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theramseyloft · 5 days

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Hello, I'm developing an enrichment guide for small animals in my shelter and your blog was very helpful with grimace scales, I was wondering if you had found any more for animals like reptiles, birds, and hedgehogs?

I'm afraid not, but I can go through the rescue folder to show some expressions of discomfort and unwellness.

We'll use Ankhou (May he rest in peace) as our baseline for a comfortable, healthy pigeon.

Like most birds, pigeon eyes are nearly frozen in their sockets.

They have neither whiskers, lips, nor external ears to grimace with.

So their expressions are mostly in the position of their heads, necks, and tails, and which groupings of feathers are raised or flattened.

This is an expression of supreme comfort.

Just a little squinty. Forehead and neck feathers fluffed up.

Everything else smooth and relaxed.

This was Passenger's arrival photo. (Some of you may have remembered her having been in the news.)

Note the curve of her neck, the low dip of her tail, sunken eyes and thin, drawn beak.

The half lidded eyes are an extreme expression of pained exhaustion.

Pigeons, even when hurt, are hypervigilant, and will be wide eyed more often than not.

She is extremely dehydrated and malnourished in this photo, barely able to stand.

Look at the difference, post recovery.

Especially at her stance (keenly alert), eyes (bright and clear), and beak (much more fleshed out).

In her case, the sunken eyes and thin beak in particular warned that she was extremely dehydrated.

Archie, on arrival, is scared and in pain, having suffered a broken wing from a vehicle strike.

Note the ruffled throat and tightly tucked head.

Same young bird, having healed.

Bridget, on arrival, had a broken wing and leg on the same side. (Also a vehicle strike.)

A little older than Archie, keenly interested in the food in front of her, and absolutely ravenous, but you still see the neck folded and head tucked.

This was when she first started putting weight on her healing foot.

She's terrified of me: note the huge pupils and ruffling of her shield feathers.

She's threatening to box me with her broken wing.

Note the almost angular ruffling of her neck feathers and how far between her shoulders her little head is tucked.

That defensive posture hurts.

Here she is, still terrified of me, but now fully healed.

Look how her head is positioned.

Yes, this is still Bridget.

She does have a neck! XD

In the loft, she's curious. Still scared of me, but I am more familiar than the flock of strange pigeons.

She's trying to figure out what perch to aim for.

Pete suffered a cat bite to the wrist of the wing facing the camera and an injury to his eyelid.

It's in a bad spot, right between the joints, and the inflammation response is so intensely painful that she can't flex her little wing.

Notice the tightly tucked head, ruffled throat, and over all hunched appearance.

Here, she is no longer in any pain; just scared.

Being in the pigeon hospital is terrifying for ferals.

It's bad enough being confined to a tiny cage, but vaccines, worming, weekly louse dips, and in this case daily antibiotics are an absolute hell of an introduction to living in human care!

Pete just has a very long skinny neck and tiny head with a fine featured face.

But, fully healed, despite the god awful molt, you can see the difference in her posture and even the wideness of her eyes.

Pierce was an extremely lucky hawk strike survivor.

It's a minor miracle that no vital organs were damaged!

But there is the extreme pain hunch in a bird whose injuries are fresh.

Note the set of the head between the shoulders, forward lean, and ruffling at the throat with feathers flattened very tightly otherwise.

This is the same bird, after all three talon holes healed.

Licorice was an interesting case!

Tied by zip tie and string to a steak in the ground for dog bait and suffering a teratoma in her breast muscle.

This is defensive posture.

She is not injured or in any pain, but she is scared, and looking for an opportunity to escape the carrier.

The teratoma (A bizarre tumor made of, in her case, random feather material in a keratin capsule) has no nerves, and her skin formed a neat little pocket around it.

Here she is after the teratoma was removed.

Not by any stretch thrilled to have me so close for pictures, but bright eyes and alert, confident I am not going to attack her.

Orion was a sad malnourished mess.

Note the lack of tail feathers, the baldness of his face, skinny toes, and shrunken beak.

Once again, head sunk down between his hunched shoulders, neck folded under it in a tight S curve that pushes the throat feathers out.

Very slight squint to eyes that would be wide with alarm were he not just exhausted from his state of starvation.

Poor little vulture child!

He's very excited for food in this photo, but since you can see his skin so well, look how much less pinched it is around the base of his beak now that he is no longer suffering severe dehydration.

Coal had the very good fortune to come in healthy and old enough to self feed.

He was just separated from his flock weeks before he'd have been able to fly.

He isn't in pain or ill.

Being dipped and wormed sucked!

So coal is NOT happy to see me a week after that last photo!

But note that his shoulders are not hunched.

While his neck is folded and his head is low, it isn't sunk down in between his shoulders.

The nape of his neck is fluffed up.

This is defensive threat posture.

He's scared, but warning me that he'll box and bite me if I get any closer.

Coal has been here a few weeks at this point.

He's not happy to see me. Dips and meds still suck.

But they don't hurt, and I get them done with pretty quick.

So he's nervous on this photo.

He's not looking forward to what ever I am about to have to do, but it's sunk in that he's not going to die or be injured.

Bug free and ready for adoption, Coal was not happy about having his pigeon business interrupted for a photo, but he's only mildly annoyed, not nervous or overtly afraid.

Now, let's look at the second most commonly rescued breed: Racing homers.

This is Grayson: Who was found crashed out hungry in 2016.

This bird failed a race.

Because they were bred to be wartime messengers, and their messages were of absolutely vital importance, the impulse to stop mid return flight to forage has been bred out of Racing Homers.

When released away from their loft, they only stop when they get home, or if it's gotten too dark to fly.

Once the food in their crop runs out (usually something extremely fatty like peanuts, for the highest possible density of fuel), their body starts digesting their muscle.

The flight muscles of a pigeon are roughly 1/4 of their overall weight.

Once they lose enough of that, they can't get off the ground anymore.

It takes about three days of non stop flight for this to happen, and a good two to four solid weeks of rebuilding condition before they can physically fly again.

Note Greyson's hunch and drooping tail, but the keen alertness in his eyes compared to the ferals.

He is not injured or sick.

He is suffering exclusively from the rapid muscle atrophy unique to racing homers who have failed a race or training toss.

This is the same bird, post recovery.

Just doesn't like being asked to pose.

Meat much more evenly surrounds his keel, and his wings no longer look to be too big for him.

Look at the way his cere has filled out compared to the previous photo.

Mark most likely got lost on a training flight.

You can tell by his poorly developed cere that this is a very young bird; not quite sexually mature.

Note the weird, flat angle of the chest and downward tilt of the head.

He trapped into a chicken coop in desperation to escape a bad storm, and unfortunately picked up worms from the chickens, and giardia likely from dirty puddle water.

This photo was taken just a little before he became severely symptomatic, while he was still able to hide being sick.

He almost died from the giardia.

He was so exhausted and dehydrated from constant diarrhea by which his body tried to expel the protozoan parasite that he didn't have energy to eat and had to be force fed several small meals a day for a few weeks until he had the strength to feed himself.

Here he is the last week of quarantine, anxious about being handled for his update photo, but no longer sick.

And here he is fully recovered and showing off his very full crop, but having the worst molt!

I hope this meander through a small percentage of my rescue folder has been enough to help you see the pattern.

It's more in the overall posture than the facial expression, as pigeons largely lack the facial muscles and features that give mammals such expressive faces.

Look for a head sunken between hunched shoulders and a drooping tail.

The more hunchy the bird, the tighter tucked head, and the further the tail droops, the more severe the discomfort.

A dramatically bobbing tail signifies a struggle breathing, the causes of which can range from anxiety to pain to physical obstruction of the air ways.

Partly lidded, sunken eyes and a shrunken beak along with a slight wobble or tremor should signify an emergency; severe dehydration.

The extremely drab, brown tinged feathers that Orion displays are a symptom of nestling malnutrition.

Most likely, his mother was malnourished when she laid the egg, and his parents could not find enough food to support the rapid growth of a baby pigeon.

Ankhou came in years later from the same area; the parking lot of a strip mall where feral pigeons are trapped and eradicated.

He's four or five weeks old in this photo, by the length of his flights, which were the only feathers he had, because his body did not get enough to grow both bones and feathers.

It took him six months to feather out fully.

And almost a year to molt into his full adult plumage.

Well, that went a little off topic. >.<

But I hope it helped.

#birds #pigeon #grimace scale

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virtualcarrot · 1 month

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[KKIR] Modern AU - Teaching Pains Pt9

Part 8

The fight is over as soon as it begins. Kakashi kicks the dropped knife so far that it ricochets, dazes Mizuki with a second slam into the locker, and flings him to the ground.

By the time the teacher thinks to struggle, he’s already pinned down with his arm twisted back and Kakashi's leg over his shoulder, socket straining and ready to pop if he so much as twitches in the wrong direction. He settles for hurling curses and threats, which he finds them all entirely indifferent to with no blade wielded as incentive.

In truth, the hardest part is resisting the urge to check on the injured. Gai ducks for a roll of packing tape from Iruka’s classroom, and they make short work of wrapping Mizuki’s arms and legs with the whole roll’s worth, slapping a couple of pieces to his mouth for good measure. Only once they're done securing him does Kakashi finally deem it safe to look away.

Iruka’s on the floor, looking faint with relief and likely also pain, if the way he’s holding himself against the wall is any indication. His hair’s a mess, his clothes rumpled. A mean looking bruise’s already purpling on the side of his face.

Naruto’s completely unharmed, for which Kakashi feels a rush of dizzying gratitude.

Gai gets his attention with a touch to his shoulder, the phone in his other hand already dialing emergency services.

“I’ve got this. You go check on them,” he assures with a jerk of his chin at the shaken duo sitting on the floor.

For good measure, he also gives a reassuring thumbs up. He then proceeds to drag Mizuki’s trussed up body across the floor to give them all privacy, perking up at a greeting on the other side of the line.

“Ah yes, hello! And a good evening to you! I’d like to report an incident…” Kakashi hears him say before tuning out the one-sided conversation and making his way over in the opposite direction.

Naruto’s eyes go wide and shiny at his approach, in a way Kakashi can’t help but ruffle his hair for.

“It’s over, you’re fine,” he says with what he hopes is a reassuring smile, crouching to their level.

Naruto returns it with a wobbly one of his own and scoots aside to make room for him.

This up close, there's an unmistakable small cut to Iruka’s upper lip. Kakashi's hand reaches out seemingly without a conscious thought. He watches it land on the unharmed side of Iruka’s face, thumb drawing gentle, barely-there swipes against the peak of a cheekbone.

Then the enormity of the events catch up to him and he bows under their weight until the hairs strayed from Iruka’s ponytail brush against his own forehead.

“What the fuck, Iruka,” he murmurs shakily in the soft place between them.

Iruka’s skin is warm and slightly clammy, his breath short against Kakashi’s wrist, his lips too dry from the exertion. His eyes flutter shut when Kakashi runs his thumb along the edge of the old scar across his nose.

“As you said, it’s over,” Iruka whispers.

He also looks tired and wobbly, in the ways of the tail end of an adrenaline rush. Kakashi allows himself a few more seconds of indulgence and pulls away.

“How are you?” he asks.

Iruka gives a one-shoulder shrug then pulls a face like he regrets the gesture. “Hurt. But not in any danger.”

At this point in the evening, Kakashi’s gone from sharing after-work drinks with a friend to watching a colleague pull a knife on people he’s grown disturbingly fond of. It’ll take more than that to reassure him.

He narrows his eyes. “Hurt where?”

“Urh. All over, I guess. My leg. My chest,” Iruka replies, moving his hand from his knee to his midsection. He hisses at the motion and clasps his sides with a grimace.

For a moment, Kakashi sees it all over again, the shape of the knife pointed at Iruka, Naruto wrestling behind him, terrified his teacher might die for him, and Iruka, bargaining for their lives.

The blade was already out when Kakashi caught the scene.

“Did he stab you?!” he asks, urgently moving Iruka's coat out of the way to check under.

He must have been too abrupt about it because Iruka winces, wrapping his fingers around Kakashi's wrist.

“No,” he says, catching and holding Kakashi’s gaze. “From the bookshelf. It fell on me.”

Little fist tightening around Iruka’s sleeve, Naruto gives a small nod of confirmation. And well, Kakashi did wonder what could have caused the headmaster’s office to fall into such disarray.

Seemingly satisfied with his slump of relief, Iruka releases him.

Kakashi may have overreacted.

He scratches his cheek. “Ah. Yeah, I saw. Quite the mess, that,” he admits, distracted by a darker stain under the folded edge of Iruka's coat. He frowns and brushes it, moving feather-light this time. “What's this, then?”

Naruto peers over with a worried frown, while Iruka proceeds to clumsily pat himself down, and then his coat. He pulls out a bundle from an inside pocket, mashed beyond recognition. From the furrow of his brows, even he seems to have trouble identifying it.

Then he huffs sheepishly.

“Ah! I think it’s the cake I put aside for Naruto. Never got to give it to him.”

Naruto promptly bursts into tears.

By the time they finally hear approaching sirens, Iruka’s sideways hug has done wonders shutting off the waterworks. Gai throws Mizuki over his shoulder and they all stagger downstairs, though Kakashi would be hard pressed to say whether Iruka or Naruto is clinging the tightest to the other.

Ibiki greets them in the front yard with his arms crossed and a foreboding stare.

“What have you done, now?”

It's unclear which of them he's actually addressing but before they can figure it out, Gai drops Mizuki at his feet like a proud hound presenting its catch and Iruka gets whisked away towards the ambulance. While two police officers go through the trouble of getting Mizuki out of the packing tape and into the patrol car, it falls to Kakashi to give Ibiki a summary of the events Iruka recounted while he hugged a sobbing Naruto to his chest and pretended his ribs didn’t hurt.

By the end of it, Ibiki looks entirely unimpressed.

“I’ll have to talk to the kid,” he says.

“Not right now, you won’t,” Iruka retorts from inside the ambulance. His scowling face peeks out while a long-suffering paramedic follows after him with her stethoscope. “His legal guardian isn’t here and also it’s late.”

Even from his heights of intimidation, Ibiki doesn’t seem inclined to argue against Iruka’s bullheaded protectiveness. He heaves a sigh.

“I want him at the station, first hour tomorrow morning,” he begrudges.

Iruka pulls a face, though it’s unclear whether that’s from Ibiki’s words or the paramedic releasing his arm so he can cover himself up. A massive bruise is already darkening his ribs. Kakashi can’t help a twinge of sympathetic pain.

“It’ll probably be in the afternoon,” Iruka says, adjusting his rucked up shirt back into place with clumsy tugs. He sounds just contrite enough to be polite, but not so much that it might hint at any leeway to change his mind. It’s a tone that Kakashi is at once painfully and hilariously acquainted with.

Ibiki doesn’t seem unfamiliar with it either, because he growls: “ fine ,” and leaves it at that.

Appearing satisfied, Iruka turns to Kakashi, seeking his eyes from afar, and drawing him in just as easily.

“Hey,” Kakashi says once he's within speaking distance, leaning against the ambulance door. His own voice comes out embarrassingly breathy but Iruka’s face softens in kind, so he figures it’s all right.

“Hey,” Iruka echoes with a faint smile. “Could you keep an eye on Naruto? Maybe even take him back--”

In the ambulance, Naruto jumps off the seat he had laid claim on, flailing distressingly close to the fancy equipment on the walls. “What, hey, no, I’m staying with you, Iruka-sensei, you can keep an eye on me!”

“Kid,” the paramedic says, steadying a hanging tube with a spark of exasperation.

“No! No, Iruka-sensei, I’m not leaving you, you can’t make me!” Naruto yelps, all but climbing over the medical kit to get to Iruka, who reaches out to grab his hand in a stern hold.

“Naruto,” he snaps, just sharp enough to break through the haze of panic. “I need to get my chest checked. There’ll be doctors, we’ll all be too busy.”

“Please, Iruka-sensei, I’ll be so good, I won’t make any trouble, I swear!” Naruto’s eyes well up in that way Kakashi knows Iruka’s tend to mirror. “I need to make sure you’re okay, it’s my fault--”

Having reached Kakashi’s side, Gai calls for his attention with a silent pat to his shoulder. He drops his car keys from an open fist, leaving them swinging from the keyring around his finger.

And well, if Gai’s offering…

“Naruto,” Kakashi says, pitching his voice loud and clear enough that Naruto looks up from Iruka’s reassuring petting of his hair. They both look equally blubbery.

Joke’s on Kakashi for finding it endearing, he supposes.

“How about we meet Iruka at the hospital, uh? Gai’ll drive us,” he proposes, and purposefully doesn’t expand on the unhinged quality of Gai’s driving.

That seems to do the trick. The paramedic gives him a look of jaded gratitude, Iruka agrees, and soon after the doors of the ambulance close.

Naruto watches it drive away with a trembling lip. Yet it’s with surprisingly dry eyes that he turns a scowl on Kakashi.

“You better keep your word,” he warns.

Even the sight of Gai’s old, beat-up Alto Works doesn't discourage him. He clambers up to the backseat and crosses his arms.

‘’So? What are you waiting for?!”

He's not looking anywhere near half as self-assured around the time Gai screeches to a halt in front of the ER. Kakashi watches him stumble out looking distinctly greener than before.

“Very spirited kid, that one,” Gai says while they watch Naruto lean against a tree to ground himself. “Very youthful.”

Recognizing it for the approval that it is, Kakashi huffs, clicking out of his car belt. “Yeah.”

“Should I come with?”

“Nah, we’ll be fine. But Gai? Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Gai rewards him with a thumbs up and a gleaming smile. “It’s nothing that my Esteemed Rival wouldn't have done for me in return.” He pauses. “Also you can take the tab next time we go out.”

Bullying his friends into paying for him is usually one of Kakashi's hobbies, but that seems a fair price to pay. He nods with a parting pat to the top of the car and pulls away, because Naruto’s recovered enough that he’s expressing his impatience anew.

“Come on, what are you doing , Iruka-sensei’s waiting for us!”

Inside, the receptionist gives them the number of a hallway, where they’re given new contradictory directives, until they’re finally sent back to a waiting room because apparently Iruka’s going through a scanner. Naruto looks so lost and wan at that knowledge that the last nurse they asked for directions puts a hand on the top of his head.

“Your…” She trails off, seeking Kakashi’s gaze. “Brother? Cousin?”

“Teacher,” Kakashi provides.

To her credit, she barely raises an eyebrow. “Your teacher isn't in any imminent danger. We just need confirmation.”

Because it’s long past dinnertime and none of them has eaten, Kakashi gets them both a sandwich from the vending machine, and then a third one for Iruka just in case. Naruto eyes the ham with distrust, claims he isn’t hungry, and ends up finishing the other half of Kakashi's after he's done with his own. The sandwiches are alright, as far as vending machine fares are concerned, but rising nerves are coiling in Kakashi's stomach the longer they wait to hear from Iruka, and also in spite of the mask the hospital smells are ruining any appetite he might have left regardless.

Naruto’s dozing off against his shoulder when the nurse comes back to get them. They find Iruka struggling to get his arms inside his coat while another nurse tries to help him.

“--late already, you could just spend the night here,” the nurse is saying.

“I appreciate the help but I can't, I have to--oh, Naruto!” Iruka says, the tired lines of his face pulling into a smile.

Apparently it's all Naruto had been waiting for, because Kakashi narrowly manages to catch him by the back of his coat before he flings himself against Iruka’s bruised ribs.

“Iruka-sensei, Iruka-sensei, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Iruka says with a chuckle, until Kakashi’s insistent look drives him to elaborate. “Two cracked ribs, a knee contusion and a very mild concussion. Nothing that some rest, ice and a few painkillers can't cure.”

The brave face he's putting on seems to reassure Naruto, but Kakashi hears it for the understatement that it is. It’s a relief, then, when Iruka answers his look of sympathy with a good-humored wince over Naruto's head. Good. He'd hate for Iruka to have unrealistic expectations of the weeks to come. Best to brace for them fully informed.

“Daikoku-sensei agreed to let you sleep at my place,” Iruka tells Naruto once he's done getting dressed. He's bundled his sweater vest in a hand, likely not having found the pain worth putting it back on. “He'll pick you tomorrow.”

Naruto, it’d seem, had already decided the sleepover was going to happen, with or without consent, because he doesn't bother looking any way about that information.

It's well past midnight when they're finally free to go. Kakashi hails them a cab that they all pile into, lets Iruka give his address, and tries not to get lost in thoughts of tragic what-ifs during the ride.

They're halfway up the stairs leading to Iruka's floor when Iruka jolts against his side, bringing them all to a halt.

Kakashi steadies him with a grip of his waist. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” he asks, but Iruka only shakes his head, flustered.

“You paid for the--how much did the cab cost?”

They both stare at him, Naruto from where he’s been leading the way up the stairs with Iruka’s keys, and Kakashi from his careful press against Iruka’s side.

After long seconds of disbelief, Kakashi motions Naruto to go ahead. The kid obeys without any argument. Even his seemingly boundless reserves of energy must be longing for a safe place to rest and refill.

Free from any other witness to the fact, Kakashi presses his nose against Iruka’s temple.

“Iruka,” he murmurs, mindful of the slight tension that runs against him, “you’re a moron. You’re very smart, but you’re a moron. Alright?”

About a floor and a half above them, Naruto’s receding footsteps come to a stop. There’s the jingle of a busy keychain followed by the characteristic clinking of someone testing unknown keys against a lock.

With a sigh, Iruka angles his head until his nose brushes Kakashi’s.

“Alright”, he whispers back.

Something in Kakashi’s throat goes tight, then. It remains so all the way until the final landing.

Part 10

#kakairu #kkir #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #naruto #fic : naruto #my scrawl

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nikavit · 2 months

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It was late night.. I hear door bell and when I open the door, you just step in barely standing on your feet.. Another night in fight club.. Living next door to me, you never talk to me more, than few words each time we see each other, but I have noticed you with cuts and bruises multiple times.. This time everything went wrong, I guess..

-Whumpee?? W-what's wrong with you??

You said nothing, kneeling on the floor, and coughing blood, with hands embraced your stomach, and lean forward.. I kneel next to you, holding you from falling on the floor face down.. Slightly slapping your cheeks didn't bring you to conscious and I have to lay you down and run after water..

When I came back, it feels like you're not breathing.. I lean closer, holding my head over your nose and mouth, watching your bare torso same time.. I can't hear your breath..

Then I put my ear to your chest, over your heart, and hear your heartbeat.. too fast, compared to mine, which is pounding in my heart at this moment..

I quickly tilt your head and push to your chin, opening your mouth.. Cut on your lower lip start bleeding.. I didn't pay attention to that and push my lips to your mouth tightly, pinching your nose before that.. I hold my another hand under your cheen, holding your head steady, whyle I inhale the air.. Your cheeks bulg, your chest expand, than shrink again, exhaling the air.. I inhale again, trying to blow as much air, as possible.. Our lips are intimately interlocked and I can feel salty taste of your blood.. I slide my thumb, cleaning thin trace of blood from your cheen, then keep stroking your fresh shaved skin, whyle I do resuscitation..

Each time I inhale the air, your chest raises, exposing well pumped muscular torso, which I was admiring, each time I see you.. But now, topless, it looks gorgeous..

-C'mon, Whumpee, breath for me!!

I digg my knuckles in your sternum, rubbing, trying to make you breath..

You remain the same.. I gently hold your wrist, feeling your pulse under my fingers, than start resuscitation again..

When I inhale next time, you exhale yourself, making few deep breathes, before you start coughing..

-Sh-shhhh!! Calm down, it's ok, you're ok, I got you..

I stroke your hair, holding my another hand on your chest..

You stare at me, like have never seen me before.. probably, smashed red lipstick, messy hair and fear in my eyes make you worry..

-What happened, why am I here??

You asked me and I hear, that your voice sounds strange, like if you have to push yourself to talk..

-You knocked my door few minutes before.. How do you feel yourself, where is it hurt?? You weren't breathing, what happened to you??

You look at me few moments, like if trying to decide did I deserved to trust me.. Finally you give up and answer..

-I fought.. I guess my ribs are broken and it hurts like hell.. But please, don't call ambulance, I can't go to hospital.. The fight was illegal..

-Ok, let me help you..

I hold your arm pulling you to sit up.. Then I help you to lean on my shoulder and stand, so we can walk to the living room, where you lay on the sofa.. Then I bring you a bag with ice for your ribs and painkillers, which you drink immediately, then tilted back your head with closed eyes.. For a moment I thought, that you lost your consciousness again, but you moan and put away the bag with ice..

-Ok, let it go, I will put ointment on your bruises tomorrow, -I said.- Now take some rest, I'll be by your side..

-Mhm..

You said, even not opening your eyes..

I push the armchair closer to the sofa and sit next to you, cheking your breath and heartbeat from time to time.. You fall asleep with curled legs and embracing your torso, moaning and whimpering in your sleep.. I spend the night on armchair next to you..

#whump #whump scenario #resuscitation #cpr resus

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purplefangirl42 · 8 months

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Clonetober- Day 13

Prompt: “We’ll patch you up soon, don’t worry.”/wounds/scars/firefighter AU

Prompt list by @ladysongmaster Divider by djarrex

Tags/Warnings: Mention of injury and injury care, mild language

Chip shook his head in exasperation as he watched Lena walk away from him. She had given him orders to make sure Admiral Yung was tended to first, practically tearing herself away from him when he tried to help her with her injured arm. Still muttering to himself, he walked over to the cot where Yung was lying.

He knew there wasn’t much he would be able to do to help the Admiral while they were on the surface. He needed to get him back to the Monitor. The bruises covering the man’s torso were the source of most of Chip’s concern. His initial scan had indicated that he had at least one broken rib. At least he was conscious, which was a good thing in Chip’s eyes.

“Where’s General Orim?” Yung asked. “Is she alright? Captain Sparx said she was shot.”

“She’s over there, dealing with the mess we seem to be in the middle of,” Chip said. “She wouldn’t let me treat her, insisting that I take care of you instead.”

Yung tried to sit up on his cot, and let out a loud groan of pain. Chip placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him down. There was no telling what further damage he could do by moving around too much.

“Just lay still, Admiral. We’ll patch you up soon, don’t worry.”

Yung nodded and closed his eyes, his face scrunched in pain from his attempt to move. Chip knew he had a stim canister from his kit that he could give him. It wasn’t much, but it would hopefully help with the pain. He left the cot and walked over to his supplies, searching for something he could use to clean up some of the less serious wounds while the stim took effect.

He heard soft footsteps behind him and turned to see Lena approaching him. She had a bandage on the upper part of her right arm, covering the spot he had examined earlier. He wondered if she had done that herself.

“How is he?” she asked.

“I’ve done as much as I can here. I’ll give a stim to help him stay stable for now, but what he really needs is some time in a bacta tank.”

Chip could see the stress his statement had put on Lena as she considered what he said. He saw her lift her hand to her chin and rub at it worriedly. Trying to lighten her mood and ease some of the tension, he tried a joke.

“You know, you look like General Kenobi when you do that. All you’re missing is the beard.”

The dirty look he got in response was enough indication to him that his joke had worked, at least a little bit. Lessening her anxiety would help quell his own a little. In turn, he knew that the stress he was feeling would only heighten hers, so he tried to keep a sense of calm about him. Her next words, however, elevated his stress again.

“This battle needs to end quickly,” she said. “I need to go down there and figure out what’s going on.”

Chip reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could walk away from him again. He knew his concern was written clearly across his face, which she would hate, but he didn’t want her to do anything reckless.

“Lena, you can’t. Your arm…”

“My arm is fine,” Lena said, pulling her wrist from his grasp. “Crosshair patched it up and gave me a stim. It barely even hurts.”

Chip crossed his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows at her. He didn’t really feel that the medical advice of a sniper should supersede his own. Just because he was able to patch up her arm didn’t mean that she was good to go.

“What about the rest of you?” he asked. “Sparx said you flew off the speeder and hit the ground pretty hard. You could have other injuries that aren’t visible.”

Lena spread her arms out wide and moved them around in all directions, making a show of bending at the waist and lifting her legs one at a time as if she was trying to prove to him that she was fine.

"I'm fine, Chip. The worst thing is probably a few bruises."

"That could just be your adrenaline talking. I can't, in good conscience, approve you as battle-ready."

Grabbing the stim canister from his kit, Chip left Lena standing there as he returned to Admiral Yung’s. He could hear her frustrated sigh behind him as he walked away. When he reached Yung’s side, he pressed the canister against his skin and released the medicine from within. He hoped it would be enough to help the man get through the time it took for them to open a path back up to the ship.

Once he had cleaned the blood off Yung’s face and treated the gashes it had come from, Chip gathered his supplies and started getting ready for the wave of injured men that would be coming up from the battlefield.

As he worked, he glanced over to the edge of the plateau they were stationed on. Lena was standing beside Crosshair, who lay on the edge watching the battle. They seemed to be having some kind of argument. The sound of a loud explosion from below grabbed Lena’s attention and before he could blink, Chip watched as she leapt off the side of the cliff.

“Damn it!” he shouted, running to the spot she had just vacated.

Chip watched as she tore towards the battle at an alarming speed, her long braid trailing behind her. He couldn’t bear to watch what was going to happen, and after giving the sniper lying on the ground a dirty look, he stormed back to his station.

“Why does everyone make it so difficult for me to keep them all alive?”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! Please reblog, like, and comment! I cheated slightly on this one and reused stuff from chapter 4 of "Bad Timing" but told it from Chip's POV. (Someday this man WILL get a break, I promise)

#clonetober2023 #star wars: the clone wars #star wars #star wars fanfiction #original characters #the clone wars #clone trooper oc #clone troopers

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oathofpromises · 10 months

Note

❛ i'm begging you, please forgive me. ❜ - from Sin!Eater Data, to Stella

Data's hand slid quickly around her wrist, and she felt herself being yanked forward. Her lips quivered as she felt his teeth dig into her shoulder. He'd never drawn aether from her this roughly before, leading the Au Ra to fear he hadn't fed in enough. She didn't mind, so long as he got the energy he needed to continue going.

Stella murmured, "Data..." as she felt his arms wrap around her waist. Even now, he was trying to be gentle with her, despite the desire to drain all that sweet, tasty aether rushing through her veins. It was something she had accepted since the first time she let him take her it. When everyone else had dubbed her an idiot for foolishly letting so much energy go.

'If you let him taste even a small amount of your aether, he won't stop at just a little bit the next time.'

Stella was appalled by their cruelty in allowing Data to be insulted, and she could not comprehend their enraged remarks. To label him as a monster when he was, fundamentally, the same person all along. The corners of her eyes began to well up with tears, and she began to sniffle. It was difficult for her to keep her emotions buried, especially since the entire event had done nothing but bring her sorrow to the surface.

The Au Ra legs felt weak as the two of them fell to the ground. Dirt and rocks scratched at her knees, but it was nothing compared to how disoriented she felt. Only until Data had carefully pulled away from her, blood dripping down her shoulder and neck, did he seem to realize what had just happened. The brunet's eyes widened, a tear about to fall, as he reached out again for Stella, then paused.

'Please forgive me, I beg you…'

Stella winced as she struggled to stand but ended up on her knees. It was all a haze when she reached out to touch Data's face. It was affectionate, not frightened or distrusting. She had never been afraid of him or imagined he would intentionally hurt her.

"Don't worry about it. You have nothing to apologize for. You know I don't mind sharing my aether with you; it just startled me. Normally, you aren't that upfront about the need to feed. Have you eaten recently, Data?"

The other clearly hadn't eaten in days, if not longer, but his desire to bite into her flesh to drain the aether showed that he was trying to hide that fact. This was the only thing keeping Data alive right now, and right now the sole person offering up their aether is Stella. It didn't matter how much pain the woman needed to endure, so long as Data was still alive. Closing her eyes, Au Ra's mind drifted back to a conversation with the Exarch. It was yet another instance where she had returned barely able to stand on her two legs, which made it even more embarrassing when the leader of the Crystarium picked Stella up in bridal style.

'Stella..this is the second time you've returned in this condition. I allowed you to go off on your own to help Data, but if this continues, you will die...'

Gently, Stella kissed his forehead, too tired to do much at the moment, before collapsing into Data's arms. Despite, the fact she was out cold, the AU Ra clearly felt water fall onto her face. He was crying again..and this time it was yet again because of her decision. How much longer could they continue on like this? Would Stella allow him to simply drain her dry, thus letting her best friend survive, or would she be forced to watch him fight against his sin eater desires day in and day out? Their only hope is that there might be a possible cure for his state, but as of the moment, they have no luck finding such a miracle.

Please..don't cry because of me.

#— ❛❛ // DATA MOCHI ¦ Tempered Light ・「 diademreigned sin eater au」#— ❛❛ // STELLA CAELUM ¦ our hearts endure and remain forever strong ・「 Threads」#ooc: I know I mentioned this last night but here are some feels

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bloodthirsttrap · 2 years

Text

Eve Rogers: Female Captain America AU

Chapter 1:

It was only four in the afternoon, and Eve Rogers already had a bloody nose.

The sun was just starting to hang low in the sky, casting harsh shadows in the alley of the brick buildings she was currently sandwiched between. Her only way out was blocked by a varsity jacket named Douglas with too much pomade greasing his oversized head.

“You’re gonna have to let me through eventually, Dougie.” She sniffed, straightening up and wiping her nostril with the back of her wrist. “You can’t stand there forever.” Douglas snorted, planting his feet. “If you’ll even fit through.” He smirked at that, like he was first person to corner the market on fat jokes. Eve rolled her eyes, determined as hell to mask how much it actually bothered her. “Real original. If the army doesn’t work out you really should consider a career path in writing. You got the stuff.” Eve huffed and attempted to push past him, she hadn’t taken two steps when his large hands connected with her shoulders and heaved her into the brick. Her head snapped backward against a faded draft poster, which would have been ironic if her ears weren’t ringing as loud as they were. She fell forward then, catching herself on her forearms and scraping both her elbows on the rough asphalt. She wheezed- her lungs hurting both from over exertion and the force of all her weight knocking the wind out of her. She couldn’t even muster the breath for her next snide comment, all her focus was on getting her knees under her so she could stand. Douglas drew his leg back, with barely a push from his loafer on her hip he had her rolled over on her back, still gasping for breath. Her vision was blurry, but the ringing had subsided enough for her to hear a third voice shout.

“Hey!” Then the familiar thud of knuckle against cheekbone. Eve coughed and pushed herself back to her knees. She couldn’t let Bucky find her flat on her back again, he already though she was enough of a joke as it was.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?!” Another thud, most likely a kick in the pants. Eve lifted her head enough to see Douglas stumble through the matted strands of hair that fell out of her hat. “She’s twice my size.” Douglas cited before he ducked out of the alley to avoid another heavy handed blow from James Buchanan.

“How come you never scream? I’m sure someone would come running if they thought a woman was in danger. ” Bucky questioned as he held out a hand to help her to her feet. She waved him away, instead supporting herself on the wall, pulling herself up on her own. Eve was smart, but she didn’t need be to pick up on what he meant by that. If someone thought a pretty girl was in danger they would rush to her aid, when they saw it was just her- they’d have to help out of obligation. “And what are you wearing?” He tacked on, scrunching his face while he took in her men’s trousers and dress shirt, her blonde hair stuffed artfully into a flat cap. She’d darkened her brows with some eyeshadow which was probably smeared halfway down her face with the sweat she felt pouring off her. “Women can’t enlist.” She stated simply, feigning confidence though she didn’t meet his scrutinizing blue eyes.

Bucky laughed then, tossing his head back. Eve snapped her hurt gaze back to his face. The sun was bright behind him and she squinted, holding a hand up to the glare. She couldn’t see him,but she knew he was flashing his perfect teeth. “So you thought-“ He was holding his side now, laughing straight from his belly. “You-thought-what exactly did you think would happen when they stripped you down to your skivvies, Private?”

She looked away again, tearing the hat off her head and letting her hair fall. Long, silky, strawberry blonde and the one aspect of herself she actually liked. She couldn’t help but imagine what her hair would look like on a different body. One with less blubber. Now she used it to hide her embarrassed blush from her best friend.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, tossing the cap in a nearby dumpster. “I thought I’d try.”

Bucky tilted his head. “You’re a crazy broad, you know that?” He said as her eyes adjusted to the sun, and she spotted his uniform. Her stomach dropped. This was the day she had been dreading for months, ever since he enlisted. “You got your orders.” Eve observed, nodding to his outfit. He pressed his lips together and looked down at her. She hated when he looked at her like that, like he pitied her. Like she was his chubby kid-sister, and not an actual human being. “The 107th,” He rocked forward on his heels. “Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.” He was trying not to sound too proud, but she knew inside he must be beaming. And as if he wasn’t a lady killer before, the way he looked in that uniform was practically homicide. Eve dropped her head. She knew she never had a shot with him, but at least he kept her around. Now it was like she was losing him forever, and there was nothing she could do.

“I wanna go with you.” She quietly admitted in a moment of vulnerability that made the smile fall off his face. He must have known, or at least suspected how she felt about him. He certainly wasn’t shy about making it clear he didn’t feel the same way. The grin reappeared on his face as soon as it had left, and he ruffled his hand through her hair roughly. “And rob all the boys of Brooklyn of your charms? C’mon kid, use your head.”

Chapter 2:

Eve should have known by now that when Bucky said his girl he actually meant one of his girls because when she arrived at Stark Expo in her best dress, with her hair in curls, he was waiting out front with a brunette on his arm. Absolute knockout, of course. She looked like she had jumped straight from the side of B-17 and into his lap. Bucky turned his blue eyes to his childhood friend and she couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face when they lit up they way they did.

“Hey, look at you!” He stated, ushering her forward with a hand on her shoulder. Buck leaned into her and said “You look great.” Giving her shoulder a warm squeeze, then returning to the bombshell. Eve pressed her lips together in an attempt to stay silent as they weaved their way through the crowded auditorium. It wasn’t long before she was trailing behind the couple, a position of which was not out of the norm for a night with Bucky. Eve’s blue eyes were wide with wonder, sweeping over the endless sea of progress before them. It was enough distraction to soften the sting of Buck’s date grabbing his hand and leading him away from Eve to the front of the crowd. A melodic giggle erupted from the dark haired girl’s ruby lips and he grinned down at her like he’d forgotten his friend was even there. Eve made herself as small as she could behind them. It was as if she was standing in water, surface smooth as glass and any movement, any twitch out of line would disturb the mirror image. She felt so out of place. Everywhere she looked there was something more shiny and sleek than last and here she was dead center. Buck only invited her out of guilt, she should have known her place and stayed home. For his sake.

The lights dimmed before she could plan her escape route though, and Eve’s melancholy inner monologue faded out when the music began to swirl past the stage. She had heard stories about Howard Stark, seen his picture a hundred times at least in the newspaper, head his voice on the radio. That was nothing compared to seeing him all in one. He was devastatingly handsome. His dark hair was slicked back with a shine that caught the theatre lights above. The sharp lines of his tailored tux electrified his every move and sent a shiver down her spine. He commanded the stage with three steps forward a smile. Evie held her breath when with just a wave of his arm, he made a car lift off the ground.

“Holy cow..” Bucky gaped in front of her, and Eve stood on her toes to see past his uniformed shoulder. When the floating mechanics suddenly began to spark and sputter out, the car crashed back down to the stage. Howard must have made a joke to lighten the mood because laughter broke out around her, and Bucky glanced back over his shoulder with a smirk only to see Eve caught in Stark’s magnet of charisma. She took a step forward, past Bucky, just as Howard swept his gaze over the audience. When he caught her enchanted stare, he winked. He turned on his heel then, echoing something else into the mic that Eve couldn’t hear with her heart pounding so loudly in her ears. The entirety of her skin pricked up in goosebumps.

“He winked at me..” She exhaled to herself in disbelief, though clearly loud enough for the Sergeant to hear because he jutted his chin up and gave a sharp laugh. “Ha-Evie, you’re just a kid. He probably couldn’t even see you with all the lights.” Her eyes flicked up to him in accusation and hurt. She opened her mouth to respond but snapped it shut when he turned back around to murmur something in his dates ear before Eve could get a single word out In her defense.

Eve’s eyes welled when she turned and slipped through the crowd.

Bucky was only three years older than her, yet sometimes he failed to see her past the age of twelve. It might have been different if she ever got dates, if she had other friends, if she had a singular fiber of her identity that Barnes wasn’t tangled up in- but she didn’t. He was her favorite person. Her only person. When her parents were alive, they weren’t exactly pillars of support. When they died, Bucky was the only one left standing by her side. The only one watching out for her. The only one who ever looked twice in her direction. He liked to joke that her kept hr around because she made him laugh, but there had to be something more for him to stay in her life all this time. Not romantically, of course, she wasn’t that niave…but something. And that was the something she would hold on to. That was the something she would remember about him when he left in the morning. Not the something that caused him to ignore her all night at the sight of a prettier face. Not the something that made her face burn with frustrated tears. Not the something that would never love her back.

Eve wiped her cheek with the heel of her hand, walking so fast toward the door that she almost collided face first into Uncle Sam. She sniffed lightly, staring into the steely eyes of the poster and pressing the fabric of her sweater under her eye to hopefully stop her mascara from bleeding down her face. She followed the line of advertisements down to the enlistment booth and watched the girls waiting outside for their brave boyfriends to step out and tell them they were going to be heroes. The words in front of her echoed over and over again in her brain, spinning out until they were distorted and unreconisable. I WANT YOU. She scoffed to herself. No you don’t.

She took two steps forward, a firm hand on her wrist stopping her before the third, yanking her back down into reality. “Eve.” Bucky’s voice was a stern warning against whatever scheme he knew she was planning. He could always read her. Even when they were apart, somehow, he always knew what she was thinking. Eve didn’t turn around, not even when the gentle tug at her wrist compelled her to.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” She said suddenly. She wasn’t even quite sure where here was. The Expo? Brooklyn? Her permanent stature as Bucky Barnes’ sidekick?

“So go be a nurse.” He responded cooly, then quickly continued “Go help out that way, you could-“

“I don’t want to be a nurse, damnit!” Eve spun, attempting to shove him backward, but the proud Sergeant stood his ground, her feeble attempt rendered pointless. Bucky’s oblivion had made her anger finally boil over and tears once again cut hot streaks down her face. How could he always be so cavalier in her weakest moments? How could he not care? He pressed his lips together, exhaling through his nose in the way he did to let her know he would hear her out.

“I don’t want to be a nurse,I don’t want to be a secretary, I don’t want to work in a factory I don’t want to be on the sidelines or in the background anymore! I want to fight, I wan’t to be on the front lines, I want to help—I want-“ Eve couldn’t find the strength to finish that sentence. She would never have the strength to finish that sentence. It was those three words. Those three words that would seemingly echo in the back of her mind for the rest of her life. I want you.

“Rogers, listen to yourself.” Bucky took a step forward, his eyes shone bright with concern, as if she was talking about jumping off a building. His hands secured themselves to her shoulders and he ducked down to her level.

“You can’t fight in the front lines-you-you can’t even take care of yourself here. You’d get killed….not to mention it’s not even possible. You’re a woman.” Her bottom lip trembled as she listened to his voice without really hearing the words.

“You have no idea what’s possible.” Eve spat, knocking his hands from her shoulders in a surge of self confidence that took them both aback. Bucky clenched his jaw as he moved backward and away from her.

“Y’know what, fine,” He shook his head, tongue running over the front of his teeth. “You wanna go try to get shot in the mud, fine. Go try your luck, Eve. Go see if they’ll take you. They’re going to lock you away in a damn madhouse if you keep talking like this. Don’t come crying to me when they plug high voltage into your skull and you can’t remember your name.”

Bucky began to walk away, headed back to his date when Eve’s heart dropped into her stomach with the realization that this could be the last time she ever saw him- the last thing he ever said to her. She wanted to run, to stop him, but her body froze in place. She only managed a small sob, and his name.

“Bucky!” She whimpered, and immediately, he turned.

He was never one to linger in their embraces. Each time he hugged her it had been stiff, distant. He’d wrap an arm around her and hold her for only a moment before he let her go. He was always very careful not to get to close. That’s why Eve gasped so loud when his body collided with hers, wrapped both his arms around her waist and pulling him flush against him.

“I’m sorry.” He said with his face in her hair. “Oh Evie, I am so sorry.” Eve’s arms were up over his shoulders, her own face in his neck and she sobbed.

“Don’t die,Buck. Please don’t die. Please don’t leave me behind. Please don’t die out there.” He pulled back just enough to see her face and his eyes were almost frantic as he searched hers. He laughed lightly, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. She reached up to press her hand to his face, and to her surprise, he put his own fingers over hers, holding it there.

“I’m with you ‘till the end of the line” They grinned at one another, until finally it was time for him to back away. He glanced over his shoulder, pointing a finger at her and shouting over the crowd.

“Promise me one thing, Rogers, before I go!” Eve smirked, laying her hands on her hips.

“What’s that, Barnes?”

Bucky cupped both hands over his mouth and yelled,

“Run like hell!”

Intro to Howard Stark

That memory seemed so distant now. Like she was watching him walk away through a fogged window, over and over again.Though Bucky’s smile was as clear and crisp in her mind as it has been from the day they met. His pale blue eyes, and the way he said her name their very last night together. The scent of his aftershave on her sweater. Her tear-stains on the collar of his uniform. These things were branded permanently on her psyche. These things haunted her, always. These small flashes of feeling. Every brush of his hand, every laugh they shared, each and every time he unknowingly broke her heart. They burned bright as cannon fire behind her irises. So close, and just out of reach. Locked away in her brain forever. With him. Eve’s fingers, now lithe and feminine-no longer the thick and unsightly ones she used to have-touched over her reflection in the mirror. It had been two years. Two years and no word from Bucky. He had missed so much. Sometimes Eve felt like when he left her the night of the Stark Expo, he was stepping away into another world. Another dimension. It was as though he vanished completely from her universe. Would he even recognize her now? The super-soldier serum had changed a lot. Her skin was clear, and pale like porcelain. The extra weight had melted away in that lab and left her lean, but athletic. Eve never thought she would know what it would be like to have a waistline, a flat stomach. Eve never thought she would know what it would be like to be beautiful. She had once been 5’5”, now she stood at a comfortable 5’7”-almost six feet tall in the right pair or boots…or heels, as was preferred for her. She didn’t get to choose her own clothes. Especially not on performance days.

“Miss America, you forgot a little something.” Howard Stark sat on her white vanity table and took a small gold cylinder from his vest pocket. Eve scrunched her nose and tilted her head to one side.

“Is that a shell casing?”

Howard threw his head back and gave an exuberant laugh. “Evie, you’re truly off the cob-no-“ He pulled the top of the tube upward and off, twisting it from the bottom to reveal it was in fact, lipstick. “Picked it up on my way back from Paris-that’s France-and I just knew would be your color. It’s called ‘Rocket’s Red Glare’-sounds better in french-You’re going to love it.” He said, holding it up to her face. Eve took it from his hands gingerly and raised a brow. “I know where Paris is...but thank you,Howard.”

Stark watched intently while Eve leaned forward into the mirror and spread the color over her lips. Two years ago, this man was a god in her eyes. An untouchable phantom of imagination in a tailored tux. Now he was bringing her lipstick and fluffing up her hair. With his hands, like he was fussing over the engine of an automobile. When Dr. Erskine died, Howard was the only one left she could trust. The only one who knew what the serum was truly capable of. Certainly more than flashing her legs in a star-spangled cocktail dress and selling war bonds. Not that he seemed to mind catching a show now and again.

“Stunning, just stunning.” Howard interjected her thoughts characteristically. Swiftly, he hopped from his seat on her vanity and circled behind her, clapping both hands on her bare shoulders and dropped his face right beside hers in the mirror. He gave a devilish grin at their reflection. His teeth were impossibly white in the bulb-lit frame of her mirror.

“What a pair we make. Evie, you’re going to make an honest man of me yet.”

Eve gave a small laugh. She never took his flirtations seriously, he was just being Howard. He could never seriously pursue her, no, it was just his way. His hands lingered another moment, then they were gone, taking him with them as he exited her dressing room and wished her good luck.

“Thank you.” She said to the empty room, looking back up at herself one last time. Howard was right, the lipstick was stunning. Eve forced her lips to stretch across her face in a smile, but her eyes still reminisced about a boy from Brooklyn.

“On in five,Miss America!” A voice yelled from just outside the room and she was quick snap back into character. She heard her cue music starting up, and she was out the door, leaving Brooklyn-and everyone in it- behind her.

#female!captainamerica #buckycap #buckybarnes #captainamerica #fanfic

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 2 years

Text

16: Relief

Heal my Wounds

apathy/hope/relief

Warnings: Alcohol, blood

This is part of a series. If you haven’t, I suggest starting at Part 1.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

“So,” Josephine said a third glass later. “Tell me again why I found you in front of my door, in the middle of the night?”

She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice; the success of which was questionable. It was late, and she was tired and bitter. She had every right to be bitter, she reminded herself. After all, this was all his fault.

Josephine wasn’t sure what she had expected it would be like to see him again. A part of her had assumed she never would, that by the time she had left the hospital, he was long gone.

But finding him like this, beaten and bloody and so drunk he barely managed to stay on his feet, had been nowhere on the list. Apparently she wasn’t the only one with the urge to beat the ever living shit out of him.

Watching him, she got the sinking feeling that actually doing so would have been less cathartic than she had hoped. He seemed strangely lost, his gaze not focusing on anything. She wasn’t sure he had heard her at all.

“Hey. Valadan?”

When she reached for his hand, he flinched, grimacing in pain. Josephine let go instantly.

“You’re hurt.” It wasn’t even a question anymore as she watched him cradling his wrist. She sighed. “Wait here. I… just don’t move, okay?”

Josephine waited until her back was to him before she scowled. Why did she even think about helping him? He was an asshole. It was his fault that she had almost died, it was his fault that her arm was like this.

And if she sent him away in his condition, she wouldn’t be better than him.

The motion with which she snatched a bowl from the shelf made the cups and pitchers next to it clatter. From the corner of her eye, she saw Valadan flinch, and quickly turned her head to stare straight ahead at the bathroom door instead. Inside — out of sight — she let her shoulders drop, leaning against the sink as she waited for the bowl to fill.

When it was full, she didn’t turn off the water yet. Cupping her hands to splash some in her face reminded her all too much of how half of her right hand was numb. She stared at it, wiping the water off her face with only her left hand. She knew it wouldn’t work, but tried to move her fingers anyway; only her thumb and index finger obeyed her will.

Lips pressed together to a thin line, she opened one of the cupboards, to pull out a bunch of towels and clean cloths, draping them over her right arm. Then she picked up the bowl, balancing it on her right wrist, holding it with her left hand.

Josephine decided to ignore the short twist in her stomach as she returned to the main room and found Valadan still exactly where she had left him. As she walked to the table, she dipped her thumb into the water, reaching for her magic to warm it up.

“Let me see,” she said as soon as she was sitting and had put the bowl down. Under Valadan’s incredulous gaze, she placed the towels on the table as well, picking one up, dipping it into the bowl. “Come on. Give me your hand.”

Slowly, he did so. It was covered in dried blood mixed with dirt. As Josephine started to clean it, she discovered his knuckles bruised and chafed. She tried to be careful, and to not move his wrist.

“I take it you didn’t win?” she asked, gesturing for him to give her his other hand as well.

“No.” Valadan closed his eyes as she touched his hand, a slight shiver running through him. “He wasn’t fighting fair.”

“Mhm.” Josephine cleaned it as well, finding more wounds; this time not on the knuckles, but the fingers themselves. It looked more like defensive wounds. She followed the trail up to his sleeve, pushing it up to clean the blood beneath. “Is that so.”

“Yeah. He had arms, and legs, and they were doing what he wanted.”

Somehow, Josephine managed to turn her laugh into a cough. This asshole shouldn’t think he was funny. And anyway, there was nothing funny about his injuries. They vanished under his sleeve, on the outside of his arms, like he had shielded his body or head from his attacker. Judging from his other scratches, and the wounds on his head, her best bet was that someone had kicked him while he had been down on the ground. Asshole or not, that wasn’t right.

“Let me get fresh water.”

This time, she searched for bandages while she waited for the bowl to fill. Finding them under the sink — probably left here from whoever had used the room before her — she pinned them under her arm before returning to the main room.

“Give me your hand again.”

When he did, she placed her fingers on his wrist, calling for her magic. The look of surprise on Valadan’s face quickly turned into relief, and he closed his eyes. Under her touch, his hot skin turned cool, until after a while she started to wrap a bandage around his wrist.

“I think it’s only sprained. Try not to move it for a few days, and it should be fine.”

Valadan nodded wordlessly. Cleaning, and cooling, and trying not to look into his eyes — so unsure and vulnerable for once — Josephine washed the blood off his face. Between his bloody nose and swollen lip and a small gash on his temple, someone had gotten him good.

“I guess that’s it. Anything else?”

Valadan raised his hand to his face, gingerly touching his nose. When he shook his head, Josephine sighed. She wasn’t entirely convinced, but there was also absolutely no chance she’d ask him to take his shirt off or anything.

“I’ll put this away then.”

Stuffing the used cloths into the bowl, not caring that they got soaked, she managed to carry everything to the bathroom at once. After dropping the stuff on the floor, deciding to deal with cleaning up the next day, she only washed her hands before returning to the main room.

“You still haven’t told me why you came here,” she said.

Valadan stared at her, then at her arm. Josephine resisted the urge to withdraw it, to hide it behind her back. He should see what he had caused.

“I wanted to…” he started, breaking off.

“What?” She was still tired, and still bitter, but now there were a lot more confusing feelings which she really didn’t wanna deal with. “Ask me for forgiveness? Because I don’t think —”

“No,” he interrupted her. “Just… to say I’m sorry. I’m not… I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I had to… had to see you. To see that you’re alive.” He ran his fingers through his hair, not looking at her, as he added, “To try and get those images out of my head.”

“Well, did it work?”

Josephine hadn’t intended to sound as harsh, but now she couldn’t take the words back.

Valadan didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry,” he then said, getting up. “Thank you for…” He raised his bandaged hand, a sad smile on his face. “Farewell. You won’t see me again.”

He was leaving. In a moment, he’d be gone for good. She wouldn’t have to see his unnerving eyes and have to listen to his irritating voice ever again. It should have been reassuring. It wasn’t.

“Wait,” Josephine said, stopping him before he had reached the door.

Valadan was still swaying slightly, reaching for the wall to steady himself as he turned around, to give her a questioning look. She couldn’t let him go like this. He might fall and hurt himself, or get into trouble again, or be sick after all and choke in his sleep.

Before she could decide otherwise, she walked over to her bed, stretching to reach the second blanket and pillow. The citadel’s rooms were furnished to house two people, but she was obviously only using half of the bed.

“Here,” she said, thrusting both towards Valadan. He only managed to catch the blanket. “I don’t think you should be wandering around like this.”

Only then did she realize that she was keeping him from going back to his room by — what, offering him to stay on her floor? Because there was no fucking way she’d let him sleep in her bed.

“I mean, you don’t have to stay. Whatever. I’m going to bed.” She turned around to hide her embarrassment, still feeling his gaze on her back. “Just don’t throw up on the floor if you stay. There’s a bucket in the bathroom.”

Then she walked to her bed, pointedly not turning around again. Not as she settled down. Not as she wrapped herself in her blanket. Not as she stared at the wall, listening; half expecting to hear the opening and closing of the door. Instead she heard the rustling of fabric, and footsteps, and a pained groan as he sat down.

Knowing that he was here, in this room, while she would sleep should have been unsettling. Josephine decided that she was too tired to deal with the question of why it wasn’t.

Tagging: @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-in-the-moonlight

#Heal my Wounds #write me a novel #whump #fantasy whump #blood tw #my writing

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searidings · 3 years

Note

hi, i just love you and your writing

can i suggest something - you are in love (taylor swift) and supercorp

i cannot listen to that song without going yeah, that's them

(also on ao3 if you prefer)

Five years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, five years from now, Lena will think back to this moment.

This moment, which is as close as Lena's come to happiness since she'd woken up ziptied to a chair in her brother's office. This moment which, despite the fuzzy feeling of her unbrushed teeth and the pungent aroma of burnt toast filling the air, is perfect.

Kara, bed-warm and sleep-heavy, is gazing beseechingly down at the charred remains of a slice of a bread as though if she only pouts hard enough, its edges will un-blacken and its corners will stop smoking.

“I'm so sorry,” she says as Lena rounds the screen separating Kara's bedroom from the rest of the apartment and perches herself on a barstool, tugging her borrowed sleep shorts a little lower down her thighs.

Kara's tone is mournful, her face so forlorn she looks to be one deep breath away from tears. “I wanted breakfast to be perfect, since it's your first time staying over and if it's terrible you might not want to stay again and I, I really want you to stay again, but I don't know why you would since you probably have a private chef waiting for you at home and I can’t even manage toast—”

“Kara,” Lena interrupts, biting at the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as Kara's bottom lip trembles. “It's fine, really. I once set fire to my dorm kitchen trying to boil an egg. And besides,” she winks as blue eyes meet hers. “I like to give my personal chef the weekends off.”

Kara huffs out a relieved chuckle, her face brightening. “Oh, well, in that case,” she grins, a sparkle returning to her eyes. “I'd better feed you up before you go home. Never let it be said that I don't look after you.”

Lena can't help the smile that pulls at her as the warm bright feeling in her chest grows and grows. She tugs the sleeves of Kara's sweatshirt over her hands, fighting the urge to fidget as the blonde orders a frankly obscene amount of food from the brunch place on the corner.

She feels exposed like this, face bare and hair sleep-mussed, unshowered with unbrushed teeth, huddled inside borrowed clothes after the impromptu invitation to stay over when last night's movie marathon ran late. It's a far cry from the regimented composure she fights so hard every day to project, and something in her chest twists anxiously.

Kara is a reporter, after all, and National City really doesn't need any more reasons to hate Lena right now. The darkest corner of her mind – the one which has been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to come crashing down ever since the whirlwind of Kara's too-good-to-be-true friendship had come blazing into her life – still worries that this may all be an elaborate ruse. A trap, a way to get close to her in order to assess her weaknesses, to bring her down with an inside scoop.

But in their six months of friendship, Kara's never given her any reason to believe she has any kind of ulterior motive. And despite the suspicions and anxieties hammered into her by a lifetime of hurt, Lena knows now that even if this is a trap, she'll take the bait willingly. Especially if it means Kara will keep looking at her like there might just be something in Lena that's worth her time.

"Hey,” the blonde says gently, leaning back against the counter opposite and pinning Lena with a searching look. “You okay? You kind of zoned out on me there.”

Lena jumps, blinking back into herself with a start. “Yes, sorry. I was miles away.”

The blonde only smiles, flicking on the coffee machine at her elbow. “You sleep okay?”

“Very well, thank you,” Lena answers, fighting to lessen the formality of her tone, to soften the edges her harsh childhood had sharpened into a fortress to keep the world at bay. “Your bed is surprisingly comfortable. I had a great night's sleep.”

"Perhaps the company had something to do with it,” Kara winks as she turns to pull two mugs down from the hooks at her shoulder. Lena thinks back to the smell of Kara's sheets and the soft pulls of her breathing, to the warmth of Kara's ankle against her calf and the strong fingers that had wrapped themselves in the sleeve of Lena's sweatshirt in sleep, anchoring them together. She blushes.

Kara only smirks, pouring their drinks and grabbing the milk from the fridge. “Well, the food's all ordered, it should be here soon,” she says over her shoulder, the waterfall of her golden ponytail mesmerising in the bright rays of morning light filtering in through the vaulted windows. “And you don't need to head off in a hurry, unless you have plans—?”

She glances back at Lena, who shakes her head. “Great!” she grins. “’Cause I was thinking, maybe we could check out the botanical gardens, since it's such a nice day? Oh, and there's a new bakery right across the street that I've been dying to try—”

Lena listens to the blonde's excited rambling with an endeared smile plastered to her face, feeling happy and warm and wanted with every fibre of her being. The feeling is new but so welcome she could cry, and Lena wonders – not for the first time – how she ever got so lucky.

Kara's presence in her life is like sugar in her coffee; meant only to sweeten that which has always been bitter.

Lena's always taken her coffee black. Softening the blow was never much her style.

But here, now, perched at Kara's breakfast bar with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug the blonde has brewed to perfection, sunlight streaming in and highlighting the angles and planes of Kara's face, the way she’s smiling at Lena like there's nowhere else in the world she'd rather be, she realises her reasoning is twofold.

Sugar isn't just appetising. It's addictive. And now that Lena's had a taste of sweetness, she's hooked.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

Four years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, four years from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which may well be one of the lowest of Lena's life. And she's had some doozies.

The two bottles of wine she'd managed to mainline between Sam leaving to orchestrate damage control at L-Corp and Kara arriving and attempting to confiscate her glass have well and truly caught up to her now. She sways heavily on her stool, the room spinning. Tears sting her vision and guilt scorches her throat as she presses a hand over her eyes so she won't have to look at Kara's face anymore.

“Please, just— just, stop believing in me, okay?” she slurs, heart full to shattering with the faces of lead-poisoned children. “I am not worth it.”

She hears Kara sigh, and the room falls silent for a long long time. Lena drops her head fully into her hands, fighting the nausea that's taken root in the pit of her stomach. It could be the booze that's causing it, of course, but it could also be the incessant headlines baying for her blood, the bullet James had taken for her that she'd fully deserved, the curse of her family finally fulfilling itself.

The guilt, the worry, the crushing disappointment of the knowledge that despite her very best efforts, she'll never be anything but a monster— it's too much to feel. It's too much to bear.

So, Lena drinks.

She drains her glass. She pours another. Kara watches, silent and disapproving, fingers twitching against the granite countertop between them.

Lena finishes her glass. Splashes the last dregs of the bottle into it, blood on ice. Still Kara watches, motionless and mute. It's only when Lena's swallowed the last of the red and is lurching unsteadily to her feet to source another that she moves, a hand reaching out to encircle her wrist.

Shame ignites beneath her skin and she pushes Kara away. Snaps at her to go home, to learn to recognise a lost cause when she sees one and just give up already. Kara refuses with a stoic shake of her head, and Lena sighs.

They repeat the same routine three times en route to Sam's wine rack, the blonde shadowing her every step. Each time, Lena wobbles, head fuzzy and room spinning. Each time, Kara steadies her, and Lena flinches from her touch like her palm is a brand, snarls at her to leave, to cut her losses, to just fuck off. Each time, Kara refuses.

She eventually retrieves the wine after a number of unsuccessful attempts but overbalances on her toes, bottle slipping from her grip as she sways dangerously. And then Kara is there, glass bottle caught a split second before it can shatter, a firm arm at her waist that will not be rebuffed.

Lena struggles, shoving and protesting, but this time Kara does not give in. “Enough,” she says quietly, firmly, blue eyes burning a mere inch from Lena's own. “Lena, enough.”

Lena's unsteady legs buckle further and Kara’s basically holding her up now, walking her slowly over to the couch and she shouldn't be this strong, surely, shouldn't be lifting Lena onto the cushions quite this easily. But it's such a minor concern when weighted against the fact that Lena is personally responsible for the hospitalisation of children that her mind brushes over it, forgets it immediately.

"Please go home,” she slurs as the blonde arranges her on the couch, as she stashes the unopened wine far out of reach and sets about finding blankets and pillows in various cupboards. “Please, just— leave me alone.”

“No,” Kara says, almost snaps, glancing back over her shoulder. Partially hidden in the linen cupboard, her face is cast deep in shadow, a splinter of half-concealed truth. “I made you a promise, I gave you my word. I'm your friend, and I will protect you. Always.”

She crosses back to the couch, soft blankets and pillows held out in invitation. When Lena refuses the offering Kara sighs, draping a knitted throw over her anyway and perching on the cushions beside Lena's hip. “I'm not going to leave you, so you might as well stop asking,” she hums, softer now, a hand reaching toward her that Lena no longer possesses the strength or coordination to bat away.

Long fingers make contact with her cheek, with the mussed curls tangling in her eyelashes, and Kara sighs. “You are not your brother,” she murmurs, fingertips grazing Lena's cheekbone, sliding back to thread into the fine hair at her temple. “And you never will be. There's too much light in you to allow for that kind of darkness, so put that fear down, Lena. Let it go. Be free of it.”

Tears spring unbidden to her eyes. “I poisoned children.”

Kara tilts forward and Lena wonders if it's just that her vision has upped its spinning, but then warm lips are pressing against her forehead, soft and delicate as gossamer wings. Kara's mouth moves against her skin, breath damp and sweet and unmistakeably her. “You saved the world.”

Neither one of them moves. When Lena speaks again, the words hit the elegant hollow of Kara's throat. “I don't deserve your kindness. I don't deserve you.”

Kara's lips are still on her forehead. “I don't care.”

Lena feels as if her throat is splitting open, every last fear and hatred and worry and insecurity gushing out of her in an unstoppable stream. “I'm scared.”

“I know.” Kara's lips press once more, and then withdraw. They watch each other in the dim light from the kitchen. Lena's vision is beginning to blur at the edges. Kara's hand is still in her hair.

“You will get through this,” the blonde whispers, so earnest Lena almost manages to believe her. “We'll figure it out. Together.”

Heart in her mouth, tongue sticking behind her teeth, Lena's eyes slide closed.

The sweetness of Kara's words, her gentle touches, seep inside her like honey. She doesn't deserve it but God, she wants it. She wants to be worthy of Kara's faith in her more than she's ever wanted anything in her life. She wants Kara more than she's ever wanted anything in her life.

And it's telling, she knows, that she's just lost the trust of all of National City, that she has no way of easing those children's suffering and no way to prove that she isn't the cause of it, that she's finally living up to the Luthor name she's been running from ever since she'd learned what it truly meant and yet in this moment, with Kara's hand in her hair and the ghostly imprint of her lips on Lena's skin, none of it seems to matter.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

Three years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, three years from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which stands alone as an oasis of calm in the turbulent tumult of the past days, weeks, months of chaos. Lex's escape from custody, Eve Teschmacher's betrayal, James’ shooting, the Harun-El serum, the whole shitty totality of it all has been weighing Lena down like an nth metal chain around her neck.

And Kara, Kara hasn't been around. The one person who has always managed to ease Lena's suffering has deserted her when she needs her the most and it feels like she's been sliced open, cracked in two.

She tells her as much, when Kara at last comes to see her. Tells her she's missed her, tells her she needs her, all but begs her to stay. And what does Kara do? She leaves.

And when she leaves, Lena is gripped by a panic so intense she fears she may never breathe freely again. So terrified is she that Kara is gone for good, that she's forced away the best thing that's ever happened to her, that almost before she knows what's happening she finds herself at Catco with apologies dripping from her own tongue.

Anything to get Kara back. Anything to keep her.

Lena apologises. Kara apologises. Lena cries, and Kara holds her, and tells her that the decision to help her brother when he was dying of cancer doesn't make her the monster she now believes herself to be. And standing on her office balcony with Kara's fingers wrapped around her biceps, with her own tears spotting dark on Kara's blazer, Lena manages to believe her.

When she's collected herself, smoothed away the wetness coursing down her cheeks, she speaks. “I really want to help you with your investigation on Lex.”

Kara's face lights up; Lena's whole world along with it.

“I'd love that,” Kara says, voice quiet and still a little tentative in the wake of their new truce. “But first— would you, um. Would you like to have lunch with me?”

Lena blinks. “Don't you want to get started on the exposé?”

“I do. But—” Kara's face is still painted that earnest shade from earlier, when she'd smoothed her hands over Lena's shoulders and whispered you are a brilliant, kind-hearted, beautiful soul against the sensitive skin of her neck. Lena feels her cheeks heat up at the memory, at the intensity in the blue eyes still roving her face.

Kara shuffles her feet but her gaze is clear, unwavering. “But you were right. I've spent too much time recently prioritising the wrong things. So, I want to work on this exposé with you, and I want to bring your brother down. But first, I'd really just like to have lunch with my best friend.”

Lena's heart trips in her chest. “I'd like that too.”

So, that's what they do. Kara asks her to wait, which she does, idly tapping out a few emails on her phone. And then the blonde is back, far quicker than should have been possible, with her arms full of takeout bags from the café on the third floor and she's taking Lena by the hand and leading her to Cat Grant's private elevator. She presses the button for the roof and Lena's gaze jumps to her face but Kara only smiles, and squeezes her fingers. “Trust me, it'll be worth it,” she hums, her excitement infectious. “You'll be safe with me.”

And Lena believes her.

That's how she ends up sitting at the edge of Catco's roof on a clean sheet Kara had borrowed from the builders on the second floor, heels kicked off, Kara's red blazer draped around her shoulders. It is worth it, she'll admit; the view from this high is phenomenal. The sun burns bright in a cloudless sky, glinting off the glass-sided skyscrapers of the business district, the glittering waters of the bay beyond.

Kara had picked up Lena's favourite salad, some flatbreads and dips, and they drink kombucha and eat strawberries in the sunshine. They talk and they laugh and they catch up and there's no more fighting, no animosity, no megalomaniac brothers or backstabbing secretaries or worlds needing to be saved. There's only them, she and Kara, and it feels like all she will ever need.

The blonde's hands are braced behind her on the rooftop and she looks happy and carefree as she regales Lena with stories of her upstairs neighbour's antics, and Lena feels the tight knot of tension that had taken up residence in her chest begin to unfurl.

"Hey,” Kara hums, pushing up straighter as Lena licks strawberry juice from her fingertips. The motion brings them closer, their shoulders brushing. “Look up.”

Lena does. High above them, a huge murmuration of starlings whirls and swoops through the air. Thousands of birds move together as one, a vast wave cresting but never breaking against the blue canvass of sky.

“Wow,” Lena gasps, awed.

Against her side, Kara hums. “Yeah.”

They watch the birds for a long moment, captivated by the ceaseless swirling and diving. When Lena at last tears her gaze away from the sky, Kara's eyes rest intently on her face. "Here,” the blonde murmurs, reaching out. The pad of one finger makes feather-light contact with her cheek. Lena's breath catches in her chest.

Kara holds out her finger, proffering the stray eyelash she'd captured with a smile. "Make a wish,” she whispers, her fingertip an inch from Lena's mouth. Her eyes never leave Lena’s.

Lena looks from Kara's face to the eyelash, and back again. From somewhere deep inside her heart, the truth bubbles its way to the surface. “I don't need to.”

Kara smiles, a brilliant, beautiful smile, and Lena knows. The stresses and anxieties of their current crisis feel far away here, harmless as birdsong. She's meted out forgiveness, received it in return. For the first time in her adult life Lena has communicated an issue with a loved one and been heard, understood. She has admitted her own mistake without having it spell out the end of her relationship.

Lena smiles back. The weight of the world sublimates into nothing beneath the bliss of a simple picnic in the sun.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

Two years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, two years from now, Lena will think back to this moment.

This moment, which has sapped the both of them to the bone. Another fight, another screaming match, another quick-fire back and forth of accusations and recriminations. Another night of cursing and crying and choking on all the things they never said before this, on all the things they can't now that Kara's secret has detonated in the shrinking space between them like a nuclear bomb.

Another round of bloodshed, and for what?

Lena sags against the arm of the couch, exhausted. Her face is hot, scratchy with salt from the tears still drying on her skin. She's dehydrated, probably, and half hoarse from shouting, tongue blistered with the bitter sting of betrayal.

Across the no man's land of her living room, Kara slumps against the floor-length windows, drops her temple to the cool glass. She's breathing heavily, cheeks wet, posture battered and eyes dark-bruised beneath the force of Lena's wrath. As Lena watches, her eyes slide closed.

It's been three months since Lena found out. Three weeks since Kara found out that Lena had found out.

Every night since, they've done this. Every night, Kara has shown up on her balcony and begged, pleaded, apologised, cajoled, defended, rebuffed, and sobbed. Every night, Lena has unleashed the hollow agony of Kara's deception masquerading as anger in her chest, incinerating the both of them in the fires of her desolation.

She would have expected the wounds to have cauterised by now. To feel some kind of release, the relief of catharsis. Or at least, to have expended some of her fury after all this time.

She hasn't.

They've been at this for three hours already this evening, and gotten nowhere. Kara's skin is pale above that fucking supersuit, face drawn and complexion sallow.

Lena knows how she feels. The singular exhaustion that is her rift with Kara has sapped her in every way imaginable. She can't sleep. She barely eats. She's no longer interested in work, research, friends. There's nothing in her life that isn't tainted by the shadow of the lies her best friend told and kept telling, every day for four years. Lena doesn't know how any amount of screaming and crying is ever going to get them past that.

Across the room, Kara sighs. It might be the saddest sound Lena has ever heard.

“Should we keep doing this?” she asks after an interminable silence, voice rough with tears still building. Her eyes are still closed.

Lena manages, with exorbitant effort, to raise her drooping head. “What?”

“Is there a point to all this?” Kara asks quietly, hunched body sliding a little further down the glass. "The explanations, the fighting?”

Blue eyes blink open. The weight of the sadness in them is unbearable. Lena struggles to find it within herself to care.

“Lying to you about who I am is the single biggest mistake I have ever made, and if it will make even one single shred of difference I will apologise to you every day for as long as I live,” Kara says into the aching chasm between them. “But I can't keep doing this. Not if it won't change anything. I can't— I don't want to keep hurting you.”

An hour ago, Lena would have scoffed at a sentiment like that. Would have parried back with some piercingly dry comment about how the blonde should have thought about that before she decided to betray Lena's trust as soundly as she possibly could.

Now, though— now, she's just too tired.

“So, should we keep doing this?” Kara whispers, throat working. “Or— God, Lena. Should we just— should we give up?”

Green eyes meet blue, two shattered hearts haemorrhaging between them. “Is that what you want?”

“No.” Kara's voice is loud, fiercely determined in the face of Lena's hesitant whisper. “God, no. Never. I don't ever want to give up on you, Lena. I don't ever want to give you up.”

Kara straightens then, with a strength Lena cannot imagine mustering herself. Perks of being a superhero, she supposes. Perks of being Kryptonian. The thought stakes another shard of ice through her bleeding heart.

“But I know that I've spent four years calling the shots for both of us by keeping you in the dark,” Kara continues. “I've taken away your agency. I've taken away your choice. I won't do that again.”

She sucks in a deep breath, a little of Supergirl's regality seeping back into the defeated slump of her shoulders. “So, I'm doing what I should have done from the start. I'm being honest with you, and hoping that you'll be honest back. I'm asking what you want.”

Kara's fingers twist anxiously before her, bottom lip bleaching white beneath the nervous pressure of her teeth. “Do you think we should keep doing this? Or do you— fuck.” Her voice cracks, the tears brimming in her eyes once again breaking free. “Do you want to give up?”

Jesus Christ. Lena never knew that the prospect of doing the right thing could hurt so much.

“Fuck,” she mutters as she kneads her knuckles over her closed eyelids, digging in until white lights starburst across her vision. “Fuck, Kara.”

“I know,” the blonde whispers from across the room, brittle and broken. “I know. I'm sorry.”

Lena slows her assault on her own eyelids, pinching thumb and forefinger hard at the bridge of her nose instead. “I want to give up,” she mutters, and in the taut silence between them she hears the blonde gasp, watery and thick.

Lena blinks open her eyes to find Kara's face crumpling, every facet of her seeming to fold in on itself even as she visibly fights to keep herself upright.

Lena sighs, and hates Kara, and hates herself even more. “I want to, but— I can't.” She sucks in a ragged breath, hating the truth that's just fallen from her lips, hating the lies that had necessitated it. Hating everything and everyone and most of all, hating just how much she's hurting. “I can't give this up.”

The tiniest spark of hope flares to life in Kara's eyes. Lena hates that she notices, hates that she cares, hates that the sight eases the tight knot of devastation clawing at her ribcage just the tiniest bit.

She also knows that this was inevitable. She knows that, though she hates Kara, though she's nowhere close to forgiving her, though she has no idea how they can rebuild from here or even if she truly wants to try, a question like Kara's could only ever have one answer.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

One year from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, one year from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which is barely even a moment at all. It's more like a dream, warm and faded and fogged in darkness, seconds stolen when sleep should have long since claimed them.

Kara's nightmare had woken them both. In the month since they'd pulled her out of the Phantom Zone, she hadn't slept alone once. Often, she stays with Alex, curling into her sister's side the way she would when they were just kids after one too many late-night horror movies. Once, she stays with Nia, tucked up snug in a borrowed pair of puppy print pyjamas.

Mostly, she stays with Lena. It's natural and unspoken and easy as breathing, the way Kara will show up at her place after a Supergirl save or Lena will let herself into the blonde's apartment after a late night in the lab. They cook dinner and watch Celebrity Masterchef and brush their teeth elbow to elbow at the bathroom sink and when Kara is inevitably tugged screaming and sobbing from her night terrors, the way she presses her face to Lena's neck and her hand over Lena's heart is natural and unspoken and easy as breathing, too.

Kara's racing pulse has calmed a little, her grip on Lena's body beneath her losing some of its urgent desperation. After a long moment of Lena's hand stroking her hair, of gentle reassurances and lips pressed to her temple the blonde pulls back, just enough to rest her head on the pillow facing her.

In the dim light filtering in through the bedroom window Kara's pupils are blown, her face solemn. There's something in her heavy gaze that Lena can't identify; something weighted and potent that prickles goosebumps up the length of her spine.

"Feeling better?” she whispers into the inch of warm air between them, reaching out to tuck a sweat-matted curl reverently behind the blonde's ear.

Kara catches her retreating hand and holds tight, twining their fingers together on the narrow swathe of pillow between them. If either of them were to move so much as a millimetre, their clasped hands would press against their lips.

The blonde nods and sure enough, the soft heat of her mouth brushes the back of Lena's knuckles. She shivers.

Kara is still watching her, the intensity of her gaze causing Lena's heart to thud hard in her throat. She squeezes lightly at the fingers threaded through her own. “What?”

A pause, heavy and sweet as overripe fruit. Kara blinks once, slow. “You're my best friend.”

Lena swallows down a sudden swell of emotion. The blonde nudges closer and when she speaks, the wet seam of her lips catches on the angle of Lena's bent knuckles, painting her skin with the words.

“You're the most important person in the world to me,” Kara whispers, breaths skating fire-flashes across Lena's fingers, voice muffling out past the mouth pressed to her skin. “You know that, right?”

Lena's voice deserts her in the wake of the quiet words. She leans forward instead, presses her lips to Kara's fingertips where they rest against the back of her own hand. It's answer enough.

She hears Kara's breath catch, feels the disruption mirrored in her own chest. Both their mouths are pressed to the joined hands clasped between them. If they were to move their fingers down even just a fraction, there would be nothing separating their lips but a promise, a prayer.

Kara's eyelashes flutter in the semi-darkness. The tip of her nose brushes Lena's own. Neither one of them moves their hands.

They only gaze at one another a long moment, and Lena wonders if the blonde is memorising the planes of her face the way she's memorising Kara's. She could look at her forever, be happy here with her forever, and in this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

For the first time, she wonders if she might not be the only one.

Right now, Kara is reaching across the table at Noonan's and taking Lena's hand.

It's been three weeks since they'd taken down Lex for the last time. Three weeks since Kara had stormed into the Tower's med bay to cup Lena's bloody, bruised face in her hands; since she'd brushed her thumbs feather-light over Lena's split eyebrow and purpling jaw and growled don't you ever scare me like that again. Three weeks since she'd leaned in and pressed her lips to Lena's.

It's been two weeks and six days since Lena, confined to a gurney but utterly uncaring thanks to the warm Kryptonian curled against her side, had pressed her aching face to Kara's shoulder and first whispered that she loved her. Two weeks and six days since Kara had first said it back.

It's been two weeks and five and a half days since Nia had walked in on Lena in Kara's arms, lips pressed to her neck and hands wandering beneath her sweatshirt, and promptly shrieked the place down. Since their friends had exchanged pointed glances and relieved sighs and congratulated them on finally making it official, their expressions ranging from overjoyed to exasperated to plain exhausted.

It's been two weeks and four days of she and Kara dating; of morning kisses and shared showers and the perfect partner at game night and all of Lena's wildest dreams coming true.

It's been less than a minute since Kara had admitted, hushed and wondering, that she'd known she was in love with Lena ever since she'd found herself suddenly prepared to poison National City's entire water supply rather than let Lena fall. That she hadn't been able to fully it admit it to herself until she'd found herself suddenly prepared to alter the course of all of history in order to get Lena back.

And right now, Kara is reaching across the table at Noonan's and taking her hand. She's looking deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice barely rises above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And now that she has, Lena is sure of her answer.

The highlight reel of her relationship with Kara lays itself at Lena's feet, each precious memory between them stretching out like a roadmap of her growing affection, with every hard-won step leading her right to this moment.

And in this moment, Lena knows. She's in love with Kara. Really, she always has been.

#sorry this took approximately 8932018207402 thousand years to materialise #if you've ever sent me a prompt and thought well fuck she's taking so long with this she's clearly forgotten about it i'm just here to say:#nope!#still here #unsure how inspired by the song this actually was in the end #it's either way too close to the lyrics or not close enough #who can say #but anyway yeah. supercorp song #thank your for the prompt and the lovely message! hope you like it #asks #anonymous #ridings writes #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers

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imaginingmarvelandeverything · 2 years

Text

The Foundations of Decay - Part 2

Request: Maybe can we see Jason return and be mad at his dad and trying to approach his mom but won't since he is mad at Bruce?

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Warnings: Pretty comic accurate, beating with a crow bar, physical assault, accidental injury, torture descriptions, night terrors, Jason is very angry, Bruce is not helpful, reader is constantly on the verge of a breakdown, so, so, so much angst

Word Count: 8404

A/N: As you can see from the word count, I got carried away again. I wrote most of this during my exams so I gave reader all my stress and subsequently she spends pretty much the whole time on the verge of a mental breakdown. This also has a lot of references to The Killing Moon parts 1 and 2 in it, just as a warning if you haven’t read those yet. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the angst!

Ko-Fi

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Headcanon Requests Open!

Part 1

Y/N groaned as Bruce swiped her legs out from under her and her shoulder hit the sparring mat, yet again.

“You’re distracted.” He stated.

“No, I’m not.” She retorted through gritted teeth, ignoring his outstretched hand and pushing herself back to her feet without his help. She knew he was right, her mind felt like it was a million miles away, but she was not about to let him know that. She was angry at herself more than anything, which was why she had suggested sparring in the first place in an effort to try and work it out of her system before he noticed.

She swung at his head, but he ducked under her easily and connected his elbow to her back, clearly not using all his strength because she only stumbled forward a step. She spun around and managed to land a kick in the back of his knee, causing him to drop to one knee. But he caught her foot when she tried to kick him again, making her twist away from him to stay standing. She could tell he was barely trying, letting her wear herself out before he made a decisive move. And it only took two more moves for him to do so.

She swung at his head again, but instead of ducking under it this time, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back against his chest. He crossed her arms across her chest, pinning them with his hands on her wrists. Her attempts to kick him were futile as he locked her into him to stop her struggling.

He hooked his chin over her shoulder. “Anger’s a good motivator, if you know how to use it. But you’re not angry at me, so it’s only working against you here. Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

She went limp in his grip and he lowered them both to the floor, letting go of her wrists in the process and wrapping his arms around her waist instead. He kept his chin on her shoulder as she leaned back into him and rested her hands over his.

“I-I just-I feel like I’m losing my mind.” She confessed in a whisper, not missing the way he tensed behind her.

“Why?” He tried to keep his voice calm.

“I keep seeing him everywhere.” She did not need to say his name. Jason. He knew who she meant. It had been almost two years since she had stood on that rooftop and watched him die in her arms. “Every time we leave the house I catch glimpses of him, but when I try to get a closer look, he’s gone.”

He sighed. “Have you mentioned this to Dr Kline?”

Dr Kline, her therapist. The one she had been seeing for well over a decade now, ever since the Joker had grabbed her. “She said it was normal, a delayed grieving response. That it also doesn’t help that we’re nearing the anniversary.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“A few weeks.” She traced patterns on the back of his hand with her fingers.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded hurt.

She sighed. “I didn’t want to worry you. Dr Kline said it would probably stop once we were past the anniversary anyway.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss against the scar on her shoulder. “I don’t want you to worry about telling me things, okay?”

“Okay.” She agreed. “I’m going to go to his grave tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

She shook her head. “No, I need to go alone. But I’ll call you if I need anything, I promise.”

***

Y/N shut the mustang’s door softly, the red paint gleaming in the mid-morning sunlight. She locked the doors and pressed the keys into her palm, grounding herself as she took a deep breath and started walking. Gotham Cemetery looked better in the sunlight than it did in the city’s usual rain. She was not the only person taking advantage of the weather to visit a loved one. People were milling about among the graves, fresh flowers and other tokens of affection in their hands. But Y/N’s hands were empty. She knew Jason would not appreciate his gave being covered in meaningless things, no, he was never that kind of person.

The Wayne plot was near the back of the cemetery, up in the trees with the rest of Gotham’s oldest families. It was morbid to think about, that one day her and Bruce, Grace and Dick and any family they might have, would end up there.

Jason was next to Thomas and Martha, Bruce had insisted. She crouched down in front of Thomas’ grave first, clearing the debris away that had accumulated since she had last visited. Then she did the same for Martha’s before finally stopping in front of Jason’s. She could not believe it had almost been two years. Two years since she got the message meant for Bruce. Two years since she pleaded with the Joker for his life. Two years since she watched him die in her arms.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, wiping at the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

The voice made her jump and she shot to her feet, turning around to face her visitor and automatically slipping into the fighting stance Bruce had shown her. She looked at the man standing a few steps away from her and was convinced that she had finally cracked. He was much taller, there was a white streak through the front of his hair, and a long scar down his left cheek, but it was uncannily him.

“Jason?” His name escaped her before she could stop it.

“Hi, mom.” He smiled shyly, taking a step towards her.

She took an automatic one back, her hands fumbling to pull her phone out of her pocket before she hit her emergency contact button. “I’ve finally lost it.” She whispered, her eyes never leaving him as her phone started ringing.

“No, it’s me. I’m right here.” He took another step forward, and she took another step back.

“No, I watched you die. I-I buried you.” She choked out, trying to force air into her lungs.

“Y/N?” Bruce’s voice came from her phone.

She took another step back, not paying attention to where she was and the back of her legs collided with Jason’s headstone. Her phone fell from her hand and hit the floor, but she did not. Jason moved forward and caught her by her forearms, keeping her standing. His touch on her arms seemed to make everything compute in her brain and ground her in reality, convincing her that this was really happening.

“You’re really here?” She was vaguely aware of Bruce’s panicked voice calling out from her phone as Jason reached down and grabbed it off the floor once he was sure she was steady on her feet. But instead of saying anything, he just hung up and dropped it back into the grass. She looked up at him with confusion before she had another revelation. “I wasn’t losing my mind! I’ve been seeing you for weeks.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I just had to see you.” He told her, even though he was older, all she could see was the little boy, her boy.

“Why- Why didn’t you come home? Or approach me?” She could not figure out why he would practically stalk her for weeks but never try to make contact.

“Because you were never alone, you were always with him.” The venom in Jason’s voice surprised her.

She studied him and noticed something was off, but she could not quite put her finger on it. “I don’t understand.”

“Why would I want to see him after what he did?” Jason scoffed.

“It wasn’t his fault.” Y/N said automatically.

“Not my death, mom. Although I do blame him for not being there for you, for letting you come alone. The Joker could have killed you too.” He looked pained at that thought. “No, I blame him for letting the Joker live.”

Her confusion grew. “Jason, you know his code-”

“That means he doesn’t avenge the people he loves?” His voice got louder and he took a breath. “And not even just because of me. The Joker hurt you too.” He noticed her confusion and explained. “You know Bruce keeps files on us all?”

She shook her head, she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Well, he does, and I found them one day. I know what the Joker did to you, when he grabbed you when Grace was a baby. What he let him do to you.”

“It wasn’t his fault.” She repeated as she screwed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memories of the pain and fear.

“That’s not what he wrote in the file.” Jason told her, his voice suddenly softer. “I wish you hadn’t called him. We both know he’ll already be on his way here.”

“Come home with me.” Y/N opened her eyes to see the look of pain on his face. “Jason, come home. You can see Grace and Dick.”

“I can’t, not until I do what he couldn’t.” He stepped forward and hugged her.

She wrapped her arms around him, conscious of how much he had changed.

“The suit will be gone when you get home.” He said into her ear before he pulled away and pressed a something plastic and square into her palm. “Don’t follow me, I’ll be in touch.”

He walked away and her legs gave out. Her brain was still trying to compute everything that had just happened as she looked down at her hands. He had given her a burner phone. It hit her then, Jason was alive. He was alive. And he hated Bruce for not killing the Joker.

“Y/N!”

She was vaguely aware of Bruce’s voice calling out for her, but her thoughts continued racing.

He appeared at the crest of the kill and made a beeline to her once he caught sight of her. His eyes scanned the area for any immediate threats before he dropped to his knees in the grass in front of her. “What happened?” He cupped her face in his hands before immediately checking her over for injuries. He found none and noticed her phone lying in the grass. He grabbed it before turning back to her, noticing the way she was blankly staring at a point over his shoulder. “Y/N?”

She shifted her gaze and looked at him. “Jason was here.” Saying it out loud seemed to make it even more real.

“Y/N,” Bruce’s voice was soft. “Jason’s dead.”

“No, he’s alive. I don’t know how, but he was right here. He was taller. There was a white streak in his hair and he had a scar on his cheek, right where he did that night.” She knew how she probably sounded. “I’m not crazy, he was right here.”

“I didn’t say you were crazy, but you said it yourself yesterday, you’ve been seeing him everywhere.” Bruce shifted forward and cupped her jaw again with one of his hands.

“Because he’s been following us, trying to get me alone so we could talk.” A few tears slipped down her cheeks and he brushed them away with his thumb. “He gave me this.” She showed him the phone, the only tangible proof she currently had. “He said-” She stopped, words clicking into place in her mind, as her eyes got wide.

“What? Y/N, what did he say?” He was looking at her with worry written all over his face, clearly believing she had finally lost it.

“’The suit will be gone when you get home.’ Bruce, he’s going to the station.” She shot to her feet and was halfway down the path before Bruce realised what she had said.

People were staring as she ran past, but she paid them no mind. Even though she knew there would probably be a headline the following day about the Waynes sprinting through the cemetery.

She made it back to the mustang and was in the process of opening the driver’s side door when Bruce caught up with her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against him, his other hand covering her hand that was holding her keys. “Let me drive.”

She was still shaking, so she relented and gave him the keys. They both climbed in, and he shot off down the road. Neither of them said anything, but she was aware of the glances he kept throwing her.

He had barely pulled the car to a stop in the garage before she was out of the door and running for the elevator. She pressed the button impatiently as he joined her. They climbed in as soon as the door opened and he hit the button for the station. She knew he was just humouring her, that he did not think anything was actually going to be missing when they got there.

When the doors opened, they both went in two different directions. She ran over to her work bench in the far corner as he made his way to his desk. She knew before she got there Jason’s suit was gone because the dust sheet was lying on the floor. She rested her hands on the table where all the pieces had been and she wished she had actually mended the suit, like she had always meant to but never got around to. She took a few steps backwards before turning on her heels and walking over to Bruce.

He was pulling up the stations security camera feed and rewinding through it. She knew he was holding his breath as a hooded figure walked in through the tunnel door, setting off none of the alarms in the process. The figure checked several of Y/N’s workbenches before finding the one he was looking for. He dropped the dust sheet onto the floor and crammed all of the suit’s pieces into a bag. He seemed to look around for something. The mask Y/N realised; no one had ever found it. He seemed to realise it was not there and turned to walk out. But when he reached the final camera before the tunnel door, he pulled his hood back and smiled up at the camera.

Bruce hit pause on the video, staring at the picture with wide, disbelieving eyes. “That’s not possible.”

She watched him and remembered what Jason had said about the files. She took a step back from him before speaking, not because she was scared of how he would react, but because she knew if he touched her, her resolve would crumble. “He said you keep files on us all.”

“What?” He dragged his eyes away from the screen towards her, the gap she had created not escaping his notice.

“He said you had files on us all.” The look of guilt on his face told her all she needed to know but she needed to hear him say it. “I knew you had one on Dick, because of his parents. But not on the rest of us.”

“Y/N, I-”

“The journals are one thing, but actual files.” She took another step back from him as he turned fully towards her. “He found them, Bruce. And read them, because he knew-” She stopped, biting her lip in an attempt to rein in some control over all the emotions raging in her chest that were threatening to completely overwhelm her.

“What did he know?” Bruce was still looking at her guiltily, the distance she had created between them weighing on his heart.

“He knew what the Joker did to me.” She covered her face with her hands, trying not to remember. “He’s mad at you. That’s why he didn’t approach until I was alone.”

“He has every right to be mad at me.”

The tone of his voice broke her heart and she suddenly realised what had been different about Jason. He had reminded her of Bruce. Bruce before Gotham Square Garden, before he realised he was not helping anyone as vengeance. When he was still full of rage at everything.

“He’s not mad at you because he died.” She moved her hands away from her face and met his confused eyes. “He’s mad at you because you didn’t kill the Joker for killing him. And-and for hurting me. He blames you.”

“So, he should. You should as well, it was all my fault.”

“No it wasn’t!” She buried her fingers in her hair. She was teetering on the edge of panic, she could feel it. “I can’t do this right now.” She walked straight to the elevator and he made no move to stop her.

Alfred was sat at the table in the main room going through some documents. He looked up as she walked in. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She caught the look he sent her. “I-I just need some time on my own. Can you tell him that if he comes back up?”

Alfred nodded and did not press her further.

She walked upstairs into their bedroom and ditched her coat and shoes before climbing into bed. All the emotions seemed to catch up to her at once, she clutched a pillow to her chest and started sobbing. She eventually exhausted herself crying and dropped off into a restless sleep.

***

Bruce replayed the security footage too many times. Everything Y/N had said to him was running through his mind. She needed him, and he had managed to fuck it up again. He knew he should never have kept the files from her. They had only been his way of keeping everything in order in case something happened to one of them. He never imagined anyone else would find and read them.

But Y/N was not his only concern. Not only was Jason was somehow alive, he was completely hellbent on killing the Joker. He was tempted to not try and stop Jason. Things would be easier with the Joker completely out of play, and he deserved to pay for what he had done to Jason and Y/N. But he would not let one of his kids be the one to do it and he knew Y/N would never forgive him if he did not try and intervene.

He sighed and stood from the desk chair, he believed he had given Y/N long enough to calm down. They needed to have a proper conversation about everything that had happened. He walked over to his shelves and pulled out three boxes. But the one he was looking for was behind them, hidden away at the back. He pulled it out and opened the lid, checking that all the files were still there. They were, so he picked the box up and made his way to the elevator.

Alfred was sat at the table in the main room, working through some documents. He looked at Bruce over the top of his glasses as he put the box down on the table. “What did you do?” He sighed as Bruce shot him a confused look. “I’ve not seen Y/N like that for a very long time. She asked me to tell you that she needs some time alone. Don’t worry, she hasn’t left, she’s upstairs.” He added as Bruce’s eyes got wide.

“Where’s Grace?” Bruce asked, unwilling for her to overhear what he was about to tell Alfred, not yet at least.

“She’s in the living room, catching up on her homework while watching TV.”

Bruce glanced in the direction, knowing she would not hear them from here if they kept their voices down. “Jason’s alive.” He watched the way Alfred’s mouth dropped open and his eyes got wide.

“That’s-”

“Not possible, I know. But he approached Y/N in the cemetery and broke into the station earlier to take his suit back.” Bruce swallowed thickly. “He’s mad at me, for not killing the Joker-”

Y/N screamed.

Bruce’s heart dropped and he glanced at Alfred. “Keep Grace down here.”

He was halfway up the stairs before Alfred was even out of his seat. She screamed again as he hit the landing and sheer terror started clawing up his throat. He threw their bedroom door open, prepared to fight whatever was causing her to make those sounds. “Y/N?”

There was no one else in the room, but she screamed again as he tried to comprehend what was happening. Then it hit him. It had been so long since she last had a night terror that it never even crossed his mind. He was at the side of the bed in an instant, taking in the way her eyes were screwed shut and she was writhing like she was in agony. He steeled himself for what was about to happen and grabbed her arm.

She sat bolt upright and screamed again. She attempted to hit him, but he was ready. He climbed on the bed behind her and pulled her back against his chest. He locked his hands around her wrists, pinning them across her chest as she fought against him, just as he had done the day before when they were sparring.

“Y/N, you’re okay. You’re safe. Y/N, you’re home. You’re safe.” He kept repeating it over and over again until she stopped struggling against him. Sobs broke free from her chest and he moved her so she was sat across his lap. Her head tucked under his chin as she grabbed at his arm that was around her, trying to ground herself. He rocked them back and forth as he tried to bring his own heart rate back to normal.

“I’m sorry.” She choked out.

“You don’t have anything to apologise for. It makes sense that everything that happened earlier would trigger one.” He tightened his grip on her.

“It was so real. The pain, his voice.” Her own voice cracked.

His heart ached, he wished he could go back to that night and stay in, let the city deal without Batman for one night, so she would have been safe. “He can’t touch you. He’s locked up in Arkham.”

“But he’s going to be able to get to Jason.” She whispered, her fingers digging into his arm.

“No, I won’t let that happen.” He assured her as he remembered Grace and Alfred downstairs. He sighed. “I need to go and sort something downstairs, but I’ll be right back. Okay?”

She nodded and moved out of his grip, standing on shaky legs. He kept a grip on her arm to stabilise her and stood as well. He pressed a kiss to her temple and let go of her as she walked into the bathroom. He watched her with worried eyes until the door shut and he walked out of the room.

Alfred stood from the sofa as Bruce walked into the living room, but Bruce’s focus was on Grace.

“Mom?” She asked, her blue-grey eyes wide with fear.

“She’s fine.” He sat down on the coffee table across from her as Alfred sat back down as well. He paused before continuing, trying to find the right words to say. “Grace, when you were a baby, something bad happened to your mom. I won’t go into details, it’s her story to tell, not mine. But for a long time after, she used to wake up screaming. Something happened this morning that dragged it all back up. But she’s okay. She just might be a little detached for a little while.”

Grace nodded, taking in everything he had just told her. Bruce did not miss the look Alfred sent him, but he knew it was not the time to come clean about everything. He would not make the decision to tell Grace everything without Y/N.

***

Bruce left at dusk. Y/N had tried to activate the tracker in Jason’s suit, but either it had been damaged when the Joker had beat him, or he knew enough about the tech to disable it himself. She wanted to go with him, but Bruce would not hear it. She knew she had terrified him today, worse than she had in years. He told her what he had told Grace when he reappeared in the bedroom carrying the box of files for her to read. He had promised he would back her with whichever version of the story she chose to tell Grace. She knew they were cutting it close. Grace was thirteen now, and she was not going to be oblivious about her parents’ involvement in vigilantism forever.

But Y/N had already lost one of her kids to this life, and while Dick might be alive and well in Bludhaven, he was still following in Bruce’s footsteps, even if he was Nightwing now and not Robin. The promise she made Jason still stood; she would not let Grace follow them.

“Mom?”

It seemed Y/N’s thoughts had summoned her, because Grace gently pushed open Jason’s door the rest of the way and looked to where Y/N was sitting on his bed.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?” Y/N tried to put a smile on her face, but it was weaker than she intended.

Grace walked in almost nervously, sitting on the bed next to Y/N. “Dad told me some things earlier.”

“I know. He told me.” Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was about to be said. “When you were about a year old, me, you and Dick were home alone. Your dad and Alfred had gone out for the evening, I can’t even remember where they went. But I had put you and Dick to bed and was sat in the living room reading when I heard footsteps in the main room. I went to investigate, and the Joker and four other men were there. He said he wanted to talk to me but then Dick came downstairs. The men were armed, and I didn’t know what else to do. So, I told him I would do whatever he wanted, as long as he left you and Dick alone. He agreed, so I told Dick to go back upstairs, and he locked himself in the nursery with you.

“I asked him what he wanted to talk to me about, but he didn’t want your dad or Alfred coming back while he was still here. One of his men grabbed me and I had to go with him, because if I hadn’t, he would have done something to you and your brother. They took me to a building on the outskirts of town. He wanted my help. He knew I was an engineer and he wanted me to help him disable Batman’s tech. But I told him I had no idea, that I had only met Batman once and didn’t exactly have time to check out his tech. But he didn’t like that answer. So, he-” She cut herself off and bit her lip to stop her tears falling.

“He hurt you.” Grace finished for her. “Like he hurt Jason.”

Y/N reached out and took Grace’s hand. “Yes, not exactly the same way he hurt Jason, but he hurt me. Batman found me and he made sure I came home. But for a long time after, I would dream that I was back there, with him. The only way I wouldn’t was sleeping in the nursery. But your dad helped me, even sleeping on your nursery floor just so I didn’t have to be alone. Someone brought up what happened this morning and it all came back to me. And then me and your dad had a disagreement and it made everything worse. I wasn’t planning on falling asleep, but it happened, and the dreams came back.”

“But you’re okay now?”

“Yes, I’m okay now.” Y/N smiled. “And it’s almost your bedtime.”

Grace groaned. “Do I have to?”

“You’ve got school tomorrow. Go on, off you go.” Y/N said, her smile getting wider.

“Fine, good night.” Grace said as Y/N kissed her forehead.

“Good night.” Y/N watched Grace skip out of the room and sighed. She really needed to have a conversation with Bruce about telling Grace about Batman.

It was not long after Grace had departed that Alfred stuck his head into the room. “How are you?” He asked as he walked in and took the spot next to her on the bed that Grace had vacated.

“He asked you to keep an eye on me?”

“He did. But I would have anyway.” Alfred said, looking around Jason’s room. They had not changed it since the night he died, much like Thomas and Martha’s room, it was still waiting for its occupant to return.

“How much did he tell you?” Y/N asked, keeping her eyes on the window.

“Enough.”

“Why do these things keep happening to us?” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and burying her head in her hands.

Alfred sighed. “You and Bruce have gone through more than two people ever should. But you should remember that you have come through it all.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Come downstairs. You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Come downstairs.” Alfred’s tone left no room for argument as he stood and walked out.

Y/N wiped a hand over her face before getting up to follow him. She twisted her phone in her hands as she made her way to the kitchen, debating about whether or not she should call and tell Dick the news. She sighed, knowing he would most likely already be out on his own patrols. She walked through the kitchen door to find Alfred already halfway through making her a grilled cheese sandwich. She sat at the kitchen table and turned on the TV that now sat on the set of drawers in the corner. They had brought it for Grace because she had taken up baking as a hobby and liked following baking shows while baking herself.

She thanked Alfred as he set the sandwich down in front of her and took a bite as he started making a pot of tea. He joined her at the table when he was finished and fixed them both a cup. They sat in silence, only half paying attention to the news playing in the background.

Until the breaking news infographic flashed across the screen.

The TV had their rapt attention as the news reporter came up on screen.

“This just in, a masked man has broken in to Arkham State Mental Hospital. It is believed this as yet unidentified man has freed the serial killer whose real identity has still yet to be discovered, but is known as the Joker.”

They showed the security camera footage of the masked man dragging the Joker out of one of Arkham’s side doors. There was no denying it was Jason. He had poorly patched up his suit and had ripped the insignias off, but Y/N would know her own work anywhere. Instead of a mask like the one he used to wear, he was wearing a kind of red ski mask.

Y/N barely managed to set her teacup down without scolding herself because her hands were shaking so badly. She pushed herself to her feet, meeting Alfred’s worried gaze. “I just need to talk to Bruce, I won’t do anything else, I promise.” She explained.

“I will be coming to check on you.” He warned her.

She nodded before retreating out of the room and practically sprinting for the elevator. Seeing the patched-up suit had reminded her about the secondary tracker she had installed after he had once lost the primary one halfway through a patrol and Bruce could not find him.

The elevator doors opened, and she went straight for the desk, bringing up the tracker programme. She typed in what she needed, and felt her heart jump as a red blip appeared on the map of Gotham. Jason was moving, and fast.

She moved over to her workbenches and pulled a box out from underneath the one by the far wall. Bruce was not the only one keeping secrets in the station.

She pulled out the pieces of body armour and stripped out of her clothes. She pulled the armour on. It was nothing like the suits she had made for the others. It was light weight protection, bullet and knife proof, but would not do much against heavy blows. It was also thin enough for her to hide it underneath the tactical trousers and shirt she pulled on over the top. She laced up her boots, pulled on a coat, similar to the one Bruce used to own, and filled the pockets with the gadgets she might need. She grabbed a prototype box and threw it into her backpack. She pulled out a handheld GPS and connected it to the computer, downloading Jason’s live location. She wiped the location off the screen and left her clothes and phone on the desk. She scribbled a quick note for Alfred.

I’m sorry, but I know what I’m doing.

She pulled out a spare pair of the contact lenses and managed to get them into her eyes after a couple of attempts. She walked over to Bruce’s old motorbike and attached the GPS to the handlebars before pulling on the helmet and climbing on. She kicked up the stand and kick started the engine as she pressed the button for the tunnel door and shot out into the night.

***

Y/N tracked Jason to an abandoned, half-built tower, much like the one the bat-signal was built on. She pulled the bike to a stop and climbed off, wheeling it into a shadowed passage near a skip where no one would be able to see it. She pulled her helmet off and left it on the seat. She looked up at the tower and took a deep breath before walking towards the steps.

It was dark and she really wished she had a torch, but she knew that would just give her away to any unsavoury characters that might be lurking. She kept her guard up as she ascended through the building’s levels, keeping one hand in her coat pocket at all times. When she reached the second floor, she could hear voices above. Jason was screaming something she could not make out, and the Joker was laughing manically at him. The voices were broken up by hard thumps and grunts of pain. She threw caution into the wind and ran up the last flight of stairs.

The light of the city through the glassless windows was the only thing illuminating the two figures. The Joker was on his knees on the floor, Jason stood above him with a crowbar in his hand.

He was badly beaten; we believe with a crowbar.

The words snapped through Y/N’s mind, temporarily stealing the air from her lungs. But she forced herself to breath as Jason raised the crowbar again.

“Jason!”

The crowbar clattered to the floor in shock as he turned to look at her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She came to a stop several steps away from him, trying to supress the memories that threatened to overwhelm her at the sight of the Joker. “Jason, don’t do this.”

“Why, hello, princess. Didn’t expect you to be my saviour.” The Joker cackled.

“You don’t get to speak to her.” Jason’s fist connected to the Joker’s face, blood spraying from his nose. “How did you find me? I disabled the tracker.”

“You disabled the primary one, you forgot about the secondary one I installed that night we couldn’t find you.” She told him.

“Is he here?”

“No. He doesn’t know I’m here either. Although Alfred will probably have noticed I’m missing by now and will have told him. He can’t track me tonight. He has no way to find where I am, I made sure.” She confessed, watching as Jason’s eyes widened at how she was willing to let Bruce lose his mind trying to find her, just to stop him from doing this.

“What did he say, when you told him what I was planning to do?” He reached down and picked the crowbar back up.

“He said you have every right to blame him for what happened to both of us. But he’s wrong, Jason, it’s not his fault.”

The Joker laughed again, and Jason went to hit him. Y/N stepped between them at the last minute, the crowbar connecting with her forearm with a sickening crack. It hurt like hell, and she knew that if she was not wearing the armour, he would have broken her arm.

Jason seemed to realise that as well because he stumbled back, the crowbar slipping through his fingers as a look of horror crossed his face. “Mom-”

“I’m fine.” She pulled up her sleeve to show him the plating along her arms. “Jason, I’m fine.”

“This has been an interesting turn of events.” The Joker said behind her.

Jason went to lunge forward again but she caught his shoulders. “Jason, this isn’t you. You’re not a killer.”

“He deserves to pay!”

“He does! But not at your hand! I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be, but please, for me, don’t do this.” She pleaded.

His shoulders dropped, his resolve waning.

“I knew you enjoyed our time together, princess.” The Joker was taunting them both.

Y/N pulled the gun out of her pocket, turned and fired a round into the Joker before Jason had even comprehended what the Joker had said. He stared at her with his mouth open as the Joker crumpled to the floor. “Mom?”

“They’re sedatives. I built it for Bruce, but his aversion to guns apparently extends to the non-killing kind.” She explained, choosing not to mention the live rounds she had slipped into her pocket in case she changed her mind.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked and suddenly Y/N was back on that roof, holding him as he bled out in her arms.

She pulled him into her, running her fingers through his messy hair as he buried his face into her shoulder. “You don’t have to apologise. Jason, come home.”

“I can’t.” He pulled back; heart break written all over his face. “Mom, I can’t. Have you told Dick and Grace?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t. It’s better that they don’t know.” He whispered before turning back to the Joker. “This isn’t finished. Mom, I will finish this. But what happens tonight?”

“I’ll sort it.” She noticed the look he sent her and slipped the small, silver remote out of her pocket and held it for him to see. “I won’t be doing it alone.”

“If you ever need me, the phone I gave you only has one number in it.” He told her.

“I know. Jason, the door is always open if you change your mind.” She said, her heart breaking at the thought of him walking away for good. “This might help with whatever you have planned.” She pulled the prototype box out of her bag and handed it to him. “The mask you were wearing tonight didn’t look very bulletproof.”

He pulled the helmet out of the box and studied it before throwing his arms around her again. “Thank you.”

“Look after yourself.”

“I should be saying that to you.” He pulled back and shot her a smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

She nodded and watched him leave. He took part of her heart with him, the part that she thought had died two years prior.

When he was down the stairs and out of sight, she practically flung herself away from the Joker, her fingers hitting the panic button as her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor. The tears came again, and she fought with everything she had against the voice in her head telling her to load the gun with the live rounds and kill the Joker then and there. She dropped the gun to the floor, kicking it out of her reach as she buried her face in her knees.

She had no idea how long she spent on the floor before she heard the tell-tale growl of the charger’s dual engines in the alley below. It cut out, the silence deafening before she heard the heavy thud of boots against the steps. She could not bring herself to lift her face from her knees, but she heard Bruce’s footsteps stop a few steps away from her and knew he was taking in the scene in front of him. The gun and the Joker’s still form in particular.

“Y/N?” The suit creaked as he dropped to his knees in front of her. “Y/N, are you hurt?”

The question made her aware of the throbbing in her arm where Jason had accidently hit her with the crowbar, but she still shook her head into her knees. She heard him shuffling around and then felt his bare hands over hers.

“Honey, can you look at me?” His voice was soft, clearly scared of setting her off like he had earlier.

She forced herself to unwind her arms and lift her head from her knees. He was knelt in front of her, his gloves and cowl on the floor next to him. The black smudged around his eyes just highlighted the worry in his blue irises.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m okay.”

He let out the breath he had been holding. “Alfred called me, said you went down to the station to call me but when he went to check on you, you were gone. And you left everything there that we could have used to track you.”

“I had to come alone; he wouldn’t have listened if I didn’t.” She explained.

“Looks like he didn’t anyway.” Bruce sighed, glancing behind them.

“The gun’s mine.” She whispered and his head snapped back to look at her, his eyes widening again. “It was a sedative, he’s not dead. But I brought these.” She pulled the live rounds out of her pocket and showed him. “I wanted to do it. Even as I stopped Jason, I wanted to do it.”

He took the bullets from her, throwing them behind him. They listened as the metal clinked against the concrete before they rolled to a stop. She was absentmindedly rubbing at the ache in her forearm and he noticed. His fingers closed around her wrist and she let him take it from her. He slipped her sleeve back, his eyebrows pinching together when he laid eyes on the armour plating covering her arm.

“You think I built all that stuff for you, but never built anything for myself.” She sent him a half-smile, glad when he returned it.

His fingers made quick work of the clasps; they were no different from the ones on his suit. He pulled the plating away and set it on the floor before inspecting the bruise that had already began to form.

“He didn’t mean to.” She caught his eyes as he looked up at her again. “The crowbar, I stepped in between them.”

He nodded, not saying anything as he picked up the plate and secured it back around her arm.

“He said he plans to finish it.” She glanced over at where the Joker was still lying.

“We’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t.” Bruce told her. “How did you get here?”

“The bike.”

“Where is it?”

“Behind the skip in the alley.”

He stood up offering his hand to her and pulling her up when she took it. He pressed the charger’s keys into her palm. “Take the car home. I’ll sort this out and then meet you there.”

“I can take the bike.” She protested.

“Please, do this for me. You don’t know who is out on the streets. I’ll feel better if I know you’re safe.”

She nodded. “Okay.” She reached down and picked up her gun, not missing the emotion that flashed through his eyes as she pocketed it again.

“Take your helmet. I won’t need it.” He pressed his lips against her forehead, keeping her against him a moment longer than he normally would, before he reached down and grabbed the cowl off the floor.

She watched him pull it on before she started walking away, listening as he pulled out his phone and called Gordon.

***

The pain radiating from Y/N’s arm was agonising. She knew she should go upstairs and let Alfred have a look at it, or at least ice it. But she could not uncurl her body from where she was perched in Bruce’s desk chair. The footage from her contact lenses was playing on a loop on the screens and she had no energy to stop it. Her head nodded forward but she snapped it back up. She would not fall asleep. Not right at this moment. She knew if she did, she would be back there. Hanging by her wrists from the ceiling in that barren room. Trying not to scream as the Joker touched the picana against all of her bare skin he could reach while telling his goon which voltage to set it at. Feeling the ice-cold water rush over her skin as they increased the voltage further until she screamed Bruce’s name.

She was so lost in her own mind that his hands on her shoulders made her jump up and throw an elbow at his head. Bruce caught her arm, letting go immediately when she cried out in pain and cradled her arm against her chest.

“You need to go and see Alfred about that.” He said with a sigh.

“I know.” She said, her voice thick as she watched him strip the suit off.

He pulled her contact lenses off the upload plate and replaced them with his own, hitting the upload button on the computer. He turned back to her and offered her his hand. She took it, letting him pull her up before he led her towards the elevator. She curled into him once they were inside, trying to use his warmth to banish the images that would not stop running through her mind. He pressed his lips against her temple as the doors opened. He led her into the kitchen and assured her he would be right back as he went to wake Alfred. She sat down and watched him go, the pain being the only thing grounding her in the present.

When they walked back in, Alfred sent her an exasperated look but did not comment on the way she had lied to him and ran away. “Let me have a look.”

She let him take her arm and roll up her sleeve. He sighed as he looked at the forming bruise. He poked and podded at her arm, watching her reactions carefully. He turned to Bruce. “Get her some ice and painkillers.” He did as he was asked as Alfred turned his attention back to Y/N. “It’s not broken. But it’s going to be sore for a while.”

She nodded as Bruce walked back over and handed her an ice pack wrapped in a tea towel before grabbing her a glass of water and a pack of paracetamol. She took the painkillers and set the glass on the table.

“Right, if I’m not needed anymore, I’m going back to bed.” Alfred told them.

“Thank you.” Y/N said, and he shot her a small smile before walking out.

“C’mon, we should go to bed too.” Bruce said, but his eyebrows scrunched together when she did not move and avoided his eyes. “Y/N?”

“If I go to sleep, I’ll be back there.” She whispered.

“If I could go back to that night, I wouldn’t leave you alone. I would make sure he never laid a finger on you, even if that meant killing him.” He confessed, crouching down in front of her and resting his hands on her knees. “But I can’t go back. I can’t change what he did to you, or Jason. But I will be there for you, no matter what. And, honey, you need to sleep.”

“He asked me not to tell Dick and Grace, said it was better if they didn’t know.” She was stalling and she knew he could see right through her.

“He’s right, but we can have this conversation when we wake up tomorrow.”

“Bruce-”

“I’ll be right there with you.” He assured her. “If you don’t want to sleep in the bedroom, we can sleep somewhere else?”

She moved her hands to his face and leaned forward until her forehead was resting against his. “I don’t think that will make a difference.”

He sighed, his thumb tracing her jaw as he moved a hand to her face. “Okay. Come upstairs with me then?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before nodding. He pressed a chaste kiss against her lips before pulling back and standing up. She took his offered hand and let him lead her up to the bedroom. Neither of them said anything as they changed and got ready for bed. Once they were settled, he pulled her flush against him and she buried her face in his t-shirt.

“I think we need to tell Grace everything.” She murmured, already feeling her eyelids getting heavy again.

He hummed in agreement. “I was thinking the same thing. The sooner the better.”

“And I know what he said, but I think we have to tell Dick that Jason’s back. Just in case we end up needing his help.”

“We can call him in the morning.” Bruce said, already sounding half asleep. “Go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I love you.” She whispered.

He pressed his lips against her hair. “I love you.”

Taglist: In the reblogs

#bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman imagine #batman x reader #battison #the batman #batman #robert pattinson #jason todd #dick grayson #convenience #jim gordon #alfred pennyworth

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elysianslove · 3 years

Text

getting passed and railed by the msby black jackals: a guessing game

as requested, here’s another version of the guessing game. there’s also an inarizaki version! let me know which team i should do next :)

the first to have his hands on you picks you apart calculatingly slow. his hands are large, pressing at your thighs, spreading you open for him, trailing up to your breasts, gripping and squeezing and pinching at them till you’re gasping for him. he spends so much time with his hand between your thighs, fingers buried in your cunt, until you’re crying, begging, sobbing for more, drenching his palm and the bed beneath you. when you’re properly fucked out from his fingers, he finally shows mercy, and pulls away, ridding himself of his clothes. his self control is strained as he approaches you, his cock hard and dripping in his hand while he strokes it. he wants to leave a mark on you, wants you to be sure you’ll never the feel the way you will with anyone else but him, and it shows when he finally sinks inside of you, teeth gritted and a hiss spilling as he gasps about how you were made for him. he has your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands grasping your hips, pulling you up as he fucks into you, hard and fast and deep. he’s reaching within you where you could never imagine, his cock long, hitting every spot that sends your sensitivity skyrocketing, weakening your resolve, forcing you to lose more and more of your inhibitions by the second. he’s already pulled out three orgasms from just his fingers, worn you out so much, that it’s unsurprising the third advances just as quick. you cry out and warn him, “gonna make a mess!” but he only spurs you on, lifting your hips higher, angling it to hit at that spot within you just as he rubs at your clit and you’re gone, squirting and making a mess of him, drenching your thighs and his abdomen. he doesn’t stop until he’s filled you up, until he can see your messy cunt soaked in both your cum and his.

the second is eager, eager enough to carelessly fall to his knees between your legs as soon as the first steps away, grabbing your thighs and positioning your legs atop his shoulders, before he buries his face in your cunt. he laps and sucks at your folds, cleaning you up of any residue of the man before, and you want to cry at how humiliating and filthy it seems, it is, but he’s just so enthusiastic, so sweet, lips sucking at anything your cunt has to offer him until he makes you cum again, and you feel a chill run up your spine at how this is only the second boy. he’s just so generous with everything, kissing at your thighs, at your belly, up to your chest, peppering your face with kisses as he lines himself up against your hole. he’s calling you the sweetest of names, yet somehow they feel a little filthy falling from his lips, as he pushes the fat head of his cock inside of you, watches with a grin as your eyes widen at the feel of him stretching you. he tells you how good you are for him, how perfect, so perfect, wish i could have you forever, as he fucks into you so fast, like you’ll somehow disappear if he were to slow down for even a second. he’s insatiable, wanting more, more, more, that he pulls out, pushing you onto your stomach, holding you flat against the bed as he sinks into you again, simply using you, his hand so warm and gently strong all over your body. he cums before you do, spilling inside of you, but he’s quick to push your hips up, making you stick your ass out as he fucks his fingers into you, his cum and your arousal easing him in and making everything so much messier as he scissors his fingers and twists rapidly at his wrist, his thumb on your clit. when you cum, all you think is where the fuck did he learn to be this filthy?

the third has so much to give. his cock meets your mouth before it’s at your cunt. he’s lifting you up before you can think, lowering you so that you straddle his face, facing his legs. he doesn’t tell you to suck his dick, but with the way he’s humping the air, his cock twitching in his tight boxers, you read him all too easily, and fall forward. he quickly lifts his hips to help you in stripping him, and god, he’s so fucking big. his cock is so large, so thick and veiny and long that you can’t even imagine how it’d ever fit, despite having been fucked by two other cocks. three of his fingers sink into you as his tongue laps at your folds, and you finally find the courage to wrap your lips around the dark, drooling tip, swallowing as much as you can of him. your jaw aches and your lips hurt at stretch, but you can’t deny just how good the feel of his heavy cock against your tongue is. the way he’s praising you sounds as if he’s delirious, just panting and whining and calling you the cutest petnames, and minutes later he’s spilling down your throat, cumming so much that it makes you gag and cough and spew out cum onto his lap. it doesn’t bother him though— fuck is still hard?— and he doesn’t hesitate in lifting you up, sitting up against the headboard and seating you on his lap. he doesn’t waste any time, grabbing your legs and hooking your knees on his arms, spreading you open and putting you on display. he begs silently, begs as if he was the one under your control and not the other way around, “put it in, put it in, please,” and once you do, he doesn’t hold back at all, making you easily cum on his cock, and makes everyone watch as he spills inside of you, the cum oozing and dribbling out of your stretched out cunt.

the fourth gives you a second to breathe, his big, rough hands massaging at your sore muscles as you lay on your stomach. he eases at the tension in your shoulders, arms, back, down to your legs and ass. but despite how kind his hands may seem, his mouth is anything but. he calls you dirty, dirty, dirty, asks you if you enjoy being used like this, if they should treat you like this more often. his words have you burying and hiding your face deeper against the bed, shying away from him. he coos at this, teasingly saying, “aw, baby, don’t get all shy on my turn,” before he spreads your ass, dipping his fingers between your folds before sinking them into you. he’s doing it slow, leisurely, like he’s not really trying to get anything out of this, and you soon find out that yes, it’s exactly that, because his fingers fall from your cunt, and trail up to your ass. at the feel of his fingers against your tight hole, you tense and mewl, but he only shushes you, telling you to be good for him, that he’ll treat you real good, don’t worry darling. he takes his time stretching you for him, but it’s as clear as ever that he’s impatient. still, he makes sure you’re prepped well enough, and you understand why the moment his cock slaps up against his stomach when he pulls at his boxers. god, how were they all so big? he makes sure you’re on all fours when he brings his dock to your ass, when he finally sinks inside of you and you realize oh, oh, he’s so good. he fills you up perfectly, so perfectly, has your arms weakening. but it’s okay that you’re unable to hold yourself up, because he’s quick to pull you up to him, hand around your throat, the other between your legs, rubbing furiously at your clit, urgent to make you cum, to make you cum hard. and when he cums, he makes sure to pull out, and to cum in your pussy instead, because, “a cunt this pretty needs it, doesn’t it?”

the fifth has a unmissable mischievous glint in his eyes, even with the kind smile he wears. he coos and awes at you, marveling at how good you’ve been to all of them, how he’s so happy to have you last, because he’s definitely going to make you feel so much better than all these boys. his hands are experienced, much more, as they press flat against your body, kneading at your thighs, at your breasts, cupping your face lovingly, and he does nothing, nothing, doesn’t touch you the way all these boys have, and you’re already mewling and begging for him, your thighs squeezing and rubbing, desperate for friction in any way. when his hand falls from your face to your throat, it rests there, simply, not a tightening grip at all, but you find yourself lifting up, leaning into him, wanting more. it’s dizzying, the way he’s borderline manipulating you. but god, do you love the way he’s hovering his fingers along your skin, forcing goosebumps all along, or the way he’s kissing you as he lets you grind your bare cunt against his thigh, making you look even more desperate, despite the very obvious tent and damp spot in his boxers. but finally, finally, he stops making you wait, pulling his cock out of its restraints and leaning close to you, lips kissing at your jaw and your neck as he slowly sinks into you. he fucks you missionary, simple as ever, but somehow, it feels the most intense out of all five. he’s everywhere around you and on you and in you, reaching deep within you, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you with his diligent strokes and dexterous fingers on your clit. when he’s close, he pulls out, grabbing at his cock and stroking it harshly, hard and fast and quick, before he spills, aiming it along your body, staining you with his cum. somehow, this way of marking is much filthier than the fact that you had four other boys cum inside of you.

alright, so who’s who? :)

characters: meian, bokuto, atsumu, hinata and sakusa (not in order)

#msby x reader #msby smut #haikyuu smut #meian x reader #meian smut #bokuto x reader #bokuto smut #atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu smut #hinata x reader #hinata smut #sakusa x reader #sakusa smut #sal's games <3 #sal's thirst tag <3

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babyboibucky · 3 years

Text

Slut Fest Day 5 - Noncon

Pairing: TWS!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k yeah this is a full oneshot lmao

Warnings: Dark!Bucky obviously, fingering, unprotected p in v penetration, creampie, implied suicidal thoughts, use of a knife, mentions of wound and blood

A/N: This is the first time I wrote a full noncon fic so feedback is very much welcome!!! This will have a second part which is tomorrow’s prompt, Breeding

Slut Fest Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

Your vision was hazy when you first opened your eyes, the splitting headache and body pain that came along with it almost made you think that you were merely having a hangover.

Almost.

Flashes of the previous night flooded your brain, you could only recall bits and pieces of what went down. You were at a club with your friends, lots of shots and dancing; there was a man in a black shirt that danced with you. He was ruggedly handsome and well-built with dark hair and a rough voice.

You searched your memories for a name...was it Brian? No, it was far from that. Brock? Yeah, you were confident that his name was Brock.

He danced with you that night and you were sure that he had asked whether you wanted to go somewhere private. And that’s where everything had gone to black.

Blinking helped you with your vision and now you can clearly see that you weren’t in your room. Looking around, you realized that you were in a cell. It was dark and damp, with only a single fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling above.

The pain in your shoulder and arms made you want to stretch but to no avail because it was only now that you discovered that your wrists were restrained and tied above your head. You were almost standing on your tiptoes with how high you were tied up, explaining the cause of your body ache.

“No, no...is someone out there?!” you screamed in panic as your mind finally understood what was going on.

“Please? Help me!” you yelled, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you tugged at your wrist.

The echo of your voice was the only response you received. Up until you heard heavy footsteps approaching from afar. Your lips trembled in fear as you waited for someone to emerge from the dark.

And there he was, the man from last night, Brock. But he wasn’t alone.

In front of Brock was a man who was way taller and bigger than him— long brunette locks covered his face and if that wasn’t enough to keep his identity hidden, he had to be wearing a black mask as well.

It wasn’t just his large built and mysterious look that piqued your interest, it was his left arm. It was made out of what seemed to be metal; there was a red star painted on the shoulder.

“Good, you’re awake. Didn’t want to keep the Soldat waiting.” Brock said as he pushed the man inside the cell.

“Who the fuck are you?! Why am I here?!” you spat at Brock as you watched him close the cell door before locking it once more.

Brock merely smirked, “You were at the right place at the wrong time, baby. Needed to reward our asset with a little something, thought you looked like the perfect present.” he chuckled darkly.

“Soldat, she’s all yours.”

Those words made your bile rise up to your throat and the presence of the metal-armed man didn’t help you with your fear. You threw up all of a sudden, coughing as your tears began to fall endlessly.

“Please...please don’t.” it was all you could utter as you shook your head.

The sound of the Soldat’s heavy boots crushing the ground made your heart beat twice as fast. You probably looked pathetic, tugging at your wrists despite knowing that it was futile. The closer the Soldat was, the more you moved and thus, the weaker you got.

“Whoever you are, please...just help me out.” you pleaded.

The Soldat stopped when he was a feet away from you and suddenly, your breath hitched in your throat. His eyes were the bluest you’d seen and despite his intimidating appearance, they held a certain softness in them.

“I don’t know who you are but I know you don’t want to do this.” you softly said, hoping that he’d change his mind.

Your body jolted in shock when Soldat spoke, his voice was low and gravelly— hoarse even, like he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Такой красивый подарок.”

Such a pretty gift.

He lifted his metal hand and you flinched, afraid that he was going to hurt you. But he merely took your chin and wiped your bottom lip clean. Soldat was so close that you could hear his heavy breathing beneath his mask.

“Стоит ли мне развернуть подарок сейчас?”

Should I unwrap my present now?

“I...I don’t understand you.” you croaked out.

The way his blue eyes turned dark in a split second brought your fear back. Just like that, the softness he had turned into something so perverse, it sent shivers down your spine. You were about to say something when the Soldat gripped the neckline of your dress with his metal hand, tearing it open effortlessly leaving you in nothing but a pair of bra and underwear.

You screamed and tried to kick him but he was so much stronger than you. He didn’t even budge when your feet landed on his thigh. If any, your defiance triggered him and only placed you in a much more dangerous situation.

“I beg you, please…don’t do this.” you cried and cried.

A squeal escaped your lips when Soldat grabbed your face in his flesh hand, squeezing your cheeks as his eyes roamed around your face, taking in all of your features. His thumb grazed your mouth, tugging your bottom lip down before he spoke again, but this time, in a language you finally understood.

“Suck.”

Tears streaked down your cheeks as you shook your head but when you felt his hand tighten around your face, you were left with no choice but to obey. Letting out a shaky breath, you took his thumb into your mouth and sucked.

Soldat hummed before you felt his thumb press down on your tongue. He moved his thumb in and out of your mouth before letting go of your face and taking a small step back away from you.

You hoped he had a change of heart. He didn’t.

You let out a gasp when you saw him take out a knife from one of his holsters, skillfully flipping it before bringing it close to your face. You’d never known fear like this before, it was extremely horrifying.

It felt like you were face to face with the god of death himself.

“Don’t kill me, please! Please let me go, please...I’m not going to say anything to the police, I swear. I’ll stay quiet, I promise.” you sobbed.

Your pleas fell on deaf ears; the Soldat wiped away your tears before he dragged the tip of his knife from your neck down to the strap of your bra, slicing it before moving onto the next, letting it fall to the ground, leaving you bare for him.

There was nothing else you could do to escape and yet you tugged and tugged at your wrists, ignoring the stinging pain from how the restraints were now digging onto your skin. Your wails were unheard and the more you screamed for help, the more helpless you felt.

The Soldat moved to slice the sides of your underwear before tearing them off of you, throwing the fabric behind him. He took a step back, as if admiring his present before him and he loved it.

He loved seeing you like that, vulnerable and helpless. All for him to use, to take and to ruin.

A cold hand ran up from your hip to your ribs, the coolness of the metal making your entire body shiver. A soft sob echoed in the cell when the Soldat cupped your breast before his fingers pinched a nipple, making you cry out.

Your body was responding to his touches despite your protests and it was making you frustrated. You didn’t want this and yet your body craved for more, needed more from him.

The Soldat’s hand traveled to do the same to your other breast before sliding down to your abdomen, making you hiss at the cold sensation. His eyes met yours the same time he cupped your mound.

Your body jumped up as you cried, feeling his fingers rub at your cunt. You begged him to stop but at the same time, you wanted him to continue. Everything was a blur to you now; your pussy began to weep for the same man you wanted to run away from.

Biting your lip, you tried your hardest not to make a sound. Warmth crept up to your face when your hips began to move on their own, grinding against the Soldat’s hand as he continued to rub your folds at a slow, steady pace.

You felt ashamed. You weren’t supposed to feel good and yet you did.

The Soldat seemed to have noticed that you were holding back because he suddenly pressed his thumb against your clit at the same time he slid his middle finger in. The intrusion was enough to make you whimper, something that urged Soldat to keep going.

“N-no…” you whined.

He pumped his finger in and out of your cunt in a quicker pace until you felt your wetness dripping down your thighs. You cried and refused to look at him in the face so you rested your forehead against your arm.

Your body was giving up from how you were restrained, your arms were starting to feel numb and your legs were trembling both from pleasure and from trying to support your entire weight on your toes.

“S-soldat…” you unintentionally called out his name when he added another finger in.

It stirred something darker within the man, something primal and feral that made you want to just die right then and there. Perhaps it was better for him to kill you.

He continued to finger your cunt while rubbing your clit in circles, faster and faster until you were crying out both from shame and from your release. Wetness gushed out of your pussy, soaking his metal hand. He pulled his fingers out of your cunt and stuck it into your mouth, muffling your sobs.

“Я хочу попробовать тебя в следующий раз.”

I want to taste you next time.

The Soldat was quick to remove his fingers from your mouth, only to move them towards the zipper of his pants. Your eyes widened as you watched him take his cock out, pumping it a couple of times before he stood close to you.

You shook your head, “I don’t want this, please. Soldat, please…”

“Продолжай умолять, милая девушка.”

Keep begging, pretty girl.

In one swift motion, the Soldat hoisted your legs to wrap around his waist before sliding his cock into your pussy. You gasped out loud at the sudden stretch, your brows furrowing into your forehead at the stinging pain. The Soldat was relentless and didn’t give you time to adjust.

He kept on taking and taking and taking until nothing was left from you.

His cock was huge, it filled you up like never before. It stretched you out to the point of pain, making you sob out loud. Your lip began to bleed from how hard you were biting down on it, you were giving it your all not to moan but one particular thrust rendered your efforts a failure.

You moaned out loud when the tip of his cock hit your cervix, making your body tremble from the pleasure that shot through your veins. Your toes curled and your hands balled into fists when the Soldat kept on hitting that particular spot.

He started groaning and cursing in the same language he had been speaking. His hands on your hips were tight as he brought your body down on his cock each time he thrusted into you. Your restraints kept on jangling above you, as if they were mocking you and the way your body was reacting to the Soldat.

The Soldat sped up his thrusts, fucking you harder and deeper until you were gasping for air. His cock was punching the air out of you and with the heat building up in your abdomen, it was becoming difficult to breathe.

Your entire body was covered with a sheen of sweat while your face was drenched with your tears. You threw your head back when the Soldat brought his thumb to your clit, pressing down on it.

Looking up at your wrists, you noticed how wounded they already were. Small droplets of blood began to drip from your wrists down to your arm. You closed your eyes and refused to watch the Soldat’s assault on your body.

“Please, stop…” you softly begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

The Soldat didn’t stop and only went faster until you were a sobbing mess. Your body shook when your orgasm hit you wave after wave. You ended up crying out his name as you finished, drenching his cock with your juices.

His grunts were becoming louder and his thrusts sloppier. You knew that he was close and you didn’t want him to finish inside of you. You tried to move your hips away but he was too strong and managed to hold you in place as he fucked you until his balls tightened.

Two more thrusts and he was done, groaning out loud as you felt ropes of his cum fill you up. Your whine turned into a full cry when you realized that you were done for.

Just like that, the Soldat pulled out of you and tucked his cock back into his pants.

Your body had given up and you allowed yourself to just hang limply, ignoring the throbbing pain on your shoulders. At this rate, you were sure that your shoulders were already injured from having been restrained like that for hours.

Your cries died down into hiccups, you’d completely given up. The feeling of the Soldat’s release tainting your legs as it dripped out of your abused cunt was a clear indication that you’d lost everything.

The Soldat lifted your head up with his metal hand; he caressed your cheekbones gently as he finally removed his mask, revealing his face to you.

You were on the verge of passing out when he showed you his face, the last thing you saw before your vision turned black.

The Soldat truly was the god of death.

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malachaiparkerimagines · 3 years

Text

drizzle

word count: about 2.2k

warnings: heavy smut - public sex, cum eating, multiple orgasms etc etc, not proof read

summary: the rain was so pretty, but kai thought you were prettier.

requested by @slut4kai

The air was still warm despite the sun having been long gone for at least an hour, you had somehow managed to drag Kai out to a look-out point not far from town to watch the sunset. The sky had drifted from the bright pinks and oranges to black and the stars glimmered above you, a soft rumbling could be heard in the distance but any chances of a storm wasn’t visible from the view.

“It’s definitely going to start raining soon,” Kai stated but made no effort to move from the bench you’d been sat at for at least two hours. You glanced at him briefly, it was difficult not to ogle him as he stretched his arms out and looked back at the storm that was rolling in from behind you.

“Can’t you do a spell and stop it from raining?” you giggled bringing his attention back to you, he rolled his eyes and a smile pulled at his lips at your enquiry.

His hands roamed your waist pulling you from your seat next to him and turning you so you could straddle his lap. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

The way his hands rested against your waist and the playful glint that shone in his eyes made you completely forget the rumbling storm that was quickly getting closer. Kai had a way of doing that to you, making you forget the world around you and focus entirely on him in a way that you’d never experienced before, he could make you a flustered mess just by smiling at you from across the room.

“What? You don’t think I’m funny?” you pouted, hitting his shoulder softly, his hand coming up to grab your wrist so he could intertwine his fingers with yours. A small grin plastered on his face to match the bashful smile on yours as a result of his actions.

He laughed lightly and leaned forward for a moment to press a soft peck against your lips eliciting a warm heat onto your cheeks. Soft raindrops began to fall when he pulled away causing both of you to look up and see the storm rolling in above you.

“Sorry baby, but I don’t have a spell to stop rain.” he mumbled, his hands massaging your waist as the rain fell onto you both, “C’mon, let’s go home.” Your hand came up to his chest to stop him, a smile playing on your lips and Kai eased back into the wooden bench.

“I’ve always loved the rain, it’s pretty,” you glanced at the sky but Kai’s gaze never left your face, his heart fluttering at the childlike joy shining in your eyes. The warm air contrasted the cold water that had begun to sink into your skin but you couldn’t have cared less. Your gaze returned to Kai, his eyes glazed with adoration, the reflection of your own eyes evident in his blown-out pupils. “Almost as pretty as you.”

HIs face flushed pink at your admission, he didn’t get shy often but somehow, you’d figured out how to make his insides go to mush and get his brain to stop functioning. You called him out on his blush with a giggle and it only flustered him more, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled, burying his head between your neck and shoulder to hide his burning cheeks.

The rain was coming down quicker now, soaking through your clothes and leaving goosebumps across your skin. “We should really go home; I don’t need you getting a cold.” he mumbled against your neck, his warm lips leaving a soft kiss against your cold skin. You whined softly at the prospect of leaving the haven you were in and a soft chuckle escaped from Kai at your response.

“I have another idea.” you claimed and moved yourself from his lap, he raised his eyebrows in confusion but you gave little indication of your thoughts until you kneeled on the wet grass just across from his crotch. The rain clouded your vision but the soft grunt from above you meant he enjoyed this idea just as much as you did, your hands gently pulled the sweatpants from his waist tugging at his boxers at the same time.

He hissed as the cold rain hit his semi-hard cock, his eyes were hooded and his breath was heavy when your hands wrapped around his cock pumping it softly, the rain making the movement smooth. “Gotta keep this warm,” you mumbled, it wouldn’t have been audible if his hearing wasn’t superhuman but before he could question you, he understood, the warmth of your mouth surrounded his hard cock and he cursed at the feeling.

Your hair was now soaking wet from the rain but his hands managed to hold it in a ponytail at the back of your head, guiding your head slightly and pushing your head to take him further. Soft curses were drowned out by the rain hitting the ground but the occasional groan met your ears and spurred you on further. “Fuck, such a good girl for me, taking my cock so well.” His words stirred in your lower stomach and you could feel your panties getting damp despite the rain having soaked into them already.

A rustle from the woods around you caught your attention and you abruptly stopped your movements, fear of being caught washing over you. Kai’s grip on your hair grew tighter as he continued to push your head onto his cock. “Invisique,” he grunted out, “don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Almost immediately you continued bobbing your head, your eyes brimming with tears as his cock hit the back of your throat repeatedly. A car drove past on a nearby road and a shiver ran down your spine at the prospect of getting if you weren’t cloaked, a small moan escaping you at the idea.

The noise set something off in Kai and almost instantly, he pulled your mouth off his cock and dragged you up by your hair until you were straddling him. “Was so close to cumming in your mouth baby, bet you would’ve loved that, wouldn’t you?” You nodded desperately, grinding your covered crotch onto his exposed cock. The rain had started to calm, a soft drizzle coming from above but the rain was the least of your concerns.

“Need you to ride me, can you do that?” he asked, his voice gruff and demanding. Although phrased like a question, you knew he wasn’t asking and it only became more obvious when he ripped through your wet leggings and pushed your damp underwear to the side. His fingers slid into your folds and you could feel yourself dripping onto his rough fingers. “So wet from just sucking my cock, such a good little whore.”

Whimpers escaped you faster than you could stop them, his fingers pushed themselves inside of you, his other hand steadying you with a hand on your waist and encouraging you grind against his fingers. The wet noises from your pussy grinding against his fingers almost blended into the background of the rain but Kai’s cock still throbbed beneath you from the sound.

“Cum all over my fingers baby, want you to make a mess before I fuck you,” he grunted, the hand on your waist held you still as he thrusted his fingers up into you faster. The pressure built quickly in your abdomen; your hands reached up to Kai’s shoulders to steady yourself when your body began to shake from the intensity of the pleasure. “Atta girl.”

After a few moments, your body began to recover and your whimpers dissolved into the air but Kai didn’t let up for long. His lips attached to your neck, both hands now resting on your waist and pulling your bare pussy to rest on his cock. You hissed at the feeling, still sensitive from your orgasm, Kai began to rock his hips slightly whilst sucking and biting at your neck.

“K-Kai,” you mewled, “fuck me, please.”

He pulled away from your neck, admiring the bruise that had bloomed from his action and smirked at your neediness. “So desperate for my cock, so fucking sexy.”

Before you could muster up a response his cock slipped inside of your sopping pussy, you gasped at the sensation of being so full. Kai’s head fell forward for a moment, his eyes scanning where your bodies met and his cock throbbed at the sight of your pussy dripping onto his already wet skin.

You began to move your hips against him, starting in small circles just to relieve yourself of the tension that had built between your thighs. Your hands on Kai’s shoulders gave you the leverage you needed to start bouncing on his cock, your arousal made his cock slide in and out of you with ease.

The cool rain did nothing to cool your burning skin which was only made worse when Kai pulled you back into him and carried on harshly sucking and nibbling at the skin of your neck. Moans died in your throat and your legs began to shake and your pussy throbbed and clenched around his cock.

Your movements slowed as your thighs burned from your relentless bouncing as the pleasure grew in intensity, Kai picked up the pace. He gripped your hips and his fingertips were sure to leave bruises in their place and thrusted up into you, hard. Your head flew forward and your hands gripped his back, desperate for something to grab onto and settling for the material of his t-shirt.

“This pussy is all mine, fuck, you’re all mine, my girl.” he mumbled, his words muddled with his thrusts and the sound of skin slapping against skin. His thrusts were harsh against your sensitive pussy and all you could manage in response was loud whimpers and curses.

Before you could say how close you were to cumming, Kai manoeuvred his hand from your hip to circle your clit, the way he played with your clit was delicate compared to the way his cock slammed into your pussy. “Cum on my cock baby, you can take it, fucking cum.”

That was all it took to have you writhing against him, your body shook and you almost ripped his shirt from how tightly you were grabbing it, your mouth fell open on his shoulder and you were sure if his shirt wasn’t already wet, he would’ve felt the spit that dribbled from the side of your mouth.

“There you go, feels so fuckin’ good.” he grunted, his thrusts had slowed to help you come down from your high but you could still feel his hard cock throbbing inside of you.

Your hips started to move on their own accord, desperate to feel him fill you regardless of your pussy hurting from the overstimulation. “Want your cum inside me, want you to fill me up.” Kai groaned, his own orgasm chasing him and he started to mercilessly thrust his cock into your pussy, your pussy was still clenching from your past orgasm and it only spurred him on more. “Want it so bad, please baby.”

It was just a few more moments until Kai threw his head back in pleasure, his warm cum spilled into you and left you feeling even fuller. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” he sputtered out, his thrusts coming to a stop as his cock twitched against your sensitive walls.

His cum dripped out of you from the sides of his cock and you reached down between you, your fingers brushed against his softening cock and his eyes snapped to you, your brought your fingers to your mouth, sucking off the warm liquid. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head at the sight and you could only giggle at the reaction.

You lifted yourself off his cock, his cum dribbling out of you and down the side of your thighs, he quickly pulled your panties over your pussy and he collected the cum from your thighs on his fingers and pushed his fingers into your mouth. “Mm, perfect.” he grinned, pulling his sweatpants and boxers back over his cock.

“You ripped my leggings.” you grumbled, attempting to move off of him on shaky legs. Before you could stand or sit next to him, you were pulled into his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he smiled, standing slowly as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “Next time, don’t try and fuck me in public and this wouldn’t be a problem.”

You pulled your head back to look at him, “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.” Any attempt of his to hide a smile was foiled when he saw the smirk that graced your lips.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, a smile playing on his features that was joined by a blush when you threw your head back in a laugh, “let’s get you home.”

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