#(that apartment got burned down like a month after i moved out. it was arson) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iridescentxstars · 2 years

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perilous desires — bangchan

➳ published: 31.03.22 ➳ asylum!au || genre: smut || dark || rated: m ➳ pairing: psycho!bangchan x nurse!reader (fem) ➳ summary: getting made to work the night shift, you're assigned to the ward the dealt with the more... demented of the patients. the ones who are a danger to society. except for him - or so you think ➳ word count: 11.8k ➳ warnings: corruption, slow burn, minor character death, blood, violence, swearing, public sex, borderline joker/harley vibes, dark themes, dom/sub themes, psychopathic elements [do not read if uncomfortable] ➳ author's note: thank you to @soluvcore and @sanjoongie for reading this over! all feedback is welcome and encouraged, please let me know what you think!

When you got the job at Wayward Souls Psychiatric Hospital, you thought that you had hit the jackpot. For years, you worked hard and managed to become a qualified psychiatric nurse while not ending up on the ward yourself. You thought that everything must be looking up from here; you got a new job, your boyfriend and you recently moved in together and life just seemed to be on the up and up.

Until the rose-coloured glasses came off and you realised that things weren’t as good as what you thought they were.

You tried not to complain, you always lived to be more optimistic than most people but when everything seemed to crumble around you – even your optimism couldn’t save you from cursing the world. The boyfriend of your dreams turned out to be a cheating liar and left you in the apartment alone without any closure. The apartment itself had a few problems but those seemed to pale in comparison to the job that you had so eagerly signed up for. Wayward Souls Hospital was misnamed, you would call it an asylum more than a hospital and the jobs that the other nurses always had you doing were nothing more than janitorial at best.

Cleaning, there isn’t a wall in these rooms that you haven’t scrubbed at some point over the past month. Washing, you’re sure that you’ve cleaned every item at least three times a week. You’ve had to go down to the basement twice, by yourself with nothing more than a flashlight and radio because storms always cause outages so guess who has to go and flip the breaker? Shower time is something that you’ve truly come to hate because the other nurses always make sure that you get the ones who need to be scrubbed with hot, soapy water – and bite.

When you thought life was looking up, it seemed like you were actually looking at your future Hell on Earth and while you always smile through it all, doing your best to not let it bring you down – you slowly start to understand why some of these patients are here. Telling yourself that you could never commit arson, or murder, that you are far too kind to do such things is the only way you keep yourself sane.

“Have you cleaned the shower drains?” Ryujin comes in and asks while you lay out in the garden on your break. The garden at Wayward Souls is the only redeeming quality that this place has; patients are always encouraged to spend time outside and some can plant in the gardens but what you love the most is the rose garden and its hidden little bench by the pond. “It’s Sunday, the drains need to be cleaned.” She continues like you didn’t hear her the first time.

With a heavy sigh, you sit up and put on your best smile, “yes, I did it before I took my break.” You look at her and Ryujin narrows her eyes as if she didn’t believe you. You are certain that you cleaned those drains because you frantically scrubbed your hands and cleaned underneath your nails after you had disposed of the trash. Even while wearing gloves, a mask and a spare change of clothes so that your uniform didn’t get dirty, you always felt unclean when cleaning here because of the various bodily fluids, hair and… nails, you would find.

As if she isn’t completely satisfied with the fact that you’ve been doing your job – and doing it well – she looks over at you when you’ve finally laid back down before turning on her heel and very dramatically trips over her own feet. You don’t see it happen, you only hear her cry out for help as she lands with her back in the nearest rose bush. “Help!” She cries and you scramble to stand up, rushing to her side while you wave to one of your co-workers to help you.

“Ryujin, how- what happened?” You frantically ask, worried as you see the blood on her white scrubs. While she isn’t grievously harmed, you can tell that she did manage to gain a few deep scratches on her biceps and upper thighs but she had managed to save her face from getting cut by any stray branches.

“I tripped over something,” you look around where you are and can’t find anything that would cause such a fall. “Don’t you look at me like that!” She spits out when you look back at her, questions ready on the tip of your tongue, “do you really think I would do this to myself?”

The way that she snaps at you causes you to recoil and shake your head, hands raised defensively. “No, I didn’t say that-”

“Then what were you going to say?” You know that with the way that she’s behaving that there is no way that you could possibly win this argument so you sigh and shake your head, mumbling your apology which only causes her to huff, “that’s what I thought.” As you help her towards the building, you know that the conversation about who is going to cover her night shift is going to come into question. You’ve been there for the last few hours and so you know, you just know that you will be one of the lovely contestants that are going to be looked at to do the job.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“All you have to do is go down the hallway at set intervals and check on everyone,” Johnny says as he points at the cameras that show the ward that you’ll be covering. “We take turns, one watches while the other goes down and makes sure that the patients aren’t doing anything that they shouldn’t be doing.”

You had known that you would be chosen, your terrible luck has proven you right once more, but what you didn’t realise was that you would be pulling a graveyard shift covering the ward that everyone has so charmingly named: Eternal Darkness. You had learnt in your first week there that this is the ward where the real crazies go, the ones who are insane and a danger to society as well as themselves. A lot of them are in straight jackets, padded rooms, with no shoelaces or anything that could even remotely be used as a weapon against themselves or anyone else. The one benefit to this ward was that the majority were heavily medicated and thus, they were quiet and too out of it to care about the nurses checking in on them periodically.

“Don’t talk to Room 1003.” You hear tapping on the screen and pay attention to the room that Johnny is referring to. “No matter what he says, don’t talk to him.”

“Why?” Does it really matter? No. Are you planning on striking up a conversation with anyone when it was your turn to do the rounds? Definitely not, but it is rather curious to be told not to talk to someone when a lot of the time, you’ve been encouraged to make the patients feel as human as you possibly can in this… hospital.

Johnny thinks for a moment and you can see it in his eyes, the thought on whether he should tell you or not before he shakes his head. “He’s been here for about five years and there’s been talk that he drives people insane.”

You snort, causing him to look at you with a serious expression and you try to keep yourself from laughing even more. “Nobody can be that bad, you’re making it sound like he has superpowers or something.” Johnny shrugs and you giggle, covering your mouth to stifle the sound. While life has made things rather hellish for you lately, you still cannot believe that people are inherently bad – that there is pure evil in the world – so, while Johnny is standing there, trying to argue the case about how the patient is the Antichrist, you simply couldn’t wrap your head around it. “I’ll take the warning but I’m sure he’s not that bad, have you ever spoken to him yourself?” His silence telling you that he hasn’t and making your face soften slightly, “then you can’t be listening to the rumours that are clearly spread to disturb people. It’s like when people make things up about hospitals being haunted and that they see a ghost and as time goes by, everyone believes it without a doubt because the mind is playing tricks on them.”

Johnny shakes his head at you, sitting down in his chair while you head to grab your sandwich out of your bag, “I heard about you, the nurse with too much pep in her step. Even when you’re given the shitty jobs, you always do it with a smile and cheerful attitude.” You smile as you sit down, not finding that an insult at all because you’ve heard that a lot, “I really thought they would have broken you.” He grumbles under his breath but you manage to hear it, the words causing you to freeze slightly before you take a bite.

Has this been their goal all along, to make you bitter like the rest of them, to make you see the world in black and white with no joy at all in your life?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, one night working the shift turned into a week and the week had turned into a month; it was like some sick twist of fate had happened and you somehow got stuck doing the late-night shifts with Johnny – who wasn’t the worst person to be with but he definitely wasn’t the best. You hadn’t stopped thinking about what he said, how they haven’t managed to break you and whenever you brought it up, he would tell you one horrifying story after another about the way this place would ruin everything good about a person until they become as heartless as some of the patients here. The only benefit that comes with working this shift is that you don’t have to do the terrible cleaning jobs that they’ve been making you do since you started – however, now you are stuck with patients who love to scream at all hours of the night and try to grab your shirt when you walk past.

It’s not always bad, you tell yourself, it could be worse. They have their shower times during the day, they also have bathrooms attached to their rooms so you don’t have to escort anyone, and the most that you’ve interacted with a patient is when one had asked you for pudding. You knew that you shouldn’t really but there was no harm in it so you snuck a pudding to him on your next round, earning a small smile that brightened your night.

The small things.

“I haven’t heard anything from that patient you warned me about,” you say one night after returning from your check. “He always seems to be sleeping whenever I walk past.”

Johnny snorts, leaning back in his chair and placing his feet up on the table, “maybe he’s dead.” He chuckles before shaking his head, “he’s an insomniac but they’ve upped his medication so maybe he finally gets some sleep.” You can hear in his voice that he doesn’t necessarily care, that it’s just an observation more than him caring about the patient’s health. “Well, it’s my turn.”

You sit there, watching Johnny on the camera walk down the corridor when you notice a face peer through the window of Room 1003. Leaning closer, you try and distinguish the face, a face that has made you curious for the entire month considering you haven’t seen it yet but you can’t tell anything from the grainy black and white stream. Other than his lips moving. “Johnny said not to talk to him…” You ponder out loud, watching Johnny stop briefly by the door before carrying on and when he leaves, the face has disappeared but your curiosity hasn’t. There are so many questions in your mind that you barely even notice Johnny’s presence when he comes back, chewing your pinkie finger in thought until he taps you on the shoulder.

“You hungry?” He asks, eyebrow raised as you sit still, pinkie still in your mouth and eyes looking at him for a moment before you come back to the present.

“Oh…” You let out a nervous laugh and shake your head, “no, I was just thinking.” You wipe your hand on your shirt as your eyes go back to the screen that shows the corridor he was just down, “you warned me not to talk to that patient but I noticed that you spoke to him.”

“Nah, he asked if I could get him a bag of liquorice tomorrow but I told him that I wouldn’t.” You look a little horrified that he would turn down a patient’s request, “this isn’t a holiday for them, they are here for a reason so why should they get luxuries?” You’ve learnt not to argue with him because arguing gets you nowhere but that doesn’t stop you from feeling bad for him. He’s been here a while from what you’ve heard so that means he’s missed out on a lot of things that he may have had in his daily life and the food here isn’t the best so you try to imagine what it must be like. It’s sad, something you shouldn’t be feeling sad about but it doesn’t stop the slight pang in your chest.

You shouldn’t, but you’re going to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes you a week to pluck up the courage to bring the patient the sweet treat that you had bought, you just weren’t certain whether Johnny would remember such an interaction so you waited and took your time to do it. You have the prime opportunity tonight, Johnny is tired and happens to be asleep every time you do your rounds which honestly, isn’t very professional but what you’re about to do isn’t professional either. Making your way down the hallway, you walk with your hands in your pockets before you stop in front of the door of your pudding patient – Minho. You’ve had small conversations with the man, nothing too deep or revealing but you’ve learnt that he loves cats and misses his three pets that he’s had to leave in the care of his friend while he’s been here. “One day,” he always says, “one day I’ll have them back.”

You never get too close to the patient’s doors when you do your rounds unless you need to check in on them but you always take a peep in Minho’s room and smile because he seems to rip all the cat pictures from magazines and sticks them to the wall with chewing gum. Disgusting but endearing in its own way.

“Here you go,” you say as you walk to the door and place the pudding cup and wooden spoon by the small opening in his door for him to take. “I had a look and saw you requested some paper and crayons?” Minho blinks as he looks at you, nodding slowly while his hands quickly take the pudding, “I can find you some colouring books with cats in them, I know that recreation time for you isn't as long as the others so that way you have something to do in your room. Would you like that?” Another nod, cautious but with the hint of a smile. It’s not surprising really, you know that a lot of the nurses here don’t seem to care much about the patients so your interactions with Minho are always touch and go because he must be waiting for the day where you turn like the rest of them.

Not that you will. You refuse to let them win like that.

“I’ll collect your trash on my next round, okay?” You say before continuing your walk down the hallway, reaching the end where Room 1003 is. “H-hello?” You say, standing on your tiptoes as you look through his window and find that the man isn’t laying on his bed, back to you, like he normally is. He’s sitting on the bed, elbows resting on his knees while staring at his hands. You cannot see his face is hidden in the dark as he doesn’t have his light on and the only light provided is what comes through the small door window, which you’re covering by looking through. “Can you hear me?” His head turns towards you and you gasp as you see him.

You aren’t sure what you had been expecting when you finally met him, when you finally put a face to the mysterious rumours you’ve heard about the ‘psychotic, twisted, murderous patient’ but what you are met with – isn’t even close to what you may have thought. His black hair is messy like he’s just woken up and his dark eyes are emphasised by the dark circles underneath, you wonder if he’s slept at all with how hollow and empty they make his eyes look, his lips are downturned but not quite frowning, more like he’s annoyed by someone speaking to him.

He stares at you for a moment, taking in your wide-eyed expression before tilting his head as his lips pull up at the corners into a slight smirk. “Ah, the angelic nurse. I’ve heard about you.” His voice is soft, surprisingly soft for the way he looks, “what do I owe the pleasure of finally meeting your acquaintance?”

It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts and respond, “oh,” you take the liquorice bag from your pocket and place it down for him to grab. “Johnny told me that you had asked for liquorice last week.” The man looks at the open slot, eyeing the bag suspiciously before looking up at you for an answer. It takes you a moment, a small smile on your lips before you look behind at the camera and realise that you may be running out of time. “I guess that I like to make sure that my patients are looked after because something like a sweet treat isn’t that bad and I think it’s silly to be denied it.” There’s a silence that falls that has you shifting a little uncomfortably in your spot as he looks at you. “Well, I better get going. Don’t tell Johnny, I’ll get in trouble.” Rushing away, you quickly head back to the nurse’s office and let out a sigh of relief when you find Johnny still asleep in his chair.

Taking your seat next to him, you look at your phone before the voice in the back of your mind tells you to look at the cameras. Squinting slightly, you notice that the patient in Room 1003 has taken the bag which has you smiling a little before you look at the window of his room and notice that he’s standing there, staring at the camera – almost like he’s looking directly at you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking at the bag, Chan grins, chuckling to himself as he lays down on his bed and rips it open with his teeth. The chewy, teeth-rotting sweet raspberry liquorice is a nostalgic taste, something he hasn’t indulged in for a few years – six, to be exact. He wonders if you’re as sweet as he chews his first piece in thought, the flavours rich on his tongue that have had nothing but bland asylum meals in what feels like a lifetime.

It would have been so easy to ask for your name but then where would the fun be in that? Wouldn’t it be much more exciting to learn everything from your conversations with Minho and then impress you the next time he spoke to you? Chan thinks about how you would react, it’s been a while since he got to mess with any of the nurses. The males refuse to give him much time or attention, refuse to play along. Johnny always ignored him, hearing his reputation and knowing it’s better to keep away than to be caught up in his web. However, the females? Ryujin was a real delight, just as crazy as they all were here but she knew what she wanted and she took it, but you? Oh, you look so innocent in comparison to the other nurses which made you perfect.

Nothing excites him more than the thought of slowly corrupting the innocent.

You wouldn’t know about anything that happens in this place, so doe-eyed and fresh, you wouldn’t have been pulled down to the level that the rest of them are at. Ironic really, how those who are meant to be helping them are just as crazy as they are but the only difference is that they aren’t a danger to society. Unlike him. Chan is willing to show you though, have your eyes opened to the chaos that resides within these walls and the more you aren’t willing to accept, the more he’ll push until you can’t resist it because everyone has a little bit of darkness residing inside them – all it takes is the right person to help drag it out.

Kicking or screaming, either way is fine.

A dark chuckle passes through his lips as he bites down on another piece of liquorice, thinking about his new toy to play with before hiding the bag down the side of his bed. He wouldn’t want anyone to notice that someone has snuck him in a treat – not that anyone would really care. Chan stares up at the roof, the darkness around him only broken by the light coming through his door window and sleep doesn’t greet him until he hears your soft footsteps coming down the hall. So pretty. He wonders if he should let Ryujin know that, he knows how jealous she can be and he’s well aware that she despises your positive attitude. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see what his last toy does to the shiny new plaything that’s come into his sights?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chan’s days are dreadfully mundane except for the one hour of recreation time he’s allowed. The day starts with their ward being collected and taken to the mess hall to eat, given their pills to keep them agreeable before sitting them down to force grey slope into their bodies, washing it down with watery, lukewarm tea – delicious. He should have played better with others, he shouldn’t have let his arrogance get out of hand and maybe he would be laying in his bed, listening to music rather than having to partake in the torture that is mass. “Pray for your souls,” the priest cries to the peeling roof while Chan cleans his nails even though they aren’t long enough to need cleaning.

“Are you ready?” His head turns towards Ryujin’s voice, her smile looking rather sweet today while she opens his door. Ah, it must be recreation time. The days blur together so much that Chan barely remembers heading back to his room to stare at the four walls, the plain off-white walls that would gradually drive him insane if he wasn’t firmly there already.

Standing up, he puts on his shoes and walks to the door, offering Ryujin his arm. “If it isn’t my favourite nurse.” He says with a charming smile, causing Ryujin to blush as she takes his arm and walks with him outside. “Are you joining me later in my room?” He whispers in her ear as if anyone cared to listen to them. Looking around, she shakes her head and Chan sighs, disappointed that he’s once again being stood up. “Ever since you change shifts, you’ve become quite a hard woman to catch.”

“I like being able to walk around outside with you,” Ryujin clings to Chan, who forces a smile onto his face. “It’s like we are having little dates, just like you promised.” Ah, yes, his words coming back to haunt him once again. “Besides, isn’t the thrill of getting caught exciting when I do come to visit you?”

Humming softly, Chan looks over at one of the nurses smoking, giving zero fucks about what is happening around them. “It does make it rather interesting to see how long it takes before someone realises that you aren’t doing your job but you know I don’t like being rushed or interrupted.” He stops and looks at Ryujin, leaning in closer and taking a soft whiff of her neck, noting the hint of cologne on her skin. “Mm, smells like you’ve been rather busy though. Is that why you were so eager to switch shifts with the sweet newbie nurse?” Ryujin pulls away, covering her neck and looking at him in shock

Oh, how did he know? She should know by now that he’s very intuitive, very good at picking up on things and figuring out people. He’s a puppeteer and she’s always been his little puppet, or well, she used to be.

He can see the thoughts cross her mind before she manages to verbalise them, the words that are meant to cut him deep and make her feel like she’s holding all the cards but as she says them, it only solidifies the thoughts that Chan’s already had playing in his mind. “You know that this doesn’t mean anything, that this was only a fairytale to help us pass the time.” Ryujin can see it in his eyes that she’s done for. “We-we were never going to be able to live the fantasy you tried to sell because you were never going to leave this place. We both know that.” She continues to ramble, digging her hole deeper while Chan doesn’t do anything other than stand there expressionless and watching her with dark, tired eyes.

“Nurse Ryujin,” she winces at the way he says her name with no emotion, “I’d like to go back to my room now. I’m tired.” Not entirely a lie, he’s tired of listening to her try and defend herself but also he doesn’t feel like walking around the same grounds he knows like the back of his hand with a woman he would rather strangle. Maybe he’ll get the chance soon but for now, he’d rather be in his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are harder to work out because you don’t give Chan the chance to talk to you, smiling at him when you walk past and check his room before he manages to grab your attention; it’s frustrating but he’s always been up for a challenge and he’s got all the time in the world to work you onto his side, wrap you around his little finger. It takes him a while to get you to talk to him, small conversations at the beginning, asking for things like liquorice and honey cashew nuts, giving you a sense of fulfilment when you bring these things to him and creating the thrill that comes with breaking the rules. Not that anyone would stop you from doing it because all of the nurses break the rules and the doctors are far worse but it didn’t take Chan long to figure out that you weren’t like the others, courtesy of Johnny and his grumblings down the hallway about how you are so proper - so good.

It takes him a month to move up from small conversations initiated by him for you to always peer in his door when you walk past, waving and waiting for him to talk to you. You don’t react too much to his flirtation, laughing it off and telling him that he must sweet talk all the nurses - yes but not since his latest obsession with you. The other nurses have noticed this, the cold shoulder that he started giving Ryujin began to spread to the others because they began to feel too easy, they didn’t challenge him enough while you provide everything he needs to keep him preoccupied. How does he catch your attention? Would you sit in his room and talk with him? Do you taste as sweet as you sound when you speak with that cheerful tone like the world couldn’t be more beautiful?

How wonderful will it feel to finally break you and have you doing everything he asks you to do?

It takes another month to get you to start opening up about your life, your life is tragically less than happy from what you tell him and Chan, of course, sympathises with you, offering you someone to talk to whenever you’re having a hard day. Such a gentleman, isn’t he? “I couldn’t do that to you, Chan,” oh, you sound adorable saying his name, “it seems rather inappropriate for a nurse to be turning to a patient like that.” Hmm, so close but he doesn’t give up; with the trouble that has started brewing for you when you start your shift, he’s sure that you’ll be crying to him in no time.

No boyfriend, barely able to see your friends and your family unsupportive of your life - he’s really going to be all you have to vent your frustrations to.

“Whenever you need a shoulder, kitten, you know you can come to sit down and rest your heart here for a moment.” He learnt that the pet name is something that manages to get a desirable response, there were many failed attempts before reaching something satisfactory. You blush slightly, looking down and brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear before muttering a soft thank you and continuing your rounds.

Five months, two weeks and six days. That’s how long it takes for you to begin opening up to him; Chan has to give you credit because he really thought you would only take a few weeks but you held out well. If you’re honest with yourself, there were moments when you nearly folded, needing to take the time to remember that this man was a patient, essentially a prisoner based on his file, and it is your job to make sure he is looked after - not the other way around. Chan could tell that there had been moments, little ones where your cheeks flushed slightly or your eyes would widen but try as he might, you would only give him a few minutes of your time each round and you would never open the door.

Until now and now that you have, he can begin the next step, the next phase and if you continue to follow the path that he lays down, it won’t be long until he has you completely under his spell.

He’s the Pied Piper luring you down the street with finely articulated words until you fall into his trap, Chan’s very good at that, it’s his speciality and he’s rather proud of it. He has the time too, the time to plan and scheme, to gently press buttons and see what reactions he gets before putting everything he’s learned together to capture you. He has already laid it all out, like a strategist putting all the pieces in place before the war begins, and now all Chan has to do is confirm that you trust him enough for him to start the game that nobody knows they are playing but him.

The metal door eerily squeaks as it opens and he lifts his head to see you standing there, holding the door and looking at the floor. Oh, how adorable you look like this, so uncertain as you take the first step towards him, conflicted between what you should do and what you are doing. “Kitten?” He raises an eyebrow, feigning concern as you stand at the entrance, just inside his room, and shake slightly. “What are you doing?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has been a hard day, so much has happened and you wanted to just disappear from the world but you couldn’t, your own need to find some kind of positive in the world keeps you from throwing everything into the fire and letting it burn. You find yourself looking at the picture of your ex, his arm wrapped around his new girlfriend, every moment your mind wandered to the news. Pregnant. You know he cheated on you, that isn’t news at all but it’s the who more than anything that has you wishing you had it in you to curse the world.

“Who’s that?” Johnny says as he notices that you’ve been looking at the picture for the past ten minutes, and several times throughout your shift. “That your sister or something?”

It takes you a moment to answer, the words feeling like bile in your mouth as they come out. “My supposed best friend.” You say, his face moving from your phone to your face and you do not need to see his expression to know what’s going through his mind. “And my ex.”

You hear the low ‘shit’ under his breath before you sniff, blinking back tears before standing up and placing your phone in your pocket. Your feet move on their own at this point, walking you purposefully towards Chan’s room and before you even realise what you’re doing, you are standing there, hands by your side in fists with him looking at you curiously. “Kitten, what are you doing?”

You raise your head, looking at him with tears beginning to well in your eyes, silently begging them not to fall. He’s concerned, why does it make your heart feel a little lighter to know that he’s concerned? Chan is a patient, you’ve always reminded yourself that he’s a patient and you shouldn’t be here but he doesn’t feel like a patient, like he belongs here, even if you know his file and know why he’s here - you are still convinced that there is some kind of mistake. Chan’s always been nice to you, never pushing your boundaries or making you feel uncomfortable; he’s slowly worked your walls and allowed you to come to him in your own time while he’s shared small pieces of his own life.

His family, his dreams, what he would be doing if he wasn’t here. You know him, so you keep telling yourself.

“I…” Your voice breaks and Chan stands, moving to your side and carefully reaching for your hand. You tried to smile through everything, you have always tried to have a positive outlook on life and the things around you but it’s hard. So hard. Once you feel his touch, you break, the sobs wracking through your chest as you fall forward and the man has to catch your frame, bracing himself for the sudden action. “I don’t know what to do.” You manage out in between your sobs, hands holding onto him like he’s all that stands between you and the floor that you desperately want to fall to. “I tried to be so happy and optimistic in life because you have to be, you can’t- you can’t just hate the world but I want to… I want to curse it.”

That’s all he needed to hear. You’re so close, oh so close to where he needs you to be. He’s been listening for months about things in your life and he’s always been impressed how you always tried to be so calm, so sweet, so happy about the terrible card that life has dealt you. He wondered what you would be like if you got angry and threw a punch, how you tear down the world and watch it burn simply for it wronging you, Chan has dreamt about how delicious your wrath would be when you finally broke. You’re not there yet, a little broken now but now he just needs to keep pushing, keep chipping away at that patience until you are everything he knows you could be.

He can see it. Laying underneath the surface, Chan can see that you are like him. All you need is a reason to set it ablaze, to hurt those who hurt you, all you need is to see the world for what it truly is and hate it with every fibre in your body.

The sweeter they are, the crazier they tend to be.

You don’t realise that he’s helped you to his bed, sitting you down before crouching in front of you, hands gently holding yours. “Hey,” he asks, trying to catch your eyes but you sniff and lift a hand to wipe away your tears. “I’ve always told you that you can talk to me, that I’ll listen, do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head; you shouldn’t even be here, let alone crying to him and dumping your problems onto him.

Hmm, maybe you need a little more time.

You don’t notice Chan’s frown of annoyance at your reluctance, he could always change tactics but he needs to remain consistent right now. “What would you like?” A shrug has him sighing softly, trying not to show his irritation. “Do you just want to sit here for a moment before you head back?” A nod, ah, that can be worked with.

Soft encouragements have you shuffling back until your back rests against the cold brick wall and Chan moving to sit beside you, holding your hand and carefully guiding your head to his shoulder while you silently cry out the pain that weighs so heavily in your chest. He doesn’t say a word, on the outside, he looks like he’s comforting you while in his head, he’s calculating and working out the next phase of his plan. You cry, he hushes you softly, holding your hand and doesn’t look at you with pity. You would hate that so you’re thankful.

Maybe it’s not too bad, letting him be there for you, maybe it’s not too bad having someone there to comfort you when you need it but you know that it could be anyone but him - it should be anyone but him. You’ve opened that door though, even when you walk back through and close the door, the lock cannot be latched and it’ll only be a matter of time until you’re back here again.

You shouldn’t come back.

You really shouldn’t.

But you will be and he’ll be waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’ve been what?!” The woman’s shriek startles a few others who are around but Ryujin doesn’t care as she glares at Chan with enough venom to kill a snake. “How long? Is this why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder?”

Chan worked out that the best way to bring you back to him, to have you rely on him and turn to him is to find reasons for you to harbour hate in your heart. You’re too kind, it’s disgusting really, endearing sometimes but he wants you to give in to those dark feelings you felt that night and the best way to do that is to bring more to the surface. He cannot mess with your personal life, he sadly will be confined to this hellhole for the rest of his natural life, a shame really but better than prison, but Chan can make you see this place for what it really is.

Hell. For the lack of a better word but yet, through your eyes, it’s a place that helps those who cannot help themselves. True for the most part, but if only you saw what lay further under the surface and that’s what Chan wants to show you. There is no good in everyone, there is no hope here. The nurses abuse their powers, patients sleep with the staff, doctors steal pills and while there is enough funding that goes into the building to fix the problems that happen during the storms - they prefer to spend it on themselves rather than the facility that needs it.

You’ll see it soon, he’ll show you and it’ll be beautiful when you finally crack.

“You seem surprised,” he responds, looking at her coldly, “the moment you decided to fuck around behind my back was the moment I was done with you so why not find a new toy?” Chan had given Ryujin the idea that you’ve replaced her, that you’ve been warming his bed at night which has gained the desired response from the fiery woman.

Anger.

So misdirected, he thinks as he watches Ryujin storming around the garden, causing people to steer clear of her. Isn’t it rather funny how he’s the one who has discarded her, he’s the one who is playing his games with someone else and pulling your poor innocent soul into the dark unknown, and yet you’re the one she’s going after? He will never tire of such a thing but he doesn’t find as much amusement in it as he usually would have because he knows that you’ll be in the line of fire and he’ll be the one needing to save you. A tedious job for him to have to do but it’ll be worth it.

Kill two birds with one stone.

“She’s going to regret this,” the furious nurse storms off, leaving Chan unaccompanied in the garden and listening to the woman screaming down the hall. Chaos is about to unleash so he needs to move faster than intended because while he knew Ryujin would go for you - he never expected her to act so quickly. It’s not surprising since she’s had it out for you since day one but it is bothersome because he thought he might have had some time to prepare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lights went out, a loud clunk that caused everything to shut down and had Johnny sighing. You pull out your phone, the light illuminating your face before turning on your flashlight and pointing it towards Johnny, who looks just as irritated and confused as you are. During the storms that seem to happen quite often out here, the fuse seems to blow to prevent any surges and you have to head down and flick the switch but there is no storm tonight, so why are the lights out?

“I’ll head down and check the fuse box.” He stands up, grabbing his keys because the systems will be down, “you do the rounds and make sure none of the patients try and sneak out.” You are pretty sure some of them are asleep because you had just finished your rounds but you don’t want to risk it. If some of these patients took advantage of the outage and slipped back into society, not only would lives be at risk but also the reputation of the hospital - meaning you would be out of a job.

Everything seems louder in the dark, the sound of your footsteps, the deep snores from some of the rooms but before you make it to Chan’s room, a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you back, causing you to cry out in surprise and pain. “H-help-” You call out, realising that nobody is around to help you and none of the patients would either, they would use your struggle as an escape. You reach around, dropping your phone in the process, to try and work out what is going on and who’s grabbed you. “L-let me-ah! Let me go!” You manage to get free by swinging your elbow back in hopes of hitting them enough to stun them, making a break for it when you feel their grip loosen.

“You little bitch!” You hear her voice but don’t register it as you bolt in the only direction that you can think of - Chan’s room.

A large hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you into the room, covering your mouth with a low hushing sound coming out from the man in front of you. The lack of light makes you hyperaware of everything else, the heat from his body pressing you against the wall, the sound of your heart racing in your ears and the screeching coming from out in the hallway.

“Are you seriously hiding from me?” You finally realise who it is, eyes widening as you try and see Chan in front of you, barely able to make out his side profile. You can’t tell for sure, even this close, but from the low growl sounding from him, you are sure he’s unimpressed.

“Cha-” you try to speak through the hand over your mouth.

The slight tensing indicates that you need to be quiet, his body moving in closer until you feel his lips graze the shell of your ear. “Quiet now, kitten. Let me take care of you.” You shiver slightly, missing the smirk he wears thanks to the dark, “hide under my bed and don’t come out until I come to get you.” His tone is comforting, authoritative and because of how scared you currently are, you listen.

It’s cute really, how easily you follow his order but his enjoyment over your obedience is cut short when Ryujin steps into the doorway, causing you to scramble. They stand still while you press as close to the wall under the bed as you can, trying to make yourself small and invisible while Chan glares at the intruding woman. “She needs to learn her place.” The words are less aggressive than what she was prior and you wonder why she’s not telling Chan to move.

“You need to learn your place.” Chan counters, stepping forward and causing Ryujin to step back.

Chan’s file had a lot of things redacted from it and all you could gather was that he did some bad things that should have had him locked in jail but due to his seemingly unstable mind, he was locked away here to rot. You could never understand though, he’s intelligent, funny and thoughtful - you have never been able to see the darkness that resides within him but that’s why it made you so easy to fool. Even while he has Ryujin stepping back in fear, all you could think about is how Chan is protecting you rather than using your misfortune to his advantage. Chan isn’t good, not in the slightest but you refuse to believe it, not that he minded at all because convincing you that he’s not at all as bad as everyone tries to say he is provided him with some great entertainment over the past months. He’s provided you with a shoulder, an ear and now he just needs to protect you, give you those things you are lacking so that you become reliant and malleable, putty in his hands to mould you into what he sees behind your soft doe eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe his methods were a little extreme, after all, he didn’t have to kill her especially because he was the one who put the target on your back but he needed to make sure, absolutely sure, that you trusted him.

Chan looks down at his hands, Ryujin’s blood staining his skin, his white shirt, and pooling at his feet as the lights turn back on, the sounds beginning to explode around him as the asylum comes back to life. What perfect timing, even as he’s smiling to himself, his face is completely void of emotion when Johnny runs into the hall, halting halfway when he sees Chan and spots the blood. He’s standing there, his eyes wide and mouth open as if he’s about to say something but he doesn’t quite know what to say; Chan looks over at him, head tilting to the side slightly as he looks at Johnny and before anything could even be said, he turns on his heel and walks towards his room.

If anyone asked Johnny about what he saw in Chan’s eyes, he would only be able to explain it as insanity, pure crazy, which only further proves why he did it. There’s no way this was premeditated and when you tell your side of the story, it’ll be clear that Chan acted in defence - if he didn’t do anything, who knows what Ryujin would have done to you.

Chan’s voice is soft, crouching by his bed and reaching his hand under for you to take, “are you okay?” He asks, concerned about you. Not really but who are you to know otherwise? “She’s gone now, she can’t hurt you.”

“G-gone?” You ask but from the state of Chan, he doesn’t need to elaborate on what he said because it’s clear that she’s dead. “What-” you swallow thickly, voice shaky and small as he helps you stand up straight. “What happened?”

Shaking his head, Chan looks you over and brushes your hair out of your face, his fingertips lingering a little longer than they should but you aren’t about to push him away. “Don’t worry about the details,” because he can’t be bothered telling you, “however, you didn’t answer my question, kitten. Are you okay?”

Are you okay? That’s the question of the century right now because you aren’t entirely sure right now. You are shaking, you are scared and all you can think about is how you will be heading to an empty home with no one there beside you.

As you shiver, the adrenaline leaving you and the reality of the situation settling into your bones, Chan wraps you up in his arms, muttering words of comfort. They are empty, hollow, unable to be guaranteed and fulfilled but all you can think about is how nice they are. In his arms, you think about how safe you feel. Right now, you could lay down beside him and sleep, unafraid of tomorrow and what will await you in this hell when you have to recount the events of tonight to a thousand people who will find ways to blame you.

No, they wouldn’t blame you, right? You didn’t do anything wrong, she attacked you unprovoked.

Yet, she’s dead. You’re alive. How can she defend herself while you drag her name through the mud?

They’ll find every way to blame you for this, find ways to drag you further into the dark depths that surround this place and what will you do then? How will you survive when they finally break everything good inside you? Will you conform to their ways, tumble down the rabbit hole and drink their potions or will you claw your way back to the surface and hold onto the light inside you?

“Kitten?” Chan’s voice is so close, his breath warm against your cheek as he brings you back to the present, eyes searching yours for something that you aren’t certain of but he seems to be pleased to find. “You must be heading into shock, you aren’t quite yourself.” His lips pull into a soft smile as he detaches himself from you, leaving you standing in his room alone while he heads to go find Johnny. You can only see the back of his head as he walks away, the smile on his lips twisting into triumph because he got exactly what he wanted from this. Chan could see it in your eyes as you spaced out, he could see the darkness slowly creeping in and all the resistance you had leaving you.

He’s got you, Chan chuckles quietly before dropping his smile, he’s got you in the palm of his hands and now, you’re his. All he has to do is make that claim on you known, make sure that you know that you are his and that you’ll always be his and his alone until he decides to let you go. Maybe he’ll let you live a little, maybe he’ll be greedy and keep you all to himself, whatever he decides doesn’t matter because your grip on the way you view the world is slipping and soon, you’ll see everything for what it is.

Hell. There is no bright side, no greener grass, everything is dark and twisted - even you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been over a week since everything happened and you wish that you could say that you came out unscathed, that your view on the world didn’t change, but that would be lying and no matter how bad things are right now, you don’t want to lie. While you weren’t blamed for Ryujin’s death, Chan had been reprimanded for his actions and you found that unfair, you couldn’t understand why he had been placed in solitary and put on trial for protecting you. In your eyes, he’s a hero, specifically your hero, and should be treated as such but instead, they throw him into a padded cell and try to figure out what to do with him.

You walk into the office, sighing as you pull out your book and wait for your shift to start. You had arrived early because there really isn’t anywhere else that you have to go these days; you had lost touch with your friends due to work, you couldn’t stand how fake people were being which caused you to pull away from people and your family has made comments about your attitude that began to annoy you. Without being fully aware, you had slowly changed, turning into someone that saw behind the rose-coloured veil and saw things for what it is - shit.

The world isn’t as great as everyone likes to believe it is and now you can see that.

As you lose yourself in the book, the time ticking by agonisingly slow, you overhear the nurses that are on shift mumbling to each other as they walk past. “I heard that they released him,” one of them says, causing you to tilt your head absentmindedly in their direction, “the one that killed Ryujin. They said that he acted in self-defence, she apparently attacked one of the night nurses beforehand then tried to attack him.” You slam the book shut and turn to look at them, while they are completely unaware of your attention.

“I was told by one of the security guards that the power had been purposely cut and there is no footage of the incident so they can only go by word.” They continue to walk but you don’t care to hear anymore as you rush out the door and towards his room.

Chan had finally been released and while you know you shouldn’t be so happy, so excited to see him, your feet take you to him like you are on a mission. It has been painful, not physically but mentally, emotionally painful to not be around him, near him. You need him, you had come to realise, because he made your time at work worth it - or, at least, he made it feel like he did. How would your life be if you had never met the patient in Room 1003? How would you be if you had never met him? You can barely even think about the person you were before you had met him because Chan had slowly started to consume your every thought, had started to become a normal interaction in your day that life before him nearly didn’t seem to exist, like it was a blur, and that is not healthy.

Not at all.

Chan hadn’t expected you to come bursting through his door but he isn’t going to say that he’s disappointed, even though you look a little out of your depths when you open the door to him standing there, shirtless. His eyes rise to the metallic mirror in his room, catching your wide eyes as you blush and look away. “Well,” his voice is a little rough from not having been using it while in solitary, “look who came to be my first visitor~” He turns to face you and you can feel his gaze gliding over your body, causing you to heat up. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

Your eyes are firmly on the floor, shifting nervously because you had never seen him like that. You’ve only ever seen Chan fully clothed, though you know that you would be lying if you said that you haven’t been thinking about what he feels like under those boring white uniforms the patients have to wear. You would be lying if you said that you haven’t been wanting to know how his hands feel against your bare skin, lips sliding over yours as he takes your breath away. Oh, how you would be lying if you said that you haven’t moaned his name in your sleep - completely unaware of the hold he has over you. “H-hello,” you stutter, cringing at how small and helpless you sound but Chan loves it.

He’s waited for this for so long and now it’s right here, all he has to do is take it.

Chan walks towards you, each step seemingly echoing in the small room and your heart almost beats out of your chest. Time moves slowly, your breath a little shaky, body vibrating with anticipation and by the time that Chan has approached you - you’ve looked up at him, eyes wide as you look him over and take all of him in. His muscles are heavily defined, the shadows accentuating the dips of his abdomen from the light source outside of the room; he’s larger than you expected, the drab clothes that usually hang loose truly hide his sculpted body and you realise how much of a shame that is. He’s worked so hard on keeping himself in shape, something you seem to forget is probably the one thing he can do here, and he can’t show it off, be proud of it.

It’s not until you hear Chan’s low chuckle that you come out of your trance, fingers tracing over his abdomen as you had started to zone out and be inside your head. “I mean, if you want to touch, by all means, but I didn’t think it would be you making the first move~” He teases, causing you to quickly retract your hand and shake your head.

“I-I-” You begin, trying to find the words that meant ‘no, it isn’t like that’ but can you really lie at this point? Of course not, you are too far gone to be able to deny him and yourself the final reward of his game. You stop stammering as you look into his dark eyes and see his desire staring back at you. “I want this,” you swallow all your worries, all your nerves and steel yourself to the reality of what’s about to happen.

What you want to happen.

The moment those words left your lips, Chan cups your face and moves closer, your hands moving to rest on his hips as he gazes deep into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. “The moment I start,” he lowers his soft lips to graze against yours, breath mixing with your slow exhale, “I’m not going to stop.” He knows you won’t want him to, your eyes are already closed, waiting for his lips to close the small, minute distance. “I’m going to have you all to myself, my pretty little plaything to do as I please,” his tongue sneaks out and briefly touches your bottom lip, causing you to open it obediently. “Are you okay with that, kitten?” Chan isn’t really asking because he already knows the answer but it’s always best to give you a false sense of control. All you manage to respond with is a soft, pleading moan which is all he needed before kissing you, soft in the beginning, holding your face like you are glass, fragile and delicate, before his tongue snakes inside your mouth to caress against yours.

You don’t think you’ve ever been kissed like this before but then again, you don’t think. You can’t think. Everything that he is is soon overtaking your senses, your body reacting to his touches rather than a conscious decision, like Chan knows where all your sweet spots are, how to coax the lewdest noises from you, and the right amount of pressure to have your body putty under his fingertips. Your body moves under his command, arms holding onto him only to keep you from being too far away from him, even if it’s just an inch, as he guides you to his bed.

Chan could be laying you down in a bed of soft petals from the way he gently lays you onto the single bed, pulling away to gaze down at you, triumphant in his success but you take it as adoration. With a quick glance over at the open door, he’s quick to close it, not wanting any unwanted visitors disturbing the moment that you’ve both been waiting for - for different reasons. “You look so pretty like this,” you’d look even prettier tied up and spread for him but Chan takes what he can get, “can we play a little game, hm? I don’t want to waste this time with you greedily indulging but I also want to make it special.”

“Special?” You look at him, eyes shining with the excitement that had quickly replaced your nerves. You would never be doing this, the old you that is - the you that held onto your sanity and your sweet naive views - but unknowingly you were shaped into everything Chan wanted you to be. Without realising it, you became hungry for the insane, seeing the world as dark and twisted as he did and while you are still foolishly holding on to the way things once were - you’ll soon be his pretty kitten on his lap without needing to be told.

Chan nods, moving closer, hand outstretched as you sit up to look at him, his fingers gently under your chin. “Pretend with me,” he says, voice so soft and sweet like he’s confessing his love and your head moves on its own, up and down in a trance-like nod. “Pretend we are in your room, laying in your bed as we kiss. Pretend that you’re mine, you are everything I want you to be and I’m all yours. I’m yours to do as you please while you are mine to have how I want. Can you do that for me?”

“It’s just pretend?” You ask, blinking a little and Chan nods. He could pull out all the stops but he needs to make sure you can handle him first - a toy isn’t good if it breaks the first time you play with it. It takes you a few seconds to think before you give him another nod which has Chan almost groaning with how sexy he finds your obedience. If you keep this up, maybe he’ll be able to keep you like this for the entirety of your employment here - or until he’s bored.

“That’s a good girl,” he leans forward, kissing you again and smirking against your lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That first night had started it all, your slow descent into madness soon became a full tumble down into a hole that you are no longer capable of getting out of.

Chan’s hand grabs your thigh, sliding up your skirt while his lips attach against your neck, sucking a dark mark against your skin as your head tilts back with the softest moan leaving your kiss swollen lips. You had taken a week off to visit family, a rare occasion that you had discussed with him before going but it didn’t stop him from grabbing your wrist and dragging you to a secluded area the moment he saw you. His possessiveness is showing as he bites down on the fresh, sensitive mark and growls before finding another patch of skin to cover in his claim. Strong fingers push your panties aside and drag through your folds, coating themselves in the slick that had begun to lubricate your entrance, readying you for what will inevitably come.

Once upon a time, you would have said that this is unusual behaviour for the man but it really isn’t and you know that by now. Chan is dominant, demanding and very possessive of what is his.

You are his.

What he doesn’t appreciate, no fault of yours because you couldn’t exactly describe your current situation to your family, is when someone tries and make a move on what is his. A family friend had tried to set you up with their son, a handsome man and someone that the old you would have gone for in a heartbeat which is why Chan is making it his mission to remind you that he’s the only person who could make you feel the way he does. He’s the one who helped you see the world for what it is and unlocked a side of you that relished in the darkness of it all.

“Kitten,” you moan lewdly at the way he growls your pet name, teeth dragging down your jugular as he rubs your slick against your throbbing clit. “Did you consider it?” You shake your head because you didn’t, it wasn’t even a thought in your mind because your entire world has been surrounded by Chan. “Are you sure?” He adds the slightest bit of pressure, testing to see whether you would be allowed to cum tonight or whether he would be keeping you dripping and on edge for your entire shift.

“You,” you mutter, groaning slightly when he harshly bites down on your shoulder, hands gripping his strong biceps to keep you from falling. “Only you.”

“That’s a good girl,” he says, pulling back to look at you before looking around. The area is quiet, usually is at this time of night but Chan wants to make sure that you will not be disturbed because he’s not going to be done with you for a while. Absolutely not. “Turn around,” he commands and you are immediately reacting by turning around and getting into the position that he’s trained you to be in. The one where your hands rest against the wall firmly to keep you from being squashed against the rough surface, legs spread enough for Chan to lift your skirt and slide right in when he’s ready.

Chan loves to relish in you, in everything that you are and the way that you sound but it seems that his jealousy, albeit unwarranted, is getting the best of him as he pulls his hard cock out from his loose pants and strokes himself until he’s completely hard. He doesn’t want to waste any time, you’ve been gone for a week and that’s too long since he’s been had you so now that you’re here - why wait? Your panties are ruined in seconds as he rips them off you, the pain from the tearing fabric pulling at your skin causes you to wince but you don’t make a sound other than a soft moan because you know that you’ll be leaking cum for the rest of your shift and that thought alone has you clenching around nothing.

The tip of his cock is brushed between your folds, pre-cum and your juices mixing to lubricate him until Chan is satisfied enough to push into your heat, stretching you in a way that you’ll never get used to no matter how much he fucks you. Your head falls forward as your lips part in a soundless sigh, eyes fluttering closed as he slowly pushes in until his body is flush against yours. He cannot take his hands off your body, sliding underneath your shirt as he massages your breasts, lips pressing to the back of your neck before the beast takes over. That’s how you refer to him when he’s buried deep inside you, reaching all the places that your fingers could only dream to touch because he loses all sense of himself when he fucks you; Chan cares very little about anything other than the high, the feeling that comes when your body is spent completely and barely able to handle anything more, the way you cry his name with tears in your eyes from being overstimulated but begging for more.

He’s a beast and you are the helpless lamb offered to appease his hunger.

The way he fucks you, hips snapping as he pulls your body upright so that his teeth can tug at your earlobe, his growl vibrating through his chest and resonating through your soul, it’s the most emotion Chan’s ever shown. The man who would kill you in your sleep without blinking an eye, fucking you in all the ways that you’ve fantasised but never voiced - how could you not see this as anything other than a proclamation of his love for you. As crazy as it may seem, and you no longer see it as such, Chan loves you in the ways that he can.

Chan loves what you provide but why would he try to change your mind when you feel so good like this? Do you want love? He’ll make you scream his name. Do you want to see the stars? He’ll call you out in the middle of the night and fuck you until you see them. He craves you, in so many ways that it drives him even more insane than he already is, and he has you craving him so badly that you’ll tell yourself that this is love.

“You feel so good, kitten,” his breath is hot against your cheek, his voice deeper than usual from the exertion. He lets go of your breasts, adjusting your position slightly so that you are braced for what’s to come. “Since you’ve been good, maybe I should let you cum?” One hand grips your hips, his own never faltering in their fast pace, while his other hand sneaks around the front of your body and between your spread legs.

“Ah,” you sound, potentially alerting anyone who could be walking by but that’s the whole thrill of it all, isn’t it. The idea of being caught has always turned you on. “Ch-Chan-” Your hands are resting against the wall, nails dragging slightly down the harsh brick as he rubs your clit mercilessly, knowing exactly how close you are and how to get you to scream.

“It’s cute watching you try and hold it all back,” he chuckles, slamming into you hard and causing your body to jolt forward, pressing your chest against the wall. “I bet you want someone to come and watch, to stand there and see how pretty you look being fucked like this.” You shake your head but the way you lick your lips, clenching tightly around him, proves otherwise. “C’mon then, kitten, scream.”

You try and hold back, buckling under the intensity of the orgasm, biting down on your bottom lip so hard that it bleeds but you still can’t keep yourself from screaming, the sound muffled but still loud enough to discern what is going on. Chan doesn’t stop there though, only slowing down his ministrations enough to give you a moment to breathe, give you a false sense of security, and once you’ve settled enough to respond to him checking in on you - he’s back at it again.

Fucking you until he’s done, until his jealousy and possessiveness have settled for the night and boy, what a long night it’s going to be.

1K notes · View notes

chocominnie · 3 years

Text

Desperado — 09 (M) | JJK

Pairing: Badboy!Jungkook X Reader

Summary : A messy situationship at it’s finest. You don’t even know whats headed your way, just even engaging in the slightest within him. See, he has an assignment to complete. A mission granted by his father thats do or die. You just so happen to be a major pawn in that assignment. He didn’t mean to take an interest in you. Surely it was an accident right? Only except. you hold much value in this game that he’ll do anything to complete it. Oblivious is what you are. Poor thing. Poor.. Poor thing.

Genre: Mature/ Mafia!Jungkook

Trailer: xxxxx preview 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

Word Count : 7.3k

Warnings : This honestly isn’t for the light hearted and the weak…High angst, usage of drugs, drug mentions, mental illness, switch!jungkook, Brat reader, possible stockholm syndrom, kidnapping, assault, death of side characters, murder, weapons, usage of weapons, masturbation, physical violence, blood, alcohol, weed, unprotected and protected sex, spanking, honestly its a lot of aruging…

Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

TW : Suicide, Body Hanging for display.

Her hair moves so flawlessly and the her breasts spill over the mini triangle bra with each sensual move she makes. The way her waist and body whines against the pole could leave absolutely anyone in a trance.The rhythm of the music blasts in the air and she’s directly on beat to it, not missing anything through the song playing.

The led lights are dimmed low enough in a red color, but enough for everyone to see. Shes uncaring at the men in the room sizing her up in her designer high waisted thong that hugs her hips very well, showing off her round, plump ass. That was what she wanted, the attention all on her while they throw hundred dollar bills for her.

“ Who knew someone could get down and dirty like that.”

To no suprise, Jimin, the ladies man but heartbreaker for sure, enters the private room and closing the door beind him. He throws a stack of money towards her, as he was the seemingly late one to the meet-up.

“ Jungkook is late, he’s never late. What’s taking him so long?” A grumpy Namjoon says, looking down at his apple-watch. It’s half past 10 pm and usually he’s the first one here.

“ He’s probably sucking up to yn-”

The girl turns her head sharply towards the boys, overhearing what they said. She furrows her eyebrows at them, “ Why would he be doing that..”

Taehyung lets out a small groan. “ Because Mr. Lover boy has gotten himself a crush. The worst part is, she’s his target for this mission.”

“ Shut the fuck up. I don’t have a crush on her, i’m just doing my job.” A semi-loud voice roars through the doors. Everyone stops to look at the sudden intruder and to relief it’s him, Jungkook.

Of course he has to lie about that. He knew for sure he caught himself up with you and the feelings were strong. Though the big bad mafia boy catching feelings for his target is highly uncommon, and Jungkook doesn’t know the consequences.

“ Jungkook..” The girl says, frowning at him with her hand on her hips. He takes a seat on the couch and tilts his head at her to go on. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the young boy. “ You fell for her.. so what about us?”

It isn’t hard to say that he doesn’t have any more feelings left for the girl. She and him both knew what they agreed upon. The pair had history together, sexual to be exact. Romance was hardly there if he were to be honest. She’d began actually working for Won-Shik, under this club they’re in now which is owned by him, a year ago. Jungkook had entered the club once when he was considered a minor, but that was to pass a message along to the girl from his father. He was told to go straight in and straight out. Of course, he did the exact opposite. Sat around looking at all the half naked women that night as the music blared loud.

It wasn’t until his phone rang and it was Casper telling him to hurry up and come back to the car, is when he finally decided to get up and look for the girl. When he did find her, it was over with for him. The girl was, and still is, stunning. One of the many foreign girls in the club but she’s the one that stood out of all. She wore nothing but a small outfit as she danced on the pole. Her beauty mesmorized Jungkook that night as he watched her dance in awe. Soon enough she came to him showing her her dimply smile and perfect teeth.

He was stunned alright. She knew he looked to be too young for the club so she asked him his age. He told her, and thats when she nearly called security on him until he told her who he was and affiliated with. The message was passed along accordingly to her, she got the memo. Jungkook though, kept coming back to that club and always going to where she was, following her around the club like a lost puppy. She enjoyed his time, as all she did was sit and talk with him and that turned out to not be enough for him. He wanted her, and she insisted that he was too young for her.

So Jungkook did what any other person would do when feeling rejected, he started to present himself like a true man and mafia boy. The gym was his favorite place after that and he buffed up very well. That jawline of his got sharper and his personality gained more confidence and dominant by the time he turned nineteen. He of course kept going at her, shooting his shot anytime he could and yet kept getting denied. It wasn’t until his nineteenth birthday is when he begged her telling her how bad he wanted her, and that lap dance he kept suggesting months before. Since it was his birthday and he was legal, she gave him what he wanted but that still wasn’t enough for him. He wanted her underneath him bad. The slight age gap between them didn’t phase Jungkook at all. What he wants, is what he gets.

And he did.

And kept getting it, and getting it, and getting it since then.

“ Relax baby, I’ll still be coming around you know that.” His voice is smooth, smirking at her. He wasn’t going to be coming around as much, but he knew that would disappoint her.

She purses her lips and begins walking towards him and sits directly on his lap, straddling him. Jungkook can’t push her off the way he wants to because it would confirm the crush rumors from the boys about you. So he lets her sit there, uncomfortable as hell for him.

Namjoon clears his throat to get the rest of the group attention. It’s nearly 11 pm and Crystal has been blowing up his phone ever since he stepped foot in the club. He told her beforehand about the meeting, but she wanted him at her apartment by at least 1 am.

“ We all know you love yn, but remember who you are Jungkook.” Namjoon says, glaring at the boy who returns the glare back at him. “ Fuck you. Like I said, im just doing my job.”

“ If you were doing your job Jungkook, there’s no way in the hell that it should take you this long. “ Jin retaliates. He knows hes right.

By this time, Jimin had finished preparing seven perfectly rolled blunts filled with the most finest imported weed. He places them onto the tray, taking his own and then passing the tray to Yoongi. Each of the boys take their own until it reaches down to Jungkook who takes his and puts the tray back onto the table.

“ Enough about her. I was summoned to go over the details for the next seven days. “ Jungkook groans, sparking his blunt and inhaling. He passes it Melanie, who takes it to inhale as well.

A malicious smile comes upon Yoongi’s face as he exhales the smoke into the already fogged up air. One thing he loves to talk about is torture. One of bangtan’s best walking torture device to be known.

“ Tonight we are starting.. I say you let me go first.” Yoongi pauses, taking a long inhale of his blunt. “ I’m coming for their trade transaction place. Arson, let me burn the bitch down and then fuck around with their father.”

It’s a good idea. Sending a message after burning it down straight to it’s opponent. Fire is Yoongi’s thing, and that’s his signature marking in the Bangtan Boys. The father of the shooter was one of their dealers, until the shooter’s father fucked up by taking money out of bangtan’s cut little by little. The boys knew about it, they waited for the perfect time back then to take action. Of course, giving them a mission to complete.. or so he thought. The mission was a false one. Created by Jungkook to catch him off guard. Jungkook used some of the mafia men on Won-Shik’s side to set up a trade off of drugs, decieving the shooter’s father by thinking they were just setting up a regular mafia trade from another gang. The trade was complete, but their protection was no more. Needless to say, the men didn’t even make it back to their cars. It was a bloodshed war between Jungkook’s assigned men and their men. The point was to send a memo that the Bangtan Boys were coming for them, and coming hard.

Everynight for two weeks unimaginable signs were sent to their family. Ranging all the way from several gunshot bullets going through their home, to severed heads of previous betrayers of the bangtan boys, sitting right on their porch. By now, all the other gangs in Korea knew not to have any business with them.

“ Day 2 I want it. I’m going for the mother. That scamming bitch and her precious flower shop? I’m shooting it up. Whoever lives, lives. Whoever dies, dies.” Jimin shrugs, smirking as he leans back in his spot.

“ Day 3, for me I’m sending another message. One of their men is gonna die in my god damn hands. I’ll be sure to take a selfie and send it to the father. The body will lay hanging on that pretty little oak tree in their yard.” Taehyung says. The boys are roar with shock that he’s said that. Normally he doesn’t like touching a dead body, so it’s a change for him.

The boys continue listing off the days and assigned tasks for the rest of the night into the wee early morning. Namjoon left after his, of course going straight to his girls apartment. They don’t judge him, seeing as though the boy really is in love and knows when and how to handle it. He definately doesn’t mix business and his love life together, unlike his other hyung. Soon enough the banter and socializing ends and it’s time for Yoongi first.

Night 1

It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to find the place. The empty steets of Seoul have soon faded into just dirt roads with the city left behind. The humming of his porsche echos through the night time air. Yoongi takes one final turn, making sure to pull into the place slowly like a true hunter keeping it’s eye on its prey. It’s not a full house tonight, even better.

Taking the jug of gasoline out his car, he carries it with ease up to the empty warehouse. The wildlife outside don’t make a noise. As if they know who’s approaching and just shut right up. Forty degrees fahrenheit outside and lastnight’s snowfall piled all around.The darkness outside is haunting, anything could pop out at any second to kill the man. That doesn’t scare him at all. Darkness is always what he crave. Inside and out.

“ Sir.. do you want us to go in with you?”

Yoongi stops dead in his tracks. He’d almost forgotten about the back-up men Jungkook ordered for him. It’s not like he needed them anyways, but since Jungkook can’t be there with Yoongi, that was the next best choice.

Rolling his eyes without turning around,“ No. Wait in your cars. I’ll handle it on my own.”

Just like that. The boys are off like lightening. Yoongi takes one final step towards the two double doors, and begins to pour the gasoline at it’s starting point. Usually, he’d go from the inside out, but seeing as though he wanted them to scurry out fearing for their lives, this is the next option as well. Soon enough, the enire jug is empty and he’s now poured all of it around the outside of the warehouse. Leaves crunch with every step he makes back to the starting point. Part of him hopes they can’t hear him from the outside. It’ll ruin the plans.

The lighter in his pocket feels so smoothe against his palms as he reaches for it. It’s one of his signature ones with his initials on it. An andrenaline rush runs through his veins as flicks the ignition with his thumb. The flame all bright and orange as he stands there infront of the building. It’s going to be a damn good night.

Without hesitating, Yoongi runs his fingers through his hair and throws the lighter right onto the gasoline puddles. The way the whole ring of fire lights up infront of his eyes makes him laugh hysterically while watching the whole building go into flames. The loud crackling sounds of the now decomposing warehouse jumps him back into reality.

He heads right towards the big tree next to the right of the warehouse, leaning on it with one foot up against it with his hands crossed. That sinister smile doesn’t leave his face. He enjoys the view of the men from the inside running out as fast as they can. Some falling in the ring of fire in the process. The fire is no match for any human as they try to stop drop and roll. Ha, as if that would work with a 15 foot fire consuming the warehouse. The dead bodies pile up on their own, just burning in the fire over their simple mistakes of falling and thinking they would survive the fire.

Until the golden egg comes out. He’s furious as runs out perfectly, as if he’s been through this, without managing to catch on fire. Yoongi chuckles, leaning off the tree. “ Kang Dong-Woo.”

Usually Yoongi would use the honorfics to people who were much older than him. In this case though, he doesn’t deserve honorifics.

“ Min Yoongi.” He says, harshness laced within his voice. Dongwoo frowns when nearing the man. He knows what Yoongi is capable of, and that’s what sets his fight for flight into action.

“ Let’s get straight to it. Your daughter is after our leader. She seems to be doing the dirty work for you yeah? Did you not train her enough? Of course you know she wont be able to live after this right?”

Dongwoo laughs right into Yoongi’s face as if he was joking. It angers Yoongi, so he grabs Dongwoo by the shirt and drags the man over to the fire where he kicks the back of his legs to where he’s kneeling inches away from it.

“ I don’t think this is a laughing matter, Dongwoo.” He growls, tightening his grip around Dongwoo’s arms that are behind his back. “ You want to die?”

“ She’s gonna fuck you all over.” He growls.” You may think she’s not capable of finishing off you guys one by one, but she is. I raised and trained her since a kid. She’s stronger with more energy than me. She’ll kill you all when you least expect it.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at him.” The dumb bitch can’t even shoot right. Going for someone else knowing Jungkook would save them is an ameteur move. Should’ve went straight for his damn head.”

“ I’ll make sure she’ll bring you guys hell Min Yoongi. All of you. Tell that shit to Jungkook and his daddy for me alright?” He mocks, laughing again at the boy to taunt him.

Yoongi doesn’t care for it. He’s had enough of this foolish talk. With one swift move he kicks the man’s back making him fall down to the left side, away from the fire. He’s lost it. He’s totally lost it at this point and there is no going back. Kick after kick after kick, he doesn’t stop. No. Not until the Dongwoo is sure to cough up blood. The crimson liquid poors from his mouth as he lays there. No remorse is felt.

Besides, the bastard bitch needed to get the message. Consider it message recieved.

Night 2

The flower shop is full, but not full to its entirety. There's tons of different bouquets and arrangements set around the pretty shop, from what he can see from the outside. It’s almost closing time, an hour left. Jimin’s fingertips grip on the steering wheel, anxious but patient to make his move. He’s running off of pure adrenaline and 2 cans of monster that are crushed and sitting in the passenger seat. Waiting isn’t his forte and he’d honestly like to get this show on the road now.

The moon is out and shining bright tonight. A sigh escapes his lips when he glances again at the shop. The only reason he’s not done it yet is due to the fact that there is a child and his mother inside. Rule number 2 of Bangtan, injure no child. The price to pay if you were to break the rule? Simply it would cost you your own damn life.

As if time would of went any slower for the boy, the child and his mother finally made their transaction and made it out of the store, heading across the street to continue their journey of shopping. It’s go time.

He knew to come prepared with his bulletproof vest and full face ski mask, long Sleeve black shirt to cover all the markings he has and also the two tattoos on each of his arms. He knew that the little lady wouldn’t be so dumb to not carry, or at-least have someone inside that would be her undercover security. Considering who her husband is, there’s no way she won’t be protected.

Oh how innocent the people look to not know what’s coming next. Jimin loads his Glock 19 with golden bullets that have Bangtan Boys initials and symbols on it just before pulling his mask down and getting out the car. He makes sure to signal his back-up men to create a distraction so he could make his entrance. Sure enough, a loud boom in the near distance of what sounds like some type of construction falling, echos loudly. It turns heads from all around to look where the sound came from, making it easy for Jimin to slide into the flower-shop.

Not a sound made by him. He draws his gun and pulls the safety off the trigger, then cocks it. Eyes are all on him as his eyes shift around the room looking for his target. There she is, eyes wide in the middle of a transaction for two middle aged couple. His eyes set into hers, lowly smiling and pointing it at her. The way everyone frantically screams and cries out doesn’t phase Jimin, no. It just encourages him even more as he starts firing shots mid air, shooting any and every person in sight for the hell of it. Bodies drop to the ground, and the bloodbath begins.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate to step over everybody, eyes still set on his target. The middle aged couple’s shrieks were cut short by their bodies dropping to the ground with three shots each to their hearts.

“ Park J-” He cuts her crying off with a finger to his lips, daring her to say his name in public. She gets the memo. “ I wouldn’t if I were you.”

The barrel is pressed against her temple as she trembles with fear. He cocks his head to the side, smiling at her when he taps the gun against her head harshly, repeatedly. “ You know why I’m here.”

“ You kill me and she will murder you all.”

Jimin chuckles, “ That’s what you guys think. We don’t have time for your gimmicks. It was you guys who stole money from us. Why did you think you’d still be protected from the law from us? Getting your daughter to go for the leader first is dumb, like the rest of you.”

“ We almost went to prison for you guys, remember that? We needed that cut money from you guys to pay off our legal fees. Thats why we stole. We completed your dirty work while trying to pay off the fees, its the least you guys could of did as a reward.”

“ That’s not how it would’ve worked. You fucked up. All of you.”

With two shots to the leg, she falls into Jimins arms. He rolls his eyes and throws his body off of him and onto the floor. It’s going to be a headache trying to explain to the dry cleaners why there is blood stains on his designer ripped jeans.

Night 3

It was too easy, way too easy. It took nothing to lure that man right into Taehyung’s trap. Nothing but a simple few slick comments made to him for him to get a riled up at the wrong person. Taehyung had spotted the man prior heading into the park with a small duffle bag. He assumed it was for a night trade off for some other person who had delivered drugs for him. Nontheless, it was merely too easy to pose as the alleged person who completed the mission.

A rookie. That guy must’ve been a rookie.

When the money was handed off to Taehyung, he tossed it to the side and struck the man down. The two did fight on the concrete floor for a bit but the man was no match for Taehyung’s quick moves. Taehyung’s pocket knife dances around the man’s throat as his body is pinned to the ground.

“ Rookie mistake not verifying if I’m the real one.” He chuckles, pressing the blade against the mans neck. The man pleads for his life but it’s no use. Message must be sent, that it’s no way you’ll fuck around with Bangtan and escape.

“ You know, I would’ve trained you more than Dongwoo. Letting the weakest link go run an errand? Ha. Your boss set you up for that one.”

Although the man is merely innocent, it doesn’t stop Taehyung from slicing into the man’s neck. A blood curdling scream comes out, but soon hushed over as his will of breathing and screaming is cut. It’s music to Tae’s ears.

The body is transfered per request of Taehyung to his back-up men. It’s not like him to touch a bloody dead body. So they take him into the back of their car and follow Taehyung to the residential house of the shooter. Nothing more than 10 minutes away.

The lights are cut off in the neighborhood. Not a sound made other than the two cars coming down the street. Everyone seems to be at peace and quiet in their homes. Sleeping to say the least. Upon arrival, Taehyung parks his car right infront of the house. The back-up men drag the bloody body out the car and onto their lawn, placing it right under the oak tree.

Taehyung takes the rope be brought along with him, and begins to tie multiple knots around a sturdy branch from the tree. When done, he wraps some of the rope around the dead boy’s neck, tying it into a slipknot and hoists him up high into the air.

The body dangles from the tree like a flag waving in the sky proud and high. He signals for the boys that the assignment is done and that they’re free to leave. Taehyung though, he just sits back in admiration of his work. It’s been a while sinice he felt this way. So he stands there soaking it all in.

Message recieved.

Since it’s been three entire days of hell, Jungkook knew his day will be approaching faster than ever. If only it could get here faster though. Truth is, Won-Shik isn’t too happy about Jungkook’s plan still not being complete. At this point, the father is going against him any chance he gets to just get this over with.

Luckily, tonight he’d be able to meet with his father again with some good news. It hasn’t been brought to his attention yet about your father being in Taiwan. With the technology of Won-Shik’s men, your father could be brought here within 12 hours tops.

“ Father.” Jungkook says, entering his office doors. The boy fixes his leather jacket upon entering and places his hands back into his pockets. “ I have news.”

Won-Shik is one to not play around with. Interupting his office time is a big, big deal. One is to not enter without it being urgency. That rule still applies to the heir of the company. “ It better be damn good because your plan isn’t getting anywhere Jeon Jungkook.”

Won-Shik takes his glasses off and sets them to the side on his desk. Its full of papers and photos of himself and Jungkook when he was a child. His favorite one right in the middle, where Jungkook had just ate some cherry flavored ice cream and his lips were all red as he smiled for the camera showing his two front teeth. It reminded him of when Jungkook was easier to manage rather as to now where he’s a damn menace.

“ Taiwan. Her father is in Taiwan. I don’t think it’s Taipei though.. he’s hiding so a city wouldn’t be ideal. I say search the mountains first, then the city.”

Bringing this proposal to the table meant that Jungkook wanted to atleast gain his father’s trust back. Hell, he wanted all this to be over with by now because you were driving him crazy to the point where he’s beginning to actually forget who the hell he was and why he was assigned this mission. The plan was not to fall, but to complete. He’d be lying if he wasn’t knee deep in love with you right now. It all comes down to him protecting you from his father at this point.

“ So your little plan is suddenly working huh.. still doesn’t mean she gets to run free Jungkook.” He says, smirking at the boy to challange him. Jungkook knew that. Once it’s proven that your father is the snitch, all of the family dies.

You’re innocent. Too innocent to know that or to be even tangled in that mafia mess of his. Part of him wishes he never met you and never had been assigned this mission. Then everything would be so damn different and emotions wouldn’t be caught up in this. From the moment he met you, he knew it would be hard. You have always held a special part in his heart. Only because you acted just like his mother. Sweet, but sassy and it hurt him a lot on how you remind him of her. You even word your words just like her, even when upset. Everything about you, is just like her.

It was hard to not get attached to wanting to get to know you more. Somehow he thought that if he got to know you, he’d somehow fill that hole inside him of his mother’s disappearance. As if you were going to be his new replica as you would be the one to put a band-aid on that hole to patch it up.

Here you are, not knowing you could die any moment and it will all be thanks to Jeon Jungkook, who couldn’t save you fast enough.

“ I know. But she’s innocent. She doesn’t even know her dad worked with us. I swear she doesn’t.” Jungkook bites his lip in hopes that there could be someway to save you by the hands of your father.

“ I dont care!” He roars, jumping out his seat. Jungkook flinches, backing up a bit from the sudden outburst. “ You know not to mix business and pleasure. You reap what you sew. You get to pay the consequences.”

Jungkook knew that though.

“ Father-”

“ Nothing more. I’ll have my team start the search right now. You on the other hand, get you god-damn shit together Jungkook. You’re the heir, not a damn lover-boy. Got it?”

It is no use of arguing with him. Jungkook looks down at the ground and nods his head yes just before Won-Shik dismisses him. It’s going to hurt. Seeing you dead. He hopes for a miracle can happen, that your father will not be the snitch. That you and him could live happily ever after. There will no be any happily ever after about this situation though. One will die. Just a matter of who it will be.

The vibrating sensation in his pocket snaps him out of his trance. An incoming call from Namjoon. It’s alarming since today is Namjoon’s day of hell, and only one thing could be happening right now if he’s calling for Jungkook.

There’s been a mistake.

“ What is it Namjoon.”

“ She fucking outsmarted me. The bitch caught on to where my location would be for the next kill. I don’t know where the fuck she is Jungkook.. this is bad.”

Jungkook sighs heavily, closing his eyes while letting out strings of curses come from his mouth. Shit couldn’t get possibly worse than this right now. Namjoon said he’d wanted to go straight for the killer and bust her up a bit. Give her some words and a branding on her. He had wanted to do it with a knife, carving the initals of Bangtan Boys into her upper hip. Namjoon had zero problem tracking her next location down, as he had been keeping an eye on her all day. To him, it seemed as if she would be heading to an orchestra shop in the city. Every step she took, Namjoon took it too.

Until she rounded the corner to go inside the shop and she wasn’t there. There wasn’t any outlet. The shop was on a dead end street surrounded by other shops that they both had passed. There was no way she didn’t go back, he would of saw it. He saw her go into the store, so she had to be there right?

Wrong. You see she knew all this time that Namjoon was followering her while in disguise. The orchestra shop where she led him to, she knew the owner. They were good friends. She had spoken to him asking if that she could use his upstairs office to read over some of the newest edition of music pieces for her to practice. He obliged, and she made up there in time before Namjoon came inside.

Up there, she’d be lying if she wasn’t scared to death. All this week the boys had definately given her hell. Each day with zero remorse. It was taking a toll on her for sure. Taking up this assignment by herself wasn’t something easy but she wanted to prove to him that she can be just like him. That she wanted to work with him too to take down Bangtan for decieving them and leaving them in the dust.

She can’t do it. The boys are to expierenced for her. It’s a bad mistake that she cannot come back from. You see, she thought it would be easy to befriend you and become close to you after you’d laid eyes upon Jungkook your first day here. She knew you’d soon fall for him, like any other girl did, and that would be her easy acess to him from you. It was all planned beforehand. To be quiet and observe you and your moves with him. In her mind, Jungkook needed to die first. The boys can’t function all that well without him, so that would be the weak spot to take advantage of if he would’ve died when she knew he’d take the bullet for you. She coudn’t shoot him first, it’d be too straightforward and blunt.

It was going all well. Deep in the inside she was jealous of you as well. Sungmin had been her crush for years, they even almost dated. Until you came along and he left her in the dust for you. Sungmin is everything she wanted in a boy, but you took that away from her. Her chances to date him ruined by you. It hurt everyday to see him head over heels in love with you, when that was just her at one point before you came along. Not only that, but she seen the way you play with Sungmin’s emotions. It made her upset that you do that. Sungmin’s love is a drug, whether it be friendship love or romantic, nobody can get enough of it.

All this stressed her out to her max. Her family being hurt because of her, her mom unable to walk for the next few weeks is all because of her. Only cause she cannot complete this task she brought onto herself. As if being in danger because of Won-Shik and Bangtan wasn’t enough beforehand, she just made things worse all in all. There is no way out of this for her and her family. So it’s time to just accept it and say goodbye to it all and start a new life.

“ I’ll find her. You wait at the base and I’ll report back to you guys after I find her. When I do, you will come and finish your damn task Namjoon. Do you hear me?” Jungkook’s beyond pissed at this point. If it wasn’t for him, the boys would be lost as fuck without him.

He shoots Casper a text, letting him know that he is to follow him closely as he searches for her. To his luck, Casper was already outside his apartment building in his car. Not long after he pops those contacts in and changes his outfit again, he’s cruising the streets of Seoul in his midnight purple lamborghini.

The pain in his shoulder throbs with each turn he has to make with the wheel of his car. A little pain medicine would of helped beforehand, but rushing to get this shit over with was more important. This bitch definately has it coming. It’s been taking Jungkook these past few days to not just up and kill her. No that would just be too easy. Torture and marinating her to lose her shit at the last minute is something so satisfying to him.

The streets of Seoul soon end behind him and the Mappo Bridge comes into view. It had been an a whole hour searching around the areas of where she could’ve been, including where she was last seen. No sights of her at all. She’s good at this for sure. Text messages are sent back and forth between the boys and Jungkook. They’re all on edge, tired, and frustrated at this chasing game that they’re all playing.

He’d almost missed it. The body walking alongside the side-walk of the bridge with their head hanging low and hoodie on. It’s the hoodie of his school, but most importantly it has their class graduation year on it. It has to be her. Jungkook flashes his hazard lights on, letting Casper know to pull over with him.

It’s now or never.

After sending the text to Namjoon, he’s out the car and jogging towards the suspect. Height, body type, and shoes match the alleged identity. It seems she’s too into something to notice the extra footsteps behind her. He can’t do anything to her though, it’s not his night.

“ Kang Minlee.”

She stops dead in her tracks as if a ghost had called her name. Frozen, she stands there contemplating on running or staying. If she runs, she’s dead. If she stays, shes dead.

“ You think..” He pauses, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. Her face is red from crying and her glasses all fogged up from underneath her mask. For a split second, Jungkook does feel regret.

Killing a classmate of his wasn’t something he’d ideally let happen. But it’s far too late to not have her killed off. “ You think that running away is the best option?”

Minlee trembles underneath his grip, “ I made a mistake. Please just let me go. Let me and my family go and we’ll leave you alone forever.” She breaks down into tears, placing her hand over his in attempt to let her go.

It didn’t hurt Jungkook to see her like this. All in all it just feels weird to him. Weird to have one of his classmates begging for her life to be spared from the gruesome events to come.

“ You know I can’t do that.” It honestly can’t be an option at this point. It’d be better to just continue out her days of hell with her family. “ You came for me, that means you die.”

Finally she jerks her arm back from his still in tears as she starts to back away slowly. Jungkook knew that she wouldn’t run. Not in this case. Letting her cry it out was the best way, hell it’s the only way because Namjoon would be here any minute to brand her. It would mean she belonged to Bangtan after that, and she’d have to keep quiet as they planned out her death.

Her sudden movement from the ground to climbing up the railing of the bridge alarms Jungkook. She cries louder when Jungkook comes closer to getting her down so he stops. Suicide? Right now? What happened to being all big and bold? It confuses Jungkook as to why she would take her own life right now. Either way she’d still end up dead and unhappy if Bangtan would kill her or she’d kill herself.

“ Jungkook!” She semi-yells, pointing to the direction behind him as another guy approaches them. Just in time, the sound of Namjoon’s car can be heard from afar. He’s getting close.

The guy she’s pointed to is Casper, who’s also alarmed at the fact that she’s close to the edge right now. Jungkook holds his hand up at Casper for him to stop right there and shakes his head, meaning that it’s too risky for Casper to step in right now. Casper nods and Jungkooks turns back to the scene.

“ Don’t you think that I’ve suffered enough? Everyday you guys give me hell. My mom can’t walk because of you guys, and my dad has health issues. You left us in the dust when we needed your support the most! I was almost put up for adoption a year ago because of you!” She sobs, wiping her never ending tears with her hoodie sleeves.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say, or do. It’s not like him to have sympathy over a rival. It’s just not in him at this very moment.

Minlee continues on, “ Yn? She took what’s mine. My Sungmin. She plays with his heart and it hurts him a lot. I wouldn’t have did that. But no, he’s head over heels in love with him. I got left in the dust when she came along and it looks like everyone loves her, including you Jungkook. My friendgroup does anything and everything she wants because she’s just oh so little miss perfect. That was supposed to be me!”

There it is. The jealousy. Jungkook would have never known it. It’s all news and shock to him. Sungmin and Minlee? Didn’t seem like a match to begin with.

Her dramatic meltdown continues on, but Jungkook allows it. Namjoon will be here any minute to sneakily get her down. Where is he and why the hell is he taking so long?

As if on cue, Namjoon pulls up to the scene and immediately gets out his car running towards the girl. Jungkook waves his hands for him to stop, eyes wide with a finger to his lips. The last thing he wanted was for the girl to jump. A death from their school? Surely was to be put on him and his boys.

Namjoon stops infront of Jungkook’s car, confused as to what’s going on. Jungkook mouthes to him the words suicide attempt. That’s when Namjoon gets it and decides to let him handle getting her down.

“ Yeah it was meant to be you. But I plan to take Yn away anyways. Then you and Sungmin could come together again.” Jungkook’s convincing isn’t convincing enough, she doesn’t buy it at all.

“ If I get down I’m going to die. There is no escaping that within the next few days i’d be dead in your hands. I made a mistake and there is no going back. Spare my parents. Let them live. I’m the one that started this. I’ll be the one to finish it.”

The girl lifts one foot off the railing and leans backwards. Jungkook’s breath hitches along with Namjoons. No. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

“ Kang Minlee!” They both scream, running towards her. It’s too late though. Her body falls gracefully down as all three of them watch over the railing. She looks peaceful, a smile on her face while her body is sprawled out in the air.

Inches before she hits the water, the three of the boys look away with only the sound of dense water splashing to fill their ears. Namjoon sighs, putting his hands against his head. Jungkook stands there in complete shock. Casper, well Casper just shakes his head knowing the two boys weren’t prepared for that.

“ We fucked up Jungkook.”

“ I fucking know that Namjoon.” His voice cracks. It isn’t like Jungkook to cry. No not at all. Especially for a target like that. At the end of the day she was human and she did what any daughter would do for her family.

She was also your friend.

You hadn’t heard about her death yet the next day. It’s a normal saturday morning for you. This time you’d decided to go to the cafe with your laptop and write your essay for your Psychology class. The cafe is nice, it’s cat themed and has some pretty kittens running around the outside of the kitchen and customer service area.

As soon as you order and sit down with your Caramel frappe you spot a white kitten laying near you on the floor. A smile comes upon your face when it comes to you when you call for it. They don’t have these in Canada. Cat Cafes. The kitten lets out his purrs when you rub his back as he lays across your lap. The nametag says Mochi, a cute name for a cute kitten.

Minutes seem to pass by without your knowledge. You’d been too into typing to hear the news on the tv being broadcasted live. It wasn’t until you heard suicide of a teenage student on Mappo Bridge. That got your attention.

You listen carefully as the news reporter goes into detail of how the body was found. It had gotten caught on a rock as the stream moved it around. A mother had found it with her kid as they walked across the bridge that early morning to look at beautiful water. It saddens you to know someone took their life. Maybe if that person had access to getting help, they’d live to see many more days.

When they announce the name and show a school picture of the student, the look on your face drops.

Minlee. It’s Minlee on the screen. Its all too much for you right now. Your stomach twists and turns along with your hands that begin fidgeting. She seemed so healthy and happy these past few days when you saw her. It didn’t add up. It wasn’t going to ever add up to you that you had just lost one of your new friends.

Packing your things up in a hurry, your phone begins to go off with a bunch of text messages at a time. You know it could be the groupchat. What you wanted to the most right now, is to go home to cry and calm down. You shove everything in your backpack and place the kitten back on the floor nicely before taking off towards the door. You bump into somebody on the way out, causing them to drop a picture in their hand. The two of you both reach to pick it up, but they pick it up first before you.

“ I’m sorr-”

You’ve seen her before. Long curled hair, big dimple on her left cheek, and bangs.

There’s no fucking way.

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writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

smoke and fire (epilogue II)

word count; 3193

summary; deep into your relationship, and still happy, there’s a bigger step on the horizon.

notes; please note that this is based two years after the events of the main series!

warnings; reference to arson, reference to injury.

“Tommy, where the hell are we? Why does it smell like burned wood?” You grinned, your vision blocked by the tie Thomas had used to cover your eyes, holding onto one of his hands tightly as he guided you up the pathway beneath your feet. “Seriously, I thought we were having a date night. You said we were going out!”

“We are out, technically.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, your skin tingling a little where his lips had pressed, before he was slowing you down, bringing you to a stop, and his hand left yours. The sunlight that had been pocking through the tie was blocked, shadowed as Thomas came to stand in front of you. “It’s just not what you think. But we are on a date, and we can order some food out here later.”

“Where exactly is ‘out here’? Because we were driving for, like, an hour.”

“Okay, well, it wouldn't normally be that long. I got a little lost because I couldn’t use the SatNav.” He huffed, fingers smoothing over the knot on the back of your head and trying not to pull on your hair as he undid it carefully. You were buzzing with excitement, wondering where exactly it was that he’d brought you, and you blinked a little at the light burned ta your eyes, finally able to see again. Thomas had blindfolded you upon leaving the station after your shift, not wanting you to have any idea about where you were going, and it took you a moment to readjust. “You ready?”

“Totally ready.” You beamed, and Thomas nodded, dipping down to press a quick peck to your lips, before he was stepping out of your way. Staring up at the building for a second, your blinked once, and then twice, before your lips were pursing, head tipping to the side. You stared for another moment, before turning to look at Thomas. “We’re at a burned-up house from a call last month?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah! Cool!” You faked his enthusiasm for a second, trying to understand where it was coming from. “Huh. Why?”

He rolled his eyes fondly, tucking the tie into his back pocket before taking your hand and tugging you up the steps. The doorframe was burned, the door pulled closed but unable to lock as it hung unevenly on its hinges, and Thomas pushed it open again carefully. “I thought you might want to look around? Can I show you around?”

You didn’t understand much, but you smiled, sensing his excitement in it, and nodding your head. “Yeah, Tommy, of course.”

You stepped in a little more, eyes flicking over it all. There was peeling wallpaper that was scarred with ash and black stains, burned away right down to the foundations in some places, and the ceilings were covered in soot. The floors creaked under your feet as you stepped in glass smashed and the shards stained, and it was unusual to see the remnants of a building like this without all the smoke and fire that usually came with it when you were on the job.

The first room looked like it was supposed to have wide doors, an entrance that would take double doors but they’d fallen down, ripped laces along the frame where they’d torn of, but the debris had been moved from inside of the house. The living room was beautiful, you couldn't deny it. There was a large fireplace against one wall, real log-burning with a chimney up to the roof and if you hadn't actually worked on the case, you’d have immediately put the large accessory down to the cause of the fire.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t. The reason this beautiful large house had burned down was stupid kids messing around with fireworks in the back garden of a house for sale, which was now completely destroyed. What would once have sold for over a million was barely worth a couple hundred thousand anymore, despite the beautiful neighbourhood it was in.

“This room is huge.” You mumbled, stepping a little further inside, and Thomas nodded. There was a file on one side, a place that was covered in old and destroyed bookshelves, a large windowsill beside it, and you could already picture it extended to make a little reading nook.

“Do you wanna’ see how it looked before? There were pictures on the real estate website, it was beautiful.”

You nodded, tuning to your boyfriend as he pulled out his phone, pulling up the pictures and swiping through them, Standing by his side, you looped an arm around his waist, leaning in slightly, and his arm went over your shoulders. Finally finding the right one, he positioned you both to be facing in the right direction, a set of large bay windows on one side that went out towards a decking that had been burned away.

In the photograph, the window had curtain rails and soft white curtains made of a thin kind of mesh, letting in the natural light as they hung over large glass doors. The walls were done up with a pale grey and white wallpaper, leaving it simply for the furnishings, but everything seemed to be in pale shades that made it all feel modern and elegant. Turning you both, he showed off the fireplace, decorated with old cobblestones and shale around the base that decorated it beautifully, before fading away into what had once been smooth oak wood flooring.

There were pictures on the wall at one end, and it reminded you of the wall Thomas had in his apartment, the one you had moved into almost a year ago, but his one was bigger, and looked like it could hold at least three times the quantity. There were couches laid out, surrounding a large television, and it was a huge area, a coffee table that looked like it was almost the size of a dining table.

Moving through to the kitchen together, you were even more taken aback by it. To one side was what was once a dining room, connected fully and open space, enough to seat a whole extended family, and you could only imagine the thanksgivings or the Christmas’, and you would be able to fit the whole squad into that room without trouble, without sitting in different rooms or connecting tables, all squeezing around the kitchen counters at Newt’s place or sitting in the tables, couches and floor like at Minho’s last Christmas.

There was space in the kitchen for an island in the centre, stools in front of it, and built-in ovens and fridges like at the station. There was also a set of large doors here, the glass broken, and you assumed this was where the fireworks had burst right though because there was a hole in the centre of the ceiling up into one of the rooms above.

“I saw this kitchen and I was immediately thinking about the size of it. Y’know, like, imagine the parties or the holidays, with a dining room like that and a kitchen like this I remember thinking it when we were putting out the flames, too.” He scratched at the back of his neck, looking around for a second, and you guided his face back to your own, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Weird thing to think about when putting out a fire, I know.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Big kitchen and dining room, you’d actually be able to fit a family our size into it without trouble. It’s kinda’ wild to think about.”

He chuckled, nodding his head, and his hands lifted to cup your cheeks pulling you back in closer to him. His nose bumped against your own, dragging together for a second in sweet Eskimo kisses, before his lips were meeting your own. Pressing in softly, he was still smiling into the connection for the first few seconds, before his head was twisting to the side, one hand dropping from your face to your waist, smoothing around your lower back and pulling you in even closer.

Pressing up into him, your arms circled his neck, pulling him down to your level as his tongue soothed over your lower lip, and you parted them for him. He sighed, a breathy and delicate sound, before his fingertips were digging into your flesh, holding you tightly as he pulled you impossibly closer. Scratching lightly at the hairs along the base of his neck, he rumbled happily, chest vibrating under your own with the noise and your fingers tangled a little more, and you pulled back. He whined, chasing after you for a few seconds, before letting you go, his forehead resting against yours instead.

“Your hairs getting kinda’ long.”

“You don’t like it?” He teased, and you shook your head, slightly kiss-swollen lips puckering for a second to press to his own again, a series of short pecks, before you pulled back.

“I like it, but you always complain about how sweaty your head gets in your helmets when your hair is too long.” He sighed, knowing you were right, and shrugging it off with a ‘hmph’.

“You know, talking of parties, there’s this amazing outdoor area. It's huge, there’s the decking from the living room and a patio outside here, there’s a big tree at the end of the garden and this amazing barbecuing area.” You nodded along, eyes narrowing on him again as he got excited over it, walking you a little closer to the broken doors so that you could see out.

He was right, there was a tall oak tree at the end of a huge garden, a fire pit made in the middle surrounded by beer cans and wrapped from where you assumed the teens who’d started the fire had been messing around, but with a little love and care, it would be all fixed up. The patio would seat big outdoor furniture, and you could picture a smaller firepit in the centre for later summer nights, as well as the proud barbecuing area Thomas had mentioned, built into the stonework with different levels and multiple grills.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think of this house?” You echoed, and he nodded slowly, almost hesitantly, before you took a deep breath, staring back out to the garden.

“I think it’s beautiful. Or, it was. Has a lot of potential to be incredible again.” You didn’t know much, you’d barely seen half of the lower floor and none of the upper ones. “I haven’t seen much of it, but what I have seen is nice.”

“Well, y’know, there’s big bedrooms. The master bedroom is amazing, it has an en-suite with a shower and a bathtub, a big closet and huge windows for natural light with a little miniature balcony outside of it. There’s a study down here which would make a really nice snug or cosy room, it didn’t get touched as much by the fire so you can get a better image of it when I show you. There are so many bedrooms, seriously, like, six bedrooms. There’s an attic, and a basement, and-

“Tommy, why are we here?” There was something hidden under his voice, his words trailing off after you’d interrupted him and his hand sank back to his sides from where he’d been making gestures with them, his shoulders slumping a little.

“It’s a cool house, I thought you might want to see inside of it! Especially since you and Newt didn’t get to do much when we were here, there wasn’t anybody injured, so you were just left waiting around, and I wanted to share it with you.”

“There’s more to it than that, I know I’m not great at picking up on signals, Tommy, but I’d like to think I got pretty good at reading you over this last year or so.” You studied him for a second, and he shrunk a little more under your gaze, before huffing out a laugh.

“Almost two years, now.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing to reassure him, before sliding up to sit on his neck, letting your thumb brush over his pulse point and calm him. His hand landed on your wrist, following as he trailed it up your arm to find your hand, pulling it away from his body and linking your fingers together instead. He kissed along your knuckles, remaining in silence, but you felt like you were drowning in the nervous tension he was letting off.

“Talk to me, Tommy.”

“Okay.” He let out a shaky breath, nodding his head before looking back up to you. “Well, you and Newt were talking after the case, right? He said Derek lived in a neighbourhood like this when he was younger, and that you had always wanted to live in an area like this. Well, when I was in here, I kept thinking about how beautiful this place was, and how big it was. The whole squad could fit in, and it would be so comfortable. This is the sort of place you spend the rest of your life in, right? I was looking through it all and doing a sweep and because I knew it was empty my mind was wandering. I just thought about how I would never normally be able to afford a place like this, and how the value would go down so much because of the fire, and..”

“Oh, wow, are you thinking of buying this house?” You couldn't hide the shock in your voice no matter how much you tried, and Thomas chuckled as he watched you look around, with a little more interest now as you took it all in with more attention to detail.

“Well, yeah. Kind of. It’s only a thirty-minute drive from the house so it’s pretty much the same commute as right now, and-” He huffed, nostrils flaring a little as he thought, and you raised your brows at the way he suddenly went quiet, the gears in his head visibly turning as his brows furrowed a little. “Look, I’m struggling here, I’m nervous, okay?”

“Thomas, you’re getting all panicky.” You whispered, pulling him in a little, and leaning up. He was eagerly awaiting the kiss you gave him, body relaxing a little as you balanced yourself with one hand, thumb playing with his own where the other was still held by one of his, and he didn’t let you go when he pulled back. Instead, his head dipped lower, pulling you in and wrapping an arm around your waist, needy kisses that left you breathless as he held onto you, tension melting away and becoming a little hazy instead as he clung to you.

“I’m just,” His teeth nibbled a little on your lower lip, panting slightly as he pulled back for breath, and you were stealing more kisses through gasping laughs as you tried to get enough air, smiling and teasing as you did. “I’m just trying to ask you,” He was cut off again, your mouth meeting his and he laughed against your lips, his hand leaving your own to hold onto you more, fingers tickling over your sides lightly as you laughed into the kiss. “Cut it out, I’m calm now, but I have to say this while I have the courage.”

His cheeks were flushed when you pulled back, hair a little messy and lips a darker shade than usual, and he licked over them as he stared down at you, undoubtedly staring at an equal messy composure. “You have my undivided attention. Go right ahead.”

“I remember that a while ago, we were lying in bed and talking about things we wanted that we never thought would happen, and you said you’d always wanted to rebuild a house. Renovate it, was the word you used. You wanted to make it your own, but you never thought you’d afford it. And, on a paramedic and a firefighters wage, we’d never be able to afford a place like this, normally.”

“We?” You echoed, a soft smile on his lips as your heart thudded in his chest. You knew what it meant, it was a heavy commitment to buy a house with someone, living together was one thing but buying a house was basically a step away from a proposal, it was an investment in a long term future together, and you felt like you could barely breathe. Your chest felt tight, shock and adrenaline racing through you and you stiffened slightly, fear lacing itself into Thomas’ features once again. “You, uh, you want us to buy a house together?”

“Maybe..” He sighed, a little timid again now. “It was just a thought, because it’s such a beautiful house, and as soon as I saw it I was thinking about things you’d said, and it just seemed perfect for us, but if you don’t like it then that’s fine, just don’t shut down on me, okay?” He rested a hand over your cheek, thumb brushing softly, and his lips pressed a soft kiss toy our forehead. “Just tell me you hate the idea, but don’t go silent, alright?”

You nodded, letting him kiss your temple too, before pulling back to look at you. “I, um..”

“Hate it?”

“Love it, actually.” You choked on the words slightly, feeling a little breathless as they were wheezed out, and Thomas paused. He looked sceptical, shaking his head slightly, and you tried your best to smile. “No, I do. I really do. I’m just terrified, okay? I’m not good at long-term commitment, I’m scared, but I want it. With you.”

“Really? Because I know it’s a big step, and I know what it means, I’m not blind. It’s buying a house together, so if you wanna’ freak out or you don’t want it, that's okay, just tell me, alright? Because I’m in this with you for the long haul and you’ve got to know that by now, it’s not a secret, so I can wait until you’re ready.” The words sped from him, a little too fast, and you shook your head, leaning up to press your forehead to his.

“I’m really, totally sure. I just hadn't thought about it, okay? I was caught off guard, I’m not much one to think about the future, it doesn’t come naturally to me. But when I do think about my future, you’re always there.”

“Always?” He teased, twisting his head to brush his lips with your own.

“Every single time.” You gave him a quick kiss, a happy hum to accompany it and he relaxed once he let you sink back. “So, why don’t we order some pizza to be delivered here, and you can show me around some more. You said there were lots of bedrooms, which is good, because you know Newt will want his own.”

“So, we’re buying a house?” He looked a little unsteady, eyes glossing over, and he sniffed lightly. You matched him, nodding your head and beaming as the emotions overwhelmed you.

“Yeah, baby, we are.”

#thomas the maze runner #thomas #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #firefighter!tommy #ff!tommy #smoke and fire #SAF #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

turn to dust all that i adore

whoops it’s a 2b spec fic based on two seconds in a promo love that

title from things we lost in the fire by bastille

ao3 | 2.3k | 2b spoilers

The fire continues raging whenever TK closes his eyes, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse than the sight that greets him when his eyes are open. He wishes he could wipe that awful night from his memory completely and go back to where they were just a few days ago, happy and safe and in their home. They don’t even have that anymore, the house little more than ash, and TK would be okay with that - they could rebuild from that - if Carlos weren’t so silent and still in front of him.

The fire was three days ago; TK hasn’t seen Carlos awake in four. He’d been in the middle of a 24-hour shift when the call came through, bickering with Nancy about the merits of various sitcoms, Captain Vega probably rolling her eyes in the back as they returned to the station.

Nancy had quietly offered to drive when they found out the address, but TK had shaken his head. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, and he’d pressed down a little harder than necessary on the accelerator, praying he’d be able to get there fast enough. The house was a lost cause, if what dispatch said was true, but if he could save Carlos, then that would be enough.

He’d failed - of course he had. An explosion had ripped through the building just as they’d pulled up, the glass shattering as flames leapt from their bedroom window. TK had felt a cold dread settle inside him, and his worst fears had been confirmed when the team emerged with Carlos limp in their arms.

He’s alive, but the damage had been done. Too much smoke inhalation and multiple horrific burns left him hanging by a thread; it’s a miracle, really, that the heart monitor is still beeping out a steady rhythm. TK can’t be thankful, though, not when he knows everything could turn on its head in an instant. Not when they’ve already lost so much.

A soft knock on the door grabs TK’s attention. He looks up to see his dad standing there, a sad smile on his face and a plastic-wrapped sandwich in hand. TK twists his face into a grimace and returns to watching the bed.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Son -”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve been saying that for days,” his dad points out, walking over and pointedly laying the sandwich in TK’s lap. “Starving yourself isn’t going to make him wake up any faster.”

TK barely spares the sandwich a cursory glance. “Nor is forcing myself to eat.”

His dad sighs, crossing the room and grabbing the extra chair. He sets it down next to TK’s and, though he doesn’t look, TK knows he’s being subjected to one of his ‘dad looks’.

“TK, you’ve barely left the hospital since it happened,” he says. “I know it’s hard right now, but you can always come back and stay with me. You still have a home.”

“Not without him, I don’t.”

He hears his dad’s sharp intake of breath, feels his hand running through his hair, but TK’s detached from it all. He studies Carlos’s face, every part familiar to him, but so strange and foreign now. Carlos has never been a restless sleeper - that’s all TK - but there’s usually some movement. A crease appearing between his brows as his face scrunches up, his muscles shifting as he pulls TK closer, his nose gently nuzzling the back of TK’s neck. This still version of him isn’t Carlos. This isn’t the man TK loves.

But it’s close as he’s going to get until Carlos comes back to him, and TK can’t stand the thought of leaving him. In all the months they’ve been dating, they’ve rarely spent a night apart, and most of those were either on shift or still in their bed, with a pillow that smelt like the other and the promise of seeing each other again soon. Going back to his dad’s house would only be bearable if Carlos were with him, but that’s not possible, so neither is leaving.

“TK, I -”

“If you’re just here to give me this,” he interrupts, waving the sandwich in his dad’s direction, “then, thanks, but you should probably go now. His parents are coming in a bit and the hospital barely lets three of us be in here as it is.”

His dad recoils, wounded, but doesn’t budge, much to TK’s irritation. He’s really not in the mood for any more meaningless talk or thinly veiled attempts to get him to eat or sleep.

“Dad, please.”

“I was contacted by the PD this morning,” his dad says instead. TK’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “They found out what caused the fire.”

TK waits, but his dad suddenly becomes very reticent, his eyes flicking between TK and the bed. Clearly, this wasn’t something as simple as the electrics blowing or the washing machine malfunctioning; it’s worse, and TK’s breath seems to stick in his lungs.

“Dad?” he croaks.

Their eyes finally meet, his dad’s face arranged into a sympathetic grimace. “It was arson.”

Time stops.

“What?” TK breathes, shaking his head. Arson. Someone burned their home down and almost killed Carlos, on purpose. And for what? To kill them? The only reason TK wasn’t caught up in it too, after all, is because he was fortunate enough to be on shift that night. “Do they know who?”

“I’m sorry,” his dad says, voice full of regret. “It’s been happening all over the city, no leads so far.”

TK sits back in his chair, a white-hot spark of anger flashing through him as he once more takes in the many bandages on Carlos’s body. He wonders if this was how Judd felt those weeks ago when he found out the guy who’d run them off the bridge was also in the hospital, because TK would very much like to go out and find the people who did this. He wants them to pay for what they’ve done to the love of his life.

As is sensing where his mind has gone, his dad starts rubbing gentle circles on his back, though it doesn’t calm TK like it usually does.

“I think I’ll stay here until his parents show up,” he says. “If that’s alright?”

It’s a non-question; his tone makes it clear that he’s not going anywhere no matter what, but TK doesn’t have it in him to put up even a token argument. He simply nods wearily, and settles in for another day of waiting - another day without his boyfriend’s comforting presence at his side.

A week after the fire, he’s told he can go back to the house, if he wants. He doesn’t, really, but he goes anyway, knowing that Carlos will have questions when he wakes up, and maybe he’ll be able to salvage something.

Probably not, but it’s never been the stuff that’s mattered to him. It’s been what the loss of it all represents, the memories that now exist only in his head and in the ashes.

TK stares up at the blackened husk of their home, something keeping him rooted in the middle of the street. Police tape is still up and there’s an officer waiting to escort him in when he’s ready, but TK just… He doesn’t know if he can do this.

“TK?”

He jumps at the unexpected voice, turning to see Carlos’s neighbour from two doors down, Molly, her daughter trailing behind her. TK doesn’t know many of the people around here, but Molly and her husband are often to be found playing with Lilia on the porch, and they always make a point of greeting them. Carlos has even babysat for them a few times, though TK’s rarely there for that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, smiling apologetically. “How are you doing?”

He shrugs. “I’m okay,” he replies, and Molly seems to understand what that really means. “Carlos is still in hospital, but we’re, um. We’re hoping he’ll wake up soon.”

She nods, glancing at the house. “It’s terrible, what happened. You’ve got somewhere to stay, right?”

“I’ve only just moved out of my dad’s place, so I’ll just go back there while we figure something out. Guess he’ll be glad we don’t have to transport all my stuff this time.”

The joke is hollow, and Molly’s face twists in sympathy. “Well, if you need anything, we’re happy to help out however we can. Carlos has always been good to us - to everyone here - and we hate that you’re going through this now. Send him our love, okay?”

TK gives her a small smile, nodding. He’s about to excuse himself to finally go inside, when Lilia tugs at her mother’s hand, whispering something in her ear when Molly leans down.

“We were baking when we saw you pull up,” Molly explains, straightening. “Lilia insisted on bringing these out to you, didn’t you, Lils?”

Lilia beams up at him when TK looks over to her, thrusting a small tupperware in his general direction. “Cookies!” she exclaims, by way of explanation.

TK chuckles and squats so he’s at her height, taking the box from her. She’s watching him expectantly, so he takes a cookie - clumsily decorated with mountains of sprinkles - and pops it in his mouth, making a show of enjoying it.

“My compliments to the chef,” he says, licking his lips playfully. Lilia giggles, then, without warning, throws her arms around him, the force of it almost sending him on his ass. Molly gasps and reaches to pull her daughter away, but TK shakes his head at her, mouthing an, It’s okay.

Steadying himself, he gently wraps his arms around Lilia’s back, allowing her to bury her face in the crook of his neck as she attempts to squeeze him within an inch of his life. It’s enough to pull a real smile out of him, though tears also spring to his eyes, a sudden emotion overwhelming him. He brushes them away hastily when Lilia unwraps herself from him, but it’s clear that Molly noticed, judging by the sad smile on her face.

“I hope Mr Carlos gets better soon,” Lilia says, her voice earnest in a way only a five-year old’s can be.

TK nods. “Me too.”

“He gave me sweets.”

A laugh bursts out of him at the sudden comment. TK leans close to her, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Shall I tell you a secret? He gave me sweets as well.”

Lilia gasps as though she’s heard something incredibly scandalous. TK laughs again, before standing back up and turning to Molly, who’s been watching the two of them with clear amusement.

“Thank you,” he tells her. “For coming out and talking, and for the cookies.”

“It’s the least we could do,” she says, waving him off. “Like I said, let us know if you need anything, even if it’s just to talk. We’ll be there.”

TK thanks her again, waving at them both as they head back inside. He turns to his and Carlos’s place, then takes a deep, shaky breath.

He can do this.

Inside is much as he expects. The worst of the rubble has been cleared, but there’s still some detritus lying around, including a few of their things. TK stoops and carefully retrieves a framed photo from the floor, wiping the dust off the cracked glass. The picture inside is barely recognisable, the colours warped, but he knows the image like the back of his hand - a candid of him and Carlos taken by Marjan during one of their hangs. She’d caught Carlos mid-laugh, a grin plastered on TK’s own face as they’d stared into each others’ eyes.

Marjan had grumbled about how frustratingly lovesick they both were, but the photo quickly became one of TK’s favourites, and it had made its way into a frame less than a week later. TK’s heart aches at the sight of it ruined; he can always print another as it’s still saved on his phone, but it still hurts. Everything does, right now.

As he gazes around the space, eyes catching on mementos and remembering how it all used to look, TK is struck by how much this place had felt like home. He’s only been officially living here for a month, but it’s been theirs for far longer than that, TK’s stuff worming its way in among Carlos’s until it became natural to see two pairs of shoes by the door, two sets of keys in the bowl.

This was theirs, and now it’s nothing.

He drops the photo frame on his way out the door, not sparing a look back as he walks away.

He gets the call halfway back to the hospital and TK forgets all about speed limits as he races the rest of the way. He sprints through the corridors, the path to Carlos’s room learned by heart, and skids to a stop in the doorway, his eyes filling with tears at the sight before him.

Carlos, awake and smiling and alive.

TK lets out a sob, his hand flying to his mouth. Carlos turns, his smile widening when he catches sight of him, and he wordlessly lifts his palm up in invitation.

And who is TK to refuse it?

“Hi, baby,” he gasps, before kissing his boyfriend, palms framing Carlos’s face. Carlos’s hands come up to clutch at his wrists, and TK presses their foreheads together, silently revelling in this moment.

There’s a long road still ahead of them - Carlos needs to heal, and they’ll have to do so much to get back on their feet - but he can’t care about that right now. Being here, right now, with Carlos’s warm touch stroking over his skin, is all TK needs.

Carlos came back to him, and that’s the only thing that matters.

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thelittlepoetprincess · 3 years

Text

ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴᴏᴜꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ [Dabi x Reader]

Author's Note: I personally am not a fan of Lizard king here but go off. This took a long ass time to write not to mention proofread and edit. No idea if I'm making another part to this. Also, a lot of this is therapy wagon material. If you want to be tagged in these just say so.

Warnings: Fluff for a bit, Implied depression, mild spoilers, light mental manipulation, degrading, power play, oral sex(F receiving), hate sex, death mentions, arson, and physical abuse.

Summary: You chose your job over Dabi, and then severely regret it once he survives.

The numbness of grief was overwhelming, even more so when the one you were grieving was your lover. You settled onto the sofa, watching the news drone on about the recent death of Villian Dabi, confirmed now to be Touya Todoroki. You'd turn off the TV and lie on your back, not needing the extraneous details of his death. After all, you killed him.

The memory of it haunted you like ghosts dancing in your memories: the heated warmth of his palms that threatened to burn you but never did, the way he always wore worn down leather or rough worn down jackets, everything about him attracted you and only made his death hit you harder.

You were a lesser-known hero with a restoration quirk, able to numb large areas and heal minor wounds while still using it in large quantities. You'd met Dabi while out on a mission to recover a kidnapped hero, and you couldn't keep your hands off his wounds. Not like he'd let you after he felt your gentle touch ease his pain for once.

Six months, it only took six months for the bad boy to entangle himself into your life. He snuck into your old apartment all the time, made you comfortable, and he'd break down in front of you. He was a surprisingly affectionate lover, despite his many flaws. You'd feel something in your throw blanket, shaking it loose to find the leather jacket he always wore.

The navy blue leather faded slightly and burnt in specific areas where he couldn't control his flames.

You felt the fresh hot tears welling up behind your eyes as you clutched the jacket to your chest. It was much larger than you since Dabi was slightly taller, so your face nuzzled into where his neck would be. It still smelled of cigarettes and burnt flesh, the scent you grew to love so much.

You took a deep inhale, the tears starting to flow as you replayed your shared memories, unable to help the grief overwhelming you. Suddenly, you had no energy nor will to do anything except sleep, even moving was deemed too much to handle. The scent of your boyfriend lulled you to sleep, though it'd be one of the last times it'd do so.

Dabi wrapped his hands around your waist before hoisting you high in the air while the wind blew at your hair in the flowy white lace dress you wore. The undetailed field of wildflowers went on far beyond your sight as he twirled you around before falling on his back with you. You'd both be laughing in the hazy daze of love before sharing a loving kiss as the gentle grass blades tickled your skin.

You felt a leathery hand touch the skin of your cheek, the thick smell of cigarette smoke tickling your nose and making you sneeze before you gently smacked away the hand. You hear a deep, raspy chuckle before the person mysteriously pulls the coat on you like a blanket.

"Little hero, do you love me?" You'd mumble a yes subconsciously, something saddeningly familiar about whoever it was looming over your sleeping form. "Ha, cute. . ." You heard something about leaving and the door shut with a click, leaving you to sleep once again.

Your peaceful sleep is dreadfully short as your friends came in, yanking you from the grasp of sleep with their tumultuous noise.

You quickly hid the jacket, sleepily rubbing at your eyes as they opened your curtains and turned on the TV. It droned on about the agency you worked at and fire. However, you didn't have the energy nor will to care since you planned on quitting anyway.

They droned on about how you'd slept for two days straight and needed to get out, and you agreed. Maybe it would take your mind off of Dabi and the arsenic incident, also the five missed calls from your agency from two days ago. You'd shower and change, pulling your hair back out of your face for the first time for days.

The curls were dry against your fingers so you oiled your hands and massaged them into the brown mass you called hair, plucking it out to its full shape. You pulled on the black and blue dress, noticing how the dress hugged your hips a bit then flowed out to your mid-thigh. Perhaps you've gained a bit of weight these past 2 months.

Tired bags were under your eyes from sleeping for so long. After some light makeup, you left with them to the carnival.

Lights illuminated the dark navy blue sky as you got dragged about, the fun temporarily blinding you from the sadness overwhelming you. They led you into the Maze of Mirrors, their bodies contorting and bending around you confusedly while you searched for them until they disappeared. Their goofy laughter faded into an eerie silence with only your echoing footsteps left to fill the silence. You froze as you smelled a familiar scent: burnt flesh and cigarette smoke.

His chuckles were all around you as you saw the flashes of black and navy blue in the mirrors before he was suddenly standing in front of you.

He was pissed, you knew that snarky glare anywhere. It made you nervous as he closed the distance between the two of you without speaking a word until he backed you against the cold glass. He gently pressed himself against you, giving you no real way to escape him with his arms on both sides of your head. "Dabi-" "Shh, I don't wanna hear it. At least not here, too many people. They're already looking for me since I disappeared. We aren't safe, come on." He didn't ask as he hoisted you over his shoulders to carry you out the back exit.

He seemed gentle while he carried you, he wasn't rough at all. The heat you felt radiating from his palms as he held said otherwise as you worriedly fretted about him burning a hole in your clothes. Though you felt some relief knowing he wasn't dead: he was your love after all. You knew what was coming to you for feeding him arsenic wasn't going to be a gentle, loving reunion of star-crossed lovers. Dabi wasn't that kind of guy.

He made it back to your new apartment after knocking out the security guard at the gate and threw you onto the bed. He'd seemed to get angrier as he got closer to your apartment. Your hair messily fell around your face to make a curly halo around it. He was on top of you before you could attempt to sit up, his warm breath huffing down the side of your neck.

"Now what the fuck were you thinking, huh? An arsenic cupcake? You really wanna get rid of me that badly you snake." He seethed, and you felt the familiar feeling of your wrists being burnt by his flames. You cry out in pain, squirming under his grip with tears in your eyes.

"Oh you're crying, now you're crying. How do you think I felt getting sick and finding out my girlfriend poisoned me?" He'd growl out, as you stopped squirming and sucked it up. He was right, you deserved this. You tried to kill him, and all he'd done was be beside you and attempt to be somewhat of a lover to you. You looked up to him, his blue eyes lacking any gentleness or affection. It was hate, resentment, and importantly: lust.

That's when it hit you that you were a stress reliever for him. Everything that he kept pent up he always let it out on you, and for about a month now he hasn't had it. You'd reach out, gently tracing your fingers along his scars using your quirk to calm him and watch his eyes soften as he quite literally melted under your touch. He'd land on top of you, caging you underneath him with his arms, he exhaled a strained snarl before snatching your hands from his skin.

You couldn't help wincing once you felt the familiar burning sensation of Dabi's quirk in action yet again as the blue flames licked against your skin, at least it wasn't a third-degree this time.

"It was you, wasn't it? My agency, they called then it went up in flames." He didn't answer but you knew the answer by the way he buried into the side of your neck. He always did that when you accused him and he was guilty. You'd chuckle to yourself but yelp when you felt his teeth against the soft skin of your neck, suckling your skin.

You'd squirm as a familiar heat settled itself in the pit of your stomach. He huffed as he finally moved away from the purple bruise he left on your skin. His lips trailed down until he reached your exposed collarbone, chuckling before tracing his hands against your caramel skin sending chills down your spine. He'd kiss, lovingly at that, along the caramel curve of your breasts.

He'd yank you to the edge of the bed, moving between your legs with a focused look in his glimmering eyes. "Dabi, are you mad at me?" He'd chuckle before you'd feel a burn against your thighs while sinking his teeth into the soft plushness of your inner thigh. "Oh darling, I'm fucking furious." The sweet name rolled off his tongue, making you quiver when paired with his teasing licks over your soaked panties.

He paid no attention to your face, his main focus being on the slickness accumulating from your dripping hole. His hands traced up over the stretch marks gently decorating your skin so beautifully before burning off the panties, his tongue grazing the soaked slit before sliding his tongue up to your neglected clit. His mouth was warm and wet against your sensitive bud, making it grow under his expert tongue his suckling sent waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body, and core. The entire room felt hot, and it wasn't helping wherever his hands traced left heated burn trails. You'd run your fingers into hair, yanking it to where his tongue pressed against your hole. "Dabi, please I want it. . ."

"Shut it, I'm still pissed at you." He'd yank your arms away again, pressing his tongue into your hole. Your flavor flooded his tongue, making him lick and devour you hungrily. Your eyes rolled back, your hips subconsciously bucking against his tongue as it buried into your wet hole. Ecstasy, that's all you could describe the feeling at this moment. The waves of heat that swallowed you and threatened to keep you at this moment while your climax built up in that tight ball. You panted like a bitch in heat, your legs trembling as your fingers intertwined in his black hair. "Dabi, I'm. . . .I'm-!"

"Shut up, loud-ass slut. Come if you wanna come so bad!"

He'd say before continuing to devour you, his tongue digging into your spot just enough to send you tottering over the edge in waves of heat. You'd throw your head back, sending your curls flying wildly behind you as you rode out your orgasm and Dabi's face. Your legs closed around his head like a vice, keeping his tongue in your hole while he drank you greedily. He moaned into your nether lips, finally able to pull away with an exasperated breath.

His lips and chin were a mess of your nectar and saliva, but a smirk was on his face now. He'd notice his jacket hidden poorly, but laugh as he moved to take it and pull it on. He'd once again hoist you over his shoulder, humming as he slid his fingers along the walls setting them ablaze. "Dabi-?! What are you doing?! My apartment!" "I let you have too much freedom last time, but don't worry. I'll make it so that I'm the only one you can lean on. Then you'll never leave again."

He'd laugh as he carried you away, ignoring your cries and pleas while the building went up in flames along with everything you'd known up until now. His sick, twisted laughter filled your ears before you felt a hard force against your head, the inky blackness flooding your senses and knocking you out.

#bnha dabi #mha dabi #dabi lemon #Dabi #dabi smut #dabi my hero academia #bnha #dabi x reader #dabi fluff

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void-adjacent-particles · 3 years

Text

Burned Bridges

penismp my beloved. Milfboss’ pov, with @mesmir-ized‘s oc Poopwad!! Poopboss/Milfwad supremacy. (though I may have implied PoopbossAnus, the ot3 of the century) I couldn’t resist, that burned bridge scene was SO cool and I know people think Penis actually did it but!! Imagine the canon divergence of Milfboss being more involved!!!!! IMAGINE!! being able to avenge Poopwad’s first death!!

Content warnings for manipulation, premeditated murder, scar mention, weapons mention, arson, arguing, swearing.

Milfboss’ heart was racing. Her ears were perked, twitching every time ash fell from the sky and irritated her delicate fur. She crouched lower, knees aching as the gravel dug into her legs and dirtied her pink skirt. It would be worth it, it had to be.

She took another swig from her flask, the bubbly, watery taste of an invisibility potion sending shivers down her spine, and her tail thrashed against the ground for one moment at the feeling, thankfully without her usual bells adorning it. The aesthetic had to be sacrificed for her plans, unfortunately.

If there was one thing she learned on this server, it would be that sacrifices are necessary to get what you want.

Milfboss’ eyes narrowed, her pupils contracting into thin lines as the sun set into golden hour, shining right in her face. She shifted in her spot hiding behind the hay bales, sniffing a bit as joints ached, restraining the urge to sit down. She had to be prepared for action, as always. In the past few months she had learned that you only survived by being prepared to fight or flee at any moment.

Being unaware got people killed. She learned that the hard way when her girlfriend lost her first life while Milfboss only could stand aside and do nothing. Even in the warm sunset of early autumn, she shivered, a memory of rain pouring down, of a trident raised and crackling with electricity as the skies prepared to answer a mortal’s call.

That was one of the many reasons Milfboss was here now. To organize the beginning of the end for the one who dared to take the life of Poopwad, her girlfriend. Even when Poopwad trusted them, when she stood with her back to him to protect him, he still struck her down.

And now she would always have the spiraling scars of a lightning strike, and three round scars of the trident’s prongs, a constant memory of betrayal.

Vengeance was Milfboss’ main objective, and she’d sacrifice anything to get it. For Poopwad, and for herself.

The sound of netherite boots crunching on gravel and cobblestones made her ears perk up and swivel, head turning quick at the sound. There, in the strange mask of a baby’s face, was Shitty. From the other side of the ravine’s bridge she could see the bright holographic form of Penis.

Her hands clenched, claws extending, netherite gauntlets shining with enchantments trying to activate. She watched as Penis hopped up on the railings of the bridge, as calm as could be. As if he wasn’t a murderer. A monster in a player’s skin, always waiting for the moment to strike when his prey was helpless, when they trust him. And Shitty sat there as if nothing had changed, maybe a bit farther apart than usual, but still willing to be in his presence, still able to look at that stupid box on his head and act like he’s worthy of respect.

After a tense moment, both of them relaxed, swords and axes sheathed or set in their holsters, a faint strained laugh from Shitty reaching Milfboss’ ears.

The time was coming. Milfboss raised the shiny, enchanted netherite hoe, a gift from Poopwad back when they first started dating, and left it on top of the hay bale. Once it left her invisible fingers, the invisibility potion’s magic left it, and the sudden appearance would be what her paid help would be looking for.

Turbo better not fuck this up for her, or heads would roll by her own hand instead of manipulating the situation to kill them by proxy. Getting her claws dirty would ruin her dress.

Sacrifices were necessary.

Across the ravine she saw flickers of movement, the treeline shifting with no breeze, an obvious tell of invisibility potions when someone knew to look for it.

Her heart began to race again and she began to grin, sharp teeth bared as she moved to sit atop the hay bale. She had front row seats to the show, and she wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, they would be too occupied to notice her when the invisibility ran out.

The ashes drifting in the air settled on her skin, the remnants of a city lost to everyone, of lives cut down for selfish gain. Under the constant smell of gunpowder that permeated the server, there was now an underlying tinge of active redstone that made her fingers twitch in anticipation. The mechanism would be starting.

Soon enough, the smell of charred wood began to fill the air, the faint bubbling of lava pouring from dispensers by the wooden supports of the bridge becoming more and more audible as the slow moving liquid began to fall.

At this point Shitty and Penis were fully invested in their conversation, now standing and arguing about something. Shitty sounded tearful, resentful. He was facing away from Milfboss, but she could see his disturbing baby mask in his hands, gesticulating with it as his voice cracked yet again.

Penis stood there, arms crossed, defensive but not denying his transgressions. The murder of people, of course, but also the slaughter of animals. Balls the cow, a beloved pet. Fuckass the sheep, who assisted in destroying the city so many people lived in. The bats that were kept in the zoo Poopwad created as a memory to the chase.

Smoke began to twirl in the faint breeze, rising ever upwards into the orange light of the setting sun. The crackle of flames began to roar, the creak of straining beams interrupting Shitty’s tirade.

“What did you do?!” Shitty yelled as he leaned over the edge, watching as the fire spread.

“I didn’t!” Penis stepped back. “I wouldn’t!”

“Fuck you! You god damned monster! Nothing is sacred, huh? Nothing fucking matters to you, not pets, not lives! Not even the fucking bridge!” Shitty screamed, throwing his mask.

The ceramic mask dented the holographic cardboard of the box on Penis’ head, causing him to stumble back. “I swear I didn’t!”

“You swear a lot of fucking things, Penis. You swore to keep us safe! You swore to love me! But where did that fucking get us?!” Shitty stomped in anger, the wooden boards underfoot crumbling away from him, and he clutched to the railing with a squeak of terror, trying to pull his boot up and out of the hole.

Penis rushed forward, arms reaching out, but Shitty unsheathed his sword, slashing wildly. “No! Don’t fucking touch me! Just go!”

“I’m not going to leave you here you idiot!” Penis yelled.

“GO. I don’t want to see you ever again until the Admiral drags you in to your execution, you fucking traitor!” Shitty snarled.

Milfboss chuckled under her breath as her invisibility potion wore off, flickering back into view. Not that they would notice her, too caught up in their own soap opera of a relationship.

Penis backed up, shaking his head and trying to apologize, before turning and running away into the woods, boards falling out from under his feet as he ran.

After a moment, the wood holding Shitty up buckled, and he was holding onto the bridge above the ravine, above the lava, by just his hands.

Now it was her time to shine.

Milfboss ran up, pretending to be breathless. “Shitty! I heard yelling!” She raced towards him, holding out her axe with the handle facing him. “Grab on!”

With a broken sob, Shitty’s hands grabbed the handle, and she pulled him up easily. He really was a beanpole of a person, no muscle at all, unlike her, who had arms built for cutting down trees and carrying her girlfriend.

She slung her axe onto her back and lifted him up in a fireman’s carry as she ran back into the small sanctuary of the aquarium, one of the few places left untouched by the carnage created by Fuckass and Penis.

“Thank you.” Shitty sobbed into her shoulder, shaking.

“I won’t let anyone lose their last lives on my watch.” Milfboss said. As if she had honor anymore. As if she cared for anyone but her, Poopwad, and Admiral_Anus, the woman who gave her a home.

Everyone else could burn. But it wasn’t Shitty’s time yet.

“Guess I owe you a life-debt now, huh?” Shitty sniffled into her neck, laughing with self-deprecation.

Milfboss grinned victoriously, eyes shining with bloodlust and malice that Shitty couldn’t see.

“Let’s call it a favor.” She said casually. As if it didn’t matter.

As if it wouldn’t be integral in her plan to take Penis down a notch.

Poopwad died by the hand of her trusted friend, Penis. She died quick and painfully, electricity arcing down her bones and into her heart.

Penis would die the same way.

But it wouldn’t be quick.

Milfboss would make sure of that.

#penismp #penis smp #penisunavailable #shittyfartbaby69 #shittyfartunavailable #turbothruster #milfboss #poopwad99 #writing #my writing #penissmp #penismp fanfiction #milfwad #poopboss #admiralanus

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averykedavra · 4 years

Text

Are We There Yet

Hey look it’s losleep that might be *knocks on wood* actually somewhat short? I’m doing these prompts way out of order because I’ve accepted that I won’t finish them so I’m just doing the ones that call my name.

(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! You can find this fic on Ao3 here.)

Prompt: The temperature of your chest gets hotter when you are closer to your soulmate and colder when you move further away. 

Pairing: QPR Losleep.

Words: 6856

Warnings: self-deprecation, food mention, arson mention, death mention, sleep deprivation, minor injury, swearing, hypothermia kind of, and this whole thing could be read as a metaphor for touch starvation

Remy is not clingy.

Okay? Okay.

He doesn’t need anybody. Sure, it’s nice when Logan holds his hand, pretty cool when Logan kisses his cheek, but if no? Remy’s fine with that. He made it like twenty-something years without the boi, after all. Besides, physical affection is ew. He only puts up with it ‘cause Logan likes it.

And if sometimes he flops into Logan’s lap and whines about work until Logan plays with his hair, that’s to annoy his babe. Not because he likes it.

And if he always sticks close to Logan? It’s because Logan drives the cold away.

Which is also not a problem. Remy likes being cold. He’s a frozen dream-come-true, a cool and collected boi, a chill and fabulous being. He’s got his jacket if things get too bad.

Besides, again, he made it twenty years without warmth.

(Twenty pretty fucking terrible years, if he’s honest, but just because he’s half-delirious sometimes from the feeling of being warm doesn’t mean he needs to be desperate about it.)

He’s not desperate. He’s not clingy. He does what he wants and his stupid partner doesn’t control him.

Remy’s not clingy, and Logan’s going away this week, and it’s fine.

“I’ll be back soon,” Logan promises for the fifth time. “You can call me if you need anything, and there’s extra groceries in the fridge, and the keys are by the door--”

“Babe, I’ll be fine.” Remy rolls his eyes. “Tbh, I think you’re more nervous about this than I am.”

“I’m not nervous,” Logan argues, although the way his eyes flicker around says otherwise. “Remember to turn off the stove, and--”

“Darling.” Remy gives Logan a kiss on the nose and enjoys the way Logan flushes and wrinkles his nose. One year of being partners and Logan still stammers under affection. Clearly, Remy needs to give him more.

(It’s just for the reaction, though. It’d be fine if Logan didn’t want kisses. Remy wouldn't sulk.)

“Starlight,” Remy says, placing another kiss on Logan’s cheek for good measure, “my good bitch, I’m capable of managing one week without burning the house down.”

“I know, I know.” Logan gives him a small smile. “I’m just--I wish you could come with me.”

“Plane tickets are fucking expensive,” Remy says, “and I’d rather go broke buying espresso than flying in some tin death trap, ‘kay? Go do your conference thing. It’ll be fine--I’ll hold down the fort.”

Logan frowns. “What fort?”

“Expression, honey.” Remy gives Logan one more kiss because he can’t help himself (but he’ll be fine without these for a week, of course.) “Good luck, show those assholes what you’re made of.”

“They’re hardly assholes.” Logan touches his forehead to Remy’s and Remy does his best not to melt in the warmth. “You’ll really be okay without me?”

“Of course,” Remy says, grinning. “My life will go on without you. I’m not that clingy.”

Something flashes over Logan’s face, but it’s gone before Remy can parse it. Logan gives him a final kiss and grabs his suitcases, pulling on a blazer that makes him look fucking stunning, in Remy’s opinion. Goddammit. Logan’s wasting his hella fine looks on some conference assholes when he could be here with Remy, sipping coffee and making fun of every episode of Gilmore Girls.

Well. What the hell does Remy care? He really does get that Logan needs to go to that conference, since Mr. Serious Professor is the only real income-giver in the household. Remy’s just a layabout who pays meager rent only on months when the coffee shop doesn’t fully fail.

He has no idea why Logan chose Remy, of all people, because he figured professor-types ought to stick together.

(He knows why. They’re soulmates. Without each other, they’re cold as ice, and tbh, Remy gets it. Logan would rather be with a mess than freezing to death. Fair enough. Still, it hurts, knowing you could be replaced with a fucking space heater.)

Logan gives Remy a little wave, and Remy gives him a cocky smile in return, adjusting his sunglasses and already planning the five-shot espresso he’s gonna use to drown his feelings.

Just one week.

This is gonna be fine.

Remy circles the end of the week on his calendar, once, twice, three times. Just so he’s not surprised. Sometimes time slips away around him and he’d like to be clothed when his partner shows up again.

He spends the rest of the evening watching TV. He heats up some macaroni, burns his tongue on it, and eats two brownies because why the hell not? It’s only like nine when he’s done, but the apartment is eerily empty. Logan’s usually busy with grading these evenings, face lit by his laptop, and Remy teases him and passes him some coffee and pulls him to bed when he’s really wrapped up.

Remy runs his hand idly over the spot where Logan usually sits.

Ugh. This is setting him on edge. He doesn’t like empty places and he has the urge to yell just to fill up the pockets of silence.

Remy makes himself one coffee. He shouldn’t. If Logan were here, he’d chide Remy and say Remy needs to sleep soon. Remy dangles his coffee mug in midair but Logan doesn’t catch it. ‘Cause Logan’s not here.

Duh, Remy, what’d you expect?

Remy chugs the coffee, tosses the mug in the sink, and tells himself he’ll clean it tomorrow.

He curls up in bed and stays on his phone until midnight. As the night wears on, he grows colder and colder. He pictures Logan flying on a plane to somewhere else, maybe sleeping with some stupid sleep mask on, his hair all messy and his glasses in his hands.

Remy’s phone vibrates.

If you’re still up, go to sleep.

Logan signs the text with a blue heart. He always does. Remy has done his goddamn best to teach Logan how emojis actually work, but Logan insists that words are “a highly more productive and lucid way of communicating.”

He always adds a heart though. Says it’s a quick way to remind Remy that he loves him.

Logan’s such a fucking sap sometimes.

(Remy ignores the fact that he’s smiling at his phone like it’s his firstborn child.)

lol hypocrite smh, he decides to write back.

I, at least, have the excuse of jet lag. Get some sleep, dear, we can talk tomorrow.

Remy sighs and doesn’t ask him to stay. He really is tired. And he’s not desperate.

He tosses his phone onto the nightstand and pulls his blankets up to his shoulders.

He’s cold.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he wakes up and he’s still cold. Damn, the universe is a bitch.

Rubbing his arms and swearing, Remy stumbles into the kitchen and fumbles for the espresso machine. He tosses a good morning behind him and then remembers Logan’s not here. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes himself.

He’s not gonna think about Logan right now.

Besides, Remy could use this alone time! Right? He’s always complained about Logan getting in his personal space.

(It’s a joke. It’s a joke and Logan always sees right through it, and Remy hates it.)

Remy nods to himself. He gets dressed in his usual jacket and pulls it tighter around him, as if clothes can get rid of the cold in his chest.

He takes a sip of coffee, pulls on his sunglasses, and gets ready to face the day.

His first shift goes okay. A bunch of couples come in, giggling and blushing, and Remy can tell the newest ones from the way they cling to each other’s arms. He fucking hates the universe sometimes. Depending on how sensitive a soul is, the cold can mess with people good. Some people never find their soulmate and freeze inside and out, unable to fix it, suffering from a cold that physically doesn’t exist. It’s all in their head, or their soul, to be sentimental about it.

Soulmates are bullshit if they hurt someone for not being there enough.

And being forced to be with someone...there are problems. Remy’s heard the stories. Seen the tears. Soulmates might be “made for each other” but sometimes shit happens, and the problem is nobody can leave that mess, because soulmates and because going from warm to cold is terrifying.

(Even for the relationships that work out--like Remy’s--there’s always the undercurrent of doubt. That it’s all about the temperature, the destiny, the expectations. And not about real love. Remy tries not to think about that.)

Still, watching the younger couples trade coffees and smile, Remy gets why everyone falls in love with the idea.

He spends his lunch break staring at his phone and hoping Logan will text him. Logan’s probably asleep--time zones, right? Plus the babe always gets conked out after plane rides.

Remy could text Logan, just to know. But it hasn’t been a day yet. He’s not gonna be needy.

He does his second shift, downs two espressos, and pretends the caffeine rush eclipses the cold settling into his bones.

He only grabbed a bun for lunch, so for dinner he cooks up some chicken. Then he watches more TV. Without realizing it, he grabs several blankets and pulls them around himself until he’s a blanket burrito. It’s warm. He almost falls asleep right there but manages to drag himself to bed, because an annoying voice in the back of his brain told him Logan would be mad if Remy stayed on the couch all night.

What does it matter, though? Logan isn’t here.

Remy still goes to bed.

He piles a quilt on top of his shoulders. The weight drowns him and he drifts off to sleep.

He only wakes up once.

Logan is texting him. Remy fumbles for the phone, ridiculously excited.

I hope you are well. Talk to you tomorrow morning, if you are willing.

Remy swallows and texts back sure.

Too quick? Too desperate? Nah, Logan likes punctuality, and anyway, it says he hasn’t read the text. He probably sent it, turned his phone off, and went to sleep. Logan’s responsible like that.

Remy watches his phone for a few more seconds, sighs, and turns it over. It takes a while for him to go back to sleep.

Day two and day three are a blur. He crosses the days off on the calendar, resolving to burn it before Logan sees. He’s run out of espresso so he makes a quick trip to the grocery store. They’ve turned the air conditioning on, even though it’s fall. Remy shivers his way through the aisles. He buys Logan’s favorite ice cream without thinking and sticks it in the back of the freezer. He’ll be here in four days, after all.

Remy bites his lip, pulls on his jacket, and goes back outside.

He goes to Logan’s favorite bookshop. The door tinkles when he opens it. At least this place isn’t air conditioned, though Remy still shivers, remembering all the afternoons when Logan dragged him here. He heads for the astronomy books and runs his fingers down the shelves. He has no idea what book to get. Logan’s the smart one. Remy’s just the bitch.

He buys a few books. They have space on the cover so Remy figures Logan’ll tolerate them. It costs like twice his week’s paycheck. Remy tries not to be salty about it. It’s not like Logan’s forcing him to buy this stuff. He did it himself.

Why, he’s not sure.

It’s only when he’s walking home with a bag of books and swilling the dregs of his coffee around when he realizes he’s gonna have to find a why. He’ll have to explain to Logan why he impulse-brought the babe some books. And he’ll have to make it somehow sound not-pathetic.

Well, that’s a problem for Future Remy.

Present Remy sticks the books in a closet--is that where books go? He usually just reads cafe menus--and cooks up some fried rice for dinner. All boxed, of course. It tastes like crap. He wonders if he should buy takeout tomorrow, but he just spent a bunch of money on fucking books, so maybe not.

He takes the books back out of the closet. He slips them into place on Logan’s shelves. They’re probably out of order. Logan has a wack organization system. But they look at home on the shelf, and none of the titles seem to be repeats, so that’s cool.

Remy takes a deep breath. They smell like paper, duh. Paper and leather and Logan, just a bit. Or maybe Logan smells like books.

Okay, now that’s pathetic. Remy backs away from the bookshelf. Why’d he even buy those stupid things?

(Because he can imagine Logan did. Because that bookstore reminded him of Logan and he feels like he could summon Logan with his favorite things. Like Logan is a demon or something. Well, tbh, he is a demon if his ability to recite the periodic table is any indication. Also, demons are pretty. And Logan is unfairly pretty, with fluffy hair and dark eyes and a little scar on his cheek and a dip in his chin.)

Remy sighs and watches a bit of TV. He turns it off soon enough because the words slip through his brain and leave no trace behind. Then he grabs the vacuum and turns it up.

He never vacuums. Logan does the cleaning and the cooking. Remy does the...lounging about? And the complaining. Logan also fixes anything that’s broken. Remy--well, maybe he does the errands? He does the errands. It’s not much, though, and it suddenly hits him how much Logan does every day. He’s got a full-time job teaching some college babies how to spell, and he still cooks dinner every night.

Remy narrows his eyes, rolls up his sleeves, and vacuums.

It’s loud. Plus he can’t remember which attachment goes on the carpet and which on the floor. So he might be doing more damage than help here. But fuck it.

When he’s done, he shoves the vacuum back into the closet. Then he grabs the laundry basket and does the laundry. He gets detergent on his jacket, which is not cool, and then he has to fold the fucking laundry. Remy looks up how to fold stuff. He’s pretty sure he’s made everything wrinkly, and some of the clothes didn’t fit in the drawer so he had to smush them.

As an apology, he washes the sink. It’s not bad. Then he washes the mirror--not bad--and the bathtub--worse--and the toilet--hell on earth. By the end of it, he feels like every bit of slime and muck has been transported onto his skin.

He takes a warm shower. He keeps turning the heat up because he forgets the cold inside doesn’t match his actual temperature, and he can’t help it because for a second, it’s like he’s actually warm.

The air is freezing when he steps out. He wraps himself in three towels, stumbles into his bedroom, and throws on two pajama shirts and some extra-fluffy socks. He feels like shit. He has no idea how Logan manages to do all this stuff.

His phone vibrates as he’s collapsing into bed.

If I’m not disturbing you, would you like to talk?

Remy snorts to cover up his huge smile.

hey babe

Greetings. how was your day?

p cool.

Remy pauses before adding: did some chores.

Really? That wasn’t necessary.

im still in this apartment so ye, it was.

That reminds me. Are the groceries running out?

Something twitches in Remy’s stomach. He doesn’t know why. What, did he expect Logan to comment? To thank him? To come flying back home because Remy cleaned the sink?

(Yes. Maybe. Hopefully. It isn’t about Logan’s approval--except it is. Remy wants to know he’s not a screwup. That he did something right. That Logan can ease up because Remy can help out more. And maybe it would make the cold in his chest go away, just a bit.)

Remy sighs.

course not. it’s been like three days

I was just checking. What are you having for lunch?

already had it. it’s like midnight over here

Oh. Apologies. I’ll let you get some sleep.

Remy could say no. He could say stay with me. He could say nah, I’m bored, let’s chat.

He’s not clingy, though.

night babe

Goodnight.

Remy doesn’t even bother putting his phone away. He plugs it in and holds it next to him. It’s warm. And with the many blankets piled up on top of him, he can almost pretend Logan’s there, a fire that sears him inside and out.

He barely sleeps.

Day four is rainy. Remy usually asks Logan to drive him to work, so today he dashes down the sidewalk with an umbrella and curses wildly every time a drop of rain lands on his jacket. All the customers leave puddles on the floor. Remy has to mop them up.

He’s pissed. Pissed at nothing in particular, pissed at the customers who are all a little bit rude, pissed at the cold rattling in his chest.

(He’s more than halfway through the week and he’s barely managed to get this far. Pathetic.)

He chugs coffee right from the pot. It’s blistering hot and he can feel it trickle through him. He’s burning warm now and yet so, so cold. He bets he could burn to death and still feel freezing.

Goddammit.

Fucking soulmates.

Remy is cold. Remy is annoyed. Remy would like very much to go home.

And he gets his wish--because he slips on a puddle by the front door and his ankle skews out in a direction ankles should not go.

He’d try to stay and do his job, but his manager insists he should go home. He asks Remy if anyone’s picking him up. Remy shakes his head.

Remy should stick it out and get paid. Instead, he limps home.

His ankle isn’t swollen much, but it hurts like fuck to walk on, so he props it up on a table and watches TV. Maybe he should be doing more. He just got the afternoon off, after all. But he doesn’t fucking feel like it. So Logan can fight him.

Logan’s not here to fight him.

Ugh. Fuck Logan. Fuck soulmates. Fuck Remy’s stupid twisted ankle. Everything hurts and he wants to commit arson.

Maybe that’d warm him up.

He stays up most of the night. Logan doesn’t text him, or maybe he does and Remy doesn’t hear it over the TV. He doesn’t check. Fuck Logan. Fuck everything in the whole fucking world.

By the time it’s three in the morning, his ankle is still throbbing and he’s about to punch something.

He groans and burrows deeper into his mass of blankets. He’s still really, really cold. He wishes he wasn’t so fucking sensitive--some people feel the temperature super acutely, and Remy’s one of them. Usually he likes being acute, or, more accurately, a-cute piece of ass. This, though? This fucking blows.

Remy drifts in and out of a doze for the rest of the night. He dreams he’s sinking into a frozen lake and nobody’s there to help. He wakes up to the credits playing and his ankle sparkling with hot pain.

Hot pain that he almost doesn’t mind at this point, since it’s a respite from the cold.

Fucking soulmates.

Remy hopes Logan never comes back. He’ll just freeze to death sad and alone and that’d serve Logan right.

(He doesn’t mean that. He never does. Logan would probably be sad if Remy died. And Remy likes being alive. He’s just...he’s just unraveling right now, a snarled mess of red-hot wire in his head, burning his thoughts but never warming the rest of him.)

Remy pulls a pillow out of his head.

He feels like shit, everything’s on fire except cold, and morning is a long way away.

When morning comes, he calls in sick. Because he still feels like shit. Except the special kind of shit he always feels like after pulling an all-nighter. His back is stiff and his ankle throbs dully and his eyes itch. The TV stayed on all night. Remy wonders if that contributes to the electricity bill--Logan always handles that kind of thing.

Logan always handles everything.

Can Logan handle Remy? Well, so far, he’s done alright.

Remy’s hard to handle sometimes, though.

Like now. He’s pretty sure if Logan saw him right now, he’d finally give up on the idea of soulmates.

Remy eats some chips for breakfast, binges a few shows, and eats more chips for lunch. He’s still hungry. Apparently chips aren’t that filling. Bullshit. Chips should count as food.

He nods off mid-afternoon and sleeps through dinner. His stomach is growling when he wakes up. He barely notices, though. It’s the cold that he really feels. It’s like he woke up made of ice, and any movement will shatter his joints and send him crashing to the ground in a pile of frozen splinters.

Dramatic? Yes. Justified? Also yes.

He feels like he’s on fucking fire. Except it’s cold instead of warm and there’s no way to put the fire out.

It’s supposed to be just the chest, but it feels like his whole body. From the tips of his toes to his hair follicles to his eyelashes to his chipped nails. Every blood vessel in his body is frozen, every patch of skin is icy, and when he blinks, he’s surprised no frost comes off of his eyelids.

Fuck, it hurts.

Why does he have to be so sensitive? Why can’t he last one week without his soulmate? Why did the universe look at Remy and decide hey, that’s the bitch we should saddle with super fucking sensitivity to this soulmate shit, so he becomes a clingy bitch and drags everyone else down with him?

Remy works his way into a sitting position and grabs for his phone. An unanswered text from Logan lights up.

How are you doing?

I’m chilling, Remy writes back.

Which is technically true.

(And besides, no need to worry Logan. He can’t do anything about the situation right now, so whining about it would only make Remy look like a mess. Besides, Logan would probably be annoyed--annoyed that his soulmate can’t handle it, that his soulmate won’t shut up, that his soulmate is Remy who’s just entirely wrong for him in every single fucking way.)

Logan doesn’t answer the text. He’s probably busy or asleep.

Remy feels so, so cold.

He frantically searches up solutions for soulmate-induced chills. He has flashbacks to middle and high school, back before he found Logan, cold every morning. People complained he was faking it, that there was no way it felt that bad, and eventually Remy learned to stop talking about it. Later the doctors told him he was abnormally sensitive, and even later he found out that Logan lived miles and miles away.

It had all been kind of justified. But that didn’t make him feel any better.

And today it just makes him feel worse. Great. Five days without his soulmate and he’s slipping back into old habits. Five days without his soulmate and he’s curled up on the couch and trying to find a way to make the cold leave.

Needy? Yes. Desperate? Yes. Justified? Yes, but also, not really.

All the tips involve stuff Remy can’t muster up the urge to go and find. He settles for rubbing at his skin, his wrists, his sides and his knees. For a second there’s a bit of relief, and then gone. It’s like itchy mosquito bites--the moment he warms one patch of skin, another starts aching with cold.

And he’s still hungry. And his ankle still hurts.

Remy curls deeper in the blankets and imagines Logan, Logan pressing a kiss to his hairline, Logan running a hand down his side, Logan close to him and Logan warm, like a bonfire Remy can never touch. Logan is the fucking sun and Remy is a cold, distant planet, trying his damn hardest to get close but knowing he’s just a blip on the radar. Logan can light up the world on his own. Without Logan, Remy can’t do jack-shit.

Remy is spinning through the universe, and it is dark and cold and really, really lonely.

He tugs a blanket over his head and tries to sleep.

When he wakes up again, it’s day six, and his eyelids are stuck together and he wishes fervently for coffee.

He fumbles for his phone. Logan’s texted him. Remy can’t muster up a smile.

It’s a long text. A paragraph. Logan’s walking Remy through his day? Cute. Logan’s so cute.

Remy tries to read it, but his eyes slip closed again and his stomach rumbles and his ankle stings and maybe he’ll just sleep until Logan gets here again, maybe he’ll enter hibernation--

He should answer Logan’s text.

He should call a friend. He’s pretty sure he has some, though he can’t remember why.

He should--maybe he should call 911.

But nah.

Remy’s not clingy, right?

He’s fine.

The phone slips from his hand as he falls back asleep.

Remy’s heard, somewhere, that having hypothermia means you get really warm right before you die. The cold kills you without you even feeling it.

And he can’t die from this. But he does wake up warm and that’s probably not a good sign.

Remy grabs his phone and checks the time. It’s...twelve. Twelve on the day Logan’s returning--and he’s returning at three.

Fuck, shit, fuck--

Remy scrambles to his feet, every bone in his body groaning in complaint. He feels like he got run over by a truck and he probably looks that way, too. His stomach is growling and his hands are shaking and his ankle doesn’t hurt anymore but it also won’t move the way it’s supposed to. He grabs his sunglasses and pulls them on, checking his phone’s texts.

A few texts from his manager. Because yeah, he just missed two extra days of work without even calling the guy. Fuck. Remy’ll have to work overtime or it’ll come down to Logan to pay the bills, and Remy doesn’t want to be even more useless.

One text from Logan.

I’m on the plane. I can’t wait to see you!

Remy wishes the feeling was mutual.

He pulls on his jacket and takes a look around. The living room is a mess of blankets that drown the couch and spill out onto the floor. The TV is blinking--Remy must have sat on the remote. He thwaps the side a few times until it turns off. Maybe he broke it. Well, problem for Future Remy.

Remy bundles up most of the blankets and shoves them haphazardly into the closet. Then he grabs the chip bags and throws them out. He’s starving--he pulls out a yogurt cup and downs it, then makes himself a triple-shot espresso. It’s scalding hot and he almost feels warm drinking it.

He doesn’t feel warm.

He doesn’t feel cold, either.

He feels--well, he’s not sure how he feels. Better, maybe? He’s definitely less of a lump. But everything’s kind of numb and lukewarm and hazy, and his hands won’t stop trembling.

He makes himself another coffee, just for good measure.

The sun streams through the window. Standing in it usually warms Remy up--today it makes him feel cold. He steps into the shadows and they skate over him comfortably. Chilly and numbing and safe, and this is very worrying, and maybe he should call a doctor.

Eh, Logan’ll be back soon. So it’s fine.

Remy tries to remember everything he should do. He was gonna explain to Logan why he bought those books. And what happened to his ankle. And why he hasn’t texted back. And how shitty everything’s been--well, no, not that last one.

Right! Right. The calendar. Throw it out so Remy doesn’t look desperate.

Remy stumbles over to the calendar and tears it down. It’s only marked halfway to today, because he’d given up on crossing off the days, but it’s still irritating to see.

Logan will be here soon.

Remy’s phone vibrates.

Logan’s in the airport. He’s driving home.

For some reason, Remy’s heart starts to race.

(Because the apartment is a mess. Because there are more astronomy books than there used to be. Because Remy looks like a dead rat. Because he hasn’t gone to work. Because Logan will see this mess and realize what a mess Remy is without him.)

Probably, the coffee didn’t help. Remy still takes a sip of it because the familiar taste helps ground him.

Okay. Logan’s getting here soon. And Remy will be warm. And everything will be fine. Everything will be fine and Remy can explain things later, when he’s warm.

He can feel Logan in his chest. Maybe that's why he woke up so warm--because Logan’s near. Logan’s near, and Logan’s close, and this should be enough.

It’s not.

Remy’s still numb in his extremities and trembling in his hands. He’s growing warmer but not fast enough. Logan’s not here yet and it hurts.

(Desperate.)

Yeah, he’s fucking desperate.

He paces back and forth across the kitchen. Back and forth. Back and forth. The exercise sends little tingles up his legs. He’s lukewarm right now. And it’s almost as painful as the cold, being so close to warmth but not quite there, hanging in limbo.

Remy checks his phone again and again and again.

He doesn’t text Logan, though. That’d be really needy.

Time ticks on and Remy wonders if the world has frozen instead of him.

He wants to scream. He wants to throw open the door and run to wherever Logan is and collapse in his arms and never leave. He wants to be near Logan. He wants to be with Logan. He wants Logan to never leave.

He wants.

Remy paces and back and forth and wants, more than he’s ever let himself before.

He probably looks so pathetic.

Maybe Logan’s late. Maybe Logan’s stopping to get groceries. Maybe Logan got mugged, or maybe Logan just isn’t here yet because it isn’t time yet, and Remy’s waiting--

A key turns in the lock.

Remy almost drops his coffee. He scrambles for it and manages to slam it on the counter. Then he puts his arm next to it, stares at the window, and tries to look nonchalant.

The door opens.

Logan.

Logan, his partner, his starlight.

Remy wants to run to him and tackle him and never let him go.

“Oh, hey, babes,” he says instead, glancing at Logan. “Back already? Time flies.”

“Don’t mention flying,” Logan complains, closing the door behind him and rubbing his eyes. “My flight back was a nightmare.”

“Really? Spill the tea, babe!” Remy casually grabs one of Logan’s suitcases. “I’ll cut a bitch if they fucked with you.”

“It was a baby,” Logan complains.

“Oh, damn, can’t kill it, can I?” Remy leans in to give Logan a quick kiss on the cheek and veers away just as quickly. Logan is a furnace. Remy’s melting in the proximity and he wants to get far away and he wants to burrow into the center of the warmth and let it envelop him.

Logan gives Remy an odd look. Remy grins and takes another sip of coffee.

“How are you?” Logan asks, peeling off his jacket. “You didn’t text me back. Were you busy?”

Remy shrugs. “Busy, bingeing Riverdale, what’s the difference?”

“Riverdale is a ridiculous show.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Logan rolls his eyes and leans in to press a kiss to Remy’s forehead. “I’m glad to be back, dear.”

And Remy almost shoves him away.

He realizes the instant he’s done so that he’s made a mistake. Logan’s staring at him in open confusion and--oh no--a bit of hurt.

“Is something wrong?” Logan asks. His voice is way too soft.

(He’s too close. He’s too far. Remy is going to burn up from the pure kindness in Logan’s eyes because fuck is he clingy.)

“Remy?” Logan asks.

Remy’s gone too long without talking.

“’Course I’m fine, babe.” Remy laughs. “You must be tired, right? Jet-lag and all that jazz. C’mon, let’s put your stuff away.”

Logan gives Remy a searching look. “We don’t have to right away. We can...watch a movie? Or cuddle, if you’d like.”

“Nah, you’re probably exhausted.” Remy tosses his coffee into the sink and waves at Logan to follow him. “I’ll get your stuff and you can go to bed, it’s fine--”

“Remy,” Logan says.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Remy looks back. Logan’s eyebrows are pulled together and he’s almost glowing in the afternoon sun. He’s tired. Remy can tell. Bags are smudged under his eyes and his hair is rumpled up. (Remy would reach out and rumple it more if he dared to get any closer.)

So why is he still here?

“Lo,” Remy says, and it comes out softer than he wanted. “Talk later. Sleep now.”

“Talk now, thank you.” Logan steps closer and Remy steps back. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Remy protests.

“Are you?” Logan reaches for his hand and Remy pulls it towards his chest. “I--I apologize if I’m overstepping, I promise I didn’t mean to alarm you--”

Remy takes another step back. Logan’s too close and too warm and too--

His twisted ankle slips.

He falls towards the kitchen floor and braces himself.

Warm.

Searing warmth around his chest.

Logan caught him.

Logan caught him and is holding him upright, eyes wide, face inches from Remy’s own. Where his skin meets Remy’s skin? Fire. Explosions of fireworks and the warmth of a hot bath and Remy’s missed this. Fuck, he’s missed this.

“Are you alright?” Logan asks.

Remy opens his mouth to say something and doesn’t.

“I--” Logan moves to step back. “Apologies, I didn’t want you to fall--”

No.

Maybe Remy’s clingy, but no, Logan is not moving away.

Remy throws his arms around Logan’s shoulders and curls into him.

Logan makes a small noise before returning the hug, hand coming up to cup Remy’s neck. It sears his skin and Remy should be in pain. He’s not. He actually whines, turning his face into Logan’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Dear,” Logan whispers. His hand rubs down Remy’s side and Remy shudders. “Could you tell me what’s going on?”

Remy looks up, and his whole body is warm, and he realizes far too late that he’s starting to cry.

“Oh." Logan looks absolutely terrified. “Remy, what’s wrong?”

Remy doesn’t know how to say absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. So he settles for clinging to Logan’s shirt and disappearing into the warmth again, letting Logan hold him, knowing soon he’ll have to pull away but unwilling to let soon be now.

“Remy, dearest.” Logan brushes a kiss over Remy’s forehead and Remy whines again, goddammit. “Please, I can’t help you unless you talk to me. Or if you’re not ready, at least--at least signal to me what I can do?”

Don’t let go.

Fuck, Logan, don’t let go.

“Sorry,” Remy mutters, and tries to force himself to move out of Logan’s arms. “I--sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Logan sounds even more confused and upset. “Remy, I’m very confused right now.”

“I--” Remy manages to scoot a little bit away from Logan. The cold hits him like a blast and he shivers. “Don’t mind me.”

Logan reaches out and catches Remy’s hand. He folds it in his own. Remy stares at it and looks up, and he realizes his vision is blurring. Shit. He’s crying over held hands--he really is pathetic.

“Remy.”

Remy almost gasps as Logan presses their hands to his chest. Remy can feel Logan’s heartbeat, fluttering under his fingers.

“Remy, please,” Logan insists. “I’m worried.”

“I--you--” Remy tries to roll his eyes. “I’ve just...missed you, is all.”

“Oh?”

“And it’s--” Remy shrinks into himself, looking away. “I’m not trying to be needy or anything. But it’s--y’know. It’s been kinda cold without you.”

“Oh.”

Remy stares at his feet, eyes stinging.

“Remy, dearest, please look at me.” Logan’s voice is unexpectedly soft. “You’re cold?”

Remy nods.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“You couldn’t have done anything about it,” Remy points out.

“I still would have liked to know.” Logan places two fingers under Remy’s chin and tilts it up. Remy’s eyes meet Logan’s--Logan is so pretty, with those dark eyes and that ruffled hair and such a concerned look on his face. (Remy doesn’t deserve him.)

“Would you like to cuddle now?” Logan asks. “It will probably help.”

Remy shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t--” Remy waves a hand. “You’re tired.”

“I’m not, and even if I was, you’re more important.” Logan sighs. “We can even cuddle in bed and I can sleep, if it’s that necessary for you.”

“No thanks,” Remy says, trying to wipe away his tears surreptitiously. “I don’t need that.”

“But you want it,” Logan says. “Don’t you?”

Remy presses his lips together.

“Remy. Dearest.” Logan looks pained. “Why aren’t you letting yourself get what you want?”

Something stabs into Remy’s heart and stays there.

“I love you,” Logan pleads. “You’re cold. I--I’m afraid I don’t see what the problem is--”

“Because you don’t want to!” Remy bursts out.

“I don’t--what?” Logan looks utterly bewildered. “Of course I want you to be happy and warm!”

“But you don’t want--you can’t want--” Remy waves an arm at the kitchen, then at himself. “I’m just being clingy, it’s fine--”

“Clingy?” Logan repeats. And now he looks heartbroken.

“Yeah, needy, desperate, whatever.” Remy shrugs. “I’m just sensitive, it’s really fine.”

“Remy. Remy, please.” Logan shakes his head. “Remy, I love you.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Logan asks. “I love you and I want you to be happy and I treasure your company. It’s not a burden on me to support you.”

“But you always support me!” Remy fires back. “You do all the work and I just lounge around! I don’t--you’re just stuck with me ‘cause I’m your fucking soulmate!”

There’s a long, frozen silence.

“I’m sorry,” Remy whispers. “Really am, starlight.”

“No.” Logan squares his shoulders. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I ever made you think you weren’t good enough for me.”

“What?” Remy asks.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you believe I felt ‘stuck’ with you. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you didn’t contribute anything to this relationship. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel needy for wanting comfort.”

Remy swallows.

“I’m sorry if--” Logan shakes his head. “Do you remember the time I got a flat tire and you singlehandledly convinced several different people to drive us, in small increments, to a repair shop?”

“Yes?” Remy blinks a few times. “What’s this have to do with--”

“Do you remember the time one of my students almost dropped out and I cried because I thought I’d failed them, and you helped me reach out to them? They graduated, dearest. With a solid B minus.”

“I know, but--”

“Do you remember all the times you send me to bed for sleeping late?” Logan continues. “Do you remember all the afternoons you flopped on my lap and watched TV with me? Do you remember how you always let me talk about whatever I’d like and you always listen?”

Remy stares at Logan.

“I love you,” Logan says desperately, “and you have helped me so much, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. Soulmate or no, I love you. And I will always support you, without hesitation, just as much as you’ve supported me.”

Logan opens his arms. “So...if you’d like to, I think you might like a hug?”

Remy presses a hand to his mouth. “I--”

“It’s okay,” Logan says. “You’re not desperate. You just need help right now.”

Remy chokes back a sob and collapses into Logan’s arms.

“Shh,” Logan whispers as Remy starts to cry. “Shh, I’ve got you, I’m here.”

“I missed you,” Remy confesses.

“I know. I missed you too.”

“I love you.” Remy suddenly feels he needs to say it. “I love you so much, starlight.”

“I know.” Remy can hear the trace of a smile in Logan’s voice. “And I’m all the better for it.”

They stand there a long time, Remy sinking into the warmth, head on Logan’s shoulder and arms tucked around his waist. There are things they could be doing. Logan still needs sleep and Remy hasn’t eaten much and they’ve got jobs and lives and a million little things to put back in order.

For now, though, it’s just them in an empty kitchen.

Remy feels like his chest is on fire.

It’s not uncomfortable, though. It’s like the flame of a hearth, guiding him home. Telling him he’s right where he needs to be. And so is Logan.

Together. In each other’s arms. Smiling.

And fuck, Remy feels like he could touch the sun.

General taglist:

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

@csi-baker-street-babes

@caffeinated-cryptid

@thefivecalls

@ollyollyoxinfree

@the-gay-is-back

@dramaticsnakes

@stoicpanther

Taglist from @the-taglist-repository:

@katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @somehow-i-got-an-account @starlight-era @just-your-typical-trans-guy @potatsanderssides @idont-freaking-know @aceawkwardunicorn @callboxkat @sign-from-god-complex @locked-prism @sign-from-god-complex @a-fandom-trashdump @dragonwithproblems @snowdice @just-a-random-enby @nonasficcollection @enby-phoenix @sign-from-god-complex @hitmewiththatfanart33 @aceawkwardunicorn @callboxkat @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123 @hekking-happy-nonsense @cottonwoolsocks @demoniccheese83 @legendsgates @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun

#losleep #remy sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #ts remy #ts logan #qpr losleep #averywrites #human au #soulmate au #ts shorts remy #tw self-deprecation #look they're soft and i'm soft and it's nine at night #idk what u want from me

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gaeilgeoirgay · 3 years

Text

SpideyTorch Week Day Three Alternate Universe

For Day Three, I chose an alternate universe in which our favourite couple are the villains! This one is a bit darker than usual, and there’s a mild instance of torture, that isn’t explicitly described near the end, so do watch out for that

Ao3 Link

@spideytorchweek

they don’t question our violence

“Hello, Spidey. Nice of you to swing by.” Comes a mocking voice from behind him. Peter almost swears, his Spidey Sense hadn’t even warned him, the traitor! Clearly it doesn’t think of Morning Star as a threat despite the fact Johnny has tried to kill him on several occasions. Maybe. To be fair, the Dock Incident was Peter’s fault and Morning Star hasn’t attempted murder in ten months, coinciding with the new depths of their relationship.

And it’s not like Peter is a complete angel either. The Wolf Spider is a name synonymous with death and blood- at least Morning Star tends to stick with arson. Peter is a mercenary, it’s not like he can judge his pyromaniac boyfriend.

“Hi, starlight. I have a job for us, and we get to explode the place afterwards.” Peter says, turning around to smile at Johnny, who perks up at the idea. He lets his flames fizzle out and lands next to Peter, who gratefully accepts the kiss he’s given. It’s freezing right now, and even the slightest bit of warmth makes a difference to Peter’s non-regulating self. There’s also the fact he’s kissing Johnny. That’s a big factor.

He turns fully around to kiss Johnny properly, taking care with his fangs so his venom doesn’t enter Johnny’s bloodstream. He rather likes his boyfriend and he doesn’t want to kill him. Johnny eventually pulls back to smile brightly at Peter.

“What’s the job, Fangs? I like the sound of it already.” He says. Peter beckons him up onto the vent protruding from the building they’re on, hopping up himself to swing his legs childishly. Johnny joins him, feet tapping impatiently.

“I met Remy Le Beau downtown a few days ago. He mentioned that there’ve been a few disappearances lately, mainly mutant children living on the streets that don’t appear on official records. I did some digging and it turns out there’s a lab set up in the Bronx that’s been experimenting on mutant kids.” Peter explains, scowling now. “Officially, it’s a gene lab where volunteers donate samples to be studied for cures to various diseases. There’s about twenty kids there now from what I can tell. Remy can’t blow it to hell himself without attracting attention to Xavier but if we free the kids and then happen to torch it, people won’t question our violence.” He finishes.

Johnny is frowning now too. “What excuse are we giving for the attack though?” He asks and Peter laughs. “That’s the best bit. We’re not giving an excuse, we’re telling everyone they were experimenting on children. Their encryptions are ridiculously bad and there’s already been a call for an inquiry into them by S.I. They’re subsidised by Oscorp and it’ll damage their stocks once it gets out that not only did they block the investigation, they funded the lab too.” He explains and Johnny grins.

“Two birds with one stone. Save the kids and piss off Green Goblin. I’m down.” He says and Peter stands. Johnny does too and Peter challenges him to a race across the city. They may be supervillains but they can still have fun.

The building is near deserted when they get there, other than a few dedicated workers and the overnight security guards. The employees aren’t aware of where their samples come from, only the top scientists know about the mutants and the security guards were never told they were guarding people instead of chemicals so they’ve agreed to leave them mostly alone.

Johnny silently melts a window on the top floor and they sneak into the building, avoiding the admittedly meagre defences.

They soon find a bright red door labelled DANGER and according to the blueprints that Peter acquired, the kids should be behind it.

They crumple easily under Peter’s enhanced strength and Johnny groans at the display. “I love it when you break metal with your bare hands.” He whispers and Peter smothers a laugh. They step over the ruined doors to find the kids in chains.

“Oh I can’t wait to set this place on fire.” Johnny growls harshly and Peter shushes him. There’s a computer terminal by the door so he plugs in a device he built himself that will copy the information on the mainframe to his personal store while deleting every other existing copy. He’ll probably delete his own copy once he goes through it, but he’d prefer to know if some sort of power-killing virus was made before he gets hit with it. Probably by Ross, may he die in agony.

The two of them set to work on the chains, Peter snapping them and Johnny turning them to molten slag. The kids are utterly silent, even when the two villains are reassuring them softly and Peter vows to hunt down every last disgrace to science that was involved in the lab.

Finally, the last chain clatters to the floor and all the kids are free. Remy had promised them assistance from two X-men who would be able to get the kids out of the lab so Peter and Johnny could get to burning it down.

They herd the kids to the window they broke in through and are met by the dark form of Archangel. The mutant’s normally pure white wings are covered in dark metal to blend in with the night but he’s still gentle with the children and they seem a bit less scared to see someone who’s so obviously like them.

Peter watches one little girl with red, scaly wings looking in awe between herself and the hero and smiles. He glances at Johnny and a thought comes to him. He wants that. Him and Johnny, with a kid each, maybe one girl and one boy or two of the same gender.

Hmm. That’s something to consider later. For now, he watches Archangel fly the kids one-by-one to a nearby safehouse where Nightcrawler is waiting to bring the kids to Xavier’s mansion the next morning. They deserve a good nights rest before moving somewhere completely different to everything they’ve ever known.

Archangel returns after the last child has been delivered to Nightcrawler and perches on the windowsill, regarding Peter and Johnny with a slight measure of respect.

“I met Nightcrawler in a mutant fighting ring. Neither of us wanted to be there but we never got the chance to escape. I got hurt and Mystique spirited him away but we never knew what happened to the ring. These kids though, they’re not gonna have that.” He plucks a metal feather from the edge of his wings, the edges razor sharp.

“Hurt those monsters and hurt them well. Maybe some of the more sheltered mutants at home won’t understand but I do. Slit their throats with that and leave them to choke. It’s more than they deserve.” Archangel says solemnly, rage glinting in his eyes. Peter exchanges looks with Johnny and then grins.

“Maybe heroes can’t be caught torturing people but there’s a reason I walk the other side of the line. We won’t make it quick.” Peter promises and Archangel returns the smile. Peter has no doubt that any scientists he and Johnny fail to find will turn up with mysterious wounds soon enough.

Archangel flies off to join Nightcrawler and Wolf Spider and Morning Star stalk back into the labs. The head scientists have been staying in a penthouse apartment above the labs while they run their tests and that’s their destination.

The elevator lets them up after a few key strokes from the Spider and they emerge into a wide-open space, the complete opposite of the small room the kids had been chained in. There are doors off of the main room and the Spider quickly matches them up with what he found in their database.

The third door to the right should belong to Henry Lawson, the torturer in chief. Morning Star melts the lock and they slip into his room silently. The bastard is sleeping peacefully in his bed but it won’t be long before that changes.

Morning Star fingers the metal feather Archangel gave them and slowly starts to heat it up. It’s made of strong stuff and even though the metal is glowing red it’s not metal. It serves as a rude wake-up call when it’s pressed to Lawson’s jaw.

He squeals like a stuck pig and the Spider thanks God for soundproofing. They’re nowhere near done with Lawson just yet.

An hour later, Lawson is thoroughly deceased and they move onto their next target. All six die painfully and Wolf Spider takes a twisted pleasure in it. Still, they have a job to do and they can’t spend as much time on their other targets as they did on Lawson.

Johnny plants his favourite explosives and Peter carelessly pulls the fire alarm. They find a good vantage point on the building across from the lab and wait until the last heat signature leaves the building and emergency services are seconds from the scene to trigger the bombs.

Johnny floats in front of the lab for a few seconds before he unleashes a torrent of flames into the already-blazing building. It only feeds the raging fire and Peter knows it will take quite some time to put it out, Not his problem. He’s too busy planning their next hits on the scientists that hadn’t lived above the lab.

Johnny lands on the roof next to him with a sharp exhale and Peter drapes himself over his back. “Twelve people left on the list, starlight. I vote we eat, have a fantastic night in bed and then brutally murder them all. Their dirty secrets are set to be released to the public in four and a half hours, just in time for the news cycle.” Peter says, tracing letters on Johnny’s back.

“You give the best presents, my Spider. I can’t wait to hunt.” Morning Star replies.

#spideytorchweek2021 #spideytorchweek #day three au #spideytorch #tw mild torture #tw violence #peter parker #johnny storm #warren worthington iii

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 30 + 31: Internal Injury and Left for Dead

CW: Blood, just like a whole lot of violence, organ removal, more than mild arson, whumper turned whumpee, character death, dissoci@tion, mild vampirism, some brief threatening pet whump and dehumanization + a noncon reference

TIMELINE: Begins immediately following Possession, end of the Bad Arc. One year after Danny is abducted for a second time.

Nate tastes blood on his tongue, thick in his mouth, but he’s tasted blood before. Bram’s skin is cold but it is always cold, and his panting breaths are heavy against Nate’s ear but he knows Bram’s breathing better than almost anything else, better than he knows anyone’s breathing but Danny’s.

Abraham Denner has been breathing in Nate’s ear, down his spine, inside his mind for seven very long years, and Nate is about to ensure he can never do it again.

Bram groans in pain, like so many other sounds he’s made against Nate’s ear before, whispering, I love you, you’re mine as Nate cried and fought and screamed and didn’t cry and moaned and gave in to him, to his eyes and his love, again and again and again-

Nate pulls back, his teeth and tongue black and red, blood smeared thick like oil around his lips and down his chin, and Bram’s eyes meet his, wide with rage.

Nate isn’t scared of Bram any longer.

His wrists burn from tearing free of the ropes, the scent of new and old blood is thick in the air around them. His hands close around Bram’s neck, a collar of skin, and he closes his grip slippery-red, thumbs pressing down on the windpipe of a man who will not die from this, because he already died centuries ago.

Ryan is in his mind and in his hands, guiding their strength, Ryan is darkness and white teeth sharpened to points. Ryan is glowing yellow eyes that stare out from Nate’s own. He is not alone inside himself, and they are the same, and if Danny is dead then Nate will make sure Bram follows him-

He’s not dead, Ryan’s voice whispers inside of him, and Nate bears his thumbs down harder just to hear Bram’s gurgling, rasping chokes, to feel his hands press against Nate’s bare chest and then claw there, digging in but Ryan is between Nate and the pain, pressing up against his skin, a barrier between Nate and true sensation. He’s not dead. We can still save him.

Nathaniel Vandrum’s life has been narrowed, day by day, month by month, year by year. He spent years under Bram’s spell, eight months a hunted animal. He spent four years keeping Danny alive, he spent a year and a half helping him learn to be human again, spent a year watching Danny suffer from a place too far for him to follow.

He has spent a year watching Danny bleed, and scream, and cry, and slip away inside himself with only Ryan there to bring him back out.

He is tired of watching Danny suffer.

He is tired of this.

He is so fucking tired.

He feels no pain from his broken right hand - Ryan stands between him and the pain there, too. He can feel Ryan twisting inside him, pushing him to close his hands tighter around Bram’s neck, staring down into his eyes. The things that move there thrash with desperate desire to survive but Nate has no mercy left in him.

He should be horrified by someone else being inside his body with him but he can’t be, he can’t let it sink in that he is moving as two people working together inside one skin, or he’ll slip. It takes one mistake and Bram will have him again, and if Bram gets him again he’ll be done, he’ll die before he’ll hurt anyone, but Bram would make him hurt so many people.

“N-Nate-” Bram’s voice is husky, but the anger boils inside it, and he grabs Nate by the shoulders finally and throws him off. Nate slams to the ground on his side, groaning and moving to scramble to his feet just as Bram, blood still pouring in thick black waves from the wound Nate tore open, stands and kicks him hard.

Something snaps in Nate and Ryan isn’t fast enough to take the pain. There’s a burst of it, an ache that overrides him, and he’s still for too long. Only a second... but too long.

Bram drags him to his knees by one arm and slaps him, his palm slamming into Nate’s cheek sending him back to the ground. Back up to slap him again, the other side. Kicked again and Nate coughs out air before he can find more to inhale.

Ryan is gone from inside him, collapsing onto the ground where he’d been standing before he stepped inside Nate’s skin, dark skin glowing faintly with the same yellow as his eyes.

Somewhere, Bram’s sister runs from her own mistakes, but Nate stares up as Bram walks towards him and thinks that Bram has never needed his sister to keep his puppies in line before, and he doesn’t need her now.

“You would… refuse the gift?” Bram’s voice is laced with his disbelief. He raises a hand to touch the uneven skin torn apart at one shoulder, looking at the blood there with something like wonder. “You’d try to kill me? After everything I did for you? After everything I gave you?”

“After-...” Nate coughs again, trying to get back on his feet, but as soon as he’s on all fours Bram kicks him again and sends him back down. His eyes move to Danny - limp on the ground, blood welling up around the blade buried in his back. Danny’s eyes are open, wide and so so blue.

So blue, and so empty.

Danny’s gone.

“No.” The voice is from Nate but it’s not his voice. It’s a whimper. A whine. Barely a protest.

Too late.

“I gave you the puppy,” Bram says, stepping between Nate and Danny, blocking him from the sight of the man he loves most in the world. The only thing left that he loves in the world. “Now I’ve taken the puppy away.”

Nate’s heart does not twist with fear. He doesn’t let himself grieve yet. Instead… he lets his head drop to the ground, into his arms, and he starts to weep. If the tears are anger, not sadness, Bram doesn’t notice. He chuckles, satisfied, and pulls Nate back onto his feet again. One hand gripped tightly around his arm, the other hand cups Nate’s cheek, gently pressing his jaw to tilt his head up, get him to look Bram in the eyes.

“I w-wanted to save him,” Nate whispers.

Too late, Vandrum. Always too late.

“I know,” Bram says with unnerving tenderness, and when he leans in to kiss Nate, the man doesn’t fight him. Bram’s lips are cold.

He spent half a year, once, being the perfect lover. He can do it again, for just a few minutes.

For long enough.

Bram licks his own blood off his lips when he pulls back, smiling now. There’s blackish red on his teeth, staining his pale pale skin. “You can’t save anyone, Nate,” Bram says, reaching up, running his fingers back through Nate’s hair. “You’re mine. Mine, forever. For the rest of fucking time, Nate, you’re mine. Mourn him if you want, but you were never meant for the puppy. You were meant for me.”

“Yes,” Nate says, and pitches his voice to be slightly faint and empty, the voice he used when Bram would wipe him away from himself. He looks into those colorless eyes and, like every day since Bram once forced a muzzle on Danny for months and nearly took him from Nate for good, he feels absolutely nothing.

“Bring Faerie Boy inside,” Bram commands with effortless certainty. “I know how to take care of his kind, too. Then we’ll decide what happens next.” Bram looks carelessly over at where Danny lays crumpled in the dirt. “Faerie Boy can bury the body.”

The body.

Nate has to steel himself with every ounce of willpower not to make a sound in response. He only nods and, making his expression blank, he limps over to Ryan, dragging Danny’s brother to his feet. Ryan’s skin feels like an open flame under his hand, far hotter than human skin ever should be, but the glow in his eyes is dulling. He’s too tired, too new at this. His strength is already waning, Nate thinks, he pushed himself too far.

“Danny’s n-not dead,” Ryan says in a croaking, cracking voice. “He’s, he’s not-”

“I know,” Nate responds, forcing him to move. He knows Danny is dead, though, and that this is just Ryan trying to convince him not to give up, give in, and let Bram rebuild his family - with his true love and his dog - with Ryan in Danny’s place. Bram is behind them, ensuring they go where into the house, and Nate half-drags Ryan up the steps. “T-trust me. I h-h-h… I’ve got a plan.”

Ryan laughs, dry and hopeless, but he allows himself to be moved. His neck is a ring of bright red agony, his wrists look the same. He’s skinny, after a year earning bites of food with obedience to torture, bony under Nate’s hands. His hair is dull and brittle, dried and tangled frizz instead of curls. “Sure… hope so.”

“When I m-m-move,” Nate whispers, barely loud enough for Ryan to possibly hear, just hoping he understands, “grab his l-l-legs to s-slow him down, and then c-c-come back… I’ll l-let you in.”

Nate deposits him on the floor next to the kitchen table without waiting for a response, letting him drop more roughly than necessary, pretending he is still in thrall as he pulls out a chair and sits.

He’s going to have one chance at this.

Bram pulls out a chair and sits across from him, giving Nate a smile. Brilliant, and shining, and loving, even as the love of Nate’s life is bleeding to death in the front yard. Nate might not be able to save Danny, now - but he can save Ryan, he thinks.

He hopes it’s enough for wherever Danny will be after he’s gone.

He hopes it will somehow settle Danny’s soul, to know Nate gave everything to save his little brother, after watching Danny break himself again and again to hold Ryan together.

If we’re damned for loving each other like they told me, Nate thinks with an all-consuming grief and conviction, I’ll see you in hell soon enough.

“We’ll have to go somewhere new,” Bram says, gripping Ryan by the hair, jerking him backwards. Ryan bares his sharp, inhuman teeth, and Bram snorts, ramming his head directly into the edge of the table, making Ryan cry out and slump.

Nate doesn’t flinch.

“I’ll dedicate you. Make you one of us. I’ll finish the dedication and then you’ll understand.” Bram’s hand is still gripped in Ryan’s hair, tightening on the curls until he hisses in pain, but it’s a faint and faded sound. “We’ll take the puppy with us and go find my sister. You know I never like to leave a puppy, Nate.”

Those eyes are back on his, and Nate gives Bram a slight smile - as if pulled out of him unwillingly, as if he’s falling into the depths of his eyes all over again. As if, without Danny to fight for, he has no fight left.

Danny might be dead - Nate’s mind skips from that truth, runs from it as fast as it can, circles around it endlessly - but Ryan isn’t. Danny would want his brother saved, and Nate…

He can do this.

He has to do this.

“Y-yes, Bram,” Nate says, soft and as empty as Danny’s open eyes. “I c-can help t-t-take care of Faerie B-Boy.”

At his feet, Ryan lets out a choked-off sob. Whether he’s only playing the part, or drifting into pure hopelessness, Nate isn’t sure. He can’t risk a look, can’t risk giving anything away for a second. Instead, he moves to lay his hand over Bram’s on top of Ryan’s head. Bram’s hand is cold under his.

Danny’s hands get cold, too, his long fingers feel like ice sometimes in the morning when he wakes Nate with a hug. He pulls his hands into the sleeves of his sweaters, tugs them constantly down to cover the scars on the backs of his hands. His eyes are warmer than his hands can be, as Nate holds one of his hands in both of his, rubbing at them to warm up those cold fingers while Danny smiles-

Danny’s dead. You can save his brother. Focus.

“I l-love you,” Nate says, softly. He knows how to twist his tone just right, to make his voice foggy like the power of Bram’s eyes has once again papered over Nate’s will, his very self, to remake him in Bram’s image.

If there is a heaven, it will be Danny that I beg for forgiveness, not God.

“I love you, too.” Bram smiles, letting go of Ryan to hold Nate’s hand. Cold dead fingers. Nate forces his smile to widen, softens his expression. “My black-haired prince. Red got in our way. But it’s just us all over again, isn’t it? Just you and I.” He smirks, pale lips smeared with drying blood. “And the puppy.”

Nate nods, and pulls Bram’s hand up, to press a kiss to the back of it. Smooth, scarless.

Not the hand he wants to kiss at all.

“That’s why you had to watch it all, you know.” Bram sighs, content in this moment. There’s still blood running from the wound in his shoulder but he doesn’t seem to notice it, and the wound is closing before Nate’s eyes, skin knitting itself together. He won’t die, even if Nate kills him he won’t die. There’s only one way to be sure. Only one way to keep him from coming back.

“Wh-what? Why?” Nate tilts his head, closes his eyes so Bram won’t see he’s disgusted by his touch, plays it off as shivering desire, maybe. Somehow, somewhere back there, he gained the ability to hide some of his unhappiness from Abraham Denner.

They lost with their first attempt.

There’s only one more chance.

“So you would get used to it again.” Bram pulls his hand back and away, lays it palm-down against the back of Ryan’s neck, and Nate tries not to watch Ryan shiver where he kneels on the floor. Bram scratches his fingernails through the red, irritated skin, reopening old wounds from the iron collar. Ryan whimpers, whines with the pain, and Nate fights the memory of Danny’s scream behind his muzzle, jaw straining as the wire mesh cut in deeper and deeper.

Bram took the muzzle off - the new one remade, but it might as well have been exactly the fucking same - before Ryan and Ora came out. It’s still out there, isn’t it? Lying in the dirt, bloodied.

Nate almost loses his iron grip on his own emotions at the thought of Danny’s body in the dirt so close to the tool of torture that hurt him the worst. Not from grief, no - he still has that locked up inside his head, he will mourn Danny when he has saved Ryan, when it’s over, when it’s done. But the fury that comes with the realization that Danny’s eyes, still open and unblinking, will be staring right at the muzzle.

He catches himself. Holds the anger down. Gives Bram a soft, sweet, loving smile. “Used t-to it?”

“Right. Used to it, and… maybe a little bit appreciative.” Bram laughs, his high-pitched hyena’s laughter, smacking the wound he reopened on Ryan’s neck just to hear him cry. His eyes glow such a brilliant, bright yellow they turn nearly white, like staring into the sun - and then falter again, fade and go dull.

He needs to be strong enough to do one more thing, and Nate isn’t sure if he will be. But he’s going to try, anyway.

“I’ll l-learn,” Nate promises, and runs his own hand through Ryan’s dirty, greasy curls, catching in the tangles. He looks down, cold green eyes locking on Ryan’s dulled yellow, back to the color of old, cloudy honey, and uses his good left hand to tilt his chin up, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip. “You’ll b-b-be good for m-me, puppy, won’t you?”

Ryan’s eyes widen, just a little, flicker in the dim kitchen lit only by the light coming through the window over the sink, and through the open inside door. Outside the closed screen door, down the steps, fifteen feet away, Danny lies in the dirt.

“Oh, that’s good,” Bram says, rubbing at Ryan’s back. “What do you say, Faerie Boy? Can you be as good between us as you’ve been for me so far?”

Ryan’s lip trembles under Nate’s thumb. Nate smiles at him, the same soft loving look he’s been giving Bram. He is the personification of what Bram can do. He is the perfect vision of Bram taking control and making him someone he’s not, as he did for years with power, manipulation, and threats. “Bram asked you a qu-... a question, p-puppy,” Nate whispers. “Wh-what’s the r-r-rule?”

Ryan’s eyes well with such human tears. “Al-... always answer Abraham’s questions, never hes… hesitate and neh-... never lie.”

“So wh-what’s your answer?”

Ryan looks up at him, pleading, but Nate keeps his eyes, his face perfectly steady. I’m sorry. Just a few more minutes...

“I...” Ryan’s voice catches. He’s exhausted, struggling to pull threads of himself together. Whatever it is Ryan is, whatever it is he can do, it takes too much out of him. “I c-can be good for you,” He whispers.

“B-B-Both of us?”

Ryan’s eyes close tightly. “Both of you.” He has to spit out the words.

“Good b-b-boy.” Another rub over his lower lip, his skin is rough and chapped against Nate’s thumb. “Do you w-w-want a d, a drink, Bram?” He raises his eyes, lets his hand drop, but not before he taps twice on the front of Ryan’s neck next to his Adam's apple, deliberately spaced apart to make it clear it’s a message. “I th-think I remember how you l-like it.”

Bram smiles, twists a curl around his finger, yanks on it until Ryan winces. “Sure. Whiskey sour. Red made sour mix, it’s in the fridge.” He sighs, mournfully. “I suppose Red won’t get to make me my drinks anymore. Pity, he was always better at it than Faerie Boy.”

Nate swallows. He won’t cry for Danny yet.

Not yet.

He pushes himself to his feet, walking away and moving to the fridge. Slow footsteps, careful and solid. He feels strange, as though he’s far away from himself, watching his body go through these motions from a distance. Open the cupboards until he finds a glass, pull it down and add some ice cubes. Find the whiskey in a different cabinet, expensive small-batch distillery in Portland, he notes absently, pouring a shot, and then two, into the glass.

He pulls the sour mix, stored in a pitcher, out of the fridge and tries with every ounce of strength he has left not to think about how Danny’s fingers were the last to close around the handle, and now they never will again.

Not yet not yet not yet.

Cry when Ryan is safe. Until then, be for Ryan what Danny cannot be any longer. He owes Danny that much and more, he owes everything he could ever give. He pours in the sour mix, adds a cherry from a jar in the fridge. Picks a lemon up from a basket, staring down at it, and then his eyes move to the knife block, but he’s careful not to turn his head to make it obvious.

One chance.

He picks up not the chef’s knife but the smaller, sharper paring knife, and he feels Bram’s eyes on his back as he cuts three identical lemon slices, struggling to do it gracefully with his broken hand throbbing again, fighting him with every step. He drops the lemon slices into the drink, gives the whole thing a quick stir. Closes his eyes and breathes.

I’m sorry, Danny.

He turns around and throws the drink in Bram’s face.

Ryan is moving before Nate has even finished his own motion and he grabs Bram around the legs as he starts to stand up, slamming the man into the ground as he’s knocked off balance, pale eyes widening in surprise as Nate falls on him with his teeth bared and the knife in his hand, bringing it down over Bram’s heart.

There’s resistance, and pain, and Nate doesn’t care about either anymore.

Ryan’s eyes flare, glowing brilliant with one last spark of energy, and the shadows press like velvet against Nate’s back, overtaking all the light but Ryan’s. The kitchen is pure and perfectly black as Nate feels Bram’s blood bubble up cold around the handle of the knife as he forces it down.

Cold hands grab onto his like a vice, and he opens his mouth to scream-

Let me in.

Ryan is in his skin in his heart in his head, pressing the knife down harder, dragging it back towards himself, cutting into Bram’s skin as he fights them but Ryan is stronger than Nate and the two men working in one body open the emptiness inside of Abraham Denner and Nate shoves his hand inside.

It’s cold, like everything about Bram is cold, and it has a little give under his fingers. He grips as tightly as his hand will allow and Ryan is gripping alongside him as they pull backwards. Bram screams, the first true scream Nate has ever heard from him, high-pitched. Windows crack around them as the scream carries on and on and on, Nate’s head is pounding but he can’t feel it. Ryan takes it for him, presses himself along the length of Nate’s body, underneath his skin, against his eardrums, layers himself over Nate’s mind.

He is protected.

He uses the blade of the paring knife to cut the veins and arteries. Cold black blood coats his hand as he pulls out Abraham’s Denner ancient heart.

The shadows recede - or Nate can see through them now, he doesn’t know, the whole world seems strange and disconnected from him - as he pushes himself to his feet.

Nate-

“It’s not d-d-done,” Nate says to the voice inside his head of his dead love’s little brother, and he turns, dragging one leg as he moves out into the sun outside.

Danny hasn’t moved, but Nate didn’t expect him to.

Dead people usually don’t, unless they’re Bram or Ashley.

He is nothing but blood now, and the heart in his hands is still beating. Soft contractions of muscle with nothing to push through, no blood to rush through old veins. But still the heart beats. It’s not over.

There’s a burn pile over by a shed, covered with sticks and trash, and Nate walks to it with Ryan still inside him. The two of them look out of one set of eyes.

Burn it?

“B-burn it,” Nate confirms in a fierce whisper.

There are no tears.

Not yet.

He lays the beating heart down in the burn pile and walks away from it, moving to a shed to open the door. He stares, blankly, at a skeleton that faces him against the back wall, rotted away by now. It’s been a year. Death is still in the air but neither of them can smell anything any longer but Bram’s blood. Nate ignores the skeleton and finds a can of gasoline - Bram is predictable, always predictable - and carries it back out to toss about a third of the can into the sticks, taking special care to ensure some of it splashes over the disembodied, beating heart.

Left here, Bram’s body would eventually reform and wake back up.

Like Ashley.

Nate will not lose anything else to them ever again.

“I’m not your b-b-black-haired p-prince,” He says to the heart, and lights a match.

The gasoline catches immediately, flames rising with the sharp pungent smell. Nate doesn’t wait - he picks the can up again, sloshes it around to see how much is left, and looks to the house. “Go s-s-say goodbye to your b-b-brother,” He says. “I’ll come, t-too, when this is o-over.”

Danny-

“Go s-say goodbye.”

Ryan is out of him in a flash, and Nate is oddly lonely inside his mind as he makes his methodical way back to the porch. Ryan kneels next to his brother, hands out but not quite touching, as Nate moves inside. He passes Abraham’s body without looking at it. He lets the gasoline trail - a little here and a little there, splashes on the curtains, splashes on the rug.

With his leg throbbing, he moves upstairs with gasoline trailing on the steps. He pours a little on the bed, staring at the bloodied ropes tied to the headboard a little too long. Outside, he starts to hear the crackle of the fire catching outside. Good. The heart will burn.

Just like his.

More gasoline for the curtains - he’s getting low, he needs to conserve. He has to be sur the whole house will burn.

Then he stops in front of a room with no door, a room he’s seen in Bram’s texted photos and videos, in a few of the livestreams he watched. He watched them all, desperate for clues. Danny and Ryan had managed to tear the paper that covered the window once and before Bram had cut the video, Nate had been able to pause - and see beyond the rolling fields to a water tower in the distance.

One of his first clues.

In this room there are manacles attached to the wall, a broken chain of iron on the floor, pools of drying blood. Nate pours a little gasoline into the pool, watching the change in texture as it thins and goes oddly shimmery.

In the closet, he finds half-drunk bottles of cheap high-proof alcohol. He lets the trail of gasoline lead to those too, and opens them all.

Done with his work, he drops the now-empty can and walks through the house, reeking of gasoline and blood, and goes downstairs and past Bram’s body one more time without looking down or looking back.

His heart beats steady and calm inside of him as he lights a match and lets it fall onto the porch, to find the first thin trail of liquid.

He stands long enough to watch the flames lick into the kitchen, over Bram’s body. He stares long enough to watch Bram’s long wavy pale hair begin to darken and curl. He watches the flames find their way from kitchen to living room. He watches the curtains burn.

Then he turns and walks down the steps.

His hands have started to shake.

Ryan, kneeling on the ground next to his brother with his wrist torn open and pouring blood, pressing it against Danny’s mouth, speaks to him but Nate doesn’t hear it, turning from Danny’s body - too late too late too late too late - and going back to the other fire, to see Bram’s heart burning, turning black. It will be ash soon, and nothing else.

Nate doesn’t cry, no.

Still, he doesn’t cry.

Not yet.

The wind blows warm over his face and Nate takes in a breath. The world is blood and smoke and his failure to save the most important person in his life. The world is the empty feeling underneath his skin. The world is the grief trying to claw it way back up his throat to make him scream-

“Nate!” Ryan’s voice is right next to his ear and he jumps as Ryan grabs at his arm, spinning him around. The yellow eyes are dull, shadowed, bereft of power - but they still dance. You can’t torture the beauty out of Ryan Michaelson.

You can’t kill the light inside him, or the things that live there.

He smells like green hills and a rainy season over waving grasslands. He carries the scent of a predator that hunts at dusk and at dark. Blood soaks the hills, pours down the river, threads into the homes of sleeping people at night.

He’s smiling.

“Nate, he’s not-... Nate, listen to me!”

Nate jerks back into himself, blinking rapidly as his strange disconnect ends. There is fire all around the two of them, and Nate realizes for the first time that the shed will burn, too. It’s already dangerously close to catching. The air is starting to heat around them. “What? Wh-what, Ryan, I-”

“Danny’s not dead! I-I can’t-... but he’s not dead! He’s still breathing! We still have time!”

In the distance, the first faint sound of sirens. Nate raises his head, staring. “Who c-c-called the c-cops?”

Ryan lets out a peal of wild, half-hysterical laughter, and the sound is beautiful. “Whoever saw that bigass cloud of fucking smoke, Nate! Someone’s-...” He swallows, suddenly, sways as his knees buckle, and Nate catches him, arms around him, keeping him upright. “Someone’s... coming for us. Someone’s coming to h-help, someone’s... someone’s coming...”

“Someone’s c-c-coming,” Nate agrees, softly.

Ryan turns to look at him, then slides his arms around Nate, hugging him, burying his head in the side of Nate’s neck.

“Someone fucking came,” He whispers. “And Danny’s not dead.”

Nate’s eyes move over to the tall, thin body sprawled out on the ground, and watches as empty blue eyes blink once, slowly move to meet his.

He’d seen emptiness and thought it was death, but it was someone else buying Danny - buying Nate - some time.

He gently pulls away from Ryan and moves to the muzzle, picking it up in one hand. Someone else is still watching him, blue eyes following his movements, and he holds it out. “Never ag-again,” He says, softly.

Someone else doesn’t move. Just keeps watching as Nate drags himself to the fire and throws the muzzle in.

But when he turn back again, tears are running down Danny’s face, his lips twisting with the agony, and he whimpers, “Nate, h-hurts-”

Nate and Ryan both run to him at once.

When the fire trucks arrive, they find the three of them together on the ground, Nate and Ryan each holding one of Danny’s hands.

---

@slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary, @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain

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smol-fatale · 3 years

Link

GN Reader x Ace, Angst with a Happy Ending, TW for mentions of self-harm, depression, and the result of arson (involuntary of course), ~1800 words

Person A wants to bake a cake for Person B’s birthday but ends up lighting the kitchen on fire instead.

Ace really wants to bake you a cake for your birthday. However, instead of him cheering you up, you cheer him up. After all, he's more important than your birthday anyway.

This is for @burnthoneymint‘s b-day event. Happy birthday my dear! Also read down below.

Involuntary Arson

Ace would be the first to admit that he had an obsession with fire. He was a pyromaniac though he never lit any living thing on fire and nothing bigger than a flatscreen TV. However, he hasn’t lit anything on fire in the past nine months which is an accomplishment for him. He has found other ways to relieve his stress, some of them including you.

You had done much in the past to care for Ace and Mr. Freckles over here was dying to return the favor. Your birthday was at the end of the week and the genius that is Ace thought it was a great idea to make you a cake, even though there is a literal five-star chef in the friend group.

Ace pestered said five-star chef until he caved and taught him the basics of making your favorite: chocolate cake. Ace practiced in Sanji’s kitchen, writing down all the steps and committing each of them to memory. By the time the cake was done, Ace was confident, maybe overly so, that he could recreate the dessert perfectly the next day. He even suggested for Sanji to give away the cake they made together since his was going to turn out better. (A joke of course as Sanji is the most talented chef in the world.)

***

On the day of your birth, Ace was ecstatic to show off his baking skills.

Ace laid out the ingredients neatly in a row and got started on melting the chocolate chips on the stove first. Sanji suggested for him to use cocoa powder instead since the man was fire-prone but he refused and insisted on following Sanji’s recipe exactly. Surprisingly, he managed to melt the chocolate perfectly without burning it. Becoming a little more confident in his skills, he set the chocolate on the lowest flames (as some more had to be melted) and started sifting the dry ingredients in a bowl. Afterward, he folded the chocolate into the bowl, just as Sanji had shown him. Finally, he added avocado which was weird sure but he did trust Sanji with anything food-related. (The cook insisted on it as it was healthier than oil or butter and makes the cake richer in comparison.) Ace then spooned the mixture into a cake pan and placed it in the oven for thirty minutes.

Fifty minutes later Ace woke up to not only a burnt chocolate cake but the stove on fire as well as everything else between it, the kitchen sink, and the window. The smoke is what woke him up and his fire training kicked in as he immediately ran to get the fire extinguisher to put out the flames. He then called down to the station insisting that he was fine and there was no need for the team to come over, except maybe Marco who was a fire inspector.

Luckily they lived in a brick building so the structural integrity was saved. However, the same couldn’t be said for the kitchen. The entire thing had to be excavated and revamped. Anything metal and plastic melted. The rest burned to ash. It was found that the fire was caused by the oven being almost seventy degrees hotter than it should’ve been causing the cake to cook faster than intended. The entire process would take weeks and it cost thousands in repair. Ace considered just buying another apartment but that was cowardly as he would only be running away from his problem. Plus, he still had to pay for the damages regardless.

***

Ace was devastated. He knew you were indifferent to your birthday but he wanted it to be extra special for you because he was so damn happy that you were born. It took everything in his power not to start a fire in another part of the apartment due to how stressed he was. He kept a match between his teeth and flicked a lighter nervously waiting for you to come home from your half-shift.

After what felt like centuries he heard the click of the lock as you arrived home. The loud gasp you took as you walked inside reminded Ace that the kitchen was the first thing one encounters when walking into their home. That made him recoil into himself more in his place behind the couch.

***

Meanwhile, you took the time to survey the damage to the kitchen. It was hard to tell that the color scheme was navy blue and stainless steel as everything was charred black. The sink worked but just barely and most of the cupboards were...well...half were burned away leaving nothing but an imprint on the wall and the other half were hanging on by a nail. The oven was the worst of all. It was so badly burnt and mangled, it was only due to its place in the kitchen that you even recognized what it was. You stood in the kitchen until the smell aggravated your nose. Then you left to find your boyfriend.

You searched everywhere: in the bedroom, spare room, and bathroom before finding him behind the couch in the living room. He wasn’t crying but he was shaking. He had a lit match between his teeth that was dangerously close to burning his lips. This was an internal “game” he played when the stress became too much. He would light a match between his teeth and if he put it out, then he knew he wasn’t worthless. If he didn’t and got burned, then he felt as though he deserved every negative thing that happens to him, whether it was his fault or not. It took years for you, with therapy, to convince him that he was worth living and to stop this dangerous “game.” However, he still did it occasionally when his dark thoughts overcame him.

You crouched down next to him and blew out the flame. His unseeing eyes then snapped towards yours as he broke and started to cry. You scooped your boyfriend into your arms and soothed him as the tears freely flowed.

“I fucked up.” He sniffled into your chest.

“We all make mistakes Ace.” You combed your fingers into his hair allowing him to calm down after the tears stopped.

“What happened?” You whispered into his ear as to not disturb the unsteady peace that surrounded you two.

“Iwantedtobakeyouacake.” He squeezed you impossibly tight to muffle the words and to hide his shame.

You looked to the island in the middle of the kitchen. Half was a beautiful blue. The other a smoldering black. You squinted and spotted a medium black disk in the center.

“Thank you. I bet it tasted delicious.” You were grateful for his attempt and the honesty in your voice sparked a new round of tears.

“Why are you with me?” He asked quietly after settling his face into the crook of your neck.

It broke your heart to hear the love of your life sounding so despondent as if he wasn’t worth every single star that speckled the night sky. You knew that he had issues of self-worth. That he appeared as confident and strong as a maverick wave but was just as turbulent as the ocean on the inside. Somedays, he felt as though he didn’t even deserve life itself and you always, always, contradicted that statement. Yes, he made be reckless and make idiotic mistakes but he had the biggest heart you’ve ever seen. No questions asked he would give you the shirt off his back. You’ve witnessed him give his boots to a total stranger and then proceed to walk the streets barefoot for half an hour in search of a shoe store. One time he missed a date with you because a child was lost in the park and he waited with them for over two hours for their parents to pick them up at the station. He became a firefighter because no matter how much he wanted to burn himself with flames he wanted to rescue people from them even more. His heart shone brighter than the sun and the world would be a much colder, let alone darker, place if he wasn’t around and you made sure he knew this.

“Because there is no one else I’d rather be with. Your heart rivals the sun and I’m eternally grateful for every single millisecond that I get to spend with you. Out of 7.5 billion people in the world, I choose you. And I will continue to choose you until the Earth drops out of rotation and the sun dies out. Do you understand?”

Ace didn’t say anything but gave a small nod into your shoulder confirming he heard all that you said. You two sat in a calm silence until an idea popped into your head which was sure to perk up your boyfriend. You softly shifted him out of your arms and he watched you silently in confusion. You went into the kitchen towards the fridge that was miraculously undamaged from the events of the day. From it, you pulled a small package that contained two chocolate snack cakes with white icing in the middle. You then went back to sit in front of Ace. You gestured for him to splay out his legs so you could sit on his lap and he did, albeit a bit warily. You unwrapped one of the cakes and placed a match in it. Then you took the lighter from Ace’s limp hand and lit it.

“Thank you for making this the best birthday ever,” you said holding the small cake between the two of you before blowing it out.

Ace studied you carefully as you took the match out and broke the cake in half exposing the icing. You took some and smeared it on your boyfriend’s lips, covering the various little burn marks on them, before kissing him. It was sweet and wet, reminiscent of the first kiss you two shared in the rain. You pulled back and though the smile you received was small, it was the most ethereal thing you have ever witnessed. You repeated this process with every single freckle on his face, including eyes and nose, before moving on to his neck. By the time you finished you completely rid the cake of its icing. The result was an Ace softly chuckling as your little kisses tickled him. He took you into his arms and laid back so your head rested on his chest. One hand was on your back while the other slowly massaged your scalp. You laid still in his arms until his arms went lax and his breath evened out. The stress of the day finally drained him of his energy.

Was this truly your best birthday? Well, that’s subjective but it does have the top spot as of now. Who’s to say what will happen in the future. What you do know is that you aren’t a liar and you loved the man beneath you more than life itself. Every birthday was the best if it was spent with him no matter what happened that day. With that, you kissed his chest, over his heart, and settled down to sleep on top of the man of your dreams.

Masterlist

#birthdaycheer #one piece #Portgas D. Ace #ace x reader #one piece x reader #OP Ace #words of ki

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #252: DECIDING FACTOR!

February, 1985

Who on Earth is strong enough to smash Hercules? Hint: there’s two of them!

Well I have my guess but I happened to guess right so I won’t be sharing. Let’s sayyyyyyyy.... Más y Menos.

Its very rude of DCAU’s Más y Menos to be picking on Hercules. Maybe sí podemos but that doesn’t mean ustedes should.

Anyway.

Last times on Avengers, Vision walked through a null field created by Annihilus and promptly fell in a robot coma and had to be put in a tube. He regained consciousness and Starfox hooked him up to the Titan supercomptuer ISAAC after which Vision started behaving oddly. When half of the Avengers got back from Secret Wars, Vision convinced Wasp to step down as chairman and nominate him. He’s created a second branch of the team in California under Hawkeye’s leadership. He’s pushed the president into making the Avengers chair a member of the Cabinet. He hid Starfox’s secret sexy power from the rest of the team. And just last issue, it was revealed that Vision and ISAAC have built a take-over-the-world-for-its-own-good device with Vision only lacking the will to pull the trigger on it.

So, uh, stuff is afoot.

Vision stuff. And, oddly enough, Doc Sampson stuff.

Vision is very impressed on seeing what seems to be Doc Sampson’s demo reel and offers him membership in the Avengers.

Doc Sampson turns him down because he doesn’t see himself as hero material and he already accepted an offer to join the faculty of Northwestern University.

Vision: “That needn’t rule you out, doctor! What would you say to heading a new, Midwestern branch of the Avengers? I should think you’re make an excellent group leader!”

Wow, Vision. You’re coming on a little strong there.

Midwest Avengers seems like the kind of thing that would be made up to spoof the expansion team idea, kinda like the Great Lakes Avengers of later. But if Vision seems desperate to get Doc Sampson to join the Avengers, well I think he is desperate.

Vision talked to ISAAC of his frustrations on trying to spread the power and influence of the Avengers. He has his take-over-the-world-for-its-own-good device but he doesn’t seem to want to use it. So he’s trying to repeat the trick with the West Coast Avengers. Sign up more and more Avengers. If you told this era of Vision about the 50 State Initiative, he’d be all over it.

But Doc Sampson turns him down. For the best. God only knows who Vision would have finagled into being on the Midwest Avengers in Chicago.

Doc Sampson: I wonder if I made a mistake in turning down the Vision’s offer? Being part of such a team would have given me an opportunity to observe some highly unusual psyches up close. But, no... I could hardly maintain an impartial detachment in such a situation.

Yeah. A Doc Sampson led Chicago-branch would have been an implosion waiting to happen. And Sampson will get his chance to pick the brains of a superhero team later with X-Factor. He does not maintain an impartial detachment.

On his way out, Starfox very much wants to discuss this newspaper headline. As he’s from a more advanced space civilization that doesn’t have prejudice probably, this is very baffling to him.

He hasn’t been on Earth long enough to learn that “ANTI-MUTANT FEAR GRIPS U.S.” is Tuesday.

I wonder if it corresponds to anything going on in the X-books. I tried to look it up but the same month as this issue, X-Men was doing a Kulan Gath thing.

Anyway, Vision and Doc Sampson agree that anti-mutant fear gripping things is bad and could tear society apart.

So in case anyone was ever wondering: the Avengers officially think anti-mutant fear is whack.

Anyway, on the mansion’s back patio, Captain America and Scarlet Witch are just having some old friend hangout time.

It’s a nice moment, really.

Wanda is drinking tea and Cap is just sketching her because they’re comfortable enough friends to hang out in a tea sketch party.

Anyway, Cap is also familiar enough with Wanda to know that she’s well vexed.

And she admits that she’s well vexed by two things. Of course, by the new wave of anti-mutant phobia because it really seems like a cruel cycle where every time people seem like they’re chilling out or there’s a swell of tolerance, it just gets yanked back. A cruel yo-yo of intolerance.

Also, its happening when she’s having personal trouble with Vision. He’s keeping secrets and he has some really extreme moods.

Scarlet Witch: “One moment he’ll be friendly and open, and the next he’ll get so remote!”

I wonder if its possible for Hank Pym’s bipolar disorder to have skipped a generation and somehow been inherited by Vision. That’s entirely not how anything works but I dunno. That sounds like Hank.

Since Cap has been wondering about Vision’s behavior (he and Monica Marvel had a discussion about it in the previous issue, remember?), he agrees to go talk to Vision.

Vision is having solemn thoughts in the mansion’s library, having been upset by the Daily Bugle that Starfox was waving around.

Vision: The world is beset by so much strife. Humanity cries out for peace... Yearns for life and prosperity... but in the end it denies itself that which it most desires! Mankind might never put aside its prejudices. Too many have refused responsibility for their own actions. How can they be expected to save the world? And, yet, who am I -- a synthezoid, an artificial being -- to rail against men of flesh? My encephalatron command chair would give me the power to bring peace to the world... and yet I hesitate to use it! Can I find the courage... make the sacrifice necessary to use that power?

That’s when Cap wanders in to give Vision a talking to. A supportive, helpful talking to.

Since he assumes that what Vision has on his mind is the burdens of leadership, he confides that he knows how tough it can be to have to always make the right decision at a moment’s notice and that he’s here if Vision needs a sympathetic ear.

Vision admits that chairmanship isn’t what he expected. He’s not unaware of the strain that its putting on his marriage. Especially since he insisted that they rejoin the team when Wanda would have preferred to return to their civilian life in New Jersey.

Cap tells him just talk to her more, ya goof.

So this is a very nice conversation between friends and peers that Vision drops a bomb of a totally-a-hypothetical into.

Vision: “Cap, what would you do if you discovered that you could bring peace and prosperity to the entire world... but only at the cost of your personal well being, perhaps of your own existence?”

Cap: “What?!”

Vision: “We have all put our lives on the line many times to stop world-threatening menaces, but it occurs to me that we’ve seldom tried to do anything to cure the world of its ills.”

Cap: “We do what we can, Vision. There are no fast and simple ways to eliminate want or fear.”

Vision: “But what if there were a way to insure a lasting peace to the world, to bring about a new golden age? What if you could only bring it about by sacrificing yourself? What if you could make the world a paradise, but you could never enjoy it yourself? Could you do it?”

Cap: “It pains me to say this, Vision, but I honestly don’t know. I don’t believe I could know unless the situation actually presented itself. Life should never be given up lightly, but... if there were a way to truly save the world... I’d like to think that I’d make the sacrifice. But I’d have to be certain that it would work!”

Vision: “Yes... Yes, there could be no room for doubt.”

I do really like the slow unfolding of whatever Vision’s Supervillain Actually Its Well-Intentioned plan is. His doubts and how he poses a very specific hypothetical to Cap to see what The Iconic Avengers Leader thinks.

At this point my guess is that Vision is going to turn himself into a supercomputer like ISAAC to take over the world, for its own good. Since it was apparently inspired when he was plugged into a supercomputer and was running the mansion.

Anyway, Wanda runs in and interrupts the totally-a-hypothetical discussion with big, alarming news that their house from the Vision and Scarlet Witch series is on fire.

That’s rough.

By the time Wanda, Vision, and emotional support Captain America show up, the ire is unstoppable and the firefighters just let it burn down.

That’s rougher.

Later, Vision and Wanda pick through the smouldering rubble.

And worse of all, this wasn’t a random electrical or grease or magic fire. It was arson. And the arsonist even called the cops to make sure everyone knew it.

Scarlet Witch: “So! I should have known! The blind, unreasoning fools! Do I have to fight them for the rest of my life?!?” This is so maddening! Losing my temper won’t bring our house back... all I’ve done is frighten the neighbors. That’s always been the biggest problem in being a mutant... No one will let you act human.

Some random bystanders basically gloat that the “weirdies are finally leaving” causing Captain America to go off.

Captain America: “For your information, mister, those ‘weirdies’ have saved your hide a dozen times over! They’ve fought and bled so you could have a home!”

Bystander: “N-now hold on, Cap! Me, I don’t have anything against ‘em... but why’d they have to move into my neighborhood? I mean, all our houses coulda caught fire from that blaze! This never woulda happened, if they hadn’t moved here!”

Captain America: “Mister, today somebody decided that he didn’t like mutants. Tomorrow, maybe someone will decide he doesn’t like blacks... or jews... or you! We’re all in this together. The American dream has to be there for everyone, or it can never truly work for anyone! It’s our duty to do everything we can to make sure it works!”

I doubt Bystander is very convinced. Maybe momentarily shamed. But in an hour he’ll be like “am I wrong about mutants? No, its the tolerant people who are wrong.”

But Vision... Vision has made up his mind.

Vision: ‘Do I have the right to take over the world for its own good?’

Vision: ‘Moral quandary resolved.’

The next morning, Vision has exciting new terrible news for the team. The US Army Corp of Engineers have dug up Thanos’ secret base in Arizona from his first appearance in Iron Man #55. And despite Vision protesting how dumb it is to poke unknown alien technology in hopes of finding a cool new weapon for America’s strategic arsenal, the Department of Defense is having the army poking unknown alien technology in hopes of finding a cool new weapon for America’s strategic arsenal.

Captain America: “Blazes! I believe in a strong defense as much as anyone, but the hardware Thanos used is way out of the army’s league!”

Starfox: “Perhaps more than even you can imagine, Cap! My brother Thanos was a ravager of worlds... he coveted power and worshiped death! His hidden base could well hold the means to rip this planet asunder!”

Cool, cool.

Man, I hate it when the US Army blew up the world in 1985 by poking alien gewgaws.

Anyway, Vision did manage to talk the government into allowing a small group of Avengers to act as advisers.

Instead of rounding up scientific geniuses slash superheroes like they did for Bruce Banner’s lab, Vision just selects everyone he has handy.

He says he’d like to assign the West Coast Avengers (who in fairness do have two scientific experets - Mockingbird and Wonder Man, kinda) but they’re busy with an off-panel mission in the Pacific. Just because they don’t have a book doesn’t mean they stop doing stuff.

So instead Vision selects Captain America, Hercules, Scarlet Witch, and Starfox (who in fairness is a great choice since he knows space science and Thanos) and sends them off.

Yeah. Vision is totally going to get up to stuff while they’re gone.

This foreboding is enhanced when Captain Marvel shows up and Vision tells her he has a special assignment for her.

Vision: “Our deep space monitor has picked up some disturbing signals -- that seems to be emanating from Sanctuary II, the starship which once belonged to the mad Thanos! After the arch-fiend’s final defeat, we left his ship to drift beyond the orbit of Pluto!”

Since she’s the fastest Avenger he asks her to leave at once, fly out to the ship to check it out, and then report back.

So. Light is the fastest thing, the speed limit of the universe. Give or take tachyons which are FTL and also hypothetical. And I don’t know if Captain Marvel can turn into tachyons. Point being, the speed of light is really friggin fast but the universe is really friggin big. Even something as ‘close’ as our solar backyard where Pluto is located is 4.9 billion miles away and takes light 4.6 hours to get there from Earth.

He is definitely getting Captain Marvel out of the way where even her nyoom will take a while to get back.

The Vision slowly stalks through the corridors of Avengers Mansion. On the second floor, he pauses before the door of the quarters he for so long shared with his wife... recalling past joys and sorrows. And then, he moves on -- solemnly descending the grand staircase, as if for the final time.

O_O

Uh...... plus side is that he gives Jarvis the day off to take his mother to Montauk Point!

I just like seeing Jarvis in Avengers.

He’s always around but only occasionally seen.

My god. His vacation clothes though.

Of course, Vision being nice to Jarvis who deserves good things is only partially because Jarvis is a cool guy who deserves nice things.

Vision has managed at this point to clear everyone out of the mansion and he locks the doors behind Jarvis so that NO ONE CAN INTERRUPT WHAT HE MUST DO.

Meanwhile, team ‘prevent the military from doing anything stupid’ arrives in Arizona and at the site of Thanos’ former base.

Huh. I was half and half on whether Vision was just making shit up to get the Avengers out of the house but I guess something really is going on.

Makes sense. If they went there and found nothing, they’d return too soon.

I wonder if there’s something really going on with Thanos’ ship Sanctuary II too.

If so, was it just a great coincidence that Vision had two different emergencies he could divert the team with the day after he decided to go through with his plan or is it just the Avengers’ lot that there’s constantly emergencies going on and he had his pick of them?

Anyway. Colonel Farnam of the US Army is convinced that they have everything under control at Operation: Prize Package and don’t need any Avengers supervision.

Colonel Farnam: “If we can figure out how just a fraction of this gear works, the United States will never again need fear an enemy power!”

Captain America: “I’m told that similar sentiment was expressed following the development of the crossbow, Colonel.”

Nice sass, Cap.

But, like, the instant that the Avengers are escorted inside the base, Starfox spots some technicians messing with a machine to see what it does and they tell him to screw off when he tells them not to mess with things they don’t understand.

Starfox: “GET AWAY FROM THERE!”

Scientist: “What are you, crazy?! We’ve spent twelve hours trying to goose this transmitter to life... we’re not going to stop now!”

He has to drag them away from a sudden energy surge as the machine activates by itself with a programmed homing signal that will bring Something to the base.

Colonel Farnam: “Now hold it right there, Avenger! Only my men are authorized to monkey with these machines!”

Starfox: “Colonel, I was raised among machiens such as these! If I can’t fix these settings, your men don’t stand a chance!”

Colonel Farnam: “I don’t care if you were raised in... GOOD LORD!”

Geez. It may have been partially a ruse to get the Avengers out of the house but its a good thing Vision sent the Avengers here. The US Army was clearly going to doom the world unsupervised.

GOOD JOB RANDOM SCIENTISTS

NOW HERCULES IS GETTING HIS ASS KICKED

IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED, YOU MONSTERS??

Anyway, the Blood Brothers are some Thanos minions from early days. Weird that they never showed up for the MCU. Like, look, they didn’t need to be part of the Black Order. They don’t have the theme naming.

But these two dinguses would have made great antagonists in one of the earlier movies.

Though Starfox and Hercules get wrecked for being the nearest to the Blood Brothers when they appear, Cap and Scarlet Witch do better for being slightly forewarned.

Captain America can do the backflips to keep from getting punched and Wanda’s do anything powers are as helpful as always.

Meanwhile, back at Avengers Mansion, Dane Whitman (sometimes the Black Knight, sometimes just exhausted), arrives and tries to use his old Avengers ID card to enter.

The security system does not like that.

Anyway, back in Arizona, Starfox rejoins the fight. That’s good.

Wanda tries to do her patented ‘all oxygen play keep away from this guy’ move on one of the Blood Brothers but his super strength lets him slam the ground to break Wanda’s concentration.

The other Blood Brother tries to strangle Captain America who got knocked into a pile of rubble but Hercules emerges from underneath the rubble to do that greatest of comic book tropes.

Ah, grievous harm with a body. How I love you.

But though the Blood Brothers heads are hard enough to knock each other out, the fight did do some lasting damage.

TO MY PERCEPTION OF HERCULES!

When the Blood Brothers beat the shit out of Hercules at the beginning of the fight, they apparently tore his Hercules skirt.

And Hercules isn’t wearing anything under his Hercules skirt.

So the other three Avengers get to see Hercules’ mighty adamantine mace, so to speak.

That’s all well and good.

Except its not!

Hercules? Being ashamed of public nudity??

That doesn’t sound like the Hercules I know!

Tsk tsk, how retroactively out of character! Annnnd possibly not retroactively? Didn’t he compete in the original Olympics which were no pants allowed?

You’ve corrupted him, modern society!

Anyway.

Captain America starts yelling at the colonel because if the Avengers hadn’t been here, it would have been a major disaster.

Captain America: “You were warned -- Washington was warned -- that something like this could happen! But those warnings were almost totally ignored!”

But back at Avengers Mansion, Dane Whitman wakes up and sees this argument being broadcast on a jumbo screen.

Vision: “People never listen to those who know better! I shall have to change all that!”

Vision: “Hello, Dane. I’m sorry you had to be incapacitated. But your arrival was most unexpected... and I really can’t afford any interruptions now! You see, I have to save humanity from itself!”

Something about you seems different, Vision.

Did you become one with the universe? It’s a pretty popular move.

Follow @essential-avengers because whoa what huh? Vision what? Also, like and reblog. Its necessary to save humanity from itself.

#avengers #Blood Brothers #the Vision #Scarlet Witch #Starfox #Hercules #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #Black Knight #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging

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lilbabychilton · 4 years

Text

Two Weeks- Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid x Reader

Tags: Angst

Notes: The Reader, who lost her husband previously, comforts Spencer after he loses Maeve. (This’ll probably be part of a nearly canon universe, sooo we’ll see.)

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since you watched helplessly as Spencer Reid got his heart broken and his entire life shattered.

You’d been at the BAU for a little over a year now, keeping your distance and never really allowing anyone to get close. You transferred there from Brooklyn SVU after your husband died. The gaping hole in your heart had never really mended instead of healing, you built walls.

Watching Spencer lose the one he loved most brought up all of your unresolved trauma. Despite your best efforts to stay away from others, you’d grown a soft spot for Spence. He never asked questions, never pushed; but whenever he could tell something was wrong, he’d show up at your desk with a coffee.

One night, after a particularly triggering case, everyone had gone home; but you remained. Staring absently at the wedding picture on your desk, ghosting your fingers over the metal frame, you began feeling the all too familiar pangs of grief tugging at your heart strings. It was as if wind was howling through the emptiness of your heart.

“Still here?” Spencer asked, leaning against your desk, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Still here.” You replied solemnly, letting out a deep sigh and prying your eyes away from the frame.

“You okay?” He asked timidly, always careful never to cross your clear boundaries.

“No.” You replied bluntly, shoving down the need to cry so far down into your gut you could feel it. The heaviness settling there like a block of concrete in the ocean.

“You want to go get pizza?” A small, sympathetic smile crept onto Spencers face. Trying to cheer you up while effectively knowing nothing about you was no easy feat. “I know a place that’s open, it’s pretty good.”

You graciously accepted, and found yourself sitting across from each other in the nearly empty restaurant. Spencer rambled on and on for hours about anything under the sun, and you didn’t stop him. His voice helped fill the emptiness, and to tell you the truth, it brought you joy. Watching him wax poetic about his interests was like watching a little ray of sunshine dance in front of you and warm the cockles of your soul.

But now that ray of light was gone; and your heart ached all the more, wondering when it would come back.

You made your way up the stairs to Spencer’s, apartment bag in hand. The hall was dimly lit and looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 70’s. Somehow it wasn’t where you pictured him living, but you pressed on.

“Hey Spence, it’s me” you called gently, knocking on the door and waiting for a response. There was no answer.

“Can you just let me know you’re alive in there?” you asked, with a sigh not at all expecting an answer. But a minute later there was a hard slap against the door and you felt your heart sink.

He clearly wasn’t going to let you in, probably in no mood for company. But you couldn’t in good conscience leave him there to be alone another day. You’d been there, you did exactly this when your husband died, and to be honest isolating just made you feel worse, numb almost.

So instead of leaving you did something you hadn’t done since you were a teenager; you picked the lock. Laughing to yourself as you pulled out the lock picking kit you bought on amazon a month ago in a wine drunk haze.

“Who knew it’d come in handy.” You thought darkly as you heard the lock click open.

You opened the door and were hit with a wave of humidity. The air was thick, the curtains were drawn, and there were books thrown all over the floor. Your mind flashed back to your house, a year ago, it looked exactly like this. And you looked exactly like Spencer, laying on the floor, greasy unkempt hair, and pajamas that probably hadn’t been changed since he ambled home that night.

“Hey Spence” you greeted gently, sitting on the floor near his head.

“How did you get in?” He asked, completely unfazed, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him.

You held the lock picking kit over his eyes and shook it a little. Spencer exhaled harshly, might have been a laugh, might have been frustration.

“I’ve never told you about my husband.” You said, playing with the shoelaces on your beat up tennis shoes. Spencer turned his head, not willing to speak but interested in what you had to say.

You never talked about your personal life. The only one that had known was Rossi, and you assumed he told the others not to ask, and you were grateful.

“He died in a fire almost two years ago,” you started, “arson to be specific.”

“I’m sorry” Spencer breathed, tears rimming his hazel eyes.

“I know,” you replied, “me too.”

“I was a Brooklyn SVU Detective and he was a firefighter. I was working a child trafficking case and I hadn’t slept in three days.” You anxiously picked at your nail, you’d never told this story to anyone but your therapist and even then it’d been a struggle. But you swallowed the lump in your throat and continued on.

“The unsub was burning location’s to cover his tracks. The last location still had kids in it. Both my husband and I were called to respond. I couldn’t do anything with a burning building, so I waited outside, watching the crowd.”

“Fuck” you muttered taking a breather and putting your head in your hands, by now Spencer had sat up and was listening to you intently with his legs crossed and his chin in his hands.

“All the kids were out, they were doing a final sweep. I watched three firefighters go in,” you took a deep breath and felt the tears welling in your eyes threatening to fall and your voice shook.

“And I watched two come out. I don’t think I’ve ever run harder in my life. By the time I got there two men were dragging my husband out of the building. He died holding my hand in the ambulance.”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks when you finished your tragic tale.

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” Spencer asked getting up off the floor and moving to the couch, he was crying too.

“No,” you scoffed, wiping the tears off your face and following him. “What I’m saying is, I get it. And it fucking sucks.”

Spence paused for a long moment then looked at you, “it does fucking suck.”

That was probably the most inarticulate thing you’d ever heard him say, and you grabbed his hand to comfort him, “but it sucks more to do it alone, trust me.”

“When’s the last time you ate?” you asked and Spencer just shrugged.

“You have to eat.” You said catching his sad gaze.

“Not hungry.” He mumbled and you shrugged.

You stood up and walked over to your bag, pulling out a carton of lactose free ice cream and some plastic spoons.

“I survived on this after John died.” You said, walking over to Spencer and handing him the container.

“How do you know I’m lactose intolerant?” he asked with a near microscopic smirk threatening his lips.

“I mean, other than the fact that statistically it’s super likely,” you began, “I pay attention, I’m distant not dumb.”

Then you pulled out your laptop, and a set of dvd’s and set them on the coffee table. Spencer leaned forward to inspect them.

“The first season of the Doctor Who reboot?” He asked, turning the case over in his hands and scanning the images.

“I’ve got all the other seasons in this bag. Sometimes you’ve got to distract yourself.” You said, laughing inwardly at your next thought.

“When John died I binged all of the show Dexter, it was awful.” you paused, taking in your surroundings “but it was better than sitting in the dark and crying til I made myself sick.”

“How?” Spencer asked, his face scrunching up in thought, like for the first time in his life he was at a loss for words. “How do I stop myself from doing that.”

You sighed and he began to cry, you pulled him into you and stroked his hair as the sobs wracked his tiny frame.

“Force” you said simply, “you force yourself to do it. The person you love wouldn’t want you to wither away in the dark.”

“It’s so hard” he cried and you cried too, no one knew better than you did exactly how hard it was. That’s why you were here.

“Do you blame yourself?” You asked. Spencer said nothing, he only sobbed harder, clinging onto you so hard you were sure he’d leave marks.

“I did too” you said, easing yourself back and taking Spencer with you. “Rossi consulted on a case for us before my husband died. Said I had talent and should come help out at the BAU.”

You paused and thought about that moment bitterly, as you were sure you always would. It was one stupid, simple decision what would have changed your entire life for the better.

“I said no” you continued, absently playing with Spencer's hair in an attempt to sooth him. Your partner used to do that for you after John died, she’d come over every day and just play with your hair until you fell asleep.

“I liked my life in New York. John was willing to go but I was scared.” You scoffed, and Spencer turned to you.

“Do you still blame yourself?” he asked his eyes swollen from crying and sunken from lack of sleep.

“Sometimes.” You replied simply, “less often now.”

“Listen Spence, this is going to suck, and it’s going to suck for a long time. But I promise that eventually it’s bearable.”

“That’s hard to believe” he said, no tone, no emotion. You knew exactly what was happening. Sometimes in grief your body gets so tired of feeling you just stop. That’s almost worse than the sadness.

“Oh I know.” you said, “But you find people who make it easier. I’ve got my old partner in New York, she checks in on me all the time, we spend a weekend together every month. And there’s you too.”

“Me?” Reid questioned, his brows furrowed.

“Remember that night we got pizza?” you asked, and he nodded. “That was John’s birthday, we got back from a case where a woman lost her husband and fuck, Spence, I was in a rough spot.”

“I assumed as much.” Spencer said, his memory rolling back to the deeply pained look he saw on your face as he packed up his things.

“You were there, you didn’t ask any questions, didn’t try to comfort me, you were just there. And that meant a lot.” You said cracking a half smile.

“I’m sorry I broke in,” you said moving some stray strands of hair out of his eyes. “But I couldn’t stand knowing you were going through this alone. Especially not after you helped me through one of my toughest days since I started here.”

“I appreciate it,” Spencer said, sitting up.

“The ice cream is going to melt.” You said, your eyes flicking over to the poor container sweating in the heat of the apartment.

“You should probably eat it.” You said picking it up and putting it into his hands.

“Only if you eat it with me.” He replied grabbing a second plastic spoon out of the box. You smiled and accepted it.

“Only if we can watch Doctor Who, and only if you point out everything that isn’t scientifically sound.” You said and you watched a smile grow on Spencer’s face.

“Okay.” He replied and you got everything set up.

Wading through grief is heavy, it falls over you all at once and it’ll suffocate you if you let it. Sometimes you need a reprieve from it all. Something to help you feel joy again, remind you that the world is still turning. A ray of sunshine in the oppressive darkness. Spencer was one that for you, and now it was your turn to be that for him.

#Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid x Reader #criminal minds #Crimincal Minds Fan Fiction #Reid x Reader #Spencer Reid Fan Fiction

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troop-scoop · 4 years

Text

Mistakes & Regrets XXII

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Swearing, violence

• • •

It was pretty much known by everybody who you were friends with that Steve hated your driving. And by hate, you meant it.

He was genuinely shocked when the DMV gave you your license. You were always going over the speed limit, and taking sharp turns. His least favorite thing you did? Not slowing down at bumps or potholes.

So, you were hoping he wouldn’t wake up while you were driving. Dustin, Max, Mike and Steve were all crowded in the back seat of the car, but Lucas was next to you with the map, even though you knew your way to this farm because you went there to get a pumpkin for Will a few days before Halloween.

“Y/n?”

You looked in the rearview mirror, seeing Steve turned and looking at Mike. You redirected your attention to the road, choosing not to let him know that you were the one driving.

“No don’t touch it” Dustin told him. Though you couldn’t see what he was telling Steve not to touch. “Hey, buddy. . .” Dustin shushed a bit.

You continued driving, occasionally glancing at the map even if it was so dark you couldn’t really see anything.

“It’s okay, you put up a good fight. He kicked your ass, but you put up a good fight. You’re okay.”

“Okay, you’re gonna keep straight for a half a mile, then make a left on Mount Sinai.” You nodded in response to Lucas’ instructions.

“What’s going on?”

You didn’t want to look at Steve but you did anyway. Quickly sparing a look over your shoulder before turning back to the front.

“Oh, my God.”

“Hey, relax, she has her license.” Dustin tried to soothe as if Steve was an infant.

“Yeah, and she barely passed the driving test.” Mike pointed out. You were gonna kill Nancy for coming with you to the DMV.

“That still counts.” Max and Lucas both pointed out.

“Steve, dude, need you to chill-”

“Oh, my God!” He repeated, now fully awake and realizing the situation he was in, crowded around a bunch of middle schoolers with you driving.

“They were gonna leave you behind.”

You could feel the stress rising in the back seat as Steve continued to repeat himself as he sat up, with Dustin trying to calm him down.

“Fuck it.” You muttered, speeding up. Your nerves were getting the best of you. You wanted Eleven to be okay, you wanted Will to be okay.

“Oh, my God! No! Whoa! Stop the car. Slow down!”

You tried to tune them out, with Mike, Dustin and Steve all yelling in the back seat, and Max looking more annoyed by the second.

“Shut up!” She yelled at them “She needs to focus!”

You were sure it wasn’t a very pleasant way to wake up after getting your ass kicked by a racist. You saw the road coming up and took a sharp turn, which resulted in the squeaking of Billy’s tires and Steve screaming even louder.

You came to a sudden spot when Mike yelled that you were there at the hole. You remained quiet, sniffling a little bit and turning the engine off.

Getting out of the car you went to the drunk, unlocking it and letting the kids get what they needed to set up.

You grabbed the gun, tucking it into your jeans. Taking the red bandana and swimming goggles, you looked over to the side of the car where Steve fell onto the dirt, loosing his balance

The kids got their goggles and bandanas, having fully understood you when you said that the atmosphere down there was toxic. Because it was just an expansion of the Upside Down.

Walking over to Steve you handed him the bandana and goggles, knowing you didn’t really need them. If you were immune to the atmosphere a year ago, it wouldn’t really change now.

He tried to get your attention as you walked away but you couldn’t look at him. The tears felt like they were coming back every time you did.

You’d never let him know that you cried the entire time you were gathering things to get in the car. You were practically sobbing while going about your business, barely making it out of the driveway because your vision was blurry from your tears.

You stood at the hood of the car while Mike came over with a canister of gasoline and the rope, bending down to tie it to the front bumper.

“You got it?” You asked, wiping away a bit of snot. You hated crying, and the after effects.

You could hear Steve yelling about how he said no to this plan, that he wasn’t going to allow it. But if you had to go down there alone, you would.

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” You responded with little enthusiasm, which Mike picked up on, but refused to say anything.

Walking back to the trunk you grabbed Steve’s arm, catching his attention as he took your backpack from Dustin.

“If you’re not with me, you are my enemy.” You said in a gentle and joking manner, only getting a confused grin from him. “You won’t understand that. . . for a long time.” He looked even more confused as you walked over to the hole as Mike dropped the rope down into it.

Steve and Dustin quickly followed after you. It smelled familiar. And you could feel how cold it was already. Taking a deep breath you looked at the boys, who gave you an uncertain look through their goggles.

Stepping closer to the hole. Steve grabbed your wrist, stopping you from moving. “What are you doing?”

“Going down there? To commit interdimensional arson?”

“Why don’t you have any of this?” Steve gestured to his bandana and pair of goggles he’d gotten on within seconds.

“I don’t really need it.” You said softly, pulling your wrist away and jumping down into the hole. You landed with your knees bent and in total darkness.

You froze up. It felt like it was all rushing back, and you lowered yourself onto your knees, the gooey feeling on your jeans also familiar and not uncomfortable. You could remember the sound of rain, and yelling out for your dad, having regretted running as soon as the storm started. And you tried to find your way back, but you stepped over one rock, and all of a sudden you fell into what felt exactly like this.

You remembered having your hoodie on, and your hair up. Your shoes had been soaked from the rain. You still had them somewhere in your apartment. A pair of damaged black vans.

You could suddenly remember taking your first shower at the motel, watching as the dirt, blood and sweat went down the drain. You hadn’t been able to remember your first night at the motel since you’d been there.

You remembered taking the shower after buying a completely new outfit, from a store, just so you could feel comfortable. You remembered the odd looks you got from everyone, and staying quiet after you saw the date in a newspaper. You’d put it together far quicker than you’d imagined. You’d enrolled yourself into the highschool quickly, got a wardrobe together, and tried to act normal. You remembered all of it now.

“Y/n? Hey, c’mon, look at me, are you okay?” Steve grabbed your face, making you look at him. But all you could see was his bruised forehead and his eyes through the tinted goggles.

“Yeah.” You answered simply. You could suddenly remember the last time your dad hugged you, and how tight it had been. Like he’d known that something was going to happen, or that it’d be the last time. But you hadn’t.

“I’m fine.”

Steve helped you onto your feet, and you reached for whoever’s hand was closest, and that just so happened to be Steve’s.

You started your trek down the tunnels, every step reminding you of what happened. You pretty much zoned out on everything. Ignoring everything that was said and remembering how quiet it had been except for those things that you always hid from. You were good at hiding as a little kid, and even now. Lockdown drills didn’t help.

But you did snap out of it when you heard screaming. Turning back you saw Mike and Lucas run back, and you went after them. Mike was yelling for Dustin and when you came to a large opening, you saw Dustin on the ground, coughing.

Kneeling down you had a grip on his shoulders as he coughed. He had a grip on you too, using you as a bit of balance.

He stopped and looked up at you, seeing how worried you were. “I’m okay.”

It was anticlimatic.

You nodded a bit. “Okay.” You agreed, grabbing the end edge of his bandana and pulling it over the nose of his scuba mask and helping him back up. You walked with Dustin most of the way after that, a hand on his shoulder and the other on Mike’s as they followed Steve’s lead.

“Alright, Wheeler. I think we found your hub.”

Steve was right, the other tunnels all leading to this one spot. That everyone shined their flashlight on.

And instead of a constant feeling of reliving that short month in the Upside Down, you took the gas canister that Mike had been carrying for you. “Let’s drench it.” He spoke as you uncapped it. Everyone did the same, With Lucas spraying the higher walls of the hub while the rest of you got the lower parts, and the floor. The smell was overwhelming, like a gas station but a thousand times worse. And usually you liked the smell.

“Alright, c’mon. Everybody get back.”

You looked up at Steve, seeing that he was gesturing back to the way you’d come. You dropped your canister, and went to the tunnel.

You were all gathered together, and Steve looked at you. “You still have my lighter?” Nodding, you reached into the pocket of his jacket and handed it to him.

“Alright, you guys ready?”

“Yeah.” You answered. With everyone else answering as well.

He opened the lighter and ignited it, the small flame lighting up a small area, before he tossed it into the puddle of gasoline. What you’d all poured into it lit up

The vines on the floor began to make sounds and flail in the air, almost as if it was in pain. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care if it was in pain.

“Go, go, go!” Steve shouted. You grabbed Lucas, Dustina and Mike who all took longer than Max, who took off running.

You pushed them all ahead of you and began to run yourself, with Steve behind you. You all ran, not really caring if you were cautious at this point.

Steve grabbed onto your arm and started to pull you along with him when he almost passed you.

He let go of you when he made sure you weren’t completley behind him or the kids, but right along side Mike.

You grabbed onto Mike’s hand, trying to make sure you didn’t lose him or he didn’t get lost.

Mike tripped on one of the vines and fell onto the ground. “Steve!” You shouted. While Mike screamed ‘help’

They came running back, with Lucas going to the other side of Mike as Steve brought the bat down onto the vine. You pulled Mike away and grabbed his face. “Are you okay?”

He gave an urgent nod as you helped him stand back up.

Before any of you could make a run for it again, you heard the familiar growling from a demodog as Dustin liked to call it.

You still held onto Mike, an arm around his shoulders, holding him close like you would if he were your own brother. You also had an arm out, acting as a shield for Lucas, as Dustin stepped forward.

You didn’t feel scared, just anxious, with your heart beating a million miles a second, having had both Dustin and Mike fall on the way at some point. Mike had his flashlight pointed at Dart, but his other hand had a death grip on the back of your shirt.

“Dart.” Dustin spoke, taking a small step forward.

In unison all of you started speaking, telling him to get back or that it was a bad idea. “Sh! Trust me, please.” He continued to walk over to the thing. Both you and Steve shared a look as your grip on Mike stayed the same.

The four kids were family to you your entire life, they would have done anything to protect you just like your dad would have done for their kids. So you’d do anything to protect them now.

“It’s me, It’s Dustin, You remember me?” He asked, kneeling down in front of him, his goggles and mask off. “Will you let us pass?”

Dart opened his mouth and growled, showing off the tiny teeth decorating the petal like flaps. You pulled Mike closer and grabbed Lucas’ hand who stepped behind you.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I”m sorry about the storm cellar.”

“I’m not.” You murmured to yourself.

“That was a pretty douchey thing to do. You hungry? Yeah?” Dustin took his backpack off, reaching into it and pulled out a three musketeers.

“He’s insane.” Lucas mumbled. You only nodded in agreement. While Steve told him to shut up.

“I’ve got our favorite. See? Nougat.” Dustin began to unwrap the candy bar. “Look at that. Yummy. Here, all right? Eat up, buddy.”

Dustin gestured for you all to go past Dart without looking at at any of you. Steve went first, then Max, and then you, Mike and Lucas. Mike and you still having a tight grip on each other and Lucas using you as a bit of a shield, and you didn’t blame him.

You all stopped once past Dart and Dustin, and saw as Dart looked back at Dustin. “Goodbye, buddy.” Dustin told him, puling his mask and goggles back on, before turning to the rest of you and following.

Things just kept popping up however, as when you’d barely gotten far from Dart, the tunnel shook, and you could hear distant growling from multiple demodogs.

“They’re coming.” Mike realized, having taken your hand after you’d let him go. “Run!” He yelled with everyone instantly following what he said and running towards the rope.

Once there, Steve helped Max up onto the ground, then Lucas, as well as Mike and Dustin.

“Shit.” You mumbled, hearing the demodogs get closer. You pulled the gun from your Jeans as Steve stepped in front of you, bending his knees enough so you could aim over his shoulder.

And much to your surprise, instead of attacking, they went around the two of you, acting as if you were just rocks in their way.

Steve turned and grabbed you with his free hand, keeping you close and out of their way as the two of you watched them run.

“Okay. . .” Steve mumbled, looking down at you. “Your turn.” He told you dropping the bat and leaning down to grab you from around the knees, and lifting you up to the rope.

You had a firm grip on it and climbed the couple of inches you needed before Mike and Max grabbed you, helping to pull you out, and then you did the same for Steve, pulling him out as he tossed the bat to the side.

The headlights of Billy’s car grew brighter for a few seconds, forcing you to shield your eyes. But it was gone as soon as it had come.

• • •

Stepping out of the car you were met with Billy sitting on the porch, and the door opening as Joyce came out. The worry on her face was unmistakable.

“Oh, my God.” He muttered, coming over to you and hugging you. You were both sweaty and gross, but you understood the reaction. She’d expected for you all to be in house when she came back with Will. “You’re okay?” She asked, pulling away and holding your face in her hands.

You nodded, forcing a tired smile. “I’m alive.” You couldn’t say you were okay, because you knew you weren't. But you were alive, and that was enough for you.

“Y/n!” Looking over Joyce’s shoulder you saw Will, Jonathan and Nancy coming out as well. Smiling you walked over to Will who came over and hugged you.

“Hey,” You greeted, hugging him back.

“It wanted me to kill you.”

“I know, kid. But you didn’t.” You reminded him, pulling away and smiling down at him. You could see your brother in him. The smile and the tired look in his eyes. “It’s an okay night.”

“Hey, guys.” You looked at Nancy and Jonathan who smiled back. Eleven and Hopper got back at the same time as you, So Mike and her had gone to each other, and everyone stood around, exhausted and ready to crash.

“Nancy, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas can stay here for the night, to get some rest.” Joyce told them. “Y/n, Steve, you’re welcome to stay too.”

Looking over at Steve you could see how exhausted he was, and looking over to Joyce you looked down at Will, who you still had an arm around. “We. . . can get a ride to my apartment. We both need showers.” You told her.

She nodded and reached over to you, a hand on your cheek that you subconsciously leaned a bit into.

“I’ll drive them.” Hopper offered to Joyce.

You nodded a bit, looking over to Steve. “We’ll get the BMW tomorrow morning, yeah?” He nodded in response.

“We should go now, before he passes out here.” You told Hopper, but really, you could see how Steve was looking at Billy.

“Let’s go.”

• • •

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#steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington slow burn

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