#<- can barely walk is wearing a hospital gown

[katsuizu-stuff]

I have seen a few theories/post on who the mysterious man is and people are saying it is Tenko and if it does end up being Tenko. Then what the fuck has AFO done to him!?

I mean just look at this man carefully

He looks like he has been through literal hell. Like he has seen and been through traumatic shit. He looks absolutely terrified. He’s probably crying because he’s finally out of the terrifying hell hole he was in

He can barely walk he is holding the wall to keep walking to keep him on his feet

He has what seems to be a mask and bandages around his mouth

He also has his arms wrapped in bandages like Eri did

He seems to be wearing a hospital gown or what seems to be a hospital gown due to the ties holding the gown

He has literally ropes tied around his neck. Which seem to be very very tightly tied

His hair is changing from black to white

There’s wires/string’s probably coming out of his mouth or attached to the mask he has around his mouth

Only an insane monstrous villain like AFO and the doctor would do that. They probably used poor Tenko as a guinea pig or even worse

#let’s hope it’s not Tenko #please don’t let it be Tenko #whoever this man is he has been through absolute hell #fuck afo is this is his doing #tenko shimura #shigaraki #mha tenko #bnha tenko #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha 425

[yuukei-yikes]

i hate how it's implied kano just left takane to sort out getting her body back by herself. like he just takes her there and then goes sob outside. fuck you fuck you fuck you i know kano was in a bad headspace but he is ALWAYS in a bad headspace he SHOULD AT LEAST help his friend out of the fucking tank especially after lore dumping her abt his tragic life story the whole way there

#takane casually approaching seto and kano outside and that's kano's first time seeing her conscious in the body. are you kidding #'shes wearing some hospital gown she found somewhere' no YOU FOUND HER THE CLOTHES. #haha joke abt takane not paying for food no YOU BOUGHT HER SOME FUCKING GOOD. IDIOT BITCHBOY #i dont care what canon says to me kano helps takane out of the tank and she's losing her mind #instant sensory overload also she is STARVING and NEEDS TO DRINK WATER!!!!!! #ratio + kano helps her dry off from weird tank substance + kano helps her get dressed + kano helps her walk bc she's super weak #DIE!! THEYRE BEST FRIENDS!!!!!! HE CAN GO SOB TO SETO OUTSIDE A LITTLE LATER #to me he helps her then leaves her alone for a min bc she asks him or bc he needs to idk #shes like ill go get some foods bye. and kano's like looking like THAT??? and takanes like WHATS WRONG WITH THE WAY I LOOK #<- can barely walk is wearing a hospital gown #kano's like. you know what whatever if im not alone in the next 10 mins ill explode u can go do whatever #like yes he needs a minute. but not before helping takane out of the tank. everyone shut up. #im delusional because kano is just that much of a dickhead like its canon he is that much of a dickhead #but idc. best friends. #kagevinnie

[monster-disaster]

[tentacle] Monster in the hospital

tentacle!monster x human!male!Reader Good to know: porn without plot Summary: You are well taken care of in the hospital.

Long shadows stretch away from the cold hue of the lamps filtering through the half-open door. Under the pale illumination of the lights, the room seems even more barren than usual.

"Mr. Y/L/N?" The mention of your name pulls your attention away from the sterile white walls and the dark screen of the small TV in front of you. "Yes?" Your voice is hoarse from being silent for so long. "Everything is alright?" The nurse asks, standing at the door. "Do you need anything?" "No," you reply. "I'm fine. Thank you." "Try to sleep," she says. "You need rest."

You nod without speaking, and she leaves with the soft click of the door as she closes it behind herself. Now, the only light you get is from the streetlamp not far from the window outside. Your eyes linger on the clean glass and the dark sky above Meriad. The traffic around the hospital is muffled and slow. Your room feels too quiet without the soft buzz of the equipment and the quiet conversations coming from the corridor.

You are lying in the bed with pillows plumped under your head. The white sheet is crisp, and the thin blanket hides the ugly, freshly washed hospital gown you wear. A slight grimace pulls on your face at the thought. You don't want to know how many times you flashed your bare butt just today.

It's almost midnight, but you can't sleep. You slept more than enough for the last two days since you got into the hospital because of your migraine. There is something impatient and restless in your muscles as you fidget and adjust your position every few minutes. You want to go for a walk. You want to go outside and get some fresh air to get rid of the scent of chemicals.

The sudden movement under your bed makes you grab onto the edges of the hard mattress. It pulls you out of your thoughts as you look around, surprised at the sight of long tentacles emerging around you. The light pink limbs almost look comical in the too-sterile, too-clean and too-barren environment.

"Hello," you break the silence a bit awkwardly. "Uh-"

You want to sit up, but two tentacles stop you by your shoulders before you can move. They are gentle but firm, keeping you in place.

"Oh," you exhale, relaxing back onto the mattress while remaining fixated on the monster. The pink skin looks soft and smooth under the dim lights, and you can see the muscles working without pause. The tentacles move slowly and lazily as they get closer and closer, slipping under the blanket covering you.

Even though you expect it, you still jump with surprise when they reach your bare legs. Two limbs curl around your ankles, pulling them apart slightly. Your heart flutters in your chest with excited anticipation as you watch the moving bulges under the cover. Another two tentacles glide up on your shins, tickling the hair on your skin and caressing the insides of your thighs. Your cock jerks at the teasing touch, and something tight and warm gathers in your lower belly. Your fingers tighten on the edge of the bed, and your nails dig into the mattress.

The air leaves your lips in a sharp gasp.

The monster's touch is cool and surprisingly slick around the base of your cock as you lay still with your half-hard length between your thighs. The tentacle squeezes you teasingly, making your blood rush down to your lower body to the point you feel dizzy and lightheaded. The tentacle squeezes you teasingly, stroking up on your shaft until your cock is hard and pre-cum drips from the tip. You shudder and sigh at the feeling. The tentacle smears the pearly liquid all over your shaft, making its own stroking motion smoother and easier on your length. Your cock jerks and twitches in its hold, pointing upwards under the thin blanket. The tip of the limp circles around the crown, caressing the sensitive skin there. You can feel the muscles moving and working around your erection while you can do nothing but twitch and jerk in its grasp.

"Fuck," you pant into the quiet room. The dim light filtering through the window glides over your sweat-covered skin. Your lower body moves on its own accord. Your heels dig into the mattress as your hips thrust up, chasing every sensation and pleasure you can get from the monster.

With a trembling hand, you grab the edge of the cover to pull it off your body. A relieved sigh leaves your chest when the cold air runs over your heated skin before a moan escapes your lips at the sight of yourself in the grip of the long, pink tentacles. The hard cords of your legs are tense and still look so fragile compared to the thick limbs. Your eyelids are heavy as you force yourself to keep your eyes open. You stare at the tentacle around your cock, milking you from the base to the wet tip.

"Fuck," you groan again, letting your back arch up from the bed as your chest heaves. Like a raw nerve, you twitch and tense at every touch and firm caress.

"Fuckfuckfuck!" Your voice is breathless and high as you moan. Pleasure strikes through your body when another tentacle appears between your thighs. It slips under your cock, licking over your balls. The touch is slick and sudden. White hot pleasure bursts under your eyelids, making you tingle all over to the point you forget how to breathe.

The tentacles tighten their hold on you to keep you in place before you trash and shake yourself off the bed, but you barely notice it. The monster works on your cock and balls in sync, chasing you to your orgasm with rapid speed. Convulsions seize your thighs, and your abs clench painfully so. You look and sound desperate as you fuck the tentacle around your length. Every nerve and fiber in your body is fixed on the sensations that drive you mad with pleasure and need. The monster dominates you without a sound and plays on you like it would on an instrument.

Your mind goes blank when your orgasm strikes through your nervous system like a jolt of electricity. It makes your muscles tense and takes your breath away for long seconds. Your lungs burn, and maybe even your heart stops beating. Your cock erupts, and rapid bursts of cum shoot all over you and the tentacles. When your orgasm ends, and your body finally goes limp on the bed, you and the monster are soaked in your semen.

You are drained and spent with no thoughts in your head.

You fall asleep within seconds while the tentacles let you go, clean you up, and cover you in the blanket while the night goes on in the sterile walls of the hospital.

- Masterlist Meriad Masterlist Patreon

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster smut #terat0philliac #terato #meriad #tentacle x reader #tentacle boyfriend #tentacle x human #tentacle smut

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: No Appointment Necessary [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: No Appointment Necessary [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: It doesn't matter how good of a patient you are: he's going to hurt you, anyway.

For Horrorfest request:

i'm sorry if it's too vague & ignore ofc if so, but! overhaul x medical horror? looking forward to these prompts, thank you!! love your writing so much.

Word count: 1833

notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, medical horror and abuse (including: needles, sedation, restraints, medical ests)

You’ve been living on this hospital bed for oh, so long. Long enough that your world feels horizontal most of the time, an endless parade of the same sights and sounds that has gone so far as to seep into your dreams. 

The windowless wall with nothing to see but shelves--for gloves, for needles, for medicines; and cabinets--for charts and reports and test results. You’d asked Overhaul if he might put up a picture, something sweet and soft, a flower, a cloud, a drawing. And he’d looked at you like he wanted to coo, but he denied your request--

“Clinic rooms are no place for pretty things.” And he’d paused, then. “Except for you, of course.”

So you don’t see a pretty picture on the wall. 

Above you, there’s the bare ceiling with its tiles, counted a million times. Often, there is Overhaul, wearing his medical mask and always framed by a surgical light that he swivels around. His eyes are always intent, staring down at you with varying degrees of curiosity, focus, possession, irritation, disgust, but never pity.

The machines next to you, which at least offer a little variation. Sometimes your heart rate is fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes the IV is clear and other times it has an awful tinge to it; those are the medicines that make your arms hurt, make you feel sluggish and sick, before you are forced into darkness.

The only reason that you don’t have bed sores, you think, is because Overhaul would find them too disgusting to treat. So you are turned like clockwork and walked like a dog every day. He gives you a mild sedative beforehand, of course, so that you’re too woozy to try something silly like running away from him. It’s too hard to run when the world spins and you’re only wearing grippy socks and he has to drag the wheeled IV behind you as you shuffle along.

You look forward to your walks, hazy those they are, because at least when you’re being walked you’re not on the bed. And if you’re not on the bed, he can’t do anything awful to you.

Like this, right now.

Your inhale is sharp and pained, and you whimper out something like a protest as he pushes the ultrasound wand down harder against your skin, moving, moving. Looking for something--but what? Your stomach is uncomfortably warm and sloppy, rubbed with lubricant that makes it easier to push the wand around.

“Stop complaining.” His words are spoken so casually that it only makes them sting more. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“It does,” you whine. And maybe you’re exaggerating a little. It doesn’t hurt in the same way as the needles sometimes do or the medicines that make your heart go too fast or the aftermath of waking up from his quirk, when things went awry. 

But a little pain is still pain and you’re stuck in this bed wearing a hospital gown for what will probably be the rest of your miserable life, so why can’t you complain?

“It doesn’t,” he corrects. “You’re just being childish. If you keep squirming, I’ll have to strap you down again.” 

Your lip trembles, but you don’t vocalize your complaints anymore. Instead you force your eyes up, glancing as much as you can at the ultrasound screen, where you can see the vague impressions of your organs being mapped and recorded.

This test is taking longer than you thought. You’d like lunch. You weren’t allowed to eat breakfast or your morning snack because he said you had to fast for the ultrasound. You did get a bit of water with your medicine, but that was it. 

After a while of him pressing the wand around, humming, clicking on his computer, you sigh.

“What are you looking for?” 

He doesn’t so much as glance down at you. Instead, he pushes particularly hard against your side, then tsks. 

“Don’t worry your little head about it. Just checking on the progress we’re making.”

Your hands curl into a fist and uncurl, then curl and uncurl. It sometimes keeps you calm, when you’re worried. But right now it’s mild entertainment, more entertaining than the gray-and-black-and-white blobby organs you can only just barely see on the screen.

“Progress we’re making on what?”

This time, he does glance down at you. Is he smiling? He might be. The skin around his eyes crinkles a little.

“Something wonderful, dearest. But don’t trouble yourself.”

You hum, unwilling to argue, and go back to staring at the ceiling. Maybe this time, when you count the tiles, the number will be different.

--

Lunch is always the same. You used to hate that, but now it’s almost comforting. Anything routine is better than wondering what awful thing might happen next and will that awful thing involve needles, scalpels, or his bare hands? 

So, no, you don’t mind eating the same lunch tray this afternoon. Steamed rice, fish and vegetables and a cup of broth soup that he tells you is fortified. When he first brought you here, you’d thrown the trays on the ground and accused him of drugging you because he was a really sick FUCK.

So he strapped you down, fed you through your nose, and sedated you while explicitly describing exactly how much sedative he was inserting into your IV every time.

You don’t accuse him of things like that anymore. You also don’t throw away your food.

And it’s become apparent that, for as much as he does use sedatives on you, he never hides them in your food or tricks you. Is that worse or better? Sometimes it’s better, you think, because he’s letting you know before it happens. You can prepare yourself, steel your nerves, be ready. But it might be nice not to sit there for a few minutes, heart pounding, agonizing over the fact that you know he’s about to drug you. 

Ah well, it doesn’t matter, because you don’t have a choice in what he does anyway. 

When lunch is over, you let him clean you up. He wipes your mouth and you sanitize your hands in the portable sink he brings over to the bed. And when you’re settled down long enough to wonder what the rest of the day will look like.

On good days, the tests mostly involve checking your pulse, your blood pressure, your reflexes. Maybe drawing a bit of blood, which usually isn’t so bad. He lets you rest and once he even rolled in a TV on wheels and you watched a movie. Now that was a good day, but that hasn’t happened again. Maybe it was too exciting.

On bad days… on bad days you are strapped to the bed, because even if you are trying your very best to be compliant,  you cannot stop yourself from trying to rip out the IVs that pump painful sludge into your veins; you cannot help but scream and thrash and try to get away.

But while you are pondering all of this, Overhaul has come back, clipboard in hand.

He looks you up. He looks you down. 

“You’ll have to be sedated for this evening,” he says.

And oh, you know at once: bad day.

You shift backwards on the bed, the paper-like material of your gown scrunching up around your knees as you bring them to your chest.

Your mouth already feels cotton dry. Maybe your throat is anticipating the screams.

“Does it have to be today?” 

He blinks at you. Then walks over to the side of the bed and pulls out the restraints--two for your wrists, two for your ankles. 

“Lay down. Don’t make a fuss. Can you do that much?” 

It takes you a long, agonizing moment but yes, you can do that much. Because you know what happens if you fight. You squeeze your eyes shut while he straps you in, but before you open them, there’s a gloved hand on your forehead--a sympathy touch? Or, ah--just checking for fever.

Whatever the case, you hear the sound of a snapping glove and the dull thud of the containment trash can being open and shut. 

And then a hissing. The sound of wheels rolling harshly against the floor. A pop of plastic being released from its holder. 

Your fingers clench inward until your nails bite your skin. 

You open your eyes just in time to see the edge of the gas mask fitting over your nose, fogging up just a tad when you whimper into the unforgiving plastic. It’s an awful taste, and you can never get used to it--like licking the inside of a beach ball that’s been left to sit in the sun. It seeps into your mouth, your nose, down your throat.

Your eyes blink and blink, fighting and heavy, but it doesn’t help: your consciousness slams into the darkness.

--

You wake up. You always wake up, though you’re not always terribly grateful for that fact. 

Waking up is slow, like pulling your feet out of something deep and sticky. The world comes back in waves. Sounds, first, always sounds. The beeping of your machines. His voice, sometimes, talking to himself as he jots down notes. Occasionally the sound of someone else--an assistant, though you rarely see them at all. 

Sight, then, but it’s more gradual. Maybe it would be easier if the room was brighter or if there was a window. Or if you were actually interested in what was in front of you beyond the need to know what will happen to you today.

Then sensation comes back into your limbs that feel like lead even after you’ve woken up. 

You smack your lips. Dry lips. Dry mouth. Dry throat. 

But you don’t need to ask for water. Overhaul is there with a little paper cup that he presses to your lips, slowly, tipping just enough that you don’t choke out of eagerness. 

When you swallow

“The procedure went very well,” he says. He sounds cheerful. But his words only carve out a dull ache in  your stomach.

“What… did you do this time?”

He never tells you. He only taps his clipboard and moves on, and you don’t push the issue out loud.

All you know is that something else is missing. Some integral part of you, as if each time he puts you under, you wake up with less of yourself; what has he scooped out with a knife or his hands or his very presence?

Your quirk?

Your soul?

Something else, far more intangible but just as precious? 

The pillow underneath your head is hospital-grade. The ceiling above your head has an even number of tiles, one of which has an old water stain that you’re surprised was allowed to remain. The machines on  your side continue to beep and your left arm lays palm upward, so your IV doesn’t get disturbed.

And you? 

You’re still on the hospital bed--and that’s where you’ll stay. 

#yandere overhaul #yandere kai chisaki #yandere chisaki kai #yandere bnha #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere #afterwitch writes #aw horrorfest

[thewildestofeyes]

Got the encouragement from a friend of mine to write a new tickle story. Multi ler (mmf) x reader. Doctor themed

The Clinic: Opening Day

* Beep... beep... beep...*

You slowly stirr awake to the sound of a fant beeping. Your mind is fuzzy and you don't know where you are. The last thing you remember was answering your door and... wait what happened after? Before you get a chance to think any more about it, the door to the room opens and two men walk in. Clad in labcoats and medical masks, you stare at them before instintively trying to move for the first time. Terror fills your heart for a moment, and your adrenaline spikes as you suddenly realize that you've been bound to the very bed you're laying on.

The sudden shock that fills your soul allows your brain to work quickly enough to recognize a few things. First, you're in what appears to be a clinical room. You've been restrained to a hospital bed with your ankles bound to the end and your wrists tied above your head. Looking down you can see that you're wearing a medical gown and stripped of any other clothes. Finally, one of the men begins to speak.

"It appears the test subject is awake..." He says, barely paying attention to the look of terror on your face. "Vital signs look normal. The effects of the auditory knock out tone have completely faded away." You listen with no idea what the man is talking about, only able to watch as he picks up a clipboard. "Right. Let's get started then..." As he writes on a clip board he says your name, causing your blood to freeze. How does he know who you are? Who are these guys? What are they going to do to you? Your mind starts racing with different possibilities before the other man speaks up. "Shhhh... relax. Just comply with us and I assure you... you'll be doing nothing but laugh during this entire affair".

As he speaks, you notice he's putting a wide variety of different tools and items on a nearby table. Feathers, toothbrushes, hairbrushes, paintbrushes, wait... is he going to? Your question is answered suddenly by the buzzing of an electronic toothbrush. Not even having a second to cry out, it's already making contact with your foot, causing a cute flow of giggles to escape your lips. The man with the clipboard mumbles something as the other continues , moving it all over your soft soles before leading it right up to your toes. As your giggles quicken, the man with the clipboard makes more notes with a pleased gleam in his eyes. You wiggle aginst your restraints, feet kicking in place but there's nothing you can do. You're strapped so tightly that the slightest of wiggles is all you can muster as this doctor tickles all over your feet, toes and ankles with this electric toothbrush. As you start feeling comfortable with the level of tickles, the sensations begin to stop. You take this moment to breathe, and are about to ask why this is happening before suddenly a sensation causes a gasp to leave your mouth. Your soles begin to experience the sensation of warm oil coating the soft skin before chaos in the form of a hairbrush wrecks havoc upon your feet letting loose a shriek of laughter. Up, down, and all around, that hairbrush quickly plays your soles like a bow plays a violin, causing the sweet music of your laughter to come flooding from your lips. The man taking notes gives a happy comment of " finally some real results" as your tickler continues using that hairbrush to great effect.

As he tickles you, the man proceeds to let out teases, saying phrases such as " gosh these feet are so ticklish..." and " look at that smile. You must be loving this!", as the other comments on yor reactions to such stimuli. After what seems like an eternity, the tickles stop , giving you plenty of time to catch your breath. You breathe in and out, shivering slightly as you try to ignore the tingling of your now red soles. Already feeling slightly worn out, you can only gaze in horror as the man who was once holding the clipboard now holds a pair of scissors. Before you can register what's happening he takes the tool and slowly cuts your gown in two, starting from the bottom and letting the loud snips fill the room as your only protection effortlessly falls from your body.

"Now onto the rest of the tests" He says with no emotion in his voice. One of his hands begins to slowly spider up your side as the other takes hold of the electric toothbrush. The other man, taking the clipboard for himself takes notes, writing down every moment where the clinical process of tickling every inch of your upper body causes squeals, giggles, laughs and shrieks. Your navel gets a visit by that vibrating menace, and both your belly and hips get plenty of squeezes which cause you to jolt as much as you're able to in such restricting conditions. At some moments, the tools are replaced by soft, teasy feathers, which while they do lessen the ticking, they tease the body and cause the next attack to create a louder squeal of ticklishness

This slow teasing quickly escalates however. As while the soft feathers along your belly drag up to your ribs, a pinky finger gently grazes your armpit. The sudden flinch catches your tickler off guard, interrupting his cheeky teases to look at you with a glimmer in his eyes. Putting the tools down, his bare hands waste no time making their home inside your armpits as his fingers wiggle with little signs of stopping. The laughter leaving your mouth filled the room and only encouraged the doctor to continue his current test. "Looks like we finally found the spot!" The one taking notes said with a chuckle, taking notes quickly before an idea came to his mind. "We should test nails there. I'm calling for the nurse."

Pressing a button on the side of your bed, the two men give you a chance to breathe before a woman clad in a nurse's outfit enters the room. Her nails are well manicured, long and slightly pointed. She looks at you with a visible grin on her face, wiggling her fingers in your direction before letting a few of her nails tease your arch with a sudden spidering. The shiver that follows goes up your leg and sends shockwaves through your body. Such teasing continues as she drags her nails along your entire body, not breaking eye contact for a second. "You found a cute one boys~" The nurse giggles, tickling your inner thighs before letting her nails flutter over your tummy and ribs. "I can't wait to break this one too"

"Please don't break this one yet. We still need more data from them." One mentioned with a sigh. "Regardless, the armpits seen like an effective spot so -" The nurse cut him off. " Relax, I was getting to it. Can't a girl play with her food?" She asks unamused before turning back to you with a sinister smile. "I know what I'm doing, and soon you will too!" Even before she finishes speaking her hands dash into your armpits, those well groomed nails clawing and scratching at your sensative hollows. "Ooh listen to those screams" She exclaims as your cackles fill the room. Somehow this was worse than what the men had been doing. Theirs had been teasy, done to find spots and fluster their "patient." This was pure tickling meant to drive the victim wild. Meant to cause them to lose their minds. The nurse just laughed even as the medical devices around you started going haywire. It was becoming too much!

"That's Enough! One of the men said at last, pulling the nurse back before you had a chance to passout. "We told you it isn't time to break them yet! Look, we got our preliminary findings. They're in no state for more today. We'll come back to them tomorrow for the next tests." Those words echo in you rmind as they leave. Next tests? There was more? The idea terrifies you , but it's no use worrying about it now. It isn't long before the exhaustion from todays events overtakes both brain and body, and soon you sleep , unknowing of what lays ahead.

#tickle story #m/f tickling #f/f tickling #tickle tools #medical tickles #feet tickling #armpit tickling #tickle

[morally-grey-variant]

love is a dagger [loki x oc][part two]

loki x oc

part two

[master post]

[read part one first]

Pairing: Loki x Original Character (she/they)

Agent Grey Forrest can’t quite reconcile her alliance with Loki. After six months of regular hand-to-hand combat and close-weapons training, they’re not quite friends but can’t exactly stay away from each other. Everything changes the day Loki accidentally stabs Grey during a training exercise.

Part Two Summary: Ten stitches later, Grey needs rest. Loki stays to care for his favorite agent, knowing he’ll have to answer to Tony -- and the other Avengers -- for the accident later. After witnessing Tony’s rage, they both know this is just the tip of the iceberg. Caring for an injured Grey tests the tenuous friendship, and as Loki bares a shred of his soul, Grey is forced to confront the truth of their feelings.

 Maybe later can wait a little longer. (wc 3 k)

Warnings: Later episodes become more explicit with dark themes -- Minors DNI. Blood, hospital/surgery/sedatives/stitches, general angst, mild swearing, non-explicit nudity, inferred non-descriptive references to hypothetical SA. (if I've missed something please let me know!)

I drift in and out of fitful bursts of sleep. Shouts from Tony, his face contorted in rage; Loki's strong, capable hands; fear and angst and blood, so much dripping blood everywhere.

The nurse shakes me awake. I immediately search for Loki; he’s hovering behind her. I can’t read his heavy expression. He stayed.

“Time to go,” she declares, although I couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes. She helps me upright and shows me how to change the bandage that now wraps around my torso, protecting the raw edges of the fresh wound. Loki hovers, observing, though I can’t read his heavy expression.

I shrug out of the scratchy paper hospital gown, but Loki politely averts his gaze. My cheeks still flush hot red. I'm still wearing my athletic leggings, and the nurse offers me a plain black sweatshirt branded with a stylized A that I gratefully tug over my sports bra. She leaves me with a paper box of bandages.

Loki smirks and offers me a hand. “Can you walk now, or do you need me to carry you again, Agent?”

I flush. “I can walk.” 

Loki escorts me out of the medical wing. His hand lingers at the small of my back, pressing the sweatshirt against my skin. “It's a long walk back to the SHIELD dormitories,” he muses. “How far can our brave Agent go before succumbing to the lingering morphine?” 

“To say nothing of the mortal wound in my chest,” I counter, instantly regretting it. His hand stiffens, fingers curling into my back. Fuck.

“I fear Tony may, quite literally, have my head for this.” His biting sarcasm just isn't there. He looks straight forward, fist pressed against the small of my back as he guides me down the hallway. 

“Let me deal with Tony.” I don't have the same sway as the others, but I might be the only person who will stand up for Loki. 

The thought tugs at a ragged edge of my heart. My head swims again; I stumble, catching myself against the wall with my right arm. 

“Careful,” Loki murmurs, both arms looping around me. My heart pounds, those ragged edges snagging against some insistent pull. 

“Let me help you.”

I lay a hand against his shoulder, gently nudging him back. “No,” I grumble. My breath catches as I remember the last time I refused his help. 

Damn it all, Grey. 

Loki wouldn't hurt me. That much I know for certain. Outside of our carefully coordinated sparring matches – today notwithstanding – he'd never so much as raised his voice towards me. 

But Loki relents. He released his grip, but kept his hands hovering just within reach. I slump against the wall, sighing.

“I'm sorry, Loki.”

“What on Midgard do you possibly have to apologize for?”

I shake my head, laughing softly. The movement tugs my stitches, and I curl forward, groaning in pain. Loki's hand finds my shoulder.

“I'm still horrible at close-quarters combat,” I groan, clutching a hand to my ribs. “I'm sorry. I should be better by now–”

“Oh, do shut up,” Loki laughs wearily. He hooks a finger beneath my chin, gingerly lifting my head. 

My heart does that tightening, flip-flopping thing again. Breath whooshes out of my lungs. Loki smiles knowingly; my face probably drops into some slack-jawed expression. 

He still hasn't kissed me.

We’ve trained together nearly every day. For six months, Loki has schooled me in hand-to-hand combat, or close-quarters sparring with knives and daggers wielded with a trickster's sly maneuvers. 

Six months of lingering touches that evolved from instructive placements - “no, you should land here,” a hand against a shoulder; “hold your stance like this,” a shifted leg, gripping a tensed thigh muscle far too tenderly – to more deliberate touches. Fingers brushing down arms. Stray hairs tucked behind an ear. Fingers splayed across worn leather armor. 

Vague exchanges that didn't exactly amount to confessions. But for Loki, they were everything.

“I would greatly prefer you come back to me in one piece,” before I left on a field mission. “Now, show me your right hook again.”

“I trust you, Loki.” A dozen times before a dozen different maneuvers. “You don't underestimate me the way the others do.”

“You're not a woman to be underestimated.”

Oh.

“Did you forget I'm the one who–” he begins, his voice dropping off before he could say it. Green eyes glance away from mine, though he never drops my chin.

“I still trust you, Loki.” My voice cracks in my throat.

His tongue darts out between his lips, parting them infinitesimally. A decision weighs on his dark brow. Yes. Please, Loki.

His finger slips off my chin. “You need rest. Come on.”

All the breath rushes out of me. He runs both hands through his dark curls, pushing them back from his face. Resetting himself.

Our journey back to the SHIELD dormitories took an age. I need two breaks, clutching my chest and waving off Loki's attempts to pick me up again. I know he would gladly lift me into his arms again and carry me straight to my room. If anyone here saw that happening, Fury would personally fire me. Canoodling with the higher-ups. Consorting with Avengers – or, the Avenger-adjacent.

We pause outside my room. One door in a long hallway of identical rooms. For the most part, that’s all I am to SHIELD – one agent in a long stretch of near-identical stories. An over-eager fighter with a knack for gathering intelligence, desperate to prove themselves to the right authority figure. A body to send to the front lines before the real stars of the show assembled, or even stepped foot outside the compound.

“Mission accomplished.” Loki announces quietly. He looks me up and down as if scanning for more signs of … what? Fatigue? Injury?

Loneliness?

I press my hand to the biometric scanner beside the door. It blips and glows with life, unlocking my door with a soft click. “Come in?”

“Is that a question, or a command?”

I grin, pushing the paper box of bandages into his arms. “Command.”

My room looks like every other dormitory on this floor: cramped and efficient, but blessedly private. A floor-to-ceiling window forms the exterior wall of the narrow room, looking down over the wooded area behind the compound. Beside the window, a built-in desk with shelves above takes up the other half of the exterior wall. The wall opposite holds a twin bed and a wardrobe, with the left wall consisting of more shelving. The right wall held a small door which leads to my private, if tiny, bathroom.

Loki’s gaze scrolls around the room, lingering on the personal effects strewn across the space. “The servants of Asgard have better quarters than these,” he mused, dropping the bandages on my desk. 

“This is no royal palace,” I counter, leaning against the doorframe as it slides shut behind me. I watch Loki carefully as he makes one slow turn, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. 

“Indeed,” he answers, “though Stark no doubt sees himself king.” 

I flinch, remembering our earlier encounter. “I don't remember much,” I lie, shifting my feet. 

“You threatened to kill me,” Loki reminds me with a sly grin.

“Then you’ll be sure to stay on my good side.”

Loki watches me for a long time. He releases his grip on the dagger at his waist, suddenly seeming to realize where his hand had unconsciously come to rest. With a roll of his shoulders and a shimmer of green light, he shifts into something more comfortable: black tapered joggers and a black hoodie. 

There it is again. That stupid heart-squeezing, stomach-flipping feeling. Loki never dresses down like this. The man – god –  never wears jeans, let alone sweatpants. I've rarely seen him out of his Asgardian finery, or a formal Midgardian suit.

“Is this all right?” His voice drops to a soft, low question. He offers a shrug at his own appearance.

“Whatever you're comfortable in,” I answer, tugging at the hem of the hospital sweatshirt. “Do you mind if I shower? I'm disgusting.”

He wrinkles his nose, smirking. “Please do.” 

I swat his arm lightly as I step past him, grabbing a change of clothes from my wardrobe. “Make yourself comfortable, and don't get blood on anything.”

“Already taken care of.” He drops into my desk chair, extending a cupped palm that flickers with the remnants of his magic. Of course. 

“Do you ever shower, or do you just magic it all away?” I laugh.

He smirks, lifting an eyebrow. “I do.” He gestures to the bathroom with his head. “Is that thing big enough for a bath?”

“Just a shower,” I shrug, sliding open the door and praying I hadn’t forgotten any stray underwear on the floor. “Why, do you need one?”

“Is that an invitation?” 

I nearly throw up on the spot. He crosses his arms, leaning back in the chair and smirking like the devil himself. I wouldn't say no.

“I prefer to shower alone, thank you,” I croak, wishing I'd come up with something cleverer to say as he lit up with a genuinely bemused laugh. “I'm exhausted and disgusting.”

“Oh, I'm aware,” he laughs as I slide the door shut behind me. 

Oh, my god. The filthy, blood-streaked reflection of a wild woman glares back at me in the bathroom mirror. My sweat-streaked forehead is smudged with my own blood – fingerprint-shaped blotches the size of Loki's fingers. My chest contracts at the memory of his hand cradling my head while the doctor sewed me up. 

Lifting the sweatshirt over my head, I flinch. The upward motion tugs at my stitches. Oh, this is going to be another nightmare. There's a good amount of grunting and hunching over and wiggling my torso before I'm free from the garment. 

The bright red, puckered tear in my flesh screams back at me angrily. Two inches below the elastic band of my sports bra, in the dead center of my right rib cage, the two-inch long stab wound is absolutely going to scar. Ten stitches meticulously pin the flesh back together. I wince as I graze my finger along the ridge, but the memory hurts more: me, clumsily jumping backwards; Loki lunging forward, confidently anticipating my evasion. His blade skimming over my ribs, scratching the bone. 

Loki's face as he realized too late what he'd done.

I trusted Loki; he stabbed me. Thor wouldn't be surprised.

That's why it rattled Loki, I realize. Everyone expects him to turn villainous again. No one expects him to be good.

But he'd been good with me for six months. Gentle. Often acerbic and sometimes short, but never cruel. He'd never hurt me intentionally, only small slip-ups here and there until I learned to properly block or anticipate attacks. 

I still trust him. That won’t change. 

I need to trust him now. I cringe.

“Loki?” I call, parting the sliding door a few inches.

“Is that my invitation?” he calls playfully.

“Ten seconds of seriousness, Loki.”

“As the grave, darling.”

My heart flips. Gooseflesh spreads down my arms. Darling.

“I need help.” My back faces the bedroom, pointedly ignoring the word. I can’t bring myself to look at him. “You can say no. I can call Nat.”

“You’ve yet to give me a favor to refuse.”

I draw in a deep breath. “I can't lift my arms over my head. I had trouble taking my sweatshirt off.” I begin, hoping he'll catch my meaning. Please don't make me say it out loud.

“Are you in pain?” He sounds closer now, but I still don't turn around. There's genuine concern, all sarcasm wiped away. 

“Only a little,” I lie. I can feel my pulse in the wound. “I… I need help.” I back up towards the door, nudging it open a few more inches with my hand.

“Oh.” 

“Oh,” I echo, my arms wrapped around my chest. “I'll just call Nat–” I begin, grabbing the edge of the door, but suddenly Loki's inches away. 

“Do you want to have to explain to her what happened today?” The edge of playfulness is back, because he knows I don't. Natasha and I are friends, but she doesn't approve of my training with the enemy. I'm not ready for this conversation yet, and it's steadily getting harder to explain.

I sigh, pushing the door open another inch until my entire back is visible. “Just help me,” I plead.

“Do you trust me?” 

There's a weight to his voice I don't expect. I turn slightly, and he's still right there behind me. Solemnity paints his sharp features. His bright green eyes waver softly as they reflect the bathroom's bright fluorescents. 

“Of course I trust you.” I answer with what I hope is equal solemnity. “As long as you can behave like a gentleman,” I add, forcing myself to smirk. Levity.

“More than a gentleman,” he teases back, gesturing for me to turn back around. “A prince.”

“I don't know how that's supposed to help,” I laugh. Gingerly, I raise my arms away from my torso. “Princes aren't exactly famous for their propriety.”

“Second sons especially,” Loki adds. “I'm going to touch your back. Is that okay?”

“Y-yes.” Something in my chest swells. He's never exactly asked for permission to touch me before. But he's never undressed me, alone in my bedroom, either. 

His fingers graze my back. “How…” he begins, his fingers sliding under the elastic band. “I don't understand. There's no clasp?”

I shake my head. How many bras has he undone? The thought deflates the warm balloon in my chest; I shove the thought aside. “No, it's … it's all elastic.” Explaining my stab wound to Natasha would be easier than explaining a sports bra to a man. A non-human man. 

“That's why I can't get it off myself,” I continue. “It's tight, and hard to pull it over my head on a good day. Much less with ten stitches in my abdomen.”

His fingers twitch. “Eleven.”

“What?”

“I counted eleven,” Loki explains quietly, gingerly tugging at the elastic again.

“Can't you use magic?” I ask, suddenly desperate to not be having this conversation. “I probably should've asked that from the beginning.” I didn't ask because I don't want you to use magic. The realization stirs the pit of my stomach.

His hands still, pinched between the band and my skin. “Not an option.” His words are clipped. My body tenses up.

“What?” I croak, head curling down towards my chest. Fuck. I’ve messed up, somehow. This shouldn’t be happening. This isn’t how I wanted this to happen. 

Something shifts in my brain. I can’t believe I’m actually letting myself admit it; actually accepting the admission. Letting myself acknowledge that I ever wanted it to happen. Wanted Loki to undress me, wanted his fingers to stretch across my torso and slide over my skin–

“Boundaries,” he finally says. His fingers shift, examining the straps along the top of the garment. They stretch in a web from the back to my shoulders. I force myself to hold in the full-body shudder his touch threatens to elicit.

“I’m not following,” I admit, biting my lip. “If you’re already… taking my bra off, how is magic … worse?”

Loki sighs. His fingers pause again. I can’t bear to turn around and look at him. What the fuck is going on? 

“I’m trying to be … better.” 

His words are unbearably soft, but I can hear how his throat pinches against them. His voice drags against those ragged edges of my heart again. “If all it takes is a snap of my fingers to undress you completely… What kind of monster needs such magic?”

My breath hitches in my chest. I freeze, clenching every muscle. What… what does that mean? I swallow thickly, breath shaking. Loki’s killed people. Loki’s hurt people. Loki’s a villain. Loki’s the bad guy. 

No. I don’t think he’s capable of … whatever he’s implying. 

“You aren’t a monster, Loki.” My voice shakes.

“You don’t sound so sure.” His voice is frighteningly flat. His hand pulls away from me.

“Is there something you’re trying to tell me?” I don’t feel like I’m inside my own body. My blood is ice and air simultaneously, my vision blurring to a single point on the wall in front of me.

“My life is plagued by acts of which I feel no sense of pride.” Dark tones undercut any warmth in his deep, velvet voice. “But if it helps… no, I would never… not that. I didn’t mean to … imply such, to frighten you. I’m sorry.”

A breath whooshes from my chest again. “Okay. I trust you.”

“You won’t meet another living soul who shares the same sentiment.” He truly, honestly, and completely believes that. “I can’t atone for what I’ve done, even if it wasn’t in my right mind. But I want to be … better. Is this all right?” His tone shifts on the last sentence, the pads of his fingers tapping against my shoulder. I nod silently.

“Square your shoulders.” His voice shifts, and I obey.

“You place so much trust in me. It makes me wonder,” he continues, his thumb sliding beneath the tight fabric. “Am I worthy?”

He tugs at the elastic band, pushing it up to my shoulders without waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question. “Arms forward. Head down.” He shuffles it up and over my shoulders with surprising ease and minimal strain on my stitches, then gingerly nudges my ponytail out of the way as he lifts it over my head. I tuck my arms back through, crossing them over my breasts. “It’s off.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, gaze locked on the white tile floor. “A perfect gentleman.” 

Perhaps in some attempt to protect my modesty, Loki slides the door shut. Turning back, one arm wrapped around my chest, I push it back slightly, peering through the small gap. His dark eyes gaze back. Something has changed between us.

His face sags under the weight of so much self-doubt. My chest cracks open. I press my lips together in a small, sad smile.

“You’re worthy enough to me.”

[continue to part three]

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki fic series #love is a dagger #love is a dagger / fic

[rebelliousstories]

Seaside Wedding

Relationship: Sean Renard x Reader

Fandom: Grimm

Request: Yes by @dd122004dd

Warnings: Brief Violence, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending

Word Count: 2,665

Main Masterlist: Here

Grimm Masterlist: Here

Sequel to: Tidal Wave

Summary: A joyous day full of love and celebration. However, not everything can sail smoothly for the group at the wedding of the century. At least for wesen.

Then the wedding was held with great pomp, but as the train came from the church, and passed with the torches before the hall, a very small ray of light fell upon the prince.

There was an air about today. An air of love and happiness that no one could dampen. Her hair had been carefully crafted to sit long on her shoulders, yet it was pulled away to highlight her face and the expertly done makeup. A long flowing gown decorated her body, pure white, and covered in lace. It was the wedding she had dreamed about for so long.

Six Months Ago…

“I’ve spent too long without you to waste anymore time.” Sean whispered as he held his lover’s hand on her hospital bed. She tried to complain and tell him that she did not need to be checked out by a doctor, but he insisted. Procuring a ring from his pants pocket, the only sign of his nerves getting the better of him was the trembling of his fingers as he held the box.

“I kept this, all these years, hoping that you would be able to wear it someday. But I can’t do this anymore. Will you marry me?” He opened the box to reveal a gorgeous ring. A beautiful Alexandrite ring, with swirls and smaller diamonds intertwined was presented to her. Letting out a small gasp, she barely registered Sean calling her name.

“Yes,” came her whisper. “Yes!” She screamed. Tackling her lover, he barely managed to keep them upright as she kept saying ‘yes’ underneath her breath. They stayed locked in that embrace for who knows how long, before finally deciding to separate to finally place the ring where it belonged. A kiss was shared between the couple as they realized what that meant, and where they were going.

Pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of a door opening, the siren turned to face her bridesmaid that had helped so much for everything for the wedding. Rosalee. Dressed in a muted sea blue gown, the Fuchsbau came in with a gentle smile on her face.

“Hey there, Ms. Bride. Are you ready?” She asked,rubbing a calming hand over the woman’s shoulder.

“More than,” she replied, ”I’m so ready to just be married and be done with this. Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that we get to have our fairytale wedding, but it’s so exhausting. I would’ve been just fine with a small backyard wedding. But leave it to Sean to pull out all the stops.” She tried to sound like she was complaining, but the smile on her face was a dead giveaway to her friend.

“Well, if you feel like running away dramatically from the alter, just let me know. I’ll pretend that we’re the ones getting married instead, as I proclaim my undying love for you.” Rosalee teased, earring a much needed laugh from the woman. The air already felt lighter and less nervous. Another knock pulled the woman from their giggle, and the perfectly styled hair of Portland’s Grimm peaked through.

“I thought you guys were having fun without me.” He said, walking into the room fully. Over the past six months, the Grimm and siren had gotten much closer as she became less afraid of the man.

“Oh no, we were just talking trash about you.” Rosalee jested, giving Nick a big hug as she turned to face the bride one last time.

“I’ll see you there.” The Fuchsbau reassured the Tödlicheslied, who was wringing her hands together. With one last smile, she left to join her own partner at the beginning of the aisle.

“You okay? Not having any second thoughts are you?” Nick teased, but lost his smile as the woman was still stuck fixated on something in her head.

“Hey,” he grasped her shoulders gently, “you’re going to be alright. You and Sean both deserve this.” Nick tried to reassure her, and finally got to see her eyes from where they were downcast.

“What if he doesn’t want to marry me? Or he realizes that he made a mistake down the road? I wouldn’t be able to live through that.” Her words struck Nick’s heart deep.

“Listen to me, that is not going to happen.” Nick started,and forced her to stare at him.

“Sean would move heaven and earth if it meant making you happy. He’d burn the world down so that you would be warm. I know him. He wouldn’t have any second thoughts about doing anything and everything to make sure that you were safe and sound. He’s not going to wake up one day and realize he doesn’t want to be married to you. Now, I just had to calm him down, I’d like to not have to calm both the groom and bride in the same evening.” The last admission caught her attention.

“Sean’s nervous? What does he have to be nervous about? He knows I love him.” It confused her.

“Because, even when you know that you love the other person with all your heart, and want to marry someone, there is always a little nagging voice worried about if they say no.” Nick trailed off his little speech, and looked like he was lost to a memory.

“Speaking from experience?” The Tödlicheslied asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but, we’re not here for me. Now, are you ready? Cause Rosalee might be getting a wife today.” She laughed wholeheartedly, as Nick smiled and chuckled along.

“Oh you heard that, did you?” She asked, coming down off of her giggles.

“Oh yeah. I did. It’s fine. You will make a beautiful couple.” Another fit of giggles, before Nick turned and offered her his arm. They walked out, arm in arm, and saw Monroe right at the entrance to the aisle. He smiled at the wesen and Grimm, and sent a wink their way before he walked to his seat. Rosalee turned right as the music started, and looped her arm into her other one as they walked down the aisle. A memory struck the Tödlicheslied right at that moment, before she could see her fiancé waiting at the end.

Three Months Earlier…

“What kind of cake do you want?” She asked, turning towards her lover who sat at the kitchen counter.

“As long as we have German chocolate cake, I will be alright with anything you choose.” Sean contributed, shaking off her stare.

“You and your fancy cake. Fine. I’ll be good with chocolate. I would like to have some salted caramel cupcakes. Want to do the cake chocolate and cupcakes caramel?” Bringing over the books full of cake flavors, she set it down so that he could participate.

“That’s fine with me, ma sirène.” Sean turned and rested his hands on her waist to draw her in close. He pulled her in for a kiss, and was about to deepen it when she pulled away.

“I’ve still got to get to my dress fitting with the group.” But her fiancé was not hearing it.

“I’m sure you can reschedule.” He tried to convince her.

“Not if I want to get a dress from the designer you sent me to.” She teased, and began to pull away to go get ready for her day with friends.

“Get a mermaid cut.” Sean called, and was rewarded with a slipper being thrown in his direction without malice.

In the end, she did go with a mermaid style dress for her reception. But not for the ceremony. For the ceremony, the floor length lacy gown made her feel like a princess. A tiara secured the veil down the back of her head, as she finally got into view of her lover. He stood with such confidence, and such strength, it almost made her question whether Nick had been telling the truth. But as she got closer, she saw the little tell tale signs. His shifting hands and feet, the faintest hint of sweat at his brow. He was nervous.

It made her feel a little bit better to know that he was just as nervous as her. But as she walked down the aisle with her friends, her nerves slowed down. All she could think about was the fact that she was here, about to marry the love of her life, surrounded by their friends. Each shaking step made her come closer and closer to her fiancé, lit fire underneath her feet. She felt like she was walking on pins and needles just to get closer to him. When their hands finally joined, and Sean led her closer, she felt… weightless. Like nothing could hold her to the earth except her lover.

“You look gorgeous.” He whispered, letting his eyes rake over her figure once more.

“I could say the same. You look very handsome.” She replied, feeling her hands begin to shake in his grasp. The world faded away as she stood up there with her soon to be husband. Finally allowing herself to take him in, she noticed the navy blue suit stretching across his frame, and a sea blue tie pulling her eyes back towards his chest. She could just make out the golden chain and locket that was hidden underneath the white button down, and knew that it matched the silver chain against her chest. Sean squeezed her hands enough to get her attention again, and that is when she noticed that the officiant beside them was speaking.

“If anyone has any reason why these two may not be joined together in holy matrimony, please speak now or forever hold your peace.” A beat of silence. Her breath held itself in her chest. Renard’s eyes scanned the room.

“I object!” Gasps were heard across the room as people tried to locate where it came from. An older man and woman, along with a younger set of boys who were definitely adults. As she saw who it was, her breathing stopped.

“Dad?” She could place that booming voice, even after all these years. No longer the young girl she was twenty odd years ago, her parents were not at young either, nor her brothers. Her grip tightened on her fiancé’s hands with each step her family took closer.

“We thought we lost you.” Her mother breathed, with tears in her eyes and a shaky hand on her heart, and her eyes on her daughter.

“We thought you would have learned your lesson.” Her father leveled a glare at Sean, who had stepped halfway in front of his bride to shield her from the threat.

“What can I say, I’m stubborn.” Renard shot back at the man, who just kept getting closer and closer to her. She had yet to say anything in several minutes, and was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“Sweetie, it’s time to come home.” He tried, extending a hand out to his daughter. But she remained frozen and silent, stuck at the side of her lover.

“Please, come home sweetheart. We missed you so much. We thought you were dead.” Her mother gave it a shot, but received the same reaction from her daughter. Her brothers were calling her name, but it was too much for her to focus on.

“You’re very good at acting. But I am staying here. I’m not going back.” Gone was the sympathetic, loving, and heartbroken parents and brothers. In their place, there was a chill that ran through the room; as if the whole room had been thrown into the deepest part of the ocean with no life raft.

“You’re coming home. Enough with this charade,” her eldest brother began, “you don’t belong here and you never will. Now let’s go.” He surged forward and nearly made it to the couple to grab her, had it not been for Sean stepping in and preventing him from touching his bride.

“You’re going to leave. Now.” Renard growled dangerously at the Tödlicheslied. He backed away with a smirk and his hands raised. Making his way back to his parents, there was another beat of silence, just before all hell broke loose.

“Gun!” Someone screamed. In an instant, her brother had pulled out a gun and aimed at the couple. However, every member of law enforcement had drawn their own weapons and now had them trained on the young man. He was sent flying to the ground while his gun was checked by a man on his back.

“You picked the wrong wedding to pull this at.” Hank handcuffed the man while Wu made sure the gun was cleared and safe. Together, the detective and sergeant escorted the family out of the ceremony, as they raised a fuss over their son being handcuffed. While Griffin and Wu waited for the car to roll up to take the man to the precinct, everyone holstered their weapons inside the building. Sean felt a little out of place as he elected to not have his weapon on him for his wedding, but was eternally grateful that Nick had his as he stood at his captain’s back.

“Well, that went well.” Burkhardt commented, as he turned back to the couple. The bride was still frozen in place, trying hard to process what had happened in such a short amount of time.

“Darling, are you alright? You’re not hurt, right?” Sean inquired as he scanned over his fiancé. Her eyes were still trained on the spot where her family was just at, but pulled them away when she felt her lover’s hand cup her cheek.

“You’re still here.” She said it with such an air of disbelief. It was then that Sean realized, she was living through the last time that this had happened. Where Sean was beaten to a bloody pulp, and she was taken away.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” He reassured her, and brought her in for a tight hug. They both breathed a sigh of relief as they found themselves tangled with the other. A cleared throat brought them back to their wedding; the officiant standing and waiting patiently.

“Let’s get married.” She breathed finally. Feeling her lungs begin to work, they went through the rest of the ceremony without a hitch. The scare was over, and nothing was going to keep them from being married anymore.

Sean’s hands were slightly shaking when he slid the ring onto her finger, which made her feel better as her were as well. Words seemed to blur together as they said their vows, but two words stuck out.

“I do.” Sean said.

“I do.” She repeated.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Renard did not need another moment to think, before he grabbed his wife and brought her in for a loving kiss. Cheers and clapping became background noise as the couple shared their first married kiss. An hour later it felt like, they finally came back up for air. Sean leaned them both back up from their dipped position and walked down the aisle with his bride, hand in hand.

A little while later, the reception was in full swing. Music was raving, drinks were flowing, and everyone was in a blissful state of mind. Sitting at a table alone, the couple were enjoying watching their friends dance and make a fool of themselves together. Sean wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in closer than she already was.

“I love you, Mrs. Renard.” He spoke with such adoration in his gaze and tone.

“I love you as well, Mr. Renard.” She replied, and pulled her husband in for a kiss.

After all this time, being able to call the man ‘husband’, and the woman ‘wife’, was all they cared about. Her family being there may have thrown off the day a little bit, but nothing was going to get in the way of her being with her captain any longer.

#rebelliousstories #writing #grimm imagine #grimm #sean renard imagine #sean renard #sean renard x reader #nick burkhardt x reader #nick burkhardt #nick burkhardt imagine

[alleiwentcrazy]

“Wow, man, that’s nasty. You should get that checked.”

Someone’s standing in the doorway, Steve’s sane enough to notice that. This someone is wearing the infamous hospital gown, is hooked to an IV, and has Nancy’s hair. Which is exceptionally weird, because Steve has always believed that no one could achieve that kind of volume. Especially while living in a hospital.

This someone is also, not unlike Steve, wrapped in several layers of dressings to shelter their burns from everything that’s bad in this world: infection, stares, more pain.

(Steve isn’t so certain about the last one, though. He sure is in a lot of pain at the moment.)

So someone is standing in the doorway, he’s positive. This someone is staring at him, their gaze curious and open, and it’s not a nurse, and it’s not a doctor. Partly that’s why Steve doesn’t believe that this person is even real at first. His visitors must wear gowns and gloves—something about it being too early to risk an infection. So despite the hair, it is not Nancy.

It’s a someone. Maybe. Probably. Steve doesn’t know—his eyes are barely open and he’s too high on painkillers to differentiate between dreams and reality. When the sweet numbness overwhelms him again, he has half a mind to say: Maybe it’s an angel, standing in my doorway.

***

As Steve’s recovery progresses (and the amount of painkillers he’s being pumped with decreases), he gets more and more aware of reality.

For starters, he learns that he’s not living some sort of fever dream. He was—is—a firefighter, who got pretty badly burned, and his sides, some parts of his belly, back and arms need very special and very expensive treatment. Hence the hospital bed, the gown, the dressings, meds, pain, et cetera. This burn center is going to be his home for the next few weeks, and Steve’s okay with that. It means that he got to save a life, even if his own was put at risk in the process.

He can live with that, definitely. With the scars and the pain, no problem. What’s killing him now is his own curiosity.

He hasn’t been seeing angels, turns out. He’s been seeing fellow patients – one patient in particular. That someone who hovered over the threshold when he first started his recovery. Steve’s been seeing him almost every day, taking slow steps across the hallway, dragging his IV behind him, the patchwork of dressings and scarring tissue changing frequently.

Without fail, each time this man passes Steve’s room, his steps slow down. Sometimes, he sends Steve a wink. On better days, Steve supposes, when the scarring on his cheek doesn’t bother him that much, he gives a flash of a smile. Even on the worst days, when walking serves as torture, he acknowledges Steve with a nod, like they know and respect each other.

Everything about him is a mystery to Steve, though. He, too, returns a small wave or a nod or anything, but he still half-believes he’s seeing things that aren’t there, so when this man with long, wavy hair and ridiculously brown eyes passes his room again, he can’t hold it back any longer.

“Beth, who’s that?” he asks. Beth, his nurse slash new hospital friend, looks over her shoulder. When she finally figures out what he means, she smiles.

“Isn’t that your angel?”

He looks at her completely mortified.

“Please, tell me you’ve just made that up.”

Beth laughs and adjusts the position of his bed. “Sorry, love. I’m afraid that everyone heard your delirious tirades about long-haired angels taking you to heaven.”

With how heavily her “everyone” implies everyone, he doesn't even have it in him to groan. He shouldn’t have listened to Robin when she told him that his high is one of the best things in the world.

***

“How come you never scream?”

Steve’s eyes have been shut tight for the whole time his doctor was poking and prodding around his wounds, but now they’re wide open and he, too, wants to ask himself that. How come he never screams? It’s the most pain he’s ever felt in his entire life. It’s ripping him apart, it’s eating him alive, it’s killing him, but he never screams.

He just keeps his eyes closed, waiting for it to be over. Thinking about Robin and his kids, about how he has to stay strong and never show fear because it’s his job to keep them safe and away from the pain even if—or maybe especially if—it comes with taking the pain on himself, bearing it, being torn by it. He keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t think about his failures or the times he was too late to save them; he keeps them shut because he knows that there are going to be more times when he’ll have to keep his eyes open to spot the danger ahead.

But his eyes are open now, open and staring at the man standing in his doorway, backlit and glowing like some non-human entity, asking him such a simple thing that will, without a doubt, make Steve circle down the drain when he’s alone again.

Steve doesn’t dare open his mouth. He’d scream if he tried, and he cannot afford to do that.

“Mr. Munson, you really shouldn’t be here right now.”

Steve shuts his eyes back again.

***

Steve’s recovery is slow, slower than anticipated. When he first got here, his doctors said he’d be able to walk soon-ish, but it’s way past “soon-ish” now and he’s still tied to his bed. It still hurts like hell, he’s still woozy from the painkillers, even though the strongest stuff is out of the question, he’s made sure of that. He’d rather feel everything than risk another embarrassing situation. Maybe it’s stupid, but that’s how it is.

Mainly, Steve just feels lonely. He’s allowed to have visitors, but they can’t stay with him as long as he’d like them to—mostly because they have lives outside of this hospital while Steve’s entire life is in this hospital. He’s lonely, he’s bored, and he’s envious out of his mind, because the man from his doorway gets his walks every day and Steve dreams of nothing but being able to move a little.

Each time Munson walks past his room, he stares. He can’t help it. He doesn’t have a mirror in here, but it’s painstakingly clear to him that he’s glaring daggers at a man that hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just so jealous—his body aches, but it’s a different ache; it’s an ache of being still for too long. An ache of being out of the game. Steve hates being out of the game. It makes him come up with the worst possible scenarios—but he has to thank both his burns and his head trauma for the dizziness, weakness and total lack of coordination that keeps him from starting physio.

With each passing day, his stares get more daunting, but the man doesn’t stop sending him smiles and nods. He knows it’s irrational and unfair, taking out his own fears and anger on someone who can’t do anything about his situation, who’s in an equally shitty situation, actually, but he’s still working on not being mean without a reason. And it seems so harmless, because this stranger never stops smiling at him. No matter how much Steve tries, he can’t seem to convey his feelings, because Munson never stops.

It irritates him even more, enrages him to a point. When Munson smiles at him one day, Steve can’t take it anymore.

“Are you always this chirpy?” he asks, his voice dripping of malice. It disgusts him a little, makes him want to retreat—retreat far away from the version of himself that he dropped years ago, although it’s haunting him to this day. He wants to retreat, but he doesn’t. He pouts instead.

Munson stops in his tracks, raises one eyebrow. He looks amused, and it pisses Steve off.

“Your life must be quite miserable if walking around a hospital with unhealed wounds is your definition of chirpy,” Munson says. It’s supposed to sting, probably, but his smile is still there, despite his injured cheek. Steve’s pout deepens. Munson looks like a cat who got the cream. “Oof, soft spot. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he coos, looking like he’d like to lean against the doorframe, but his injured arm won’t let him. “We can be miserable—oh, sorry. Chirpy, we can be chirpy together.”

Steve doesn’t respond, he doesn’t know how. He feels warm all over. It’s not something he likes. He’d cross his arms over his chest if he could.

Munson stays silent for a moment, a smirk still playing on his lips. The quiet moment stretches out until he takes a big breath and takes a look around. “I’m Eddie, by the way. And I’m very, very late for my usual ‘walk as much as you can but be reasonable, Mr. Munson’ appointment, so I have to get going. But, uh,” he looks at Steve like he’s not sure of something for the first time in his life, even though he’s still playing along. “I could come around tomorrow, Mr…?”

“Steve,” comes the reply. Munson—Eddie smiles, again.

“Alright then, Mr. Steve. Get ready to be the chirpiest you’ve ever been.”

***

The worst thing is, it works. Steve does get chirpier.

It starts out small. Eddie just stops in front of the threshold, spits out the most random, obnoxious and seemingly nonsensical (although Steve suspects they’re all true) fact, like Did you know that cows have four stomachs? or Did you know that geckos can’t blink and they have to lick their own eyeballs to keep them from drying out? or something of sorts, and then he leaves while Steve lies in his bed, suspecting that he’s having hallucinations and fully questioning his sanity. Again.

It gets progressively worse, it does. It gets weirder. At first, Steve isn’t sure what to think of it. Eddie’s strange. He’s also a nerd. He talks in codes, his sentences are long and Steve finds it hard to follow his logic altogether from time to time. But he also makes Steve snort, sometimes even laugh—truly laugh, laugh from his belly. Eddie’s weird, but he’s Dustin-weird, Steve decides. Good-weird. Familiar-weird. Safe-weird.

He makes him feel less lonely. Steve invites him to sit beside his bed after a few days, so now Eddie comes, spits out his random nerdy facts, and they sit and talk around it until the nurses kick Eddie out for not doing his laps.

Steve’s less lonely. He’s so much less lonely he even starts missing Eddie when they’re not together—only a little, but he does. (He knows it’s dangerous. But what’s the harm in that if they’re both stuck here anyway? What’s the harm in a little hospital vulnerability?) It’s quite difficult not to miss Eddie, to be honest. Eddie makes it difficult—he listens when Steve talks, he never hesitates before explaining something when Steve doesn’t get it immediately, he’s patient, but at the same time, he talks so much. The room fills with intricate, engrossing stories and anecdotes whenever he opens his mouth.

The only moments when Steve feels even less less lonely than when he’s with Eddie is when he’s with Robin, and Robin’s the most important person in Steve’s life.

“Contraband,” Eddie says, sitting down on the edge of Steve’s bed one day. He puts something on Steve’s thing – cherry jello and a plastic spoon. His favorite. “Don’t rat me out.”

He smiles at Steve. His cheek is practically healed now; the scar isn’t as big as Steve imagined it from afar, but it sure as hell must have been a menace to get it more or less healed. That’s the only thing they don’t talk about. How they got here, how they got their scars. They support each other through it, but they never dwell.

At least Eddie doesn’t. Steve’s sure everyone knows his story – people love when firefighters let themselves get burned to a crisp while trying to save somebody else, after all, and gossip spreads around the hospital with the speed of plague.

“And get my best dealer behind bars?” Steve asks and scrapes a spoonful of jello from the cup. “They never have cherry. You’re the only one that seems to know where they store it.”

Eddie grins devilishly and leans a bit further. “Do you want to know a secret?” he asks and Steve mumbles something unintelligible in response. “I used to deal,” Eddie says. Steve’s not sure if he does it on purpose or not, but he starts playing with the hem of Steve’s sock, his fingers barely brushing the skin on Steve’s calf. It tingles, but he doesn’t mind.

Steve’s brows go up. “Is that how you got here?” he risks, not really knowing why. He’s not that curious—but it’s the scar on Eddie’s face that’s been haunting him for ages now. So different from his own forming scars, yet, in principle, the same.

Eddie’s face gets softer. Steve can’t recognize the expression properly, it’s different from Eddie’s usual, mischievous smirk. It’s quiet for the longest time, so quiet Steve thinks he’s going to choke on his jello from build-up pressure.

“I’m gay,” Eddie says, suddenly, his voice totally cool and leveled while Steve—

“I’m bi,” he blurts out in response, practically out of breath. To his absolute horror, Eddie chuckles.

“Well, that’s useful,” he says around his crooked smile, “but that’s not what I meant.”

When he points at his face, everything clicks. Steve tries to control his face, but the realization is too sudden.

“What?” he asks before he can think better of it.

Eddie shrugs. His expression is unreadable, but he isn't looking at Steve anymore, his eyes fixed on his own fingers that are still playing with Steve’s sock.

“My band has this one place for gigs that we all don’t really like, but they actually pay us some money. I’ve always thought that it’s enough – this and my arrogance, anyway – enough to scrape by. I’m not too cagey about being gay, and I wanted to spite them, I guess, show them that they can’t win,” he looks up. He looks sad, almost defeated, as much as Steve hates it. “They got their way, as you can see. Tried to pour something on me when I was leaving the stage, but they fucked up, both in terms of chemistry and their aim. It didn’t get me as bad as it could have, so I guess I won anyway.”

Eddie smiles again, but it reaches nowhere near his eyes. He looks so sad, so hurt, and Steve’s so, so angry. It’s easy for him to turn to anger, it’s easy and it’s freeing and he suddenly feels bigger and stronger than he really is, because he wants to destroy something, anything—but he’s not a fighter. He’s a protector. He’s not Nancy; he’s Steve. No matter how hopeless, how betrayed he feels, he doesn’t want to hurt. He wants to heal and save.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, afraid it’s too dumb and too obvious.

“I know,” Eddie replies impassively, looking at him from underneath his too long bangs.

“You said you wanted to spite them. But it doesn’t matter, it’s not your fault,” he drills. Eddie opens his mouth again, but before he gets to say anything, Steve squeezes his knee and looks at him intently. “It’s not,” he insists. “Whatever you said or did, it never mattered. They would have done it even if you’d praised them, you were never the problem.”

Eddie scoffs, but it’s not malicious. His eyes are a little bit glassy. “So you’re saying I’m perfect?”

For some reason, Steve doesn’t have a problem with reading that. Please, let’s not talk about it now. Then foreign fingers graze his own, and he gets it. Thank you, though.

Steve sighs, something tugging at the corners of his lips. The change of topic makes this both heavier and lighter at the same time. He flicks his spoon at Eddie and aims perfectly between his eyebrows.

“Bring me more jello tomorrow and maybe I’ll grace you with saying that out loud.”

“So you’ve thought—”

“Shut up, Eddie.”

Their fingers intertwine in the silence that follows. They look at each other like they can see each other and suddenly, Steve feels the weight of this moment. They’re not strangers anymore—maybe they have never been strangers. Maybe this was meant to happen from the very beginning. He most probably wasn’t seeing angels a few weeks back, but whatever it was that he saw hovering over his threshold, it’s just entered his house and is, hopefully, planning to stay for longer.

#tw for homophobia mention towards the end!! #pining #ok no guys. i do not know what this is lol #matching scars #it's their trope.... in every universe #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #st4 #steddie fic #steve x eddie #firefighter steve #modern au #hospital au #god how is that a thing #listen. i did the research but i've also watched too many episodes of grey's anatomy for my own good so this is 100% not accurate #let me live out the delusions #i've been scribbling down bits and pieces of this one for so long it just needs to see the light of day

[jessicaloons]

Chapter 28:

I can't find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore…

Masterlist - Previous - Next

TW: spicy content; 16+

Darkness clouded my mind. White noise ringing in my ears. Body numb. The blurry images of a red car, flipped over with high speed colliding into the wall. A person in a red race suit on a stretcher. Lifeless. A paramedic checking the pulse but shaking his head. Dead. Gone. My heart clenched. My once numb body now filled with excruciating pain. A faint noise caught my attention. Voices. Beeping. Shuffling. The images of the red car got sharper. A number visible. 16. The lifeless persons helmet looked familiar. Charles. I inhaled sharply and opened my eyes in horror. I sat up abruptly. Eyes blinking, trying to get used to the bright light. I looked around. Medical centre. I pulled the oxygen mask away from my face and tried to breathe on my own. My ears started to ring and my chest hurt.

"Hey, hey, hey! Lizzie! Put the mask back on!" Dad walked up next to me, pulling the mask up again. I was trembling. Tears stinging in my eyes, blurring my vision.

"Charles." I croaked out. Voice barely audible. Hoarse.

"Lizzie…" Dad begun but I shook my head. Reality settling in. He was gone.

"I want to see him! Now!" I cried and Dad sat down at the edge of the bed, trying to comfort me, but I pushed him off "I want to see him! I want to see him! Please!" I whimpered and tears were streaming now uncontrollably down my face. I pulled my knees up to my chest. Body shivering. Repeating over and over "I want Charles."

Dad said something but I couldn’t understand him. I was just wailing and crying. I lost him. After everything we’ve gone through. After we’ve finally found our way to each other, realising that we belonged together. After I spent years of denying my feelings for Charles. We’ve wasted so much time. So much time with yearning and dreaming of each other. I shook my head, thinking about Charles. His smile. His eyes. His dimples. His lips. The way he kissed me this morning before we headed to the track. The way he held me in his arms. The way he looked at me, with so much love and admiration that I blushed. Hard. And his laugh after seeing me blushing. His laugh. The most beautiful sound in the world. All of the memories of him were crashing down on me. They were flooding my mind and a new wave of devastation was hitting me. Dad tried to push me back into the cushions but I didn’t let him. He tried to talk to me but my mind didn’t register it. Then I saw a nurse fiddling with the IV tube, saw the syringe. For a moment I looked at her stunned, then turned to Dad, as I was about to say something I felt tiredness overcoming my body. My mind. Darkness surrounding me.

Charles POV:

I stirred in the bed. I felt dizzy. Body sore. Head aching terribly. I looked around. Medical centre. I closed my eyes again. What happened? I was overtaking Max, we touched slightly. I hit a kerb. Next thing I knew I was hanging upside down in the car. I opened my eyes again and carefully sat up. My race suit and boots on a chair in the corner. Fireproofs as well. I looked down at me, wearing a hospital gown. I tried to get up as I heard a commotion outside the room.

"I just want to know if he’s okay!" an angry voice I knew all too well.

"Sir, I’m sorry, but only team members or family are allowed to this information." another male voice "Please leave or I have to call security."

"You listen to me now. That boy in there is like my son, I know him for more than half his life and I just want to know if he’s okay! Just tell me he’s okay and I can go. But I need to know that he’s gonna be okay. Please!" Juergen’s firm voice began to weaken and I pushed the call button next to my bed.

"Hello?!" I shouted and the door opened and I saw Juergen standing in the hallway.

"Charles, are you okay?" he asked and I nodded then I looked at the guy who stood now in front of my bed.

"He’s family!" I said to him and he sighed, then he turned to Juergen and nodded. He immediately stormed into the room.

"You kids are killing me!" he whispered as he hugged me carefully.

"I’m sorry!" I chuckled a little, flinching as the movement caused a slight pain in my ribcage.

"Are you really okay? No injuries? Nothing broken?" he asked and pulled away holding my shoulders and eyed me for any visible damages.

"I don’t know to be honest? I feel okay, I guess?" I answered and we looked at the nurse.

"You’re probably having a slight concussion and whiplash. Maybe one or two heavily bruised or broken ribs. But otherwise everything is okay." he said and I nodded "There will be a doctor coming soon, you’ll be transferred to the hospital for further tests, just in case."

"Thank you." Juergen said and the nurse left. "Never a dull moment with you guys."

"Yeah… sorry!" I said sheepishly and looked at him "Who won? Where’s Lizzie?"

"The priorities…" he chuckled dryly but then his look changed "George won… and Lizzie is… umm she’s…" he stopped for a moment and I looked at him, panic settling in

"What happened? Is she okay?" I asked.

"She’s okay… she’s just down the hall. She umm… she had a break down. She thought you were, well, she thought you died. Yeah it was a mess. I think everyone thought it for a moment… but anyways. She broke down, couldn’t breathe, she had a panic attack and they had to sedate her earlier…" Juergen said and I scrambled out of the bed, pain shooting through my side "What are you doing? Charles!"

"I need to see her!" I said and put the fireproofs back on.

"Charles! The IV bag!" Juergen said and I looked down at my hand, blood dripping from the ripped out catheter. He handed me a tissue from the sideboard and opened the door, looking for the nurse who walked back in.

"Sorry. I just need to get out of here. Can you just I don’t know. Put a band aid on?" I asked him and he sighed.

"You need your fluids!" he said and I shook my head "Yes, you do! Sit down I’ll take care of it!"

I put my shirt on and sat down on the bed, to catch my breath, slowly inhaling. The nurse cleaned my hand and put a band aid on.

"You have 15 minutes! Then I’ll come and get you! Understood?" he said and I nodded.

"Understood. Thank you!" I said and got up. With Juergens help we walked down the hallway. "What time is it? How long was I out? How long is Lizzie out? God my brain is hurting!"

"The race finished 3 hours ago. It took a little to clear the track. Lizzie broke down when the rest of the grid went back to the pits and she was out of the car, watching how the marshals and the medical team got you out of your car. You laid there. Not moving. One of the paramedics checked your pulse and then he shook his head. Lizzie thought it meant you have no pulse… that you were dead… to be honest a lot of people thought so…" Juergen said and I swallowed hard.

"It wasn’t like that, the one guy checked my pulse when the other one asked if he should remove my helmet, that’s why he shook his head, he meant for the helmet to stay on for the moment." I sighed, thinking how it must’ve looked for Lizzie, Maman. Everyone! "I need to call mum! What if she also thought so?"

"Right as we arrived at the medical centre I saw how they took care of you and saw that you’re… well kinda okay, or at least alive, so I texted everyone." Juergen said and I squeezed his arm.

"Thank you."

He opened the door to the room where Lizzie was lying, the room was long, with many beds on both sides, around one on the other side was a curtain drawn close. There was an IV bag attached to her, a heart monitor and the oxygen mask, she also had a little bruise on her cheek. She looked peaceful, as if she was sleeping. I took her hand in mine, she felt cold. And then it hit me. The flashback to her accident. When I visited her, still in coma, lying in her bed looking as if she was sleeping. Just like now. And both times were my fault. I didn’t know that I was shaking until Juergen put his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me down into a chair.

"She’s okay, Charles. She’s just a little exhausted and well, sedated." Juergen whispered and I nodded slowly "The nurse said she will be awake in the next hour."

"I’ll stay here." I said but he sighed.

"Charles you have to go to the hospital. They need to check you thoroughly through!"

"I’m not leaving her side, not until she wakes up and sees me." my decision was made.

"Okay." he walked away and I looked after him.

"Where are you going? Can you- can you please stay… I don’t want to be alone with her like this…" I said quietly and Juergen smiled.

"I’m just getting you something to drink and tell your friendly nurse that you won’t be back in the next minutes like you said…"

"Okay. Thank you."

"It’s okay. Just… just stay there, don’t move, don’t do anything, okay? Just relax."

"Okay." I said and then turned around to Lizzie.

The beeping of the heart monitor, the smell of disinfection, Lizzie’s frame in the hospital bed. The flashback wouldn’t stop. I felt my chest constricting, breathing getting harder. The first accident was because I let someone in our life’s who made her run away from me, who made her be at home at this day, who made her jump in front of that car. Miami was also my fault, she wouldn’t have the sleep paralysis without the accident. Today was because I couldn’t control my car, because I wasn’t a good enough driver to control my car, wouldn’t I crashed out like that, Lizzie wouldn’t have be here. I brought her more pain than anyone else. I always wanted to protect her. Care for her. But she ended up in a hospital bed three times already because of me. I felt my eyes stinging. The smell of the disinfection burning my nostrils. The beeping of the heart monitor making my head throb. My ears ringing.

"Lizzie, mon amour, please wake up." I whispered, voice hoarse "I’m okay. I’m not leaving you. Never. But you have to wake up. Please."

I kissed her hand, gently stroked her cheek, the bruise, her lips.

"It’s all okay. We’re okay. I’m okay. You’re okay. But please wake up now." my voice barely a whisper. I felt hot tears streaming down my face "I’m so sorry, Lizzie, so sorry! I didn’t want this to happen. I’m so sorry!"

I couldn’t breathe. My sight turning blurry, head pounding, ribcage throbbing in pain. I felt dizzy. But I kept holding on to Lizzie’s hand. I couldn’t let go of her. She had to feel that I was here. I tried to focus on her face. Her beautiful face. Hidden behind the fogged up oxygen mask. Images of a tube flashing before my eyes and I had to close them.

"No. No. It’s going to be okay. You’re okay, mon amour! You’re sleeping. You’re okay." I mumbled again and again.

I flinched when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Marina, telling me to leave, get home, get some sleep.

"I’m not leaving her side. I’m staying. I have to. It’s my fault. It was always my fault. I’m so sorry. So sorry!" I whispered, but the hand was way too strong, turning me away from Lizzie.

"Charles? Hey? Breathe. You must breathe!" Juergen’s voice echoed in my head "Come on. Breathe! Look at me! Charles! Look at me!"

I tried to blink away the tears and saw the blurry face of him in front of me, looking worried. I trembled, breathing still ragged and he pulled me into a careful embrace. Holding me close and I felt my body relax. And after a while my vision turning clear again. Breathing became regular. The trembling stopped. The ringing in my ears gone.

"It’s okay. You’re okay. Lizzie is okay. It’s all good! Take a deep breath, alright?" Juergen said and gently pulled away from me, looking at me intently. I nodded and he slowly let go of me, pushing me back down into the chair.

"I’m sorry… I think I had… I had a little -…" I stopped abruptly and swallowed hard.

"A little panic attack? Yeah. And that’s nothing you have to apologise for. You hear me?" he patted my arm and I nodded a little "Here, drink something." he handed me a water bottle and I emptied it almost in one go "I talked to the nurse. As soon as Lizzie is awake they will take you to the hospital. They need to do some check ups. You don’t look to good and I think the way you’re wincing with every breath is a clear indicator that you most definitely have some broken ribs…"

"It’s nothing." I mumbled, leaning my head back against the chair, still clutching Lizzie’s hand between mine.

"You two… you are both so incredibly stubborn… that will be funny in the future." he mumbled and I looked at him "In a couple of years, you’ll know what I mean."

He sat down on the other side of the bed, pulling his phone out, calling our family, explaining them that we were both okay. We sat in silence, both looking at Lizzie, waiting for her to wake up, when she stirred a little, I sat up.

"I think she’s waking up! Do we need to call a nurse?" I gently squeezed her hands.

"I’ll go. You stay." Juergen got up and left.

"Lizzie, mon amour, can you hear me?" I carefully stroked her cheek and she exhaled loudly, fogging up the oxygen mask even more "I’m here Lizzie. It’s all good. We’re all good." I kissed her hand, waited for her to wake up. Waited for her big blue eyes to open.

"Charles…" a faint whimper and I looked at her. She looked like she was in pain and my heart clenched "Charles…" her voice full of sorrow and agony.

"I’m here, mon amour! Open your eyes. I’m here!" I scooted closer to her "Open your beautiful eyes for me."

"Charles…" Lizzie cried out loud and her eyes shot open, looking frantically around, her hand I wasn’t holding shooting up to rip the oxygen mask off her face. Her eyes slowly focused on me and I saw the tears forming, spilling over, streaming down her face "Charles?" her voice cracked when she brought her hand up to my cheek, carefully touching it, as if she was scared.

"I’m here. I’m okay! We’re okay!" I covered her hand over my cheek and felt how my body immediately relaxed under her touch.

"I thought you were dead. I thought I had lost you. After I finally got you, I already lost you…" she cried, sitting up, pulling me in, her whole body trembling "I felt like all my walls were crumbling in. I thought I lost you." she cried into the crook of my neck and I rubbed soothing circles on her back, ignoring the searing pain in my side from her tight hold.

"But you didn’t, mon amour. I’m here! We’re both here! We’re both okay!" I kissed her temple.

"I love you. So much. You can never leave me. You just can’t. I couldn’t… I couldn’t survive. I wouldn’t want to! I love you. I love you. I love you.” she whispered over and over and I heard the door opening.

"Lizzie, hey my little owl, you need to let go of Charles." Juergen cooed and rubbed her arm lightly.

"I’m never letting go." she whispered and he chuckled a little.

"Lizzie, you crush his already injured ribs even more, you need to let go." he said and Lizzie immediately pulled back, eyes wide.

"Did I hurt you?" her face fell and I cupped her cheeks.

"Never, you hear me? No matter what! I always want you to hold onto me!" I said and she took my hand in hers, kissing my knuckles.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know." Lizzie said quietly and I shook my head.

"It’s okay!" I kissed the crown of her head as the door opened again.

"Mr. Leclerc, I have to insist on your transfer to the hospital!" the nurse said and I nodded, Lizzie looking scared.

"I’m okay, Lizzie. Just some check-ups! You rest a little and then I see you back in the hotel, okay?" I kissed her gently, her lips dry but still soft "Everything is good, okay?" she nodded slowly, kissing my cheek one last time and then I got up "Text me as soon as you’re back in the hotel." I looked at Juergen.

"I will. Andrea is waiting outside with your bag and your phone." he got up and hugged me carefully "Please don’t do anything stupid on your way to the hospital, okay?"

"I promise." I chuckled a little and with one last smile for Lizzie I left with the nurse. Andrea waiting for me next to an ambulance.

"At least it’s a red car." he chuckled as soon as he helped me inside "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine. I’m more worried about Lizzie…" I sighed leaning back in the stretcher, closing my eyes.

"Seeing her was… I think heartbreaking isn’t even enough… she was broken… and the camera guy zoomed in on her. On every damn screen you could see Lizzie breaking down. It was horrible." he said and I sat up abruptly, hissing in pain.

"He did what?" I couldn’t believe it.

"Yeah. We tried to shield her with our body’s afterwards but it was already too late, the breakdown was for the whole world to see."

A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to swallow.

"I just want this check-ups to be over with as fast as possible and go back to her." I whispered, feeling my eyes tear up.

30 minutes after Charles left a doctor came to check-up on me, giving me the all clear to leave the medical centre.

"Andrea left some clothes of Charles here for you to put on." Dad said, handing me a hoodie, sweat pants, tennis socks and a pair of beach slippers.

"Stylish." I laughed a little as the nurse pulled the catheter out of my arm, putting a big bandaid on. She then closed the curtains around my bed and dad left to get me something to drink.

"Here." he came back, handing me a bottle of water, while I was trying to put on the socks "Let me help you, you’re still a little dazed from the sedation." he pushed me back into the pillows.

"Yeah…" I mumbled, taking a large sip of water.

"The nurse will bring you something that helps against the headache you’ll maybe get from the sedation and then we can leave." Dad patted my leg and I nodded.

"Lizzie? Are you in here?" Felix’ voice from behind the curtain made me look up and Dad pulled the curtains back "Oh thank god." he carefully hugged me.

"I’m okay. Sorry for ruining the race." I whispered and he pulled away, looking at me sternly.

"You’re not apologising for that, you hear me?" he said with a firm voice and I nodded.

"How did Valtteri do?"

"P8."

"Okay…"

"In here." a man said and we watched how 2 security guards walked in, looking around, they went to the other bed where the curtain was drawn close and looked at the nurse.

"We have no other patients here tonight. It must be empty." she said and one of the security guards ripped the curtains open, revealing an empty bed. They spoke in Spanish into a radio and I looked at Dad and Felix, right as one of the guys came to my bed.

"Did you see anyone coming in or leaving that bed?" he asked and I shook my head, Dad as well "Okay. Thank you. Good night." they left.

"What was that about?" I asked and Dad shrugged his shoulders.

"Lizzie, I have to tell you something." Felix began and the tone of his voice gave me a bad feeling in my stomach.

"Okay?" I almost whispered and he sighed, running his hand down his face.

"Someone was in here… that’s why the security guards were here…" he began and I was confused.

"What do you mean? Someone was in here?" I asked and Dad held my hand.

"Someone filmed you. You and Charles. When you woke up and saw him… they filmed the whole conversation… then sent the video to various gossip and fan accounts…" Felix said and my head fogged up.

"What do you mean filmed them? What did they film?" Dad squeezed my hand.

"Juergen they all know now about Lizzie and Charles. The secret is out." Felix said apologetically and I felt the bile raise up my throat.

"Bucket." I breathed out and Dad reacted immediately, grabbing the rubbish bin and holding it under my head. I threw up. My throat burning with the bitter taste.

"Here." Dad handed me a towel and I wiped my mouth, then rinsed it out with some water.

"I want to see it." I said and Dad looked up.

"You don’t ha-…"

"I want to see it." I repeated and Felix handed me his phone. I watched the clip, a weird numbness washing over me.

"That’s what I call 4K ultra high definition." I stated and Dad and Felix snapped their heads up.

"What?"

"The quality of the video? Clearer than my eyesight." I chuckled dryly.

"The FIA and F1 are already on it. They will find out who took the video." Felix stated and I sighed.

"Won’t change the fact that it’s out there."

"Maybe not, but at least it will grant some justice."

"I don’t care about justice at all." I was tired, exhausted "Can we just leave? I want to take one of those nice pills and snuggle up in my bed."

"Yeah… I get the nurse." Dad left right as Felix phone rang and he stepped away, taking the call. He was tense and sounded angry. When he hung up he groaned.

"What’s going on?" I asked and Dad looked at me and then at Felix when he came back.

"Lizzie… umm you and I… we are- we are summoned by the FIA for an emergency meeting." he said and Dad cursed loudly.

"Of course." I laughed.

"Not gonna happen. I’ll take my daughter and bring her back to her hotel where she will rest and then tomorrow in the morning she can go to them!" Dad was furious.

"You mean later on? It’s already tomorrow!" I pointed at the clock and he groaned "It’s okay, Dad. I want this to be over. Let’s go, Felix." I got out of the bed and slipped into the slippers.

"No! It’s not okay, Lizzie!" Dad held my arm and looked at Felix "First they zoom in on her when she broke down, now here’s not enough security to protect her from prying eyes? And now an emergency meeting at half past 12? In the middle of the night?"

"Dad! You go back to the hotel. You look a little… well you don’t look so good yourself. I’m fine. I listen to whatever they have to say and then I’m on my way back to you, okay? You can check in on Charles, how he’s doing, please?" I pleaded and he sighed.

"I don’t like this. Not at all." he said.

"Me neither. Lizzie we don’t have to go. I don’t care what they will do. I want you to be okay." Felix said but I shook my head.

"It’s fine, really."

"It’s not. Not at all." he sounded mad.

"We go. It’s okay." I got up and Dad hugged me reluctantly.

"Take care of her!" he looked at Felix who only nodded.

"I will!" he held my arm when he saw me swaying "Come on. Let’s get this over with."

"Is it really necessary to do this tonight?" Felix whispered.

"We understand that this is not the best timing…" the FIA official began but Felix scoffed.

"Not the best timing? She’s been in the medical centre half an hour ago! She had to be sedated! She couldn’t breathe! She had a fucking break down! This isn’t just not the best timing! It’s the fucking worst timing ever!"

"Mr. Bayer, like I said, we understand you. But what happened today needs to be taken serious! This is an urgent matter!" the official said and Felix groaned frustrated.

"It’s okay Felix. I can handle it…" I said quietly and he looked at me, then crouched down in front of me.

"Are you sure, little one? If you’re not ready, we leave! I don’t care what they say…" he said and I smiled a little but nodded "Okay? But we make it quick!" the last part was for the FIA official and he nodded.

"Please come in." he said and I got up, Felix putting his hand around my middle to help me walk straight.

I felt the exhaustion of the day seep into my bones with every step that I made. I was still groggy from the sedation. My head was beginning to throb and I was tired. So freaking tired. But I wanted this to be talked through and then be over. Done. Felix gently pushed me down on a chair and handed me a glass of water. Just then I felt how dry my mouth was and I drank a few sips. My throat was burning. I could barely keep my eyes open, but tried my best to focus on the group in front of me. FIA president Mohammed Ben Sulayem, F1 CEO Stefano Domenicali and race director Niels Wittich. I didn’t know the woman and the other man.

"Mr. Bayer, Miss Doetterer, my name is Natalie Robyn, I am the CEO of the FIA, with me tonight is our president Mohammed Ben Sulayem, our head of PR Luke Skipper, Formula 1 CEO Stefano Domenicali and race director Niels Wittich." a middle aged woman introduced herself and then pointed at the man along her, as she introduced them "First of all, we as the FIA and Formula 1, want to apologise to you, Lizzie. Today your privacy was invaded massively. First by one of the camera operators and then later on in the medical centre, where we apparently didn’t provide enough security to ensure your safety."

"We will find out who filmed the video and the person will be held accountable for their doing." Domenicali said and I nodded, not even listen properly.

"Alright. You could’ve said that to us in a mail or something. If that’s all, I would like to take my driver now back to her hotel." Felix sounded mad.

"Actually, that’s not all." Wittich said and I looked up "Now that we know about this romantic relationship between two drivers on the grid, you understand that we need to have a closer look at all the race results."

My jaw dropped. What did he imply?

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice hoarse, throat straining.

"Like there have been concerns in the past about the connections between RedBull and AlphaTauri, regarding working together on the track, we have to look into the past races now as well, evaluating if there was any form of cooperation between you and Charles on track." Wittich said and Felix slammed his hand on the table.

"You summoned us here, saying it was about how Lizzie’s privacy was invaded, massively, twice yesterday! And now you’re telling me this is what? A hearing? Evaluating all the races of this season? We’re done here. My driver needs rest. We’re leaving." he got up and looked at me, but I knew that leaving now would only mean that we would get penalised so I grabbed Felix arm and pulled him down.

"No. We’re staying." I said and he gritted his teeth.

"I’m going to call our team lawyer. If you want to do this, then only with our legal advisor present." Felix got up again, leaving the room.

"We have to do this in order to protect you and Charles from scrutiny of the media, stating that you might have helped each other on track." Domenicali said and I scoffed.

"Yeah. Sure." I only said, taking another sip from my water, right as Felix returned.

"He’ll be here in 10 minutes. Until then we won’t say anything." he said and leaned back in the chair, staring at the group of people in front of us with utter disdain "I called your dad and explained him everything." he looked at me and I nodded.

When the door opened a couple of minutes later Harald walked in, slightly out of breath. He smiled at me and sat down on my other side. He took his phone and a text book out and opened a voice recording app on his phone.

"I called Mattia, he expects a full transcript of what is said in here." he didn’t even spared them a glance "For our own safety and yours as well I will record this hearing. Does anyone have a problem with that?" they all mumbled their consent and Harald looked at me, smiling encouragingly, then he looked at the group in front of us and put his game face on "Charles Leclerc and Lizzie Doetterer only started dating after Miami. Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, Melbourne and Miami therefore don’t need new evaluating. Since Charles’ DNFd in Barcelona and Baku due to an engine failure, which couldn’t be anticipated beforehand and Lizzie had to retire in Zandvoort in lap 2. These 3 races can be crossed off the list as well. Remaining races Imola, Monaco, Canada, Silverstone, Austria, France… well I guess we can cross France as well off of our list. What was next? Ahh yes. Hungary, Spa, Monza, Singapore, Japan, although I’m not so sure you want us to reevaluate that one, do you now? So no Japan, but Austin and well Mexico… I guess we don’t need to talk about that either. Ten races left, correct?"

"Correct." Mrs. Robyn said and Harald nodded.

"Alright. Then let’s go." he patted my arm and I took a deep breath.

Going over ten races, with a sleep deprived, cloudy brain. Why not.

Charles POV:

I was pacing back and forth when the effect of the painkillers began to wear off and breathing got more painful again I waited for Lizzie to return. I was furious. How could they drag her into a hearing after what happened? My phone vibrated and without looking I accepted the call.

"Hello?"

"The hearing is officially over. She’s on her way back now." Mia said and I sighed in relief.

"What was the hearing exactly about?"

"They talked over the past races. Looking for a possible cooperation between you and Lizzie on track."

"What?" I almost screamed.

"Charles…" Mia began.

"Are you fucking kidding me? They think that what? Lizzie and I helped each other on track?" I was seething.

"They said it’s a precaution to protect you in case any other team would imply that…"

"I can’t believe it. Waste of time."

"Actually…"

"What?" my stomach dropped.

"They had a closer look at Imola, Monaco and Silverstone. Monaco in particular."

"Why?"

"Apparently some things didn’t fit together in the official report on what has happened."

"What does that mean?"

"The race in Monaco is officially under investigation."

"What, they think that Lizzie and I cheated?"

"There are indications…"

I heard the hotel door unlock and flinched.

"Thanks, Mia. See you later." I hung up and waited for Lizzie, watched how she walked in. Pale skin, with big, dark circles under her eyes. Head hung low. Hair disheveled. She looked up at me, the exhaustion evident on her face. Lizzie explained to me what happened in Monaco. She said she didn’t let me win. She didn’t do it. She didn’t cheat. Right?

"Did you cheat? Be honest. We promised us to always be honest. Remember?" I blurted out and she stopped dead in her tracks.

"I-I… what? I umm I’ve…" she was stammering but the look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know.

"Why? Why would you do that Lizzie? You told me you didn’t let me win! You told me what has happened! What if the FIA doesn’t believe your story anymore? They officially investigate now Monaco!" I was fuming.

"You didn’t even let me finish! I don’t know, okay? I felt that loose part at my leg, had the feeling after a while when that part was gone that I couldn’t push the throttle through? And then when I heard that Ferrari fucked up your race again? I was furious and all that adrenaline? I don’t know, okay? I don’t know if I stopped pushing the throttle on purpose or if it was really because of that carbon part! When they investigated it, Audi and the FIA, they both agreed that the part slipped under the throttle and blocked it. Why wouldn’t they believe it anymore?" she said, her voice strained and hoarse.

"Because they just dragged you into a meeting under the false pretence of it being about how someone clearly overstepped your privacy yesterday, twice! And then it turned out to be a hearing about us. Without me. You alone! I couldn’t even protect you!" I shouted, letting the anger I harboured towards the FIA out on Lizzie.

"How was I supposed to know that they would ask me about us? I didn’t do anything wrong! They listened to my team radio, checked the data, my interviews, the investigation of Audi! And they decided that what happened was that this carbon part was stuck under my throttle and I couldn’t push it through fully. End of story. Period. The FIA gave us the all clear! They can’t just revoke that because they now think I was a what? A lovesick girl who wanted to let her boyfriend win his home race? Instead of winning her first ever Formula 1 race?" she was furious, but I also saw fear in her eyes, tiredness, the exhaustion. But above all I could almost sense her growing anxiety "I didn’t want this to happen! It happened! I can’t change it now! And I can’t change that the FIA decided to have this hearing tonight! You think I wanted to go there? Sitting there, unable to breathe properly? Sitting there being judged? Sitting there explaining them every decision I made in a race since the beginning of the season? No, Charles, believe it or not, I didn’t want all of that! But I can’t change it, okay? And I’m sorry for making you this angry! But I- I don’t…" her voice gave in. She started trembling and I saw the tears in her eyes. I felt bad. I shouldn’t yell at her. It wasn’t her fault. I was just so frustrated, felt helpless that I couldn’t be by her side and protect her. As I stepped closer she let out a mournful cry and I felt even worse.

"I’m sorry, mon amour. I shouldn’t let my anger out on you! This isn’t your fault, Lizzie! It’s the FIA. I’m furious because of them! They overstepped a boundary yesterday with filming your break down and then they didn’t even protect you in the medical center, let someone get in there and film us. None of that was your fault! I know that, okay? I’m an asshole. Please, cara mia, look at me." I pleaded and gently took her hands in mine as she looked up slowly "I’m sorry! I really am! I’m just… I’m so frustrated! I laid in that stupid hospital room, while you had to sit in a hearing for over four hours, after you just broke down! And I couldn’t do anything against it! But none of that was your fault, Lizzie. I know that, okay? I’m just… god I hate myself for reacting like this! I’m so sorry! I should’ve never let my emotions get the better of me! I’m sorry, mon amour, so so sorry!" I gently pulled her into me and she sobbed quietly.

"Everyone will know it now…" Lizzie whispered after a while and I nodded slightly "I’m scared. What if they’re right and people will start talking shit about us? What if they really think that we help each other out on track? They all hate me already, I don’t want the public to hate you too."

"Hey! Look at me! I don’t give a fuck what the public thinks about me, if they hate me. That doesn’t matter to me, cara mia. You matter! You and I! I love you and now the world knows it and that’s okay. I don’t care what will be said about us, it doesn’t change anything, okay? It’s okay, we get through this together. Like always, right? You and me!" I whispered and she nodded "Hey! You have to finish it!"

"Against the world." she chuckled quietly.

"Exactly! You and me against the world. And now come on. Hot bath, something to eat and then let’s go to bed!" I said and she only nodded, when I lead her to the bathroom.

"She’s still asleep." I whispered when Juergen walked in and I closed the door quietly.

"How are you?" he asked and I shrugged my shoulders.

"Better. I’m just glad that my ribs aren’t broken, only heavily bruised, apparently. Slight whiplash, no concussion. Some minor bruises. Nothing bad."

"That’s good. I’m glad you’re okay. Or almost okay." Juergen said and turned a little, looking over at Lizzie "How is she?"

"Exhausted. Scared. Worried." I sighed.

"I can’t believe the FIA would seriously think that you would help each other on track. And I definitely can’t believe that they would discuss this matter in the middle of the night and seriously go over every single race." he was seething and I felt the same.

"She sat there alone, had to listen to that bullshit while I was napping away at the hospital." I whispered but Juergen shook his head.

"Don’t you dare blaming yourself, Charles. It’s the FIA. They made this decision. They could’ve waited until the morning to let you guys rest."

"That’s the thing. I should’ve been there too. It’s not just Lizzie in this relationship. Why didn’t they want to talk to me? They could’ve summoned me for when I was out of the hospital? But they didn’t. I got away with it? Why?" I really didn’t understand why they weren’t questioning me.

"They probably thought because I’m a girl, I would break easier under the pressure…" Lizzie’s sleepy voice made me flinch and Juergen and I turned around. She sat in bed, still pale and with big, dark circles under her eyes.

"How are you?" Juergen asked.

"Like a truck rolled over me. Twice." she shrugged her shoulders and slowly got up, before she disappeared in the bathroom.

"I’ll order some food. When she came back she was too tired to eat." I picked up the phone and called for room service.

"I talked to Felix. Because of Monaco. He said you guys shouldn’t worry. There was an official investigation and the FIA accepted it. They can’t change their mind now just because you were a couple at that time." Juergen looked at me and I sighed.

"It’s the FIA. They can do whatever they want."

"They still need a reason other than that."

"I hope you’re right." I mumbled when Lizzie walked out and plopped down next to me "I ordered some food."

"Perfect, I’m starving." she yawned and leaned back into the pillows "Have you checked social media yet?" she fiddled with a loose thread of her sweater, or rather my sweater, not looking up.

"Nope and I honestly don’t plan on it any time soon. We’re eating now. Then we get ready and leave." I said and she looked up.

"Leave where to?" she asked.

"The next race is in 2 weeks, we have now some days off and we already talked to our teams." I explained but she still looked confused "We go to Tulumn for 5 days. Lay low for a bit. Just you and me. No one will know about it."

"Is that really a good idea? Shouldn’t we put out some statements? Will the teams put out a statement? How are we handling this? Will we just like, I don’t know, walk into the paddock next week, hand in hand and it’s all good? People will talk if there’s nothing coming from us?" I could practically feel Lizzie’s nervousness and anxiety radiating from her and I grabbed her shaking hands.

"We do it however we see fit, okay? One step at a time. We eat. We pack. We leave. We can decide if we want our teams to put a statement out, or if we want to do it ourselves. Or if we just post yep we’re dating, we’re happy, that’s all you need to know. It’s all in our hands, okay?" I said and she looked at me.

"Okay." she whispered and I wiped away a stray tear from her cheek.

"It’s going to be okay, cara mia." I kissed her temple when it knocked on the door, Juergen waved me off and opened the door, letting the attendant roll in our food.

"For how many people did you order?" she chuckled a little when she looked over the food cart, I scratched my head.

"Pops, you’re eating with us, I heard, right?" I said and he laughed.

"Sure. You don’t have to ask twice, brunch with my two favourite drivers, can’t say no to that." he closed the door and sat down.

"Will you fly back home? Or fly to Brazil? You could join us?" Lizzie looked at Juergen and he shook his head.

"No, I’m flying back home, there are some things at the karting track that I need to take care of."

"Oh okay? But it’s all good, right?" she asked.

"Of course, Lizzie. It’s just about some decisions regarding colours and placement of the new furniture and stuff like that."

"Okay, but will you be in Brazil?"

"I don’t know yet, we’ll see, okay?" he looked at her and then at me.

"Don’t worry, it will be okay, Lizzie. I’ll be by your side, JK, Andrea and Joris as well! You’ll never be alone. Okay?" I said and she sighed.

"Yeah, you and Netflix… I’m just glad they decided for whatever reason to not be here this weekend! I couldn’t handle that…" she took a bite of her toast and washed it down with some orange juice "Will they now expect that they can film us together? And put it in the episodes? Like not just what they had before of us being more platonic, but us as a couple. Is that even okay for you?"

"Lizzie, it’s out there anyways, so if that means that they’ll show it? So be it." I said and she nodded slowly.

"So be it."

"If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call the reception, my name is Carmen, and I will take care of all your wishes, enjoy your stay here at Papaya Playa!" I thanked her and then followed Lizzie, who already stood on the terrace, looking over the ocean.

"It’s so quiet here."

"It really is." I hugged her from behind, pulling her into me "We have our own private pool, only a couple metres to the ocean and 24 hours room service. We can spent the next 5 days in here without going out once." I kissed her shoulder.

"Sounds perfect." she whispered.

"It is. Now come on, that pool looks like we definitely need to jump in! And I also want to see that red bikini on you." I turned her around and picked her up, carrying her inside.

"You mean that red bikini you insisted on buying?" she laughed and I nodded.

"Yup that one. So come on pretty girl, put it on. I’ll order us some drinks." I replied.

"Okay, but no alcohol! That won’t mix well with your painkillers!" Lizzie mumbled, rummaging through her suitcase "It’s good that we have a private pool. I would never wear that one in public…" I heard her say quietly, more to herself.

I ordered some drinks and snacks before I went back to the bedroom to put on my swim shorts.

"Cara mia? Where are you?"

"In here." she whispered from the bathroom.

"Can I come in?" I gently nudged the door open a crack.

"Yeah." I heard her muffled voice.

"Hey, what’s going on?" I walked inside, feeling a rush go through my body, seeing her in the bikini "Wow. You look… wow." I was at a loss of words "Cara mia? What’s wrong?" one look in her face and I knew that something was wrong, I walked up to her, grabbing her by the waist "What’s going on?"

"I can’t wear that…" she sniffled, tears streaming down her cheeks. I looked at her confused "The bikini- it’s… Charles look at my back, the scars, they look disgusting…"

"What are you even talking about?" I cupped her cheeks, wiping away the tears "Cara mia, the scars on your back show what you’ve been through and what you’ve overcome to be here today! I love your scars, they are a part of you. The part that shows how strong you are! And also, I don’t know why you think that they are this bad? They are barely visible? And even if they were, nothing could take away from your beauty." I looked her in the eyes, trying to convince her that my words were the truth, that I meant every word I said "You are beautiful, cara mia, so freaking beautiful, you have no idea. And some barely visible scars on your back won’t change that! You hear me?"

"But… there were people who said that they look awful…" she whispered and tried to look down.

"With people you mean Camille? And her minions?" I asked and she nodded slightly.

"Not just them, also a lot of other people on the internet… there are so many fan accounts of you and Camille, or just Camille… they all said that they look gross and I should cover them…"

"And since when do we care what Camille, her minions or people on the internet say?" I gently tilted her head up again.

"I don’t know, okay? You cared for her words once…" she began and I sighed.

"This will always hang over us… won’t it?" I whispered defeated.

"No! I’m sorry! It’s not like that… it’s just, so many people out there always shipped us like we were the perfect couple, but the moment a picture with you and Camille got out, people began to say that- that she’s way more fitting for you… a beautiful socialite who knows how to behave, who’s classy, elegant and perfect for you. I’m nothing compared to her! And I guess when people began to say that you were always too good for me anyways, that you deserved someone like Camille, that I’m just not good enough for you, I started to believe it… and maybe still do it somehow." she looked down.

"But they got it all wrong, okay? It’s you who is too good for me. It’s you who deserves someone better. And it’s me who isn’t good enough for you!" I pulled her into a tight hug, stroking her back.

"I’m not too good for you." she whispered against my chest.

"You’re way too good for me, cara mia, you always were, but I know it and it’s okay, I’ll try for the rest of my life to make that up to you." I kissed her head "And just so you know, you are a way better person than Camille or I ever will be. Despite everything she said and did, you never not once spoke bad about her, the others told me, you wanted me to be happy and went through so much pain! I didn’t even realise what you were going through because you not once showed it to me!"

"I told you I would’ve done it all over again, to make you happy." she said into the crook of my neck.

"Exactly. That’s what I meant. You are a way better person than her or me." I gently pulled away, to look at her "And now give me that beautiful smile and join me at the pool. Come on."

"Didn’t you forget something?" she chuckled a little and I tilted my head, looking at her "Swim shorts?" she pointed downwards and I laughed.

"Yeah, true."

"I’ll take some photos and wait for you." she walked outside and I sighed a little. I didn’t know that Lizzie felt this insecure. I knew that the public wasn’t treating her nice and fair, not even decent at times, and that she pretended more than once that she doesn’t care although I could clearly see how much it hurt her. But I didn’t know that the comments about us were making her feel this bad, for years. I sighed and put on my swim shorts, then followed her outside, with the clear mission of showing her how much I loved her and that she was the one way too good for me, not reversed.

Right when I walked outside I saw her standing at the edge of the pool, looking over the sunset. I grabbed my phone and took a picture of her, when it knocked on the door. I opened it and found a cart with a huge fruit platter, finger food and pitchers full of cocktails and juices. Rolling it inside and filling up two glasses, I joined Lizzie by the pool.

"Cara mia." she looked up from the pool edge, her legs dangling in the water "Here. Frozen Strawberry Daiquiri."

"Good choice." she smiled, taking her glass.

I sat down next to her, grabbing her by the waist to pull her closer. We sat in silence for a while, nursing on our drinks. Listening to the sound of the waves, crashing down on the shore, birds singing away, the warm breeze on our skin.

"Coming here was a good idea." Lizzie whispered after a while, putting her glass down before she pushed herself off the ledge, water splashing around "Come on in, Leclerc." she dived to the edge of the pool, looking ever the bay, her face glimmered in the last rays of the sun.

I quickly followed her, caging her body to the pool wall, putting my chin down on her shoulder.

"Yeah, I think so too. It’s just us for a while. Even more, us outside, in the open, without worrying that anyone could see us." I kissed the side of her face and she sighed.

"Maybe it was stupid from me, to ask you doing that, keeping us a secret…" she began but I shook my head.

"I understand it. I did it back then and I do it now. I’ve seen what people wrote about you basically all your career. It was the right thing for us. We had to adjust to us as a couple first. Doing that with the whole world watching would’ve been not easy. Like this we could find ourselves, find out how we are as a couple. And to be honest? I like the result, no I love the result." I turned her head a little and kissed her.

"Me too. This. Us. It’s perfect the way it is."

The next days went by in a blur, filled with long mornings spent in bed, lazy days by the pool or beach, romantic nights in the hammock under the stars.

"What are you thinking about?" Charles whispered while we were lying on a lounger, soaking in the sun.

"We’re leaving tomorrow… then it’s back to reality." I leaned back, closing my eyes "I like it here, we’re in our own little bubble. No one knows us, no one cares for us. It’s just you and me. I’ll miss that."

"I know, me too. But it will be fine. We’re in this together, remember? We don’t care what people will say, okay?" he leaned over, looking at me.

"Okay…" I sighed a little and he leaned in closer.

"Sounds like you need a little more convincing." he kissed me, his lips salty from the ocean breeze "Now?"

"All will be good." I chuckled and he kissed my nose, getting up.

"Sounds better, but still not perfect." he pulled me up and laughed "But I have an idea…" he picked me up and ran towards the pool, jumping in.

Cold water cascaded me and when I emerged from the water I was worried.

"Charles! Your ribs! Are you crazy!"

"Crazy in love. Guilty." he pulled me into him.

"I’m serious!" I looked at him and he rolled his eyes.

"I’m fine!"

"Okay…" I whispered, carefully stroking over his bruised ribcage "‘Crazy in love’… you’re so freaking cheesy! I just can’t with you!" I mumbled and playfully hit his chest when Charles laughed.

"Tell me to stop being cheesy and I will!"

"NO! Don’t you dare!" I kissed his cheek "I love it when you’re cheesy!"

"Thought so." he chuckled.

After a while I yawned a little and we got out of the pool and Charles wrapped a towel around me.

"What do you want to eat? It’s our last day, we should have a special dinner for tonight!" he asked while gently rubbing my arms up and down.

"I don’t care, I’m not that hungry, more sleepy." I shrugged my shoulder, Charles kissed my forehead.

"Then lay down for a bit…" he nudged me towards the big sun lounge and I snuggled into the pillows.

When I woke up, Charles wasn’t around and I grabbed my phone, texting a little with family and friends to occupy myself. When I closed the message app my eyes landed on Instagram. I haven’t checked it since Sunday morning. After everything that had happened during and after the race, it was probably for the best. I sighed and put my phone down. It wouldn’t do me any good, looking at what people had to say. I stared ahead, trying to not let my curiosity get the better of me, but I failed. It was like an itch, that needed to be scratched, but the more I tried to ignore it, the worse it got. I opened Instagram and began the scrolling. Posts from official and unofficial F1 or motorsports account with comment sections flooded with questions, allegations and opinions. Charles’ profile, with a bunch of new comments under the latest posts why he kept silent. Why he didn’t say anything about what happened. Why out of all people he would choose me. I swallowed hard and clicked on my profile. I read comment after comment, I couldn’t stop. It was like I was in trance, I couldn’t stop myself from scrolling.

"Lizzie…" Charles stood behind me, saw my phone and sighed "What are you doing?" he whispered, taking away my phone "Why did you read that?"

"Tomorrow, we’ll leave this bubble… I guess I wanted to be prepared…" my voice thin.

"And? Are you prepared now? Or are you even more worried? Even terrified, from the look on your face…" he sighed and I rubbed my burning eyes.

"Your fans want to know how you are, after your crash…" I got up and walked inside.

"I don’t care. I care for you, stop please." he followed me inside, grabbing my hand "Talk to me? What’s going on in there?" he gently poked at my forehead and I had to chuckle.

"It’s exactly what I expected… how could you choose me…" I mumbled.

"Easy answer. How could I not. The real answer should be, how could you choose me!"

"Charles…"

"No Lizzie. I don’t care what a bunch of idiots write or say. I couldn’t care less. Let them comment under every post their disgusting shit. I. DON’T. CARE." he emphasised every word and cupped my cheeks "Tomorrow, we leave this bubble, yes. But that doesn’t mean that it will burst. I love you. You love me. It’s as easy as that."

"Is it though?" I blinked the tears away.

"In theory? Yes. Practice? No, probably not. But that’s okay. Because it’s you and me. Against the internet trolls. Against the world. Okay?" he smiled at me, his face enlightened by the last rays of sunshine.

"Okay." I whispered and he pulled me in.

"I love you, cara mia. Let’s enjoy our last night here, what do you say?"

"I say that red bikini will make its comeback tonight…" I kissed his cheek.

"Sounds perfect."

After a romantic dinner under the stars and a little relaxation in the hot tub we settled down, cuddled up in towels and blankets, in the hammock.

"Thank you." I whispered, kissing his chest and he looked down.

"For what?"

"That post…" I looked at him and he smiled "You didn’t have to do that."

"But I wanted to. Prepare for cheesy post after post from now on." he chuckled and I kissed him.

"Really? Then I think you deserve a little reward for that…" I got up and Charles looked at me, biting his lips when I fumbled with my bikini top, letting it drop, walking away.

Not even a second later he grabbed me by the waist, spinning me around. His eyes visibly darkened, full of lust and hunger. His lips met mine, feverishly and hastily they clashed together. Charles’ hands were gliding down my sides, my skin melted away under his touch, until they grabbed my thighs and he lifted me up, my legs wrapped around him automatically. His bulge pressed into me and I moaned, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling on his hair, he groaned into my mouth. He took the few steps up the terrace and walked us into the bedroom, where he threw me onto the bed and then crawled on top of me. Charles kissed his way up my calves, then my thighs, he looked up, our eyes met for a brief moment before he kissed my clothed core. He hooked his fingers on both sides of the waistband of my bikini bottoms and pulled them down. I lifted my hips a little and a moment later the fabric landed with a soft thud on the floor. Charles continued kissing his way further up my body, nipping at my naval, going up the valley between my breasts, nibbling my collarbone, up the column of my throat over my jaw until our mouths found their way back to each other. He gently bit my bottom lip and I gasped, opening my mouth to let his tongue in, meddling with mine. I hastily began pushing his swim shorts down and he helped me, getting rid of them. I chased his mouth again and spread my legs, grabbing his butt, pulling him in.

"My my, look who’s impatient again." Charles chuckled while pulling away. He cupped my heat with his hand and I sighed, body squirming "Oh pretty girl, you’re so needy."

"Charles, stop teasing…" I whined.

"Hmm? Why?" he pressed down on my bundle of nerves and I moaned loudly.

"Charles, please…" I pouted and he groaned, pushing into me in one swift move.

"That damn pout." he sighed, kissing me.

"Works every time."

Chapter 28 - why drama, when you can have trauma 😬😅 soooorry! But hey, the cat’s out the bag! And our two lovebirds have some fluffy days…woop woop 🙌

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[ziracona]

Playing OWB, I always knock out lobotomites because they're victims, instead of kill them. Which sucks, because I only have boxing tape on me. It ain't easy :'-) but I've had several weird what must be glitch encounters with ones that are marked hostile but quit attacking now, and my experiences got me thinking about story stuff in OWB, so a little piece from the POV of a lobotomite experiencing my Courier 6. Which is a very interesting and fragmented pov to write, but I liked doing something very different.

-

-

I see something leaving the big house.

They come one by one usually, the ones not like us. They hurt us. Always.

Everything here hurts.

So, we kill them. We stop them.

One of us makes a sound in his throat, nods towards the shape. We’re all alert with the sound, turn to look. Take out weapons.

I draw my gun. My fingers know the trigger. Know the barrel like it’s another finger. I aim at the shape. It walks towards us and pauses at the top of the stairs, sees us see it. Takes a step back.

Good. Maybe an easy fight for us then.

The man who pointed the figure out charges, drawing his spear. Another of us runs with him, saturnite fist ready. I stay back behind, and shoot.

I hit it. I see my bullet clip the shoulder. The thing cries out and falls back a step. Somehow, not hurt bad. Armor, I guess. We don’t have it. I have the dress they give at a hospital. I don’t remember what I had before.

It makes me angry, so I walk closer, keep shooting.

My companions reach it, and I see them fighting. I see the figure has a gun on their hip, a spear at their back. But, they don’t draw the gun. No bullets maybe? They hit, bare fists. Pound, pound, pound. Crack, crack, crack.

Cuts open up on them, along their face and body, their back, their hands. They jam something into their side and fall back a step, and I see cuts close like magic. They’re afraid though. Eyes big. Surely, just fists against us, we must win.

But we don’t. It fights fast, hard, and above all, with stamina. It won’t go down. Heals itself again and again somehow, and hits and hits until the leader goes down. I feel a pang of fear. The second goes down a few seconds later, a fast upper-cut from this things. Then it turns to me.

I feel real fear. But. Surely. I must win, against this? A human. Wrapped fists. Nothing else.

It meets my eyes, and I see determination. It rushes me.

Panic. I fire, I fire, I fire. I know I hit it. A bullet even grazes its head. But then it’s on me, and a fist finds my face.

Pain. Hurts, bad. I lose strength from it. I keep trying to shoot, and I hit it, even so close, but it hits me too. Crack, Crack, Crack.

I feel myself breaking down. It gets me in the head, and I’m gone.

I think ‘I have died?’

Fear.

Then I’m gone.

Only. I’m…not?

I…wake up.

Not sure when. …Later. It’s gone now.

I sit up, head aches, confused. Why? Must have thought I was dead, I guess. But, I reach for my gun. It’s gone. Stolen. But everything else is here. My cloth I wear, my head strap I can’t get off, the lighter I picked up. And…an apple?

Confused more, I feel it in the gown pocket, take it out.

Fresh. Fresh apple. Smells…good? I take a bite, because I am hungry. It tastes good too.

Amazing. Usually all I eat is meat from something killed, or maybe old spoils found. Stale chip, can of beans, or if very lucky, these cakes of falling apart breads with sugars in tiny boxes. This is fresh, like it’s not old at all. Pretty, bright red.

I eat it all. Around me, I see the other two get up too. Alive. One takes out a pear. Confused too. I think about fighting him for the pear, but I haven’t finished my apple, and he eats the pear by the time I do. The other has an apple too. We eat. We move on.

-

I see the human again, same day maybe. Later. Far away from the big dome now. It’s leaving one of the smaller houses, full of horrible things. I see it from a distance and don’t know it’s the same one. Just hear fighting. I’m with different members of the group, and they run off. I follow. We see the figure fighting off the snakedogs. It has a big fist, like a saturnite fist, but bigger. It’s punching off their heads. I don’t recognize it. Just the saturnite fist weapon, and that it isn’t one of us. I draw my gun, and start shooting. The other two rush in, hoping to get to it while some of the snakedogs are up, so it will be more overwhelmed.

It sees us coming. I watch its head snap up. See panic through the visor I can’t take off. It hurries to turn, punch a snakedog. The head comes off. Last one. Turns to face the others of my group as they reach it, and I see it let go of the fist. Drop the big, powerful thing on the ground, and swing an empty fist at the one of us with a flaming sword.

Then I recognize it. I think ‘So strange. Lost its good weapon?’ and I remember. I remember, from this morning, and I see it closer and see it has the same long blue coat on, red hat.

I am not mad by the armor this time. I am confused. Curious. Still nervous too. Have to kill it before it kills us. I shoot, watching, to see how it heals. See if it can walk off bullets more. See if it keeps hitting.

It does. Keeps taking out little white…things. Like scissors. Some of me thinks ‘that’s a heal’ but what that means? I don’t know. It is a heal though. Makes flaming knife cuts go away. Good for it, because it takes punishment I couldn’t believe. Hits back with little wrapped fists. Crack, crack, crack. Hit, hit, hit. I hear, I see. I watch my people go down.

I hesitate as it turns, bloody, and rushes me again, breathing hard. I remember to keep firing. It knocks the gun out of my hand and I look down in surprise. Blink. It hits me. I hit back. Panic now. Remember it will kill me. Hit, hit, hit, but it hits harder. I go out.

I think, ‘I died.’

But, I wake up. Again. Before me, the other two are already up. Starting to stand, and looking for weapons gone now. I look for my new gun, sad. Know the thing took it again. It did. But there’s an apple. Fresh. My pocket, again. Pink apple this time. I hold it and smell it. Think ‘where it gets the apples?’ And eat it.

So good. Even better than red apple.

The others have things too. The knife companion takes out a drink. Fights a while before biting off the cap, and drinks it. I am very jealous. Almost jump him for it. Too busy thinking. Other has apple too.

I think hard.

Wonder.

-

I see it again, going to find a new gun. On my way out, I hear guns, and I follow, careful. Haven’t got new gun for me yet. Very hard like that to stay alive.

But, there it is. Blue coat, bright red hat. Tall. I see it shooting snake dogs again. Shooting the skeletons in the suits that help us sometimes. A dog with robot legs jumps it, and it punches that one. Interesting. I am curious.

Once it leaves, I sneak up, look at the dog.

No apples…

I keep following.

I see some of us attack it soon. Another group. I think about helping, but, I want apples. I don’t want to get hit again, though. So, this is my idea.

It hits them, like it hit me. It gets hurt, bad, doing it. But keeps healing. Keeps hitting. And, it wins.

After, it breathes hard. I hear it talking to itself. Sounds like a woman, maybe. Not close enough to hear it well. It spotted me once, so I’m careful now. Still no new gun, you know? Got to be careful.

I sneak little closer though. Watch.

It puts its big saturnite but bigger fist back on, wipes blood off forehead. Walks over to the unconscious bodies it fought, and I see it take their guns, their spears. Leaves bugglegum, leaves a drink, leaves a pear. An apple.

After trading food for gun or knife, it goes on. Once it’s gone on enough, I sneak over. I pick up the stuff it left. I take the gum and put it in my gown pocket. I eat the pear. I open the drink and it hurts my teeth, but it’s worth it. So good! A part of me tastes it, and I want to..cry?

Confused, I stop walking. Look down at it. Drink a little more.

I think ‘sarsaparilla,’ but, I don’t know what sarsaparilla is. Something in me very desperate asks me to know, but I don’t remember. It’s a brown word, and a sweet word. Spicy. A tree? I try, but I know I am wrong. I sit, hold the drink. Drink it slow between two rocks, hidden safe in a shadow. Hold sarsaparilla. There is a word on the bottle. Can’t read it, but I trace it with finger. Think. Girl on the bottle—picture. I almost remember something, but…

It hurts too much. Can’t. Put head in hands, breathe. Pain goes away. I keep drinking. In head, I see a picture of a tree that isn’t there. I sit beneath it in my head. I drink this in my head too, but a different one. It’s a good feeling, but, sad.

I don’t understand why.

Tree smells. Like…sarsaparilla? Brain says ‘pine.’ Not sarsaparilla. But I can’t remember ‘pine.’ Good word. Green word.

I get up.

I keep the apple. I hold it in pocket, and take out to smell. But don’t eat. Saving it. Save the bottle too, to smell. Smells like sarsaparilla and thinking about green pine words.

I chew the gun thoughtful, and try to find blue coat again.

I find her pretty slow this time. So fast! Unbelievable. All the way across the empty, she is sneaking. I run into her—almost for real. See her slide against a wall and hold breath when I almost step on her. I don’t want punched unconscious again. Too much hurt, even for apple. Besides. I have apple. If she sees it, what if she doesn’t leave new one too? So I pretend not to see. Keep walking.

Mutter, like she did alone.

She buys it.

Very proud, I walk around a ways, then sneak back.

Hah!

Worked. Very, very well. She is sneaking off towards the big robots. NO clue I sneak after!

Hmmm…Big robots…

I am nervous. Those will shoot me. I got new gun off a box, but not great gun. Big robots sometimes shoot missiles. Besides, she won’t leave apple on big robots, so nothing to get.

Still, I follow. Too interested now.

I see her checking out already dead robot, poking at stuff. Hm. Closer, I see her wipe forehead, and past bangs, she has head marks almost like mine. But, not one of us… We would be able to tell. Can always tell.  And, she doesn’t act like…? Must be wrong?

Hm.

Some of us hear her poking around. I pull back, and watch her fight in fascination. Some of the big robots hear the commotion as she hits my people off her, and they come running too. Uh-oh, I think, because they will shoot right through us. To surprise, I see her panic too. She looks ‘uh-oh’ at them, and shoves one of us off her. She snags gun off her shoulder, big, long rifle, and shoots a robot. It falls, but two more come. I see one of us take bullets from it and stumble back. She sees too, runs towards the shot man, and moves between him and robot. I see her get shot. She takes it like she does, and shoots the robot twice. It falls. One left. But she pauses, to look back at the man. He’s alive. Confused. And hitting her with his saturnite fist. She grimaces, falls forward, misses a shot at robot, and ignores him. Shoots robot. All three of my kind attacking her are still up, and one shoots her, knocks off aim.

Uh-oh, I think, more worry in the uh-oh. She is not doing as well.

Still, she ignores the man shooting her. Takes shot at robot, using free hand to block a hit from the spear the last member of their group has. Robot goes down this time.

Bloody and relieved, she turns, frantically starts hitting them. Amazed, I watch. She takes down all three.

Bloody, barely able to stand, she huffs. Grabs a chunk of broken concrete, and slides to ground against it. Sits there, tilts head back.

“This is the worst,” she says mournful.

Tired, she raises her wrist. What I thought was another, broken saturnite fist is on her left arm. She raises it. Taps it. I hear sound come out of it. Songing.

I remember…this sound.

Been…I think a long time.

Woman’s voice, but not her, plays from the arm. Says words my ears don’t know anymore. But, says not many words. I like that. Same words keep being said. ‘Night.’ ‘Your.’ ‘We.’ ‘Where.’ ‘When.’ ‘Begin.’

I don’t remember ‘night.’ Don’t remember ‘begin.’ Don’t remember…’when, where.’ I remember ‘we.’ We is…me, plus someone else. Me and someone.

I am proud; I remember.

I never remember.

But I know ‘We.’

She has no we though, unless it is the woman with song in her wrist. Many of us, just one of her.

I listen to the song too. She sings with it, quiet, just a few words. Just the last words, holding the last one long, much longer than the song. She turns off the thing on her wrist, but holds the song word. Then sighs, lets it go.

Stands alone, looks at the bodies.

Odd expression on her face. I wonder with a strange chest feeling, from where I hide in shadows, if she will get angry and crush them under her feet.

She does not.

Takes their weapons, slower than before, wincing as she stoops. Leaves a drink, leaves a cake box, leaves an apple.

-

I follow her for the next two days.

Sometimes, I lose her. She will go in a building, and I will not do that. Too many monsters. She maybe can be shot 400 times. I die if shot 400 times. I do not want a plant to eat me. I do not want to be explosion’d by robot.

Sometimes, she is just so fast, I lose her.

But, she is very loud. Thankful for that. Never lose her for too long.

I eat a lot of delicious apples.

Always keep one on me, too, to look at. To smell.

If I find the drink that smells like green word ‘pine’ and the brown word thought ‘sarsaparilla,’ I drink it, and keep the bottle to smell, replace the last with it.

She does the same thing, always. Will kill snakedogs. Kill robots, kill suits with skeletons, kill scorpions, kill bugs. Kills robot dog if scared. Never kills us.

Don’t know why. Won’t, though. Always takes weapons, always knocks out with wrapped fists, always leaves a little gift.

I don’t know if the gift is trade, or maybe, I think, ‘sorry’? Can’t remember what it means, but it makes sense. It thinks in my head like ‘backing off’ a little maybe. It seems right?

I don’t know for sure. I keep following. Sometimes, if she thinks she is alone, she turns on the song. It is not always that song, but that song she hears the most. It’s the best, because the others are too fast with too much words. That one is slow, very few words, very short, and a word I know. I like to hear it.

A couple times, she spots me, and I have to run away. She doesn’t chase if I do, though, so no more punching. Good, because head still hurts a little from before. Girl punches hard…

Day two, late, she sees me and I run and she calls out. I keep running till I’m far, and check to see if she is watching. She is. Standing still, staring at me. I pause. She crouches, puts out her hands, palms to me. No weapon. I know her fists are weapons though. Very painful.

I watch still, interested. Look back. She calls again, soft. Motions towards herself.

I think she is trying to lure me back.

Too smart, I don’t do that. I keep running, hide.

Sneak back after a few minutes, from a side. Still, she is watching where I went, head tilted.

Strange look on her face. Sad and not sad at same time.

I think about that.

-

Third day.

I see her fight many things.

Robot scorpions (10), many of us (many), big robots (4), different kind of big robot (2), skeleton suits (forgot to count), green plant monster (2, very bad), snakedog (18 maybe).

Good day for me. Lots of food. Found a glowing drink. Maybe saw god after drinking it. Was funny again for a minute too.

Felt very happy.

I like following her. Very interesting to do. Different. I forgot about different. Different is not very safe, but is other things. Like full of food.

She is doing better. Avoids places with big robots mostly now. Sneaks more. Walks on the big pipes a lot, which makes harder to follow her because if I do, she sees me and have to hide. Still, I am better at following now too. Getting pretty skilled.

And then, she gets too close to us.

I don’t realize, because I watch her, not where she goes. But we get close to the cave. To home cave.

I don’t realize, until one of us runs past and sees me, and calls to me a sound I know. ‘Again!’ A call to fight. One of the words we remember.

I stand up automatic at the sound, then blink, see more and more of us. Not just from by me, from past too. Maybe eleven, twelve? So many. She was looking at a box, but hears us coming. Looks up and sees. Tries to run.

She can’t get past. Too many come in from the left side of the big rocks now, and there is nowhere up on the rocks to go. She doesn’t see how many are on my side yet. Starts trying to fight. We push her into a corner. I don’t realize I’ve followed until I’m at the edge of the group, watching up close as she punches one of us unconscious like before.

I am waiting for her to win and waiting for her to die. Different parts of memory both sure of outcome.

I feel nothing.

Just far far away.

Then I am shoved forward. I am close to her, watching. Right on her.

She is scared. Hits me. I fall back, surprised. Two jump her from behind with knives.

I see her heal herself, but too many of us from too many angles at once. We are winning for once.

She tries to push through and run.

Almost makes it, but one of us catches her on fire. Loses sight in the fire, loses footing. Falls. Snaps an ankle when she hits rock below. We go after her like a wave.

I think ‘she is going to die now,’ without anything beyond thought. Then I think ‘I can take all the apples off her if she dies.’

But. I don’t want them that way.

I am sure they will not taste so good if I take them off her pockets.

I am suddenly very frustrated.

If they kill her, the apples won’t be the same at all.

I push forward, push past.

They don’t fight me. We are all fighting her.

I see her struggling. Made it up to one foot. I see the gun at her hip. I see the bigger than a saturnite fist on her belt. I see the spear on her back. Still, she hits with fists. She got some of us, unconscious. But we are still five, and she is trying to heal as I get close.  Jams the little white thing into her side as I reach her. One of the others hits her so hard, he knocks it out of her side, and she cries out. Not a sound like the song. I realize she is about to go down.

She sees me.

I hit her.

She falls, covered in blood from guns and knives and bruises from fists.

I go down on top of her.

The others make sounds. Want to see what she has too. I growl at them and snap, and they back off. They are all hurt from her punches, but she only hit me once. I have my gun.

I look back down at her as they back away, lose their interest.

I try to remember death and unconscious, the way to tell. Heart tells. Heartbeat.

I pick her up from shoulders, put my ear to chest, listen. There is a sound. Brain doesn’t think heartbeat sound, but what other sound in chest is there? Doesn’t matter, I think, because sound is alive. Dead is quiet.

That seems sure to me, so, relieved, I pick up the blue coat woman, and put her over a shoulder.

We are by my home, so I turn. The others ignore me now. I claimed the body, it’s mine. We bring meat home. We bring findings. We bring anything we want.

I pass into the cave, past the graves we put outside, past some of the things we keep. Past a few of the others inside, with their own beds and memories, and special things like my apple and my bottle, but not as good.

Keep walking, far in. Find my little bed. Raised bed, like a table, but soft. I think it was for hospital once, like my cloth I wear. I tap the dolls I hung from the post by the bed. It’s nice to be home.

Set her body on the bed table. Put ear to the chest again to be sure, but it makes its not quite heartbeat sound.

Good, I think, You are alive.

That’s alright then. She will get back up and leave apples. We keep going like before. All will be good.

I felt nervous, but now I feel okay.

Still, after a few minutes, she is still quiet. I listen several times. Chest sound is going. The blood from cuts stopped, but she is not waking up fast.

With time, I get curious. Poke around a little. Don’t go through pockets, because I don’t want to know how many apples. But I remember the marks I saw once, and I push back her hair.

I am right. There are cuts around her head too. I feel for my own. Mine still hurt. She has them, like all of us, and I am excited, then confused. If…she is one of us, why can’t we tell? Why we kill her? Why she fights us? I’m not remembering. We can just tell, with each other, if they are us. She is not. Not sure how I know. But I don’t know why now.

She has our marks though, I think, confused again. Marks, but not us. Strange.

Maybe she is broken.

I can’t remember where we got marks. I try, and shudder. My head says ‘don’t look.’ It scares me. Like the answer will kill me if I look behind the corner to see it. I quit looking.

Instead, I trace the marks on her head.

She makes a sound of pain, and scrunches her face. Her eyes open. She blinks, squints, finds me above her. I tilt my head, forget to be scared of punches. Relieved it didn’t take so long to not be dead.

Behind me, I hear an angry hiss.

I turn, and to surprise, there is one of the others. He gets close, trying to look past me. Sees the girl, and snaps at me. Anger, alarm. Pushes past.

I realize to surprise he is going to grab her.

“No!” I hiss back. Grab his arm, drag him hard to the side and shove back.

He falls, and drags himself up, angry. Others hear, come towards us. See her, start to hiss and shout. Start to try to get her too. I swing at the first who comes, and hit hard with body of my gun.

“Stop you!” I warn in a growl.

She is MINE! Why are they -?!

They do not stop. They come again, try to get at her. Hiss, growl, call out. I shove one, hit another.

“Stop you!” I shout louder. Behind me, I hear the girl move. Look, and see her trying to sit up.

I worry she will hit me too.

A gun crack. I turn, see one of us with a rifle. Look back, worried, as I hear her cry. She is holding an arm. New, fresh blood. No, no, no! She was so close to dead. More hits, she dies! No more anything!

Enraged, I raise my own gun. She will not kill us. I will. I shoot him.

I hit.

The others attack me then.

I shoot, I hit, and I don’t remember. Something gets me, hard, in the head, then another.

I go down.

I think very angry, very sad, it is not fair. Can’t remember why this is cruel. It is not right though. It’s…it’s….

Gone then.

I am sure I am dead this time.

-

But, I wake.

I think, fuzzy, ‘maybe a new apple.’ Feel relief.

Everything hurt.

But, something is good too. …The ground is good. I used to know it. It feels familiar. Like I could sleep here forever maybe.

I try and open my eyes, because that seems okay.

It’s harder than I think. Eyes feel heavy, tired. Head is wrong…er, than usual. Not sure why. Everything is fuzzying, like I am dying from no water, but in a way that feels warm and good. Like dying, if I liked it.

There is light, and as eyes start to work, I see blue coat looking down at me.

I am not so worried, because I know she will just hit me and leave an apple if she notices I am not dead.

I decide that is okay. Watch, stunted, as she moves. She sees me see her then. Stops fiddling with this thing above me, and turns to face.

“Hey,” her voice is soft, like water when I am hot in the sun, cools me, “You’re okay. Just hold still, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you.”

I don’t know the words. I think ‘you’ maybe is me. But not the rest. It feels familiar though. She doesn’t talk like she will bite. I am too fuzzy to care. Just blink eyes heavy, watch her. Something is stuck in my arm I notice, and I wonder if that will hurt me, but it’s hard to feel worried. Hard to feel anything but fuzzy.

“Can’t you do anything?” she asks something behind her.

I don’t know those words. I thought ‘you’ was me. But, she is not looking now.

“Not without a brain,” comes a new voice.

I do feel panic then. She will hit and leave an apple. Anything else kills me.

I struggle to sit up so I can fight or run away.

 So hard to do, and that scares me more.

“No no!” she calls, and I know that word. Not a good one. “Hey, easy,” she says, catching me with her hands and trying to push me back down, “Just calm down.”

Her voice is soft, but I am very scared. I struggle back, trying to see the other voice. I see no one, and that is bad. Could be anywhere.

The blue coat lets go with one hand and taps the thing stuck in my arm quickly. I suddenly feel calmer, almost like I might throw up, but so fuzzy I want to shut my eyes. I try to struggle, but I forget why as the fuzziness gets heavier. After a few seconds, the blue coat’s hand lifts carefully off my chest. I can’t remember why I was getting up before, so I lay still. It seems better there.

“Look,” she says, glancing behind her again, “I will GET you a brain—the right one! But there has to be something in the meantime. He’s not brain dead! He doesn’t act routine. His pockets are full of stuff I’ve left behind. He’s been following me. They all keep keepsakes around. They’re not brain dead, not totally. The connection must at least be marginally existent for them!”

“I can’t help you without his brain,” says the same man voice before. Still, I see nobody. That seems worrying still, but not enough to move for now.

“What about you?” asks the blue coat in frustration, turning in another direction, “Switch—lights!” she adds, sounding excited, “Smart lights!”

“Oh, good idea sweetie!” comes another girl voice. Not the wrist voice, and not blue coat.

Lights switch on around me then, bright, blinding, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

And feel.

Oh my god.

Despair, and horror, revulsion, and agony, hate, terror. I am filled. I can’t speak. I can barely think and stay alive.

I remember. Things I can’t usually understand.

There was a robot. Arms and knives, whirring saws. I was held down, screaming. I remember the vices, the grips. I remember the scoop, ripping out my brain. Metal pieces screwed into my skull.

No, I think. Praying for the understanding to go away.

It stays. It plays and replays. I see other lobotomized people, I see memories of killing. Eating raw meat. Animal. Not a person anymore. Not anything.

I am shaking. I can almost remember. Half remember words, half remember feelings and thoughts. Half remember people. I know I loved them, but I can’t remember what they were, I can’t remember their faces. I see them, then forget them immediately.

I can’t remember my face. I can’t remember my name.

I remember the snapping of greymatter as my brain went out.

I remember things…I remember pieces of things.

I remember the pine tree and pine is a word, not the color green, but I can’t remember what it looked like anymore. Why I loved it.

I don’t know who I am.

“I…I’m already dead,” I whisper. I find words again, and those are them. I feel myself remember how to cry, and I do, because I feel too much despair and terror to keep inside. I have to get it out. I would eject it any way I can.

This is a person, above me. I know that now.

I see her. Try to ask for her to help me, but I don’t know how to fix me. I don’t know what to ask. I don’t know how to explain.

I try, to find the words. ‘My brain,’ I think, ‘please.’

But I can’t. I can’t find the words I think, not as words I can remember to speak. I know what happened, but human words are gone.

I’m dead. I’m a corpse.

“It’s okay,” says the blue coat woman. I see worry in her face. Her hand touches my shoulder.

I spasm with my shaking.

Terror in me, I realize the clarity I have can go away.

I lose my sanity completely.

Terrified, I find motor control and reach a hand to her and grab her arm. “Help me.”

I find words. “Help me help me help me!” I beg. Find the arm with my other hand, cling to her. Try to drag myself up to her and hold on tighter, afraid now she will leave me to be dead again. That she will turn off whatever she turned on to raise me from my grave. “Please please please! Please help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me, please, please, please help me! Please help! Help me!”

I am sobbing. She is answering me, but I don’t hear it past my wails for several tries.

“I’ll help you, it’s okay! I’m going to fix you—I’ll fix you! I’ll help you,” she calls back, and I don’t know the words.

I can only think ‘Help me’—don’t forget don’t forget the words oh please please don’t forget don’t lose them they’re the only words I know to save me. I keep using them. ‘Help me help me help me.’ I am trying to climb up her arms and dig my fingers into her spine so she can’t be rid of me. So I won’t die in the cracks of the ground I’ve been living in. Terrified like I can breathe fear and it is me.

Her arms go around me and she goes down onto the bed with me, wraps her legs and arms around me, buries my head against her chest. Lays her head on top of mine. Holds tight. I cling back. Shaking. Trying to grab more and more and more, until I realize I have grabbed her finally as solidly as I can. My hands still fidget. I plead and plead and plead until I lose my unused voice. I can only hear choked, awful whispers from my throat, but still I try. Finally, past my own dying begs, I hear her making sound back.

I begin to hear it slowly, very slowly, when I can’t hear me anymore.

She clings to me, holding strong, but not crushing. She is saying, “It’s okay.” She says. “You’re going to be okay. I will fix you. I will heal you. You aren’t dead. You’ll be alive again. I promise. It’ll be okay.”

‘Alive again.’

I hear that.

I think ‘again, that’s in the song.’

‘Begin again,’ I know the words now. The meaning.

I feel some kind of clarity. Comfort. Like the song was a promise too. Like the right words.

“Alive again,” I start trying to repeat. I can’t hear myself beyond a hiss anymore, but I try. I try, I try, I try.

She must hear it somehow. She says, “Yes, alive again. I’ll fix you. I promise. It’s okay. Calm down, okay? I can heal you.”

Heal.

I think of the little white…stimpacks, I almost remember. ‘Heal.’

I think of closed cuts.

Heal.

I try to shut my eyes. Try to not cry anymore.

So tired. Maybe I will die from the crying. I worry sincerely then that I might.

“There you go,” she whispers, and her grip loosens, “It’s okay.”

I panic. “No,” I beg, opening my eyes, shaking again, trying to find her face and pull her closer to me, “No don’t go Apple don’t go please!”

I am crying again. I see her face, surprised. Pain. She must be hurt too.

“Don’t put me back please,” I weep, “Don’t make me like I was please please! Do anything! Anything! Don’t break me again, please! Please don’t!”

I think she will cry.

“I won’t.” Her voice shakes.

I am too scared to believe her.

Trembling all along my body, I tug my head against her chest again and try to hold tight to make it hard for her to go. I can’t breathe slowly, and I can’t get enough breath in my lungs. It scares me too. I am afraid it means I am already dying again. So soon.

“No please,” I whimper, “Please Apple. Please. Don’t hurt me anymore. Don’t break me again. I’m sorry. Please. Don’t break me. Don’t kill me again. Please, I want to be a person. Don’t take me away. Don’t. Please don’t. Help me. Please, please. Please. Help.”

“Okay,” she promises, not moving anymore, “Okay.”

She stays a long time. I beg, and cry, and plead. She says words I remember and words I don’t and words I half know, voice soft like the bed, and sad, worried. Kind.

She holds on to me.

I am so exhausted from begging and crying and being a corpse, I lose consciousness finally, after hours.

I’m already dead.

I was the whole time. I just didn’t know it.

-

When I wake up again, I feel heavy. Stiffness like a corpse. I am sure that is what I am now. I am afraid to open my eyes and see it. I know she will be gone. Everything is gone.

But, I open my eyes.

She is still there.

I am curled up on her, clinging. She is quiet, watching me. Awake, and still there. She did not leave me.

“Hey,” she says softly. I stare. “How are you doing?”

I try hard to remember what that means. Makes my head ache to try.

But.

…’am I okay’. I turn the sound into words into meaning. Try to go the other way and turn meaning into words into sound.

“I am alive?” I check worriedly.

She nods. “Yes.”

I think. My voice cracks. “I can stay alive?”

“You will,” says Apple, “I promise.”

I cry again. Pull myself closer to her, worried. “You help me?” I ask when I can make words.

“Yes,” she promises, arms wrapping gently around me, “I’ll help. Don’t worry. We’ll fix you up. Like new. I’m really good at medicine; I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

I try to express gratefulness, but all the words I can think of are ‘We.’ That she called us ‘we’. Me, plus somebody else. Her, and me. Not alone now. Not alone.

“We?” I manage.

“Yes, we,” she agrees, “We’re together now. You’re not alone.”

I try to believe it. Try to calm down. “Two of us?” I suggest.

“Two of us,” she agrees, and there’s something important in her face.

#Fallout New Vegas #Old World Blues #Fallout New Vegas fic #Minka Pripo #Courier 6 #fallout fic #labotomites #The people she's talking to are the Auto Doc and Light Switch AI in the Sink (hence the smart lights being activated to up intelligence in #humanoids in the area). sorry you all had to find out I kill the robo dogs if I get scared this way I'm sorry #but I was afraid they'd kill Roxie :'-] her health so so bad #labotomite oc #I gotta name the man uhhhhhhhh. Well he doesn't remember his name. So. What would /she/ call him. or he call himself? #me writing

[dice-nagito-ace]

Nine Clowns Walk Into A Hospital

king: hey wouldn't it be funny if we started dominating the world like joker keeps joking about

queen: king, you fucking megalomaniac queen: we go with russia first

OR; Post-Game VR AU where DICE, without it's beloved leader, commit to the bit.

so it was real and it wasn't, almost a sick imitation of limbo, purgatory in which they signed their lives away into it.

they're left in a room where they're all fine, technically, but there are echos of the experience that they can't shake off and they can't, exactly, talk about it, NDAs were such a pain.

they've all agreed to keep contact, if nothing else but the fact that only they could understand what it was like, their own bond forged in blood.

except, there was only one left missing, surgery had to be done the moment his simulation was disconnected, to stop the stress on his bones.

they don't know how to approach him, his presence lingered all the same within their minds, either way.

they're not sure on who's going to come out that door, the one before, the one after or an amalgamation of both.

they're not sure what they want to see.

they never get to.

because there's a knock on a different door and out comes and comes and it never stops until it does and now there's nine new people in their fragile haven, all in white suits and wearing masks, falling in line, waiting.

they ask– of course they ask and the one of the smaller ones, smiles, bared teeth and friendly but no doubt, ready to bite.

"we're waiting for joker."

it takes a while, but the detective is the first, easy enough to connect really, when he looks and sees– checkered items, somewhere on their person, black and white, whether that be socks, bracelets or their masks.

"you're- DICE...?"

they grin but say nothing else, waiting, watching, they're not here for them.

and when the doors burst open, grand entrance for a grand leader, heterochromatic eyes– and wasn't that a surprise, it shouldn't but it is– taking stock of the room, pausing in recognition to the lackeys he's missed, mouth parting to call only to stop.

kokichi stares, no grins, no cheeky remarks and it's almost more off putting to see him without his sharp edges and the DICE members fidget and squirm.

"what did you do?"

one of them cracks, "it was king's idea."

"lead by jack's unit!" "under queen's orders!"

they fall into squabbling and they have to blink and wonder why the fuck were they intimidated at all by these people.

"my royal flush, my sweet suits." kokichi trills in the tone of a waiting disappointed father or a simmering angry mother, a role reversal that has them all silenced as he smiles.

"what did you do?"

it's quiet, one of the boys cough.

"you won the russian election?"

...what.

but the biggest surprise was that kokichi wasn't, instead looking exasperated and checking his phone.

"i was gone for a month."

"it was a bet-" "we wanted to see if we could-" "come on, joker, you kept saying stuff about world domination-!" "you like the cold!" "we can go ice skating for free now-" "joker, please don't be mad-" "dad-" "HA! you called him dad, again!" "da- joker, it's a gift, surprise?"

DICE all but scrambles over to their boss, one of them begins putting on a hat and cape and his signature bandana, on top of the hospital gown he was still wearing.

"who were the other candidates?"

"they were assholes, joker-" "nooo, i don't want them in power." "come on, joker, they're letting us have panta imported there." "the public loves you-" "plus with danganronpa you're already in the public eye-"

they all watch as DICE fall over themselves to make up to their disgruntled head of the organization.

"and i'm guessing we have new recruits?"

"yeah!!! you're not lying when you said you have 10k now, boss!"

"gods, you're all clowns." "hey now, boss you called us a circus for a reason!"

#dna aus #dna drabbles #kokichi ouma #ouma kokichi #danganronpa dice

[artdivadej]

Survivors Remorse (XX)

Part one | Part 11+

2 Days Later

Peeta sat on his bunk, twisting the new snell knot Finnick showed him down in the bunkers, when Haymitch came to get him. He needed something to do while the others were on the rescue mission.

“They’re back”

“Is she-?”

“She’s with them. Just waking up. They’d been gassed before pick up so it's wearing off. You can see her now”

Peeta had never moved so fast in his life as he flew towards the hospital wing, fingers clasped tightly around the pearl that he’d had attached to a necklace in his pocket. He felt jealousy whip through him when he heard Annie’s loud, joyous cry.

“Finnick!”

She looked a little smaller than he’d seen her on the tribute selection from the Quarter Quell, but she didn’t look like she’d undergone any kind of physical torture. When his eyes landed on Johanna he could see she’d not been as lucky. They’d shaved her head, not needing to parade her in front of cameras, and she was heavily bruised everywhere the hospital gown didn’t cover. Clearl,y they’d been starving the both of you, but it hadn’t made Johanna lose any of her fire as she tore the needles from her arm and snarled for food. Haymitch pointed the way to the room they had you separated in.

“Hey loverboy, I need to talk to you!”

“Not now” Peeta growled, slipping into the room to see you sitting on the bed, facing away from the door.

Your hair lay against your exposed spinal cord, the hospital gown drowning your tiny body. There were lashes and deep multi-hued bruises littering your back on almost every inch his eyes could take in. As he took in your entire visage, Peeta had to remind himself, this was not one of his nightmares where you’d fade away as soon as he reached out to touch you. No, this time you were really here. The nurse left the room quickly, when seeing Peeta and Haymitch enter the room. When Peeta calls your name, you raise your head quickly in a jerk reaction and slowly turn to look over your shoulder, watching him walk around the bed to stand in front of you.

“Love...it’s really you”, he breathed, reaching out slowly to cup your cheek, wondering why you wouldn’t speak.

Without any warning, you snarl and lunge for Peeta’s throat, blunt nails clawing up his chest as you snap your jaws towards his trachea. Haymitch calls your name again but you don’t listen, continuing to try and rip out Peeta’s throat, nails digging into the sides to try to keep him still. Peeta’s eyes are wide as he struggles to keep your mouth from meeting its goal, his hands on your shoulders keeping you at bay, barely. You’d managed to topple the three of you to the ground as you wrestled to get at his throat. To be so malnourished, you were still strong and he had a feeling, fueled by something other than adrenaline. Your dilated, marble pupils as you snarled and chomped at him, a clear indicator. This was what Johanna was trying to warn him of. They’d done something to your mind and both he and Haymitch were losing the war of pulling you away from his throat.

It wasn’t until Boggs had knocked you upside the head, knocking you unconscious in the process, with a metal pan did you finally loosen your grip on his throat. You slumped against his chest, Peeta wheezing as he looked around at the other two men and the 3 nurses flying into the room now that you were unconscious.

What the hell was happening!?

He didn’t care that you just tried to kill him, he gathered you in his arms and held on tight, despite the nurses attempting to pry you out if his arms. Haymitch huffed irritably, yanking a morphine needle from one and shoving them backwards out the room as he handed it over to Boggs.

“Give the boy a damn minute! She’s asleep, you can poke and prod her later!”, he snarled at them.

Boggs slid the needle into your neck and slid to a corner away from the two of you, allowing Peeta to weep with joy as he rocked you in his arms. He didn’t care what they did to your mind. He would fall for you a million times over and brave any storm to make it back to you. Whatever this was, he would weather the storm with you.

“We protect each other”, he choked through his sore throat, brushing your hair from your face, lying a kiss to your forehead. "I've got you. From now on, let me protect you love"

“Peeta...we’re gonna have to-”

“I know. I know. Just, please.....let me have right now”, he pleaded, arms tightening around you, as he looked up at Haymitch with tears spilling over his cheeks.

Haymitch hadn’t seen Peeta look so much like a child since the day they’d met. He gave a small nod and sank to the floor with him, wrapping his arms around the both of you and squeezing tightly.

“We’ll fix this. I swear”

Excerpt from Chapter 20-Burned Bread available on Wattpad at Maddinkart

#peeta mellark #peeta smut #the hunger games peeta #peeta mellark smut #peeta mellark x reader #peeta x reader #i love peeta #survivors remorse #thg peeta #fanfiction #maddink

[morgansunflower]

No Matter What 2/2

Bruce Wayne X Wife! Reader

Warnings:suggestive content, child-abuse(accused not acted), childbirth, character injury, and heavy angst

Words: 1200

Requested taglist/by @too-strong-to-lose @fancywinnerzinepasta

"push!" the doctor ordered, I pushed screaming out.

Bruce was standing beside me. My knees bent upward as he held my hand. The hours of intense pain, had only made me weaker by the second. I was only wearing my hospital gown that was a v neck.

"his head is out, breathe Mrs. Wayne" I breathe for a moment as Bruce uses a cloth to wipe away my sweat. "it's time to push again, and then you'll have your son"

I pushed "AHHHH!!!" suddenly I feel less pain, I take a shaky breath and then see my little boy. I began to cry.

"he's precious" Bruce mumbled as Damian cried in the doctors arms.

"Mr Wayne would like to cut the umbilical cord"

Bruce steps to cut the umbilical cord. They lay Damian on my chest. The afterbirth soon left after. Bruce leans over to me and kisses Damian's head. I was still crying as I held my newborn. Bruce kisses my lips.

"I'm so proud of you"

Month later I lay Damian in his crib as he sleeps. I just finished nursing my baby. It was 2:30 in the morning and Bruce just arrived home. I step to my bedroom I share with my husband. I see Bruce on his laptop. My heart falls to my gut hearing the old recording of the investigator questioning Bruce. He quickly cuts it off as I enter the room. He clears his throat with his jaw clenched tightly. He tried to make himself calm down. I knew he was hoping I wouldn't catch him.

"darling" he mumbled.

"Bat" I said back.

I take a shaky breath. It was right after we lost Jason that the investigation began. The whole ordeal was horrible. They investigated me, asking if he'd ever hurt me. They even questioned Dick asking about his childhood. I walk to the bed and take the laptop. I put it on our dresser. Bruce takes a deep breath. I walk back to him and hold his face in my hands. I lay my forehead on his and put my hands on his neck, sitting on the bed.

"have you not been through enough torture? Why are you watching something that will only bring you pain?"

"to clear the fog of where I went wrong" his eyes began to shake as his face fell.

"you have me for that and I will be very clear. You did everything you could have done to save him. He thinks that you not killing Joker means you never loved him, but that's far from the truth" I lay my head on his chest and wrap my arms around him "I stand by you. Don't hold your guard up with him. Learn to trust him again.. Let him see how much you love him. He's your son, treat him just as that. Be happy at they very least he's alive"

Bruce holds me close kissing me "I can't lose him again Y/N" he brokenly said a tear falling down his face.

"you won't" I kiss him needing to feel closer to him.

2 years later...

Jason's P. O. V

"Jason!! Son!!!" I hear a sharp whistling "where are you?!!"

I groan, halfway opening my eyes laying on my stomach my whole body burning in pain. My helmet busted and jaw bleeding. I blink twice seeing two sets of footsteps.... I hear, beeping I hear Mom's barely audible voice. I can hear my brother whining in her arms.

"shh it's OK Damian he'll be OK" her voice quavering

I feel her rub my forehead. I felt too weak to open my own eyes or let my mouth open to say anything. I hear a loud crash of something falling.

"Bruce" Mom softly said to him, he must've broke something.

"this is my fault to begin with. I should have been a better.. A better father. Even the world believes I--" he stammered

"don't you dare!" Mom demanded "d-don't you dare. I know you love him. That we love him. They didn't know how much it killed you to lose him. How much he was truly your son, our son. How much it nearly destroyed us. We love him and--" she began to cry "we always will, even when he can't see it. Look at, him Bruce. He's here, he's breathing.. Our little boy is home"

3 days later.. I can't stand this. I'm about to really break. Deep down I want to, so I can finally begin to heal. I wait to hear Bruce leave for patrol and mom leave so I can make my escape. I still had bandaging on my chest and arms. I walk to the elevator maybe my bike is in the front of the Manor. I walk through the hallway to hear a soft cooing sound. I peep into the living room seeing Damian playing with Ace. The German Shepard sniffed Damian's feet making the kid laugh. I softly smile.. Not cute! Don't get sucked in. Ace barked to me and walked to me wagging his tail.

"hey pal. You miss me?"

Damian walked to me giving me a playful glare. I squint my eyes at my little brother. He bites my leg.

"owe! Dami!!" I yelled in annoyance.

He let's go and then began to laugh.

"oh you think that's funny"

I reach down tickling him. He pushes my hand away with a grin on his face.

"ah not too tough are you?" I laugh tickling his neck.

I stopped for a moment ruffling his black hair. He then hugged my arm. I take a deep breath.

"I'm glad you made it out of bed. You're really good with him, I should let you babysit him" Mom said entering the room.

"absolutely not. I can't stand kids.." that was a lie. I would love taking care of the twerp, he's.. Cute.

"oh by the way your motorcycle is in the garage. As I've said many times before you're in no condition to leave"

I sit on the chair while Mom sat in front of me in another chair. This is so hard. I can't expect her to forgive me. Guess my chance of escape as gone from 6 to zero.

"how are you?" she asked me

"I.. Don't know how to really answer that.."

"I know you are trying to be strong but even Batman has his breaking point. Even he needs help to stand back up.. I can't stand to watch you torture each other and yourselves Jason. We want you to stay here. I'm not saying it'll be easy or you won't have set backs, but I want you to be surrounded by those who truly miss you and love you. So you can began to heal from.. From everything"

"I.. Can't.. Not.. After" I try my hardest to prevent the tears from to fall from my eyes.

"yes you can. I forgive you, Bruce forgives you. All we want is for to be apart of this family again"

I knew better to assume she's lying about Bruce. Damian grips finger bending it in different directions.

I know it'll be hard but maybe.. Maybe I really can heal "I guess I could stay.. For a while.."

#batfamily #Batmom #Bruce Wayne X Reader #Jason Todd X Batmom #Childbirth #Baby Damian Wayne #Blood #Injured Jason Todd #Fluff #Hurt #Comfort #child abuse #Only mentioned and never acted upon #ace the bathound #Crying #Angst #Bruce Wayne needs a hug

[countrymusiclover]

20 - Georgie's First Born

(Picture belongs to respectful owner)

Part 21

Texas Romance

Tags - @tyrionsprincess30 @bvbwestfall

3 weeks later

Sheldon managed to get the principal to move the graduation to where I get discharged from the hospital. So we have an hour before Georgie and I will officially be high school graduates. Walking into the school immediately all eyes of every student are on me. Bending my head down I rest my hands on my stomach running my hands over my gown. Someone entered the caffeine and I run up hugging my husband. Georgie breaks the hug putting my cap on my head for me. He puts his on messing up his curls just a bit when otherwise he just smiled at me. Everyone soon does the walk out onto the football field taking a seat in the chairs on stage. Principal Linn stepped up to the podium tapping the microphone testing the sound. "We are here today to say goodbye and congratulations to this group of students. They are here today because they earned the diploma they are about to receive. So a round of applause." Everyone started clapping and cheering in the crowds of parents sitting in the football bleachers.

Names are called and people walk across the stage receiving their diploma and shaking the principals hand. Georgie intertwined our hands together until his name is called. "George Marshall Cooper!" He gets to his feet walking across the stage where I can see his mother crying along with his Meemaw. Missy waved my direction and I wave back with a smile. George gives a thumbs up when his son holds the diploma in front of him smiling then coming back to his seat. "Y/n M/n L/n!" Rising to my feet I squeeze Georgie's hand grinning. I wish I could just run across the stage but it would probably look weird. And I'm already a pregnant teenager walking to get her diploma. Principal Linn extended his hand and in his other he hands me my diploma. I shake his other hand hearing him whisper. "I was wrong about you. Congratulations Ms. L/n." Nodding my head I smiled walking back to my seat until the rest of the names are called. The ceremony finally ended where I felt arms wrap around my waist spinning me up around in the air causing me to laugh in excitement.

"We did it. Y/n, we actually did it!" Georgie cheers twirling me around in circles for a few more minutes then sitting me on my feet. I cam barely get steady on my feet when Missy tackled me in a hug of her own grinning. I wrap my arms around her in a hug smiling back down at my best friend. George and Mary walked up each giving us a pat on the back both crying happy tears. Georgie throws his arms over my shoulders until I suddenly clutched my stomach feeling water running down between my legs. "Georgie it's time!" I blurted out seeing Sheldon turn white as a ghost almost. Georgie and his dad both helped me to the truck where I clutch the door handle moaning. Georgie gets in the driver's seat starting the truck and quickly heading to the hospital. The rest of the family followed behind us in the other car. Missy ran out with a wheelchair when I stumbled out of the truck groaning through some painful contractions in my back. She pushed me inside and a nurse immediately gets me into a room paging our doctor. "Ergh Georgie - I don't know if I can do this." I said in labored breathing once I'm wearing a hospital gown instead of my graduation clothes.

He pulls up a chair taking my freehand in his wincing when I squeeze it a little tighter than he expected. Nurses and the doctor entered the room fully scrubbed in for the delivery of the baby. "Hey, look at me. You can do this. I'll be right here the whole time." Dr. Brooke's sat down in a chair giving me instructions. "Mrs. Cooper, I know we talked about a C-section but you're going to have to push." I gulped doing a couple of pushes feeling tired already. Turning my head towards Georgie I feel my heart beating faster against my chest. Georgie winced when I squeezes his hand, biting his lip trying to be brave for me. I don't know how many hours it was but I finally hear our babies cry fill the room. "It's a girl...it's a girl, Y/n." Georgie breaths out picking up the baby from the doctors arms, forming the biggest grin on his face I'll probably ever see. He slowly lowered the baby onto my chest wrapped in a soft baby blanket. "She's - she's so beautiful, Georgie."

The doctor opened the door and Missy immediately runs up giggling uncontrollably. Connie rests a hand on Georgie's shoulder seeing him crying. "You did good kid." The little girl in my arms has hair the same color as Georgie's and mu eye color. Mary and George each get a chance to hold their first grandchild where Missy sits on the foot of the bed. "So is she named after me, Y/n?" Sheldon shook his head throwing out a name. "Why not use the name Stephanie. Like Steven Hawking?" Missy sticks her tongue out to her twin in discust. Georgie intertwined my right hand with his left mirroring my joy. "Actually we already had a name picked out for a girl. So everyone we'd like you to meet, Aurora Celeste Cooper." Connie finally holds the tiny girl almost bawling her eyes out replying down to me. "That's the perfect name. But let's wait before you have anymore children you two." Georgie and I immediately blushed at her words nodding in agreement.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#texas romance #georgie cooper x reader #georgie cooper #montana jordan #missy cooper #raegan revord #sheldon cooper #young sheldon meemaw #meemaw #george cooper #mary cooper #young sheldon #the big bang theory #teenage romance #high school best friend #wattpad fanfiction #comments really appreciated

[searchingwardrobes]

No Wives, No Mothers, No Lovers : 5/7

Yes, finally! An update! @snowbellewells​, I'm sorry this fic is taking me so long to finish. I hope you enjoy this chapter, especially the characters that appear in it, even though it ends on a cliffhanger. Yes, I said a cliffhanger. On the bright side, this fic is near completion. Yay! Love ya, Marta, and I hope this summer is full of sunshine and rest.

Summary:   He must be hallucinating. Because Emma Swan is supposed to be in Miami, Florida where he left her. Emma Swan isn’t supposed to be on this rocky stretch of beach, completely drenched, and wearing a ball gown of all things. A Lieutenant Duckling AU (sort of) in which Emma is a siren who isn’t supposed to fall in love with a human.  

Length: about 3k in this chapter

Rated: T

Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three  | Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @winterbythesea @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert​ @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare​ @onceratheart18​ @sparlecorn93​ @sals86​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @xarandomdreamx​ @zaharadessert​ @huntressandlioness1​ @iverna​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​

Chapter Five:

Killian gasps and coughs, his chest burning and his head pounding. He’s trembling all over, soaked to the bone, and the rain is pouring down again. Everything is blurry; he can barely see through the storm and rain, but he thinks he sees Emma’s blonde hair. Thinks he feels its soft, silky strands caress his cheek, which is odd. Her hair should be wet. But maybe every bit of it is a dream because his eyes slide shut, and then darkness surrounds him again . . . 

The next time he awakes, he can’t keep his eyes open, no matter how hard he tries. He only gets glimpses of the people around him, and a bright light above. The light hurts. The sand and rocks scrape his skin. Someone calls his name . . . 

He awakes the third time in a hospital bed. The light still hurts. So does his throat. Its silent except for the beeping of machines. Liam is asleep in the chair beside his bed, but the moment Killian turns his head, Liam is awake and reaching for his hand. 

“Emma,” Killian manages to rasp out, his throat like sandpaper. 

Liam frowns, shaking his head. “You were alone on the beach when we found you.”

Killian struggles to speak, but his throat feels like it’s closing up. Liam tries to get him to stop talking, to calm down. 

“Must . . . find her . . . help her.”

Liam has a difficult time meeting his gaze, but he finally manages to tell him the truth. “Killian, it stormed that night. The tide was strong. The shoes Emma was wearing washed up on the beach, so . . .”

And just like that, a piece of Killian dies. At least, it must, considering what comes as the months slip by . . . 

The doctors can’t explain any of it. There seems to be no purpose for the fevers that rage, the pain that afflicts different parts of Killian’s body: sometimes his throat so he can not speak, sometimes his legs so he can not walk, sometimes his head so he can not tolerate the light. Things get worse as the days turn to weeks, the weeks into months. At times he struggles to breath, at others he doubles over in pain. He has no appetite, but he tries to eat whenever he sees the fear in Liam’s eyes. The food only comes right back up again, though. He’s slowly wasting away, and nothing can explain why. Every test comes back negative. There’s no cancer, no autoimmune disease, no tumors, no explanation whatsoever. Killian jokes that he’s a gift to medical science. Neither Liam nor Elsa laugh. 

He never thought of himself as important in the town of Storybrooke, or even well-liked. Yet, all of a sudden, he seems to be the town's beloved son. The church’s pray for him every Sunday, fundraisers are thrown to cover his medical costs, a wheelchair and a ramp are donated by the nuns in town, and they have enough casseroles in the freezer to feed them for an entire year. 

He has visitors often, even from “the dwarves.” When Liam and Elsa push him along Main Street in his wheelchair, everyone stops to talk.

One afternoon, Killian shouts for Liam to stop. 

“What is it, little brother?”

Killian peers at the boardwalk along the shore, his eyes narrowed. A flash of bright red hair is the last thing he sees. Killian sags in his chair. 

“Nothing. I just thought I saw someone I knew.”

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

Miles away, a strange procession walks towards the shore. Three beautiful young women carry the emaciated body of a fourth young woman. Though the fourth one is unable to keep her eyes open and sags in their arms, she is easy to carry.

The women walk right into the sea, floating the sick woman’s body upon the water. Her blonde hair fans out around her. It was once sparkling gold, now it is a sallow, dirty yellow. Her once pink, fair skin is now a ghastly gray. Her full cheeks are now sunken and dark circles line her eyes. 

The eldest of the women, a woman with auburn hair named Belle, takes charge. She has served Mother Ocean for fifty years now. Not as long as Emma, but half her sentence. Mother wouldn’t appreciate the word “sentence,” however. She would call the last fifty years her “gift” to Belle. 

“Mother! We need your help, Mother!” Belle calls. 

The ocean ripples around them, shimmering as it curls around to caress them. Though no words can be heard with human ears, the four sirens can understand Mother Ocean as she speaks. 

Well, at least three of them can now. The blonde may be past the ability to hear anyone, even the ocean. 

What is wrong with my daughter? Why is she sick? Sirens can’t get sick!

“Obviously they can,” mutters Ruby, her dark hair cascading about her, still full and dry though it is halfway in the water. Ruby has served Mother Ocean for thirty years and can still be a bit rebellious.

“Careful, Ruby,” Belle warns. 

“Emma is dying!” Ruby snaps. “I don’t give a damn about protocol.”

The Ocean calls herself their Mother. Calls the sirens her daughters. Says she loves them. But she can also be a cruel and capricious master.

My Emma can not die while in my care! 

Mother Ocean rages, ripping Emma’s body from the hands of her sister sirens and plunging her beneath the waters. 

“No!” the other three shout. 

Mother Ocean releases the blonde siren in mere moments, however. Emma pops up out of the water, choking and gasping for breath. She sags, struggles, then goes back under. The other three grab her and hold her aloft upon the water once again. 

“See!” The siren with bright red hair weeps. Her name is Ariel and she has only just begun her sentence as a siren two years ago. She still has 98 years of service ahead of her. 

I don’t understand. The Ocean’s voice echoes in their heads. Why can’t she breathe underwater anymore? Why can’t she swim?

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Ruby replies. 

Suddenly, the waves grab the brunette. Tendrils of watery tentacles wrap around her neck, and Ruby begins to gasp for breath, her fingers clawing at the watery strands about her neck. 

Perhaps I have tolerated your insolence for too long, daughter!

“Please, Mother,” a sickly voice rasps, “spare her. She is only worried about me, her sister.”

Mother Ocean drops Ruby with a splash and envelopes Emma in a watery cradle. 

My dearest Emma, what is wrong?

Though she is gasping for breath, Ruby still speaks the truth. “Perhaps it’s the fifty years you added to her sentence. She only had twenty more to serve!”

She vowed she would do anything if I only saved that boy. She defied me by going to him at all! She knew the rules! I had mercy upon her. And him. 

It was the way of the sirens. No wives, no mothers, no lovers. Mother Ocean would not rescue a woman from drowning if she was any of those things. And when a woman made the deal - salvation from drowning in exchange for one hundred years of service as a siren - she also agreed to never fall in love. 

“Honestly?” Belle says quietly. “She was never the same after the cruise ship.”

She has always been tenderhearted. Sighs Mother Ocean, as if it is a character flaw. Yet she defied me too that day!

Belle, Ruby, and Ariel exchange hesitant glances. It’s true. Mother Ocean has to be fed, and it’s up to her sirens to fulfill her appetite by luring people to their deaths with their song. It isn’t a pleasant task for any siren, but it has always been especially difficult for Emma. Maybe because her family died the day she was rescued. Or maybe because there had always been something special about Emma. A sense of compassion and justice. That fateful day when Mother Ocean had called them to the cruise ship, Emma had stopped singing when she saw the bride in the water, frantically searching the waves for her groom. Emma had been tempted to save that bride, and Mother Ocean was not happy. 

Then Emma had disappeared. They all knew she was heartbroken. They didn’t know she had swam towards Killian - the boy she’d fled from in Miami. 

“She tried to forget him, you know,” Ariel tries to explain. “She said she didn’t even mean to go to him. She didn’t even know where he was. She said she felt a tug in her middle, and she swam where it was tugging her.”

Mother Ocean trembles. What did you say?

Ariel, new at this and still terrified of crossing Mother Ocean, gives her sisters a terrified look. 

“A tugging,” Belle takes over. “She felt a tug telling her where to swim, so to speak.”

And after I saved the boy?

“She was depressed at first,” Belle explains sadly, “and then there was the day you called us to that yacht. She did her job, same as always, but halfway home, she was struggling to breathe and swim.”

I remember that. I carried her home. 

“And it’s only worsened since then,” Ariel continues. “She felt like she had a cold, which should be impossible.”

Sirens are immortal during their hundred years of service. They can’t get sick or hurt. They don’t even get tired or need sleep. Then, after their service is fulfilled, the immortality is lifted, and they are a human again at the same age they were when called: 17, 18, or 19. Each girl gets to choose where to live out her new human life. Her sisters help her plan, get settled, and then . . . Her memory of a siren is erased. 

One hundred years, then a clean slate. It seems an easy choice. At first. When all you're thinking of is death by drowning. 

“I’m telling you,” Ruby says, voice still raspy from Mother Ocean’s threat, “you broke her heart with your punishment. She’s tenderhearted about our job, yes, but she’s always loved you, Mother.”

She is a good daughter. Mother Earth caresses Emma again, rocking her in a sweet embrace. And I love her. Which is why I don’t understand. If she loves me, why should fifty more years with me matter? I confess, I was relieved to have her longer. I don’t want to give her up. 

“That isn’t love!” Ruby shouts. In a perverse way, maybe she wants Mother to destroy her. 

What do you mean? 

Tears stream down Ruby’s face. “Love wants what is best for the other person. Love doesn’t demand affection. Love doesn’t threaten. We fear you, Mother!”

“Ruby,” Belle whispers with concern. 

As you should!! Thunders mother ocean. What power on earth compares to mine? 

“None,” the girls answer.

“Please, Mother,” Ariel begs, “heal Emma.”

I - I don’t know how. This . . . shouldn’t be possible. The boy - No, it couldn’t be. It’s never happened.

The three sirens exchange glances, then they nod in agreement.

“He’s sick, too,” Belle tells the Ocean.

What?

“We tracked him down,” Ruby explains. “We thought maybe if Emma knew he was okay, she would get better.”

Ariel picks up the story. “But when we found him, he was dying. With the same symptoms Emma has.”

“Is it because Emma kissed him?” Belle asks. 

If that were the case, Ruby would have died a long time ago.

Ruby shrugs with a self-deprecating smile as the Ocean ripples with her version of laughter. 

I suspected when you mentioned the tugging Emma felt. It’s incredibly rare, but Emma has found her true love. They are now connected. 

“Then why are they dying?” Ariel asks. 

Because I have separated them. The only way either one will survive is if I let Emma go.

“Then do it!” the three girls shout.

I won’t let her go! She is mine!!!!

“Exactly like I said,” Ruby says sadly, softly, “you don’t know how to love.”

It is eerily silent for several long, tense, moments. Then the tide sucks at Emma’s body, ripping her from the arms of her sisters. The girls cry out, tears streaming down their cheeks. 

Give her to me. It is the only way.

#cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #lieutenant duckling #sort of #they're younger but still have trauma #modern fantasy #sirens #emma as a siren #au of siren by kiera cass

[opheled]

Chapter 1

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠…

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██████▒▒▒▒▒50%

████████▒▒▒80%

██████████𝟏𝟎𝟎%

I was walking through the forest late at night, I wanted to get some fresh air but to be truly honest I just wanted to get out of that dusty cabin. The moon was out and the owls were calling for their mates. After I had walked for —I don’t know how long— I stumbled upon an opening with a tree stump that looked like a chair. As I walked over to the stump, I heard a blood-curdling scream. My breathing stops as I look around frantically trying to pinpoint where the screaming came from all of a sudden the screaming stopped, -silence- as I look around no one else was there just the howling of the wind the moon, me, and the crunch of the fall leaves while I walk backward I look around some more and mutter, "What the fuck was that..?" I tried to listen in for footsteps as I slowly made my way back to the cabin, I slowly turned my head side to side to see if anyone or anything would be out and pop up on me, nothing was heard in the distance, just the crunching leaves the wind and my heart beat thumping in my ears. I turned away from the stump and started to speed walk back to the cabin I was staying in. As I was getting close to the cabin, I heard another scream, however this time it sounded closer. I tensed up and looked over my shoulder, nothing just the leaves on the dirt floor and the looming trees. At this point, you could barely see the moon. Even if the light was seeping through, the trees were too thick to even see your hand in front of you, and the anxious feeling in my gut was too much for me to bear. It felt like I could throw up right then and there. But I didn't hear while something was out there Lurking and prodding about. I had to try and keep my cool. I couldn't make ANY noise while getting back to my cabin. "Maybe I should have listened to Joanna and not gone on this trip. I should have stayed in my tiny apartment and-" Suddenly something makes me trip, and I land face-first into the dirt "Ugh…what the hell?" I turn on my side and look down towards my legs, My face goes pale, and I have to hold back the urge to scream, to vomit everything out... .a severed arm…. *Oh god I think I’m gonna be sick Was this why I heard screaming* But the blood was too dry and the arm looked rotten and disfigured You could barely tell it was an arm it looked like it had been there for days, months even.*Oh god this is sick…I gotta get out of here*  I shake my head to try and get the thought out of my head. The one screaming must have been from someone else. I scramble to my feet, shaking from head to toe, the hairs on my neck standing up on my body on edge. Goosebumps all over my arms "I gotta get out of here I can-” 

*¡bam!* 

.

Darkness

. 

I open my eyes and I am met with the stinging of the light. I shut my eyes quickly groaning in the process as I try to regain my composure, but how long has it been? I tried to get up but my arms and legs were strapped to a metal table. “Ugh, What the hell?'' I lift my head -as best as I can at least- and look down at my body, I’m wearing a hospital nightgown that goes all the way down to my ankles there is dry blood and unknown stains on the gown it feels like it hadn't been washed in years, all the color from my face was gone and I was met with the coldest feeling in my life as soon as the metallic iron hit my nose. I looked to my right and the floor was covered with blood and a bag full of what I assumed to be organs or body parts in a corner next to a fridge. *Oh god why*  I struggled as quietly as I could so I didn't draw attention to whatever was outside of this room, but the struggling didn’t do anything in my favor. I couldn't get out no matter how hard I tried. I started to look around the room I was in. It was cold and felt damp. The walls were rusty, and there was a small table beside me with surgical tools and a light. I started to panic more. But I had to have a cool head to find a way to get out of here “Where am I? How did I even get here?” I whisper as if someone could have possibly heard me. And as on cue, ‘someone’ or should I say something, walked in. The person looked human, but they didn’t feel human. The clothes that they wore were ragged and dusty, slightly covered in dry and fresh blood, and its face… I have never been so scared in my whole life. I think they had on a mask - from what I can see anyway-. Blue… while black sludge ran down the mask’s cheeks...blue. Ironic it used to be my favorite color, but now if I ever make it out alive it would only haunt me in my dreams. "Oh you're awake," The 'person' said. Their voice was deep, yet slightly high pitched, it was smooth. It would have been soothing if I hadn't been in a cold, damp, rusted room tied to a doctor's surgical table with belt straps. "I only came in here for this one.” He said, pointing to the other table. He continued, pulling another table out from under a stack of boxes. *what the fuck...* As the man in the blue mask walked past me the body's head turned towards me, their mouth opened just slightly like they wanted to whisper something into my ear " h..el.p me.." The body said, "What the hell.." I said barely above a whisper yet the man in the blue mask heard what I had said "I thought he was dead too but I guess I'll have to take out his kidneys while he's still alive huh?" The man said as he chuckled it sounded more like a growl, as he walked out of my sight I heard a door open the eerie screech was so obnoxiously loud then the door shut and I was left alone with my thoughts.

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To be continued

#eyeless jack #y/n #eyeless jack x reader #x reader #horror #halloween