjoyed your job, but your sweet old man didn't want you to over exert yourself.

"When you leave again you'll have to bring your secret lover." Your father would constantly start. "I bet he's a gentleman considering what your mother taught you." A fatherly smile gleaming over his wrinkling features. "If he runs off I'll hunt him down and strap him to our dinner table." He would joke.

You would lightly scold your father, knowing he would surely follow his words. "Stop. Keep acting like that and you'll chase him away."

You sighed at the fond memories, glancing out the window of the kitchen to watch the bright sun set below the horizon line. Deep purples and rich oranges decorated the clouds in a comforting glow. Another color, rich and warm, too warm, littered the skies. Coal black smoke rose above the tree tops and covered the beautiful sky in a suffocating cloak.

A lump got caught in your throat at the sight, you knew the colors and smoke anywhere, the burning trash of Meteor City making it a familiar sight. The smell too, burning your nostrils and making you cringe further confirmed what was happening.

Fire. Burning, raging fire was engulfing the village and eating it whole. Screams and cries for help filled the air as buildings crumpled into the ground. That was your call to action, you jumped out of your window and summoned up your nen, claws outstretched and prepared to slice any unknown mother fucker you could find.

You found one, a dark silhouette in the night with a slim build and intense pink aura coming from their hands. It felt familiar, the aura, but you didn't pay it any mind before shooting out the lion head on your gauntlets.

With chattering teeth they by harshly into the figure's forearms, dragging them across the floor and above your head into a burning building behind you. You cried and quickly jumped on the figure, slicing at their chest. Large, long gashes oozed out buckets of blood, and you quickly silenced the figure's cries with a even deeper gash to the throat... their head now hanging by a thin thread of flesh.

The blood that coated your nen gauntlets were nothing compared to the crimson that flooded your eyes. You would slaughter anyone that was not a clan member, you swore on that. Looking around your red tinted gaze fell upon the horrors caused by the raiders.

Bodies, bloodied and broken beyond recognition littered the ground. You wobbled over to one of them, barely making out who it was, an elderly woman you could almost call a grandmother. Her wrinkled features were slack and littered with blood, but the empty, oozing sockets where her eyes should be haunted your nightmares. You wailed louder than the dying screams, fat tears streaming down your cheeks and landing in the empty holes.

"Papa!" You shrieked, stumbling up off the ground and rushing further into the carnage. Your legs barely kept up as you rushed past the fire ridden village. "PAPA!" You screeched into the crackling night.

You paused, breath caught in your throat making you choke on the smoke. There was a silhouette shrouded by ash and darkness and flames, a distinguishable fur coat lining its figure. You gagged at the smoke, hiding behind a broken building to listen to the mumbling figure.

"Has anyone found her?" A smooth, honey like voice echoed past the dying screams.

Chrollo? Wha-? What's going on?! You stumbled on a piece of debris, tripling and falling onto a warm, bloodied corpse. You gave out a strained whimper, almost a shriek, as you tried to collect yourself and run away.

You could hear him behind you, you could almost feel him behind you. His nen spilled from his pores and surrounded you in a suffocating hold. You quietly gagged, hand over your mouth as you held back the bile rising in your throat. Tears pricked the edges of your eyes, blurring your vision with smoke and tears.

~~~

You bit your bottom lip, whipping your hair over your shoulder and staring at the man across from you. He was large, muscles bulging through the thin black shirt he wore, yet he was no where near strong enough to take you down. Theoretically, the only person out of this year's batch of hunters that could possibly stand against you was yourself and that clown whom got his ass kicked out for attacking one of the wardens. This guy was no where near your level, you couldn't even sense any nen.

"What's wrong little girl?" He spat, crouching down and preparing to bulldoze you. "Shaking in your boots?"

You narrowed your eyes with a scowl, scoffing and looking at the chairman across the plaza. "Hardly."

The large man growled and dashed with his arms out stretched. Typical. You jumped high into the air and twisted around, your leg coming back down on his thick skull. Your foot clashed against the crown of his head and shoved his face into the ground, bringing him to a dead stop. Jumping back to the ground you inspected the damage, the floor was cracked and you could barely see his head past the new hole in the ground. The man wasn't moving, you knocked him out.

There was some clapping from the end of the plaza, shoes clacking against tile as he wondered closer. His steel grey eyes trailed down to your chest as he neared, old perv. "I'm a little disappointed." He mused, looking back up to meet your stern gaze. "I thought he would have a better chance against you. Though, it's always a treat to see a first timer beat the Hunter Exam."

You lightly smiled at the praise, a small memory of your father coming into mind. "I appreciate it."

Netero grinned at your words, but it slightly faltered when he glanced back at the designs of your clothes. "So, what hunter are you aiming to be?" He started as he shuffled through his clothes.

"Bounty Hunter, there are a few people I want to find."

"The Phantom Troupe, hm? I can't blame you, they have done some pretty horrible things."

You glanced over at the old man, your gaze being met with a knowing expression and a Hunter License. "Thanks...." You warily replied, taking hold of your new license. It should serve you well, you hoped.

A few hours later you wondered into the fancy hotel you were staying at. A few strangers glanced at you with a disgusted look, you couldn't blame them as you were still covered in dirt, leaves and a few splotches of blood. A tired sigh escaped your lips once you finally got to your room, taking the card and swiping it you entered with a delicate smile. "Kurapika! (S/n)! Where are you guys?"

A tuft of blond hair wizzes past the corner of the small living room. Dark grey eyes quickly following and staring back at you with a disgruntled expression. "Your son is a handful." Spat Kurapika.

Behind him a small, pale skinned figure peeked behind the corner, a cheeky grin plastered on his chubby face. "Momma!" He screeched, rushing over and running into your waiting arms.

You gave him a kiss on his forehead, using your hand to push away his fluffy raven hair. "Pretty sure you were the handful Kurapika, no way this little angel was was trouble."

Kurapika slightly smiled, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "Only when you are around, anyway, how did it go?"

You sighed and sat on the marble flooring. "It was really easy, but I've had the training for it to be easy. You will probably have a hard time, especially if that clown shows up again." You mumbled the last part, moving to the kitchen to grab you a snack, you were starving.

"Then teach me the "magic" you claim to know."

"I wanna see magic! Momma can you teach me too?" You took a big bite out of your snack, giving a glare to both of the kids.

"Sorry squirt, when you get older I'll teach you."

Kurapika furrowed his brows. "You keep telling me that if I pass the hunter exam you'll teach me."

"Change of plans-"

"Change of plans?! What do you mean change of plans? I still don't understand why you won't teach me this "magic" you keep talking about! I would be strong enough to fight the Phantom-"

"Kurapika." You sternly glared in his direction, the look in your eyes forcing everyone to quite down. "You know I don't want you to even get involved with this. Besides the change of plans isn't that bad, I want you to figure out this "magic" thing yourself and return when you are ready. I still want to teach you, but I don't want you to get killed in the process.

"I have a plan to find and hunt down the Troupe, but it will take time. If you aren't ready by the time I am, you will not be permitted to help. Instead you will stay somewhere safe and take care of (s/n) for me."

Kurpaika's dark grey eyes stared into the back of your head and burned holes into your skull. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, yes I am. Even if you learn this "magic" there is no telling how powerful you will become. Even with years and years of rigorous training like myself, I won't stand a chance against more than two of them at a time." You kept your stance, standing tall above the blond you called a little brother. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Kurapika. I can't see you get hurt."

Your son waddled over to your tense form and wrapped his shirt arms around your thighs. "He won't get hurt momma, I'll make sure of it!" A beaming smile did it's best to comfort you.

"I know you will, (s/n)." You turned your attention back to the blond, giving him a stern stare that told him you meant what you said. "I want to protect him too."

Kurapika growled, you knew how important finding and slaughtering the Troupe was to him, so why make it so difficult? Wouldn't it be easier to teach him and make him stronger so the both of you can fight?

You looked away from the blond as he stormed into one of the off rooms, you knew what he was thinking, but that wouldn't change your mind. You blamed yourself for your clan's slaughter and you wouldn't be able to live if he was to die too. You didn't want him to get involved in our own affairs, especially when they were so dangerous.

"Momma," You glanced down at the head of fluffy black hair still clinging to your legs. "Why do you and Uncle Kurapika argue so much? Who is this Phantom Troupe?" His chuffs cheeks puffed out, his brows furrowing in thought.

"(S/n)... it's a long story. One you aren't old enough to hear I'm afraid." You leaned down, picked him up, and rubbed your nose to his own rosy one. "Till then I'll keep you safe."

"From the Troupe?"

You glanced away form his coal black eyes, the painful memories a bit too much to handle at the moment. "From monsters that want to hurt you." You planted a kiss on his forehead, wiping away some of the scars burned into your mind.

~~~

You were going to strangle that boy when you find him. With gritted teeth and blazing eyes, you haven't been this pissed off in years. You stomped over to the glass window of the hotel room your all too kind employer provided.

You gave him simple instructions, go off and figure out the basics of "magic", and then return for more training. It was supposed to be a test for the rebellious teen.

That's what it was supposed to be. Instead, he decided he had enough of you and left to find the Troupe on his own, leaving your precious son to be alone in a secure hotel room while you worked. You might just kill Kurapika next time you see him.

You fanned down the small wrinkles on your slim dress, straightening out the slit that trailed to your thigh. It was black and long enough to trail behind your tall heels. Around your neck was a pearl necklace and a fur scarf hanging on your shoulders. Your hair was curled and allowed to flow freely behind you. You also had some pearl earrings and a pearl bracelet.

Swiping the last of your lipstick on, pursing your lips and giving them a little smack before turning to the small child on the couch. His eyes were glued to a puzzle he decided was more interesting than the television. "(S/n), I'm going to have to go in a minute. You'll be fine right?"

Doe eyes glanced back at you, a puzzle piece tightly held in his hands. "I'll be fine!"

"You remember the rules right?"

"No leaving without you or Kurapika, don't answer the door unless it is you or Kurapika, make sure I call you if something is wrong or when I go to bed,-"

"I get it." You waved a hand in his face, a gentle smile etched onto your painted lips. "My smart little boy remembers everything."

He nodded, leaning into the backside of the couch to wrangle you into a hug. "Come back soon!"

"I will, don't worry. Love you."

"Love you too."

You were off, leaving and meeting with your employer at his hotel before making your way to a dinner with a few high end Mafia men. You quickly met up with the man, he was a son to one of the ten dons and hired you as both a body guard and a rental girlfriend. A little demeaning in your eyes but anything to get close to your targets.

"You look stunning." Mentioned the man, his arm linking with your own. He was a handsome man, that was obvious, a real charmer too. With chocolate brown hair slicked back and bright green eyes you could stare at for an eternity. He was broad shouldered and muscular underneath his crisp dark grey suit, a pale yellow under shirt and a maroon tie adding to his attractiveness. The poor flirt would be dead if you outwardly admitted that though.

"Likewise." Your hand placed itself on top his forearm, letting him guide you to the fancy limousine he had for the two of you.

You decided conversation would be the best thing at the moment, as getting to know a man you are supposed to temporarily date would be best for the illusion. "Where are we going to meet your father?"

"Ah, a nice restaurant just a few blocks uptown from the auction site." He directed his head to take your facial features in. "They have the best steak I've ever had, amazing garlic butter."

You were beyond tense, but a relaxed smile crept onto your lips. "I just might have to try that. Who else is coming?"

"My father's friends, one is another don, and my two other brothers. I wouldn't worry though, they might ask you a few questions but I would just let me do the talking." He gave you a kind smile, turning back to the driver and telling him the name of the restaurant.

"I don't mean to be rude, but if anything happens I'll have to leave and take care of it."

"Oh! I know, they know. My family actually told me to, uh, rent a girlfriend for the auction days." He ran a hand through his chocolate locks, a sigh escaping his lips and he relaxed in his chair. "Rumor has it that something bad might happen during this auction. Something about sleeping? Like death."

"If that's the case, then I might have to take an early leave."

He gave you a cocky grin. "Just tell me what's happening outside the restaurant, I'm curious about what kind of stuff a hunter gets into."

You returned his gaze, finally relaxing just a bit more. "I'll make sure to keep you posted."

"Sir," alerted the driver. "We're here."

"Good! Let's get something to eat, shall we?"

You nodded, sliding your dress to the side to exit the vehicle. "Oh! Please, don't make me look bad." He jested, quickly shuffling to your side to open the door. "I'll embarrass myself in front of my dad."

"About that, I never introduced myself did I? My name is (y/n)."

He gave a dopey grin. "Right, I'm Jason, it probably would be a good idea to know each other's names, huh? Well, let's go before my dad thinks we are doing something suggestive." He winked and held out his arm for you to take, in which you did with a small scoff.

The two of you walked into the restaurant, a grand archway with a fancy chandelier lighting up the entire entrance with a warm glow. Black marble coated the floor with a glossy reflection, and your heels clicked against them with an elegant sway of your dress.

A man stood at the enterence, another shorter version of Jason. "Ah, Jason! How've you been?" He glanced over at you and gave a devilish grin. "Wow, what a catch. Maybe she'll decide to stay?"

The new stranger sauntered over, a shoulder being wrapped around your shoulders. "If he isn't your type I'm always available. Jackson, by the way." He whispered in your ear with a raspy tone.

"Ignore him," Jason mumbled to you, his cheeks slightly flushed in embarrassment, "He's always like this with any human of the female gender."

Humor yourself, or let the poor man walk away with some of his dignity intact? Nah, if you were going to give some of your dignity with these men you might as well have some fun. "You poor thing," You began, turning with a gentle smile to the brother. "Can't keep it in his pants, hmm?" You softly patted the fluffy hair on his head and pouted, shuffling out of his grip and wrapping your arm back with Jason. "Better luck next time." You retorted with a little wave.

With his breath caught in his throat, he coughed and turned to the direction of where their table was. "The tables this way, dad's already there." His mumbling quieted down as he led the way.

Jason turned to you, kept in a laugh, and shrugged. The restaurant was warm along with the cozy glow of the chandeliers hanging from the tall roof. There were many tables, black with cushioned chairs and blazing candles.

Your eyes zeroed on the candles, the beautifully dangerous flame causing you to start sweating. You gulped down the lump in your throat and forced yourself to relax your tensing limbs. 'It's just a small flame, nothing to be afraid of.' You scolded yourself.

The two of you wondered into a private room in the back. There was a large, round, black table in the center of the room, a few couches on the walls with side tables. There were a few candles in the center along with a crystal vase filled with blood red roses. As much as you loved the roses, they reminded you of him.

To distract yourself you glanced around the room, the father and Jackson were conversing, the other son sitting and listening. Jackson pointed in your direction, a sly smirk on his face.

Jason leaned in. "That's my dad," he pointed over to one of the other walls near the couch. A man was leaning on the side, his crisp suit wrinkling with his crossed legs. He had a beard, small but neat, with deep blue eyes and tan flesh. "That is Manchile, he's the Don I was talking about."

There were a few other notable people, but when Jason and you entered the entire room lightened up. The father stood and sauntered over, a sleazy smile gracing his gruff features. "I hope Jason didn't make a move on you?" He extended his hand, slightly calloused from use, but large and warm.

You took it with a gentle smile, time to suck up your pride and be a darling. "I wouldn't worry about him, he's quite the gentleman." Your hand was in worse shape than his, more rough, and must have noticed. The father's face changed into one of surprise and respect. "I'd watch out for that one though." You pointed to Jackson, the man lightly scoffing with a grin.

"Will do." He said with a chuckle.

Manchile joined the table, a few of his men sitting down too. "I'm starved, let's eat."

"Sure thing." The father returned his attention to Jason and you. "Ladies first."

The table was filled, and you ended up being sandwiched between Jason and Manchile. Your eyes would periodically go back to the candles in front of you, and all you could do was twist a small bit of your dress skirt to calm your nerves. You all ordered, and you took your date's advice with the steak.

As you were waiting, the unknown brother, leaned in and gave you a curious smile. "So, a hunter huh? I've never met one, what's it like?"

All eyes were on you now, and you relaxed with the distraction. "It's dangerous work... but if you were trained correctly then it is worth it. Plenty of benefits as long as you hunt something."

"Who trained you?" His green eyes gleamed begins his thin glasses. "Sorry if I'm prying, just curious."

"I don't mind. I trained myself. I've always wanted to become a hunter."

"Really? Ooh, what about the test? I've heard it's impossible!"

You slightly smiled, Manchile leaning in and joining the conversation. "Some of my men are hunters, they talked about fighting each other and impossible puzzles. My best man had to find the damned test four times before he made it."

You cocked an eyebrow. "Well he's not wrong. All the tests are different but we did have to fight each other. There were some puzzles but I didn't think they were that difficult...." You locked your lipstick and took a sip of your water, keeping your posture and chin held high. "Four times huh? I got my license on my first try."

Manchile cackled in his water cup. "Really? You make my best look like babies." The waiter returned with a large bottle of red wine and began to pour it to everyone who wanted some. You declined, drinking on the job wouldn't bid well if something happened. "Next your going to say you could win against one of the beasts."

You stayed silent, doing your best to keep your smile hidden behind your glass of water. Jason peeked over and noticed your curled lips. "No way, seriously?"

"Not sure, never tried." You commented, giving him a cocky side eye. "But probably."

It was the father's turn to laugh, Jackson joining in with some bread in his hands. "Come on, no one's stronger than the beasts. You've got to be crazy."

The father butted in with a joke. "You're a bounty hunter right? You didn't come here to take us out, hmm?"

"No, no, that'd be bad for business. I'm actually after the Phantom Troupe." The table quieted down, so you continued. "Rumor has it some people will 'sleep' tonight, take that as you will, I'm just here for security purposes. More or less."

Manchile waved over a waiter and asked for another bottle before asking some more questions. "You think they will attack? What makes you think they are crazy enough to challenge the mafia?"

"Well, I will admit I don't have proof, but it would be a missed opportunity. I mean if people are going to 'sleep' then the only criminals crazy enough to try anything would be the Troupe. They are also strong enough to do so. I guess you could say it's a hunch."

A few new waiters entered with the food. They set it on the table, asked if we needed anything else, and left.

"Well, son, you found one interesting woman, huh?"

Jason gave a breathy laugh, as if he was trying to keep his nerves together. "Yeah, I guess I did."

The current conversation died out and turned into useless banter. What they wanted to get from the auctions, who they would be fighting it for, money, fame, glory, all of it. Jason leaned over and asked if you wanted something, but you declined the generous offer. You knew there would be Kurt's eyes, but buying them seemed a bit off. Almost like cheating.

You wanted to collect them through force, just like they did, only then will you be satisfied. Still, you appreciated the offer and made sure he knew you did.

Everything was calm, the food was hot and the candles became a later memory from the conversations you were listening in on. That was until a sudden ding echoed in the private room. Then another, and another, and quickly everyone's phones rang of emergency alerts and messages.

You didn't have to glance over Jason's shoulder to see the message, you already knew what happened. Still, a part of you checked to make sure you didn't have to leave the welcoming lot of individuals.

You didn't know wether to be disappointed or excited, but either way you faced your date. "I'll head over to the auction house to investigate—"

"We all will." Commanded the father. "The merchandise is missing, as well as everyone else."

"Everyone else?"

Manchile pulled himself from his seat. "Owl grabbed the stuff before shit went down. But everyone in the auction house is gone, poof, missing." There was another synchronized ding. "There's a hot air balloon heading south."

"In the direction of Meteor City?" You commented, already heading towards the door. "I'll head over there. Keep me informed, I need a list of the people missing and a list of people chasing down the balloon. Anything else of importance will help." You pointed to Jason, but he held out his hand.

"Do you think it's the Troupe?"

You turned and stared into his chocolate eyes, his brows furrowed with worry. So you smiled kindly. "I know it's the Troupe."

"Get the Shadow Beasts." The father's voice trailed off behind the door.

You were calm as you walked through the restaurant, the hectic banter of the trailing mafia men closely behind. They passed you and exited, you quickly following suit. The outside air was crisp and humid from an old rain and the clouds coated the sky like a blanket.

"Are you calling them Jared?"

"Hurry and get worm on the phone Jackson!"

"You already have the merchandise? Good, good, keep it safe and get the others. Worm, Rabid Dog, Porcupine, and Leech are already on their way."

"(Y/n)! If it's the Troupe you should wait for the other beasts and go with them. Just to be safe." Jason held your hand, finally noticing the toughness of your overworked hands. His were soft, raised with little trouble unlike yourself.

"I'll be fine, I'm strong enough to last against one, maybe two of the members if I'm lucky." You slipped your hand from his grip and tore off your expensive heels, no need for them to get ruined like your dress. "Can you hold these for me? I'd hate for them to get dirty." You handed him your pearls, leaving the earrings because they wouldn't get caught on anything. "I'll have to come back and get them."

You smiled at him again and summoned your gauntlets, dashing off to catch a hot air balloon. He stared at your disappearing form, a clear as day blush spread across his cheeks.

~~~

You made it after a while of running, but the battle had already begun. You stationed yourself on top of the plateau surrounding the battlefield, and already you scolded yourself for not trying to keep the beasts as back-up.

Their bodies littered the floors and blood soaked the dry earth. Biting your lip, you assessed the playing field. Uvogin sat alone, a hairy man you could only assume was the Porcupine character stuck to his fist. The rest of the Troupe members, not all of them, sat along the sides with cards in their hands. Machi, Nobunaga, Feitan, Franklin, Shizuku and Shalnark. You wondered if that was everyone or if someone was hiding.

Next was a few mafia men smart enough to not engage in battle, but why haven't they run off yet? You would have taken more care in who they might be, but you were quickly cut off with an ear piercing scream. You covered your ears and crouched down further, wincing at your late reaction.

Uvogin smiled and waited. Blood spurt from Porcupine's ears and not a moment later he fell to the floor with a dead eyed thud. The mafia men began to make their move, so you wondered closer to where they were stationed.

Then it happened, chains tightly wound themselves around Uvogin and tugged him into oblivion. Chains... chains! Kurapika! With your new revelation you ran towards the car everyone was piling into. But in no time Uvogin was packed in and they began their drive away.

With a low growl you sprinted faster and jumped off the cliff side and towards the first car. You tumbled onto the roof, denting it underneath the impact, and attached yourself with your gauntlets.

Your burning rage dismissed the passenger's window, and you smashed into it without care for who was on the other side. Gripping their shirt and almost pulling them out, the frightened girl screeching. "Kurapika!"

Two pairs of red eyes stared into each other's souls. He knew he was in deep shit. "(Y/n)-"

"Don't you fucking dare." You snapped, pointing your finger to the man tied up in the backseat., but your eyes stayed glued on the blond. "I swear to god if I hear any bullshit I'm going to tear a tongue out!"

"Someone's in a pissy mood." A deep voice reverberated through the small confines of the black car. Finally, you glared at the man in the back seat, his entire body tied under nen chains.

"Eat lead Uvo."

"Already checked off the bucket list (y/n/n)."

God, you hated that nickname.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Nemesis - Part 2

I’m so glad that you guys are enjoying this new series! Work was pretty hectic for me today, but here is the next part, albeit a little late.

For the last vote, A won out, meaning that Hero is going to attempt to a more direct approach to aiding Villain. Though, the things they see in this part may just change their mind.

CW//Shapeshifting, cartoon violence, insults, being called ‘worthless,’ interventions, residential medical facilities, flashbacks

The blow came out of nowhere.

It was a rhetorical statement as much as it was a completely literal one. That didn’t matter in the moment, however-- the fist had very much struck Hero in the back of their head, causing them to stumble forwards.

Before them, their assailant rematerialized from thin air, gasping with a smirk upon their face. They blew on their knuckles, as if blowing smoke from a firearm’s muzzle. Stupid, arrogant kid.

“Come on!” The villain taunted. “I thought you were supposed to be good.”

Hero didn’t bother to transform before they leapt; they did that mid-air, curled fingers turning into canine claws before them. Said claws were aimed truly at the villain a few feet ahead, directed at their panicked expression.

Suddenly, Hero felt to be on the edge of a roof. Facing a completely different foe.

Throwing themself to the ground was not a conscious choice, but it was the action that they took.

The hero in lupine shape skidded to the ground, head spinning as it struck concrete. By the time they were back to all four paws, their opponent was long gone. In their wake, the door slammed closed.

Why did they...

No. This villain looked nothing like them. They shook their head, turning back to human form in order to begin tearing out the door.

The laboratory was a nightmare to navigate. White walls stretched far further than they had any right to, all looking terribly identical. Had it been any other situation, Hero would have found themself hopelessly lost.

But they could make a pretty good guess where their target had run off to. It was probably the hall where the shouting and banging was emanating from.

Hero skidded about a corner, forgetting momentarily that in human form they lacked dewclaws, causing them nearly to fall. They did not, however, turning the corner and stopping before they collided with the active battle.

Leader swore loudly as they failed to land a blow on the villain. However, their attacker missed in turn, putting themself in such a position that allowed Teammate to grab them from behind.

The villain yelled and struggled. Almost as if they’d just fallen from the roof of a building, and were now screaming, fighting back against those trying to hold them down.

Hero was on a collision course with Teammate before they so much as realized it. Halfway through the movement, their body turned from human to that of a far more formidable wildcat, easily sending their friend sprawling on the white tile. In turn, the villain their friend had been restraining freed themself.

Leader was too stunned, in the moment, to react. By the time everyone in the corridor had returned to their senses, their opponent had long since dematerialized and left.

Leaving only the three Heroes in the hallway. Two heads turned to stare at the third.

Hero’s feline ears turned back a moment, an expression that was translated to flushing as they returned to human form. Teammate pried themself off the floor, brushing dust from their uniform.

“Sorry.” Hero dipped their head.

“Why the hell did you do that?” Leader snapped. In comparison to the quiet building, it sounded like a gong being struck. “We almost had them!”

“I was, uh, trying to get them on the ground.”

“I had it handled.” Teammate commented in a far calmer tone of voice. “I don’t think we have any chance of catching up to them now, though.”

“No. Probably not. No thanks to someone.” Leader shook their head. “We were so damn close.”

“And they got the medicines too.” Teammate added.

“They what?”

“The medicines?”

“I thought those were secured.”

“Well... They were. And then they took them.”

“Oh my god, you two are stupid.” Leader hissed through gritted teeth. “Hero, what happened in the other room? I thought you had them pinned.”

“They got away.”

“You two are so stupid. I asked for a team, and this is what I get... Worthless. Well, it’s a lost cause, now. Let’s get back to the car.”

Hero and Teammate hung their heads, but weren’t about to argue. They began their walk out of the building in silence, a silence that continued until they had traversed a few flights of stairs. That was when Leader spoke up, once again, some of the most acute venom seeming to have left their voice.

“Hero... You seem nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“I know you can fight better than what I just saw. I want to know why.”

“I guess... I guess I’m not sure.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

No. Of course they weren’t sure, because it was a lie. The night prior, after their diner meeting with Hacker, they had not succeeded in getting a single second of sleep. Now, they felt like their legs-- however many they happened to have at the moment-- were made of jello.

“I’m sure. I just need some sleep.”

“And then you’ll be back to normal?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I need my best fighter back in shape. Villains don’t catch themselves, y’know.”

Except, sometimes, they did. Sometimes they tripped, right off the edge of a roof. And, sometimes, their fall haunted the dreams of the hero who had caused it.

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The dorms at HQ were a lot of things. They were cramped, and cluttered, and the thermostats never seemed to work quite right. All of that, though, was normal. A life spent living in apartments and dorms had gotten Hero plenty used to making themself comfortable in small quarters.

The bad thing about them was that, living in an enclosed space with the same people for years on end, it became just about impossible to pretend they weren’t home when someone knocked on the door.

That didn’t mean they didn’t try every single time, however.

Hero nestled themself further under the blankets that covered them, burying their head beneath their pillow in an attempt to block out the incessant knocking. Eventually, they gave up, shouting back:

“Hero isn’t home. You can’t come in.”

“If Hero isn’t home how are they talking to me?” Came Teammate’s joking cadence.

“This is a recording. Please come back later or not at all.”

“Well, can I at least come in and talk to a recording of Hero?”

“Fine.”

Hero rolled over, staring at the ceiling a moment before getting off the bed to let their friend inside. They were smiling, which was automatically a red flag.

Teammate found themself a seat on the couch shoved into the corner of the dorm, while Hero returned to their bed, collapsing dramatically onto their back.

“I have a feeling that you know why I’m here.” Teammate started, in that weird voice they used when trying to calm down a civilian.

“What are you, my therapist?”

“No. But I am worried about you.”

“I told Leader already. I’m just tired.”

“Is that why you tackled me out of nowhere?”

“I was trying to tackle the villain.”

“While I was already holding them?”

“Can you just drop it? I’m fine. I just need to go to bed early tonight.”

“it’s not just today, though. You’ve been acting weird all week. Maybe longer.”

“Have not.”

“When you froze up on that roof?”

“Nope.”

“When you pretended to be sick so you didn’t have to go to that ceremony at the university?”

“Had a cold.”

“When you just let a villain punch you in the face?”

“I- Why do you have to be right all the time?”

“Not all the time. But I think everyone has been getting a bit worried about you. You haven’t been acting yourself... We just want to help. Are you sick? You can be honest with me.”

“It’s not that. I’m fine. Physically, I’m fine. So I should be fine and dandy.”

Teammate nodded.

“The anniversary.”

“You remembered?”

“They had it on the news. Though I have a feeling you didn’t need any help remembering.”

“No.”

“How many days has it been, now?”

“374.”

“Nine days since the anniversary of Villain’s capture. Nine days you’ve been acting weird. That’s an awfully interesting coincidence.”

“I’m worried about them.” Hero dipped their head. “I can’t- I can hardly sleep.”

“You’re worried about Villain?”

“Well- I’m not worried about them. Of course I’m not worried about them, they’re a villain. But...”

“But?”

“It’s been over a year, and there’s been no news. You’d think they’d be like, fighting back, or trying to escape, or something.”

“Is that what you’re worried about, them escaping?”

How were they supposed to escape when they couldn’t even open their eyes?

“I guess so, yeah. It doesn’t seem right for them to be so docile like that.”

“The rehabbers are very good.”

“I know they are. But Villain is... they’re the worst! When they were captured the city threw a parade! They’ve hurt so many people. And now they’re just gone.”

“You think they’re planning something?”

“I guess.”

“Well... why don’t you go see them?”

“What?”

“It’s not like they’re being held on some secret Alcatraz. The rehab place is just across the city. They’ll probably let you in if you just go up and ask.”

“You really think that would work?”

“Why not? Villain is probably just going to like, spit on you or something, but if it’s worrying you this much, just go see them. You’ll see that they’re under control, and then maybe you won’t tackle me anymore?”

“I’ll try not to.” Hero chuckled. “You think that’s gonna work?”

“It’s worth a try. Besides, maybe Villain will be better, this time. Those rehabbers are crazy good at their jobs. I don’t think a single villain has come out of their still being, like, evil. They have a one hundred percent success rate, as far as I know.”

Almost one hundred percent.

Almost.

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This was stupid.

It was the only thing Hero could think about, sitting there in the parking lot, staring at the building with its cute little picket fence and brightly-colored exterior.

It was a stupid plan. They had spent so long the night prior, overthinking the few brief words they had exchanged with Hacker.

Villain needed to leave that place.

At the very least, they needed to... Hero didn’t know what they needed. They needed to be contained, certainly. They were dangerous. Too dangerous to be free. But they at least deserved to be awake.

Did they?

Yes. Of course they did. If asked, Hero was unsure if they could truly defend their position on the matter, but they knew that Villain did not deserve to be in the state that they currently suffered. It wasn’t right.

That wit. That tongue. Those sharp, intelligent eyes.

Villain did not deserve to be drowned in sedatives until they could no longer remember their own name.

It did not matter where they went. Where they were contained. So long as they were allowed to be awake. Allowed to live.

They at least deserved that much.

But... Hero had no power over such things. Every possible plan they had concocted fell apart as soon as they tried to think it through. Certainly, despite its cutesy exterior, this building was heavily guarded. Even if they did manage to get Villain out of the facility, where would they take them? Hell, as soon as they were out, Villain would probably tear their throat out!

They should have just gone right back to the HQ and forgotten the whole affair. But that image of their foe, dead to the world, would not leave their mind. It was burned into their eyelids. They saw it when they blinked.

Hero had no plan. But, they had a car, and a near complete lack of self restraint.

They had no intention of going in guns blazing. They’d be taken out in seconds, and would probably land in the very same facility, being “rehabilitated.” But, if they could at least get in, then that was a significant hurdle leapt.

And they had the perfect plan to achieve that step.

Hero’s hadn’t even realized just how white their knuckles had grown from having gripped the steering wheel with such force for so long. Their fingers ached as they removed them from the wheel, exiting the vehicle.

For a moment, they stood there.

The only sort of barrier between the facility and the outside world was a white picket fence, only a few feet in height. A moderately athletic cat could jump it. A villain would have no difficulty.

Beyond the fence, the building looked almost like any medical clinic. Decorative windchimes hung from the awning overtop the entrance, which was little more than a pair of glass doors. There wasn’t even a visible lock. From either side of the main part of the structure, wings of patient rooms stretched, their windows decorated with childish crafts made of construction paper and glue.

It looked more like a civilian hospital than something holding the city’s most dangerous criminals.

Hero hated just how nervous they felt, opening the gate to the picket fence and approaching the front door. Their suspicions were correct-- the doors were unlocked, and a bell above them even chimed as they were opened.

The lobby beyond was small, consisting of only a single desk, at which a lab-coated person typed on a computer. As Hero entered, they looked up. Their eyes widened.

“Hero?” Their mouth was almost agape. “I didn’t think we were expecting a visit from you.”

“Sorry about that. It’s kind of a more... spur of the moment thing.”

“Oh? How can we help you?”

Hero approached the desk, trying to hide the way their finger refused to stop twitching.

“I...” Their shoulders slumped. They weren’t an actor by any means, but they had gotten plenty of practice in lying to Leader about how long they had spent in the gym. “A bit over a week ago, it was the one year anniversary of Villain’s capture.”

“Was it? Time flies, I suppose.”

“I was wondering if I could see them.”

“Oh? Any particular reason?”

“I’m just a little... suspicious. I want to make sure they’re doing alright. That they aren’t planning anything.”

“Hm... Well, I can understand your concern, but I assure you that Villain has been a model patient.”

“Even so... Can I see them?”

Hero could see the tips of the Labcoat’s ears growing red.

“Let me talk to the head doctor.” They stood from their desk, notably turning off their computer as they did so. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

“No need.”

At the back of the small lobby area, a door opened, revealing a man wearing a pair of blue scrubs and a warm smile.

“I’m right here, Labcoat. Is there something you need- Oh my goodness, Hero in the flesh! For what do we get the honor?”

“Um-”

“They want to see Villain.”

That dropped Head Doctor’s smile pretty quick.

“I see.” They nodded, nearing the desk. “Wanting to visit the old nemesis, hm?”

“I just want to make sure they’re doing alright. That they aren’t... planning anything.”

Head Doctor frowned a moment, before sighing.

“I’m sorry, Hero. And to think you came all this way. But I’m going to have to say no. You see, Villain has had a hard day, today. Usually they’re very well-behaved, but they had some trouble today. I don’t think it would be the best idea to rile them up like that, right now. I’m terribly sorry.”

Hero put their hand in their pocket, ensuring that the doctors could not see as they balled it into a fist.

“I understand.” They nodded, trying their best not to grit their teeth. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s terribly unfortunate. If you had just come another day... But I don’t want to waste your time entirely. And it’s such a terribly long drive across town.” Again, Head Doctor’s countenance was brightened by a grin. “You won’t be able to see your nemesis today, but how about a tour? You can speak to our other patients, if you would like. They’re eating lunch right about now.”

A tour.

Hero could work with that.

“That would be great. Are you sure it’s... Are you sure it’s safe? Not that I’m worried or anything, but.”

“Of course it’s safe. It’s always safe, here. Come on. I’m sure everyone will be delighted to see you.”

Yeah. Delighted.

Head Doctor’s blue scrubs rippled under the bright florescents as they turned, heading back towards that door at the rear of the room. It felt almost too good to be true, but Hero wasted no time in following suit.

This door, unlike the others, was metal, and required a key to be passed through. It opened with a rather heavy creak, and clicked solidly as it closed behind Hero. They almost jumped.

If they were being quite honest, they had never really thought about where villains went after they were locked up. Like a hunting dog, they had little care where their prey ended up, only that they retrieved it. If they had to guess where their fallen foes ended up, they would have likely described a well-secured concrete building, complete with snipers and barbed wire.

Not a cute little hospital ward.

The door from the lobby opened into a wide-open, carpeted space, decorated by several sofas and a television, alongside a few well-stocked bookshelves. Beyond it, three hallways sprouted-- one to the front, and one to the left or the right.

Every door was wood.

“We call this the commons.” Head Doctor explained with a smile. “A sort of... hang out space. And those two halls lead to the patients rooms. Not much to see there.”

In an awfully hurried manner, they lead Hero forwards, into the hallway that led straight out from the commons. It was wide, with several doors on either side. Yet, not a single window.

“This is where me and my colleagues work, most of the the time. It’s mostly offices for our therapists. And that one, there, is my office.”

During the whole explanation, they did not stop walking forwards. They only did so at the end of the hallway, where a door was embedded.

“Um... This is the dining hall, just past this door. Everyone is eating lunch right now. I assure you that it’s perfectly safe, but I understand if you don’t want to see some of your, um, old foes.”

“It’s fine.” Hero did their best to smile. “Is Villain in there?”

“No. They decided to eat lunch in their room today.” Head Doctor chimed, opening the door. From behind it, there was no sound.

Nothing that Head Doctor said had been untrue. The dining hall was clean, immaculately so, scattered with plastic tables and chairs, both painted to look as though they were made of wood. Each table only sat two people, and most of them were full.

Full of the city’s worst. Villains who had hurt people, who had killed dozens.

They seemed happy enough, at least based upon the expressions on their faces. It was just about as typical as a cafeteria during mealtime could get.

Except for the quiet.

Even with the two dozen or so people sitting and eating, not a single one spoke. Each and every one of them seemed intent on sitting and eating the food before them. 

Hero scanned the room a moment, gaze eventually setting upon one of the few tables with an empty chair. They didn't recognize the villain very well. They may have had ice-related powers, or something of the like. But they had fought, at least once. And Hero didn’t remember them being that horrible.

It was something. It was the best they were going to get.

“Head Doctor?” They spoke up.

“Yes, Hero?”

“There’s someone else here, I want to speak to.” They gestured towards the villain, sitting alone. Staring at their food. Engrossed. “We used to, um, we fought a lot. I want to talk to them.”

“Oh? Well, that’s just fine by me. It’s always good to reconcile. They’re a model patient. Do you want anything to eat?”

“No thank you.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be back at the end of lunch, if that sounds alright?”

“That’s just fine.”

“Splendid! I will see you then, Hero.”

Hero ducked their head in agreement, waiting until the doctor had left before approaching the table. They moved slowly, taking a seat across from the villain that they couldn’t so much as remember the name of. Even as they sat down, the person across from the table did not so much as bat an eye.

They only did so when Hero spoke up:

“Um, hello.”

It was oddly slow, the way in which the villain raised their head. They placed down their fork gingerly, smiling.

“Hello, Hero. I haven’t seen you in quite some time.”

“Uh, you neither. How are you doing?”

“I am doing just fine, Hero.” It was terribly stilted, the way in which they spoke, as though they had to carefully consider each word. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Did you come here to visit me?”

“Um, not you specifically. I came here to visit Villain.”

The edges of the villain’s smile flickered a moment, as if continuing to keep them upturned was quickly becoming a major effort.

“You should leave this place, Hero.” Even as they said it, their smile never fell. “It’s not worth it.”

Their hand gripped around the handle of their fork.

“Do you know where they are? Where Villain is?”

“Yes I do, Hero. I did not think you would care. It is you who put them here.”

“I didn’t do anything. Are they-” They looked around, expecting to see at least one guard, one nurse, one orderly. But the dining hall was barren of every person except villains. “Are they okay?”

“If I tell you that, I will end up like them. You do not want to be in this place, Hero. You should leave this place.”

“Um-” A single drop of sweat dripped down the side of their face, tracing their jawline. “I really suddenly need to use the bathroom.”

“It’s right there.” The villain raised a hand, pointing to a door labelled ‘16 - Restrooms′. “The bathroom is in room 43.”

Hero didn’t have to be given the hint twice.

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Thanks so much for reading! Just like last time, there are two options along with every part of this story. Alongside each options is a question, so that you guys can give more specific suggestions if you so wish. The option that receives the most votes will be the choice that our Hero makes! 

A.) Risk it all and attempt a prison break - Should Hero attempt to free the others, as well?

B.) Don’t take the risk. Leave and reconsider - Should Hero tell anyone what they saw?