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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 1: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Headmaster Crowley is a nightmare, and Professor Crewel is, well, cruel. And to be perfectly honest, after meeting another dog-loving professor who doesn't treat you like absolute garbage, the Royal Sword Academy is starting to look a lot more appealing.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me!’

Crowley had chirped that very sentiment to you ad nauseum, with all the enthusiasm of an old raven eyeing a shiny penny.

“Do you really believe that?” you sniffled, angry, as you sat slumped over in one of his rickety office chairs.

People at this stupid school were mean. And yeah, school yard insults and casual accusations of being the House Wardens’ little bitch were one thing—but these assholes would go right for the throat. All of your insecurities—your fears—all laid out like a nice spread of hors d'oeuvres ready for the picking. You had endured enough sharp barbs for a lifetime, and the fact that your glorious Headmaster and self-proclaimed parental figure kept writing it all off as a ‘learning experience’ was driving you mad.

“Of course I do, dear child!” he beamed. “What sort of educator would I be if I didn’t practice what I preach! Words are but the wind, as they say!”

You nodded, sage, and shot him a smile so sugary sweet it could rot the teeth right out of his skull.

“I wish I’d never met you and I hope that all your feathers fall off one by one,” you chirped. “And I use the ‘Number One Child’ mug you gave me to scoop water out of the toilets when the plumbing fails.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open with a nearly audible clunk, and if he weren’t so wrapped up in all kinds of immoral, black magic, bull-shittery, you would have liked to imagine that maybe that had been the sound of his heart cracking in his stupid, embroidery-covered, chest.

You popped up from your chair and breezily made your way to the exit. You propped yourself up against the intricate, wooden, frame and clapped your hands together like a bubbly preschool teacher addressing a room full of particularly dull children.

“I’m glad we could get that out in the open in a completely pain-free way. Words really can’t hurt anyone!”

You managed to slip the door closed just as he started to wail.

That afternoon you made your way to Professor Crewel’s office, as had become your routine. It was nice. Sometimes you would help him grade papers, sometimes you would just nibble on fancy cookies and listen as he ranted about the incompetence of certain staff members which shall not be named.

Sometimes his dogs were with him in the afternoons—a pair of giant, lithe, wolf-like beasts that were most certainly of a very proud and expensive lineage. Jasper was the black one and Badun the white, and each had a coat so glossy and well-maintained that they could put your own hair care to shame. Badun was enthusiastic, charismatic, and would bound to greet anyone who entered. Jasper was more quiet, reserved, but he was secretly your favorite of the duo. Whenever you stopped in after classes, the shadowy hound would lumber over and rest his giant head in your lap.

“No puppies today?” you called when you were greeted with silence rather than a wave of happy kisses.

“They’re in for their groom,” Crewel mumbled, busy at work with his head bowed over some lab reports or other. Normally he would grouchily correct you that his two precious pooches were adults. Dogs. And should be addressed as such. He must have been really distracted today. Or maybe you were just wearing him down.

You settled into the lovely, plush, chair off to the side that you had long since claimed as your own, and set your bookbag on the floor by your feet with a thump.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence with nothing but the sound of scratching ink over paper to break up the monotony, Professor Crewel dropped his head into his hands with a miserable sort of sigh.

“You should not have spoken to Crowley as you did.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I of all people understand how frustrating the Headmaster’s antics can be,” Crewel continued, firm. “But you are still a student of this Institution—and one in a precarious enough position as it is. So you need to be mindful of your tongue.”

Indignation roiled through your gut, followed by a sharp prick of disquiet that you couldn’t quite place.

“Then he should be mindful to treat me like a student and not some—some pet project,” you huffed, kicking irritably at your patched backpack for want of nothing else to do. “And besides, what’ll he even do? Expel the one person in this entire college who mops up every single one of his messes? And I mean, it’s not like he’s running around the school crying or anything. I wasn’t that mean.”

Crewel pinched the bridge of his nose and you paused, mouth parting in surprise.

“Oh come on, he did not.”

“In the name of preserving our esteemed leader’s dignity I will say no more on the matter,” he grit out, and you fought the urge to immediately whip out your phone to message Ace, and Cater, and every other rabid gossip you could think of.

“Well, maybe he deserved it,” you snipped, crossing your arms stubbornly across your chest. A bit of cautious warmth spread through you and you nervously plucked at one of the loose threads on your uniform sleeve. “And besides,” you mumbled. "He can cry about me calling him a shitty father all he wants. You’ve been way more of a dad to me here than he could ever try to be.”

“I beg your pardon.”

You froze, fingers locking in place around the picked-apart edges of your jacket. The ice in his voice was unfamiliar and entirely unpleasant. It sent a frigid wave of worry curling through your veins. Had you overstepped? You’d thought—You’d just thought—

“I-I mean,” you spluttered. “I only meant that, well… Uhm… You’re really nice to spend time with. A-And, I just…” He made you feel like you were home again. Like even though Ramshackle was empty and cold, that you could still walk into this little office and say ‘I’m back!’ to an actual, real-life person and not just the shadows that lived in your foyer.

“Let me be perfectly clear, Prefect,” he sneered. There was an undercurrent of hostility running so sharply through every word that you were left wondering frantically if you’d unintentionally trampled over a sensitive topic. You hadn’t thought it was a big deal. You just—you just really, really looked up to him. And felt safe with him. And—And—

‘I’m sorry,’ you wanted to say. But instead you just let out an odd kind of choked squeak.

“I have no intention of playing parent to anyone,” he snapped. “Let alone an untrained brat who can’t even be bothered to play civil with the people who do attempt to care for them.”

Ouch.

“R-Right,” you spluttered, swallowing around the burbling lump in your throat and the warmth prickling along your lash line. “O-Of course. I’m sorry for assuming. I—I… uhm…”

‘I’ll just go then.’

But just like with failed apology, those four little syllables just couldn’t seem to make it past your lips either. So instead you just shakily snatched your bag from the floor and bolted from his office, burrowing your stinging cheeks as far into your collar as they would go. The last thing you needed to do was give anyone at this stupid school any more ammunition against you. And ‘Cry Baby Prefect’ sounded like another nasty nickname that would stick to you like gum to a flat-heeled shoe.

It’s fine, you whispered to yourself, voice wobbling far more than you would have liked. Grim hated when you came back smelling like dogs anyways.

“My goodness, are you alright?”

You blinked, harried, and glanced around yourself properly for what felt like the first time in hours. You were… not on campus anymore. Huh. What a trip. You’d never been so upset that you’d blindly run off into an entire new town before. But you supposed there was a first time for everything. You did remember feeling too nauseous to return to your little hovel for the evening, but you hadn’t really expected your frantic pacing to take you quite this far out of the way.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Oh. Someone was talking to you, weren’t they?

Standing in front of you was a tall, lanky, man in a tweed jacket. He was stooped down a bit to make eye contact with you, and those hazel eyes were creased with worry. His blonde hair was pushed half-off his forehead in a style that looked more haphazard than intentional, and the hand he was offering you was littered with splotches of ink. There were patches of white and black dog fur littered across his entire outfit like some horrible fashion statement, and the thought of puppies made your throat tighten up all over again.

“My name is Cliff Rogerson,” he said, steady and kind. “I’m one of the instructors at the Royal Sword Academy. Are you lost? Do you know how to get home from here?”

Do you know how to get home?

You laughed once, manic, and then promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed, his heavy brow furrowing low with concern, and patted you consolingly on the shoulder. “Oh, dear.”

You were herded into a nearby café and directed into one of the quiet, corner, booths. The lights were soft and fuzzy in here, and the pleasant warmth of fresh pastries brushed gingerly along your frayed nerves. Mister Rogerson pressed a steaming mug of hot chocolate into your hands, and placed a delicately wrapped muffin off to the side of it. It was a tempting offering, and you decided to unbury your head from your hands long enough to partake.

“So how did you end up out here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a student at Night Raven,” you mumbled into your cocoa.

You could tell he was doing his best not to look shocked, which was at least a dozen steps above the way the rest of your stupid school would just gawk at you in outright consternation.

“Forgive me,” he smiled, gentling his apprehension into something that was more polite curiosity that anything. “But you don’t really seem like one of their usual pupils.”

So you explained your situation—the Mirror, and the magiclessness, and the homelessness. You talked about your friends, and your new demon cat/evil baby, and how much you missed stupid things like good shower pressure and fuzzy socks. Mister Rogerson listened to all of it with an attentive sort of sympathy that you hadn’t seen since, well, probably since you were dropped face-first into a school full of burgeoning war criminals.

“That sounds like a time and a half,” he said once you’d finally tired yourself out. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that.”

You picked at your muffin. It was ridiculously fluffy and eating it felt like pulling bits and pieces out of a cloud. A very, very delicious cloud.

“Forgive me for saying so,” he hummed, pensive. “But your situation doesn’t sound particularly safe.”

You laughed. “That’s one word for it.”

Mister Rogerson frowned, another twitch of that uneasy worry playing across his face. He ruffled around in his jacket pocket for a moment and pulled out a neat, cream colored, business card.

“It may be overstepping of me to offer, but at the same time I do think as an educator it’s my duty to try and help every student that I can,” he smiled, kind. It crinkled the skin around his eyes. “The RSA is not overly far from Night Raven College. If you ever want to stop by—if you ever need an ear to listen, or just a space to get away from it all—my door will always be open to you.”

You took the little piece of paper carefully, like it was something precious. There were swirls of colorful music notes splattered across the backdrop of it—raucous bursts of neons that were as endearing as they were ugly.

‘Tacky,’ spat a too-familiar voice in the back of your head. ‘What sort of statement was this lowlife trying to make?‘ You could practically feel the phantom distaste emanating from wherever a certain two-toned professor had camped out for the evening.

Probably at home, you thought bitterly. Because he has a home, right? And you are not at all upset that you will never be welcomed into it. And that you will probably never get to cuddle his puppies ever again. Nope. Not at all.

You swallowed the little burst of unpleasantness that accompanied the train of thought, and pocketed the card with a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely have to take you up on that.”

Divus Crewel was many things, and unfortunately, being as cruel as his namesake was often one of them. He glanced back to the clock ticking on his wall for what was perhaps the dozenth time that hour. You hadn’t been by since his—ah—outburst a few weeks prior.

He had perhaps reacted a bit more unpleasantly than he normally would have. You’d just… caught him off guard was all. It was a bold declaration you’d made, and what? Had you really expected him to be overjoyed by the idea of forced parenthood? To swoon over the notion that someone had decided to latch onto him and his perfectly pressed suit like a leech despite the fact that he was so obviously thriving in his life of solitude?

And it wasn’t that he expected you to take his biting comments lying down. Oh no. You were fierce, and determined, and were most likely on your way here to bang down his door demanding recompenses for all your suffering. There was a tray of those too-expensive cookies you liked tucked away in his top drawer. Just in case you did show up and throw one of your tantrums, and he needed something quick to pacify you. That… That was all.

But each day that he waited for you to sneak back into his office was another spent in quiet solitude. Badun had taken to whining at the door and Jasper hardly got up from his bed at all—just tucked his black nose into his equally black paws and stared straight into Crewel’s soul. Like he was judging him.

He caught himself glancing at the clock again and forcibly turned back to his work.

This was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. And stubborn. And so, very, danger prone. Had something happened maybe? Was that why you’d disappeared—because you’d gotten caught up in some sort of trouble again?

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick—

He looked back at the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick—

His office door flew open with a BANG and he swiveled in his chair, ready to chastise you for making such a ridiculous entrance. Instead, he ended up nearly nose-to-nose with a weeping Dire Crowley. The man wailed into his clawed hands, looking very much like he might accidentally stab himself in the eye all the while.

“HOW AM I SUCH A FAILURE OF A PARENT?!” he bawled. “WHAT COULD I HAVE DONE TO PREVENT THIS?!”

“What?” Crewel gaped, head spinning. “What’s happened?”

Crowley let out another inhuman squawk and shoved a piece of parchment into the alchemist’s crimson-gloved hands. It was torn at the top, likely from where it’d been pinned to something before the raving Headmaster had swiped it. Crewel read over the familiar script with narrowed eyes, something unpleasant twisting in his belly.

‘The Ramshackle Prefect kindly sends their regards, but unfortunately has other commitments for this evening. Please contact Professor Cliff Rogerson of the RSA music department in case of an emergency.’

“MY BABY LEFT ME!” Crowley sobbed, nearly inconsolable. “WHO’S GOING TO DO MY TAXES NOW?!”

The leather of Crewel’s gloves groaned in protest as his hands tightened into fists—his nails biting into his palm even through the sturdy material.

“What do we even do?” the old crow lamented, sounding so genuinely crestfallen it was almost unnerving.

Jasper and Badun circled their master’s ankles wearily, eyes bright and lips twitching with nervous whines.

“I think,” Crewel grit out, the note crumpling between his fingers, “that it’s well past time that we have a chat with the Prefect about the importance of personal safety. And of the consequences of running off with strangers.”

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #My Writing #NRC Staff #NRC Staff x Reader #Divus Crewel x Reader #Dire Crowley x Reader #The NRC Staff's Horrible Parenting #Heroes vs. Villains #Crewel x Reader #twisted wonderland OCs #twst ocs #Divus Crewel #Dire Crowley #Heroes vs Villains The NRC Staff Part 1

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lethalchiralium · 1 year

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No More | [4] | Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

a/n: i went off the rails LMAO. (quick note: roos is not the toxic ex-boyfriend 🤍 he’s my baby. he’s my good time boy. there is extra drama/tea associated with him though, you’re just gonna have to wait 🥰) ptsd is a real thing people!

NOTE: Your 141 Callsign is Mercy. Your Top Gun Callsign is Reaper, you no longer go by that callsign.

word count: 6,3k (astounding!)

warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mentions of assault, trauma, vague allusions of domestic abuse (no one from 141!), cussing, medical attention/inaccuracies, mentions of blood, PTSD-induced nightmares.

summary: You really thought that sleep would do you good. You also thought that if you kept to yourself and did your job, Ghost would trust you more. Unfortunately, you take three steps back. Soap and Gaz are your therapy people, Cerby tries to help and Ghost tries his best to understand you.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

“You never listen to me!”

You heard the sound of drywall cracking right next to your ear, your heart pulsing in your ear as you felt those familiar yet unfamiliar hands against your throat - squeezing.

The feeling in your chest was one you never wanted to feel again, but you did now - it was betrayal of full trust in someone. You felt your hands move onto the ones gripping your throat, eyes unwilling to open because you knew you’d be face to face with your ex-boyfriend, Jake.

“You’re gonna pay attention, right now.”

Your eyes flew open then, the squeezing of your throat gone and your hands on the joystick of your jet. The comfort of your helmet blanketed your head, the screeching of alarms in your ear as you took huge breaths.

“Eject! Eject! Eject!”

Your hands reached down, grabbing the ejection handle and pulling. Pulling and pulling. Your hands flew back onto the joystick, sticking your head to the side to try and find somewhere flattish in the mountains to land.

You had only closed your eyes for one second before the scene changed again, a bright flashlight flashed into the store front you were hiding in. You could hear people yelling in a language you didn’t know, all you could feel were your hands on your pistol and how ice cold the ground felt against your back. Your breaths were taught like a string, strained and small. You couldn’t give up now, not when you had to get home to your family.

The door to the back room you were in slammed against the wall, a flashlight shined brightly in your face before everything went black.

You didn’t even recognize your bedroom when you jolted awake, launching yourself off of your bed and almost breaking your arm when you tumbled to the floor. You knew exactly where your gear was, you grabbed the knife out of its sheath and scrambled to the corner of your room. Your heartbeat was in your ears, your throat swollen, eyes wide and terror rumbled throughout your whole body. You couldn’t stop the loud sobs that left your throat, one hand clutched the knife while you buried your face into your elbow.

You felt like you were back in that store, rifle pressed against your forehead as you plead for your life in low whispers. You had said your feeble prayers, praying they’d find you years later - body decomposed and only bones left so your father and the man you loved wouldn’t have to ID you.

All you could feel was that fear and the certainty that you would become another casket to bury, if they sent anyone to find your body.

“Mercy. Hey, hey-“

You didn’t recognize Simon’s voice, your heartbeat in your ears as you pressed your entire back to the wall, knife held up as you looked up. As soon as you saw the painted skull of his balaclava, you launched forwards. The red tactical knife was held so tightly in your hand as you aimed it straight for his throat, his hands gripped your wrists and kept the knife inches from him. You’re not going to hurt me anymore, not anymore. It’s you or me.

“Mercy, it’s me-“ He grunted, you pushed every fiber of your weight onto the knife, plunging it another inch. Your knees were on either side of his hips, trapping him. He growled, bucking his hips and catching you off guard. Your grip loosened a little, your balance now thrown off as he twisted himself, throwing you onto your back. You screeched in surprise, raising your hand back and slashing his arm. The sting made him wince, watching as your head hit the floor hard. Blood began to drip on your shirt, the knife now pointed back at at his chest. His hand pressed your arm to your stomach, twisting it so you let go. You yelped in pain, and he moved forwards, his hand hit the hardwood beside your head hard.

And that sound right next to your ear made you flinch, made a flash of your ex-boyfriend appear instead of Simon’s masked face. You let out a breathless sob, panting as you felt control flood through your body. Your tear filled eyes fluttered, looking down and to how his free hand kept your wrist in a death grip.

You heard the knife clatter against the ground when it slipped from your torso; you watched blood drip down his tattooed arm.

“Y/N, you with me?”

You breathed out a sound of pain, agony - your eyes screwed shut as you felt nauseous. Chills ran down your back, yet you felt as if you were aflame. You had hurt him, you had hurt Simon. The one thing you promised you’d never hurt, one of the more stable relationships you’ve had in a long time. You felt like your last long term boyfriend then. Was this how it felt in the beginning for him? When he’d lay his fists on you when he was drunk, sobbing hysterically that he never meant to hurt you. Was this how Jake felt?

And how you had reacted was the same way you had years after with Rooster - him scaring you and you almost killing him out of fear.

You felt disgusting.

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” Your voice was hoarse, sobs leaving your lips as your chest shook. He sat back, his legs straddling your hips. He let go of your wrist, going to take your hand but you ripped it away.

“Love.”

Your gaze felt like the knife, ripping his skin open again. Agony held like a flame in them, flickering as tears rolled down the sides of your face. You dragged yourself backwards and out from under him, you moved until your back hit the wall again. Your eyes stayed on the blood that began to drip onto the floor before you buried your face into your knees when you pulled them to your chest.

“Nothin’ but a scratch.” He murmured, eyes watching as your body shook - no noise escaped your lips. He watched as you trembled like a terrified animal, he thought reaching out might push you off the edge. “Y/N, I’m fine.”

You moved your head to look at him, eyes full of tears. Your hand balled into a fist as you gazed back down at your arm. “I…I hurt…” You hiccuped. “I hurt you, Simon.”

He looked down at the blood on his arm, not even worried about it. His gaze fell back to yours. “Nothin’ you can’t fix.”

“I could’ve killed you.”

He clicked his tongue, moving to sit on his ass instead of his knees. He landed with a humorless thud, stretching his legs out to either side of you - still not touching you. “It would’ve been the best way to go.”

“Simon.” Your voice was dull, the warning in it barely there but he heard it.

He cleared his throat. “You were scared.”

“You won’t trust me now.”

Simon had worked hard to keep his halves separate now, keep Ghost detached from Simon so he couldn’t hurt you more with his defense mechanisms - yet, they’ve imprinted in your brain. He can’t erase that. And it wasn’t like saying it was doing the trick either; he didn’t know what to do.

He leaned to the side, pulling your vest from its discarded place on the floor and ripped off the first aid kit. He tossed it back and ripped open the kit, starting to treat the small wound. As soon as he finished wrapping the bandage around his arm, he whistled.

There was a loud thud as the door opened, Cerberus scurried across the hardwood floor and dove into you. Your arms were immediately around your dog, burying your face into his neck while Simon moved forward. Cerby was a good distraction because he placed his hand on your knee, then placing his other on your cheek. You froze, moving your head to look up at him. “Baby, you were scared.” His thumb drew circles on your knee.

“I still… hurt you.” You mumbled, Cerby licking your face. Your hands moved him away, he continued to lick you on your arm. I hurt the one person I love more than anything.

“And I’ll live. Not broken yet.” He whispered, showing off his new white bandage. “Now you’ll always be with me.” You broke into another fit of cries as the smile under his mask dropped instantly. “Oh shit, fuck, I didn’t-“

You buried your face into Cerby again, the dog made an awkward yap before looking to Ghost for help. He dropped the hand from your cheek, keeping his other on your knee. He stared at the dog, silently telling him stay there and be a good boy because he is royally fucking up.

“Why don’t blind guys skydive?”

You didn’t respond.

“Scares the shit out of their dogs.”

He hoped you would crack a smile, stop crying, anything that signaled you weren’t upset anymore. He had no idea what to do, so he continued.

“Why was the strawberry crying?”

Silence.

“He was in a jam.”

Your head moved a little, eyes locked with his. A smirk tugged at his lips, relief washed through his veins faster than any whiskey he’s had.

“Okay, two goldfish are in a tank.”

You blinked.

“One looks at the other and says, ‘You know how to drive this thing?’”

You just stared at him, which made him feel even worse.

“Little army humor.”

“Very little.” You muttered, eyes looking back to your dog, who was staring at you as well. He whined a little, his paw coming to set on your stomach. You pet his head a little before looking back at Simon. “I’m sorry.”

Simon shook his head, moving closer to you - all you did was stare at him through teary eyes. “You did what you trained to do. I’m proud to know that I don’t have to worry about someone killing you in your sleep.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It does for me.” He answered, moving his hand from your knee to your shoulder. “Come back to bed.”

“I won’t sleep.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“I-I can’t hurt you again.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line underneath his balaclava, hands moving to settle under your shoulders. He gently picked you up, letting you wrap your arms and legs around his torso before standing. He gently walked back to your messy bed, plucking you from his chest and placing you on the bed. Cerby made the risky move of setting his paw on the bed, to which Simon shooed him. The dog let out a loud whine in annoyance, going to sit next to your side of the bed. He settled his head on the sheets right next to your pillow, sniffing your face as you laid back down.

He moved to the other side of the bed, getting in and pulling the duvet up to your chin before tucking himself in. You kept your back to him, he could see how your body shook.

He placed his hand on your side. “I know that you’d never hurt me on purpose.”

Your hand settled on Cerby’s head, your dog whined a little before licking your nose just once.

“Just…” He swallowed the nervousness in his throat, unsure how to proceed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were protecting yourself, I shouldn’t have approached you.”

You scratched your dog’s ear, he gazed at you like you put the sun in the sky. Simon watched you from over your shoulder, yet he couldn’t see your face.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He whispered, gently rubbing your side as he watched you until he couldn’t fend off sleep anymore.

—

It wasn’t normal for you to not be in the medical ward, Soap had remarked to Gaz. The two boys were looking for you, trying to settle a debate that Ghost wouldn’t input on. That and they were hiding from Price.

They had searched the base high and low, not wanting to end up at your office but that’s how their search ended - both men standing in front of your door, shuffling on their feet. They glanced at each other, neither wanting to knock since the last time they had a debate and knocked on your door, there was a certain Lieutenant in there.

“Sergeants.”

They whipped their heads around, seeing you standing in the hallway - a clipboard held to your chest, a salad container in the other hand and a hollow gaze in your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten hurt again already, Soap.” You said, the men glanced at each other before back to you.

“No no, we just have a question, is all.” Gaz spoke first, turning to look behind him. “And to hide from Price.”

You rolled your eyes, approaching them. They moved away from the door, letting you unlock the door and push it open. Cerberus was quick to jump from your cot, skittering across the floor to Gaz, his third favorite person in the whole wide world. The dog yapped, tail wagging so hard that it kept hitting Soap’s shin, the Scot muttered words of annoyance before he moved out of the way. Gaz shut the door behind you three as you flipped on the various warm light lamps you had around the room.

“You lot came to annoy me?” You half-heartedly joked, going to settle in the shitty excuse of an office chair the military gave you. Cerberus had his paws on Gaz’s chest, tail still wagging a hundred miles an hour as Soap flopped onto your cot. “Or dodge chores?”

“Dodgin’ paperwork.” Soap groaned, moving to roll over so he laid on his stomach. Gaz was quick to sit in the seat across from you, Cerby pawed at him.

“That and we wanna know if Minecraft or Rainbow Six is better.” The Brit crossed his arms, glaring at Soap as your eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“You came to my office.”

“Yeh.” Soap.

“To ask me if Minecraft or Rainbow Six is a better video game?” You opened your salad container, pouring out the only good dressing the base had into it.

“Yes.” Gaz continued, you glanced at both of them before closing the lid of your salad and shaking it.

You shook your head too before setting your food down on your desk, your clipboard had been discarded on top of one of your filing cabinets. “Ghost put you up to checkin’ on me?”

The men looked at each other before looking to you, both confused. Gaz spoke. “What?”

“Just checking.” You answered, opening your salad and began to eat. You hadn’t talked to Simon this morning - in fact, you were gone by the time his alarm went off. You couldn’t face him.

“‘m not gettin’ in between another squabble.” Soap remarked, you rolled your eyes.

“Not a squabble.” You mocked him, opening your phone to check some emails from your subordinates. You read through rundowns of patient care, some patients being flown out of base into the city for surgical treatment due to an accidental misfire.

Silence then fell upon the room except for Cerby’s panting and the clink of his own tags as Gaz scratched his neck. You took a couple more bites of your salad before tossing the fork into the plastic container, taking your phone in both hands to respond to the email. You sent it, scrolling through another email before a text popped up on the top of your screen.

KEEGAN: Doing okay?

What is with everyone today?

YOU: Fine.

Another text popped up on the screen.

MAV: Hey honey, how are you?

You almost chucked your phone at the wall, but you slightly kept your composure as you sat back in your chair, nostrils flaring. Everything was getting on your nerves now.

YOU: Fine. What’s up?

MAV: Had a feeling you weren’t doing well. Just wanted to check on you

YOU: I’m fine.

Please Dad, for the love of all that is holy, fucking drop it.

MAV: Can I call you sometime today?

You wanted to bang your head against your desk and crack open your skull, let yourself bleed out because talking to your dad meant that he talked about Top Gun. When he talks about Top Gun, you can’t sleep for a week - not like you were gonna sleep anyway, guilt was eating you alive.

YOU: I’ll call you.

Another notification.

KEEGAN: Ghost told me about last night.

Of fucking course he did. He probably had to get advice on what to do with you. You bit your tongue before tossing your phone onto your desk, startling Gaz and Cerby - Soap was passed out on your cot.

“Sure you’re alright, Doc?”

You glanced at Gaz. “Peachy, Gazzy.”

The man in question whistled, “Sounds like someone’s gettin’ wrath sometime soon.”

“I’d say.” You mumbled, wiping your hand down your face. “You know, you can’t hide here forever. He’ll find out you hide here and then you’ll have to find somewhere else.”

Gaz groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “If I have to look at one more signature line, think my head’ll explode.”

There came a knock at the door, Gaz shot straight up and bounded for the cot, slamming onto Soap’s sleeping body while you stood from your chair. You made enough noise by stomping to the door as Cerby whined loudly, yapping at Gaz on the cot while he tried to shush him.

You opened the door just a little, expecting to see Ghost, but it was Price. The man was strapped up in his gear, placing his boonie hat on his head as he said, “We’ve got a mission. And if you see the muppets,” He made a point to call over your head, “We’ve got to be on the tarmac in 20. Let’s go.”

“Thank you, Price.” You smiled, he looked back to you with a grin.

“You can’t hide them forever.”

You shrugged. “Was trying to get something out of it before I handed them over.”

“Good lad.” He nodded before walking away, you shut the door quickly and looking bat your friends.

Gaz’s hand was over Soap’s mouth, but he quickly retracted it and yelped, “You bit me!”

“You put yer hand near me mouth!” The Scot argued, Gaz immediately got up from their shared hiding spot to hold his hand out to you. You gently took it in your grasp.

Just a little bite, nothing more than marks but Gaz still said, “Test me for rabies.”

Soap burst out laughing, you gave him a quizzical look. “You’re gonna be fine, didn’t break skin.” You let go of his hand, Cerberus shoved his snout into Gaz’s bitten hand to sniff it.

“He bit me.”

“I heard.”

“Maybe ya deserved it!” The Scot spat, Gaz’s head whipped back to look at his friend, he almost looked as if he was going to tackle him.

You looked down at your watch. “Tick tock, boys. It matters if you’re on time or not, I’m sure you heard the captain.”

“Oh shit.” They both said, then scrambling out of your office - leaving the door open as they did. You immediately poked your head out into the hallway, calling after them, “If you’re not there in 10, I’m telling Price!”

You were in your gear in less than five minutes, your guns held in their holsters or strapped to your back. Your rucksack was on your back as you watched Cerberus make leaps and bounds towards his trainer - Price decided that the search and rescue dog would not be needed this time around.

Your hand was on your work phone, a secure line to other soldiers and fellow officers. You were walking down the side of the base, privates and sergeants rushing past as helicopters and planes were being prepared. It stung like a bullet to dial the number, but here you were - walking towards your team while talking to your father who you haven’t talked to in months. Great. You pressed the phone to your ear.

It only took a couple ring before you heard him pick up, “Captain Mitchell.”

It took just a moment for you to speak. “Hey, Mav.”

“Hey sweetheart!” You heard the familiar whoosh of a jet taking off in the background, your other hand held onto your rucksack strap a little tighter. “It’s good to hear your voice, bug.”

You didn’t know how to continue. You couldn’t talk to him about missions, and he knew nothing of the Task Force or your personal life anymore. Last he knew was that you and Rooster were splitting up. One goes to Korea, the other goes to the UK - both broken-hearted. Wingmen no more. “Uh, you too.”

“I asked to call at a bad time, then?” His voice was calming to you, it always has been. You knew that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but he still hurt Rooster - and it was hard to pick just one side when you loved them both so much.

You noticed that Soap and Gaz were running across the tarmac, Soap staring at his watch as Gaz made the effort to get in front of him. A smile appeared on your lips. “I had a minute to spare.”

He chuckled on the line, you watched as Gaz tripped over his feet but still gracefully caught himself - Soap now in the lead as they rapidly approached the plane you were leisurely walking towards. “Well, it’s nothing special. Ice just wanted me to invite you to the Navy Ball this year.”

You chuckled. “If I’m even on break then, which I never am.”

“Oh, he’s already put in the request for you. Even said that he wants your Task Force to come too, your team has provided the Pacific Fleet with a lot and he wants to thank you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed - you were now halfway across the tarmac, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t say, he didn’t tell. He just wants to thank you in person.” He cleared his throat. “I’m trying to get Rooster to come, but you know how he is.”

Of course I know how he is. You ruined his self-esteem and derailed his life. Of course I know. I always remember, he’ll never let me forget it.

You were still confused. “You want him there?” You were getting closer to the plane, noticing that Alejandro was walking up the ramp with his things in tow. Still no Ghost.

“Of course I do.” He’s your dead best friend’s son, your godson. “Ice also asked for him.”

It was laughable, it really was. Rooster would rather wither up and die than be seen in the same room as Maverick. You recalled his exact words: Put a bullet in between my eyes if I’m within one hundred feet of Mav. Always the one for dramatics. “So you’re asking me to ask him?”

“…Maybe.”

“Jesus Christ.” You let go of the strap on your shoulder, that hand coming to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Get off your high horse and do it yourself.”

“He’s blocked me on everything.”

“And this isn’t grade school.” You commented, now walking up the ramp into the plane. “You’re his superior. Grow some balls and act like it.”

Your father laughed over the line. “Who raised you? Jesus.”

You rolled your eyes as you passed Alejandro - you felt his gaze burn your skin. You ignored it. “Tell him that I’ll do this one favor, and I’ll give him my answer when I return from my mission.”

“Thank you so much, Reaper.”

There it is, your Naval Aviation callsign that you haven’t been called in six years. Even after all this time, you still didn’t have the heart to tell your father that Reaper had died those three weeks in Ukraine. What emerged was someone with a lot less light in their heart. Mercy.

“Yup.” You had passed Soap and Gaz earlier, they were still arguing. You made your way to near the front of the plane, shucking off your rucksack. It landed on the webbed seat next to where you planned to sit, you settled yourself down and rested the side of your head against your pack.

“Look, I’ll let you go. Promise to call me when you get back, okay? Wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Even though he had made life-altering mistakes with your lifelong best friend, he was still cared for him. He cared a lot for you too, being his only daughter - it never mattered that he had adopted you, he raised you to be better than him and never without the quick, “Love you, bug.” Even if all else failed in life, he would never leave you. Your father loved you, and it was nice to know that he wouldn’t abandon you.

You nodded to yourself. “Okay.”

“I know you can’t say it since you’re probably leaving, but I love you, bug. Bye.”

The line went dead and you pulled the phone from your ear, shoving it into your vest before leaning your head back onto the frame of the plane.

You could’ve gone another three years without being called Reaper, you stared at the ceiling of the plane before closing your eyes. You hadn’t been Reaper in a very long time, you were synonymous with Mercy. You were Mercy, the 141’s medic - a Captain who listened to orders and obeyed.

Someone sat beside you, knee brushing against your right one. You didn’t even have to guess who it was, no one would to get near you due to your personal guard dog. You opened your eyes, looking to your right to see the familiar skull staring right at you. You looked down at his arm that settled on his lap, your hands reached for it. He then moved it over to you, allowing you to roll up his sleeve to see the white bandage. You began to unravel it, you had to see what you had done.

Guilt swallowed you whole as you looked at the cut, it was long and almost deep enough for stitches.

“Jesus, LT, whadya do now?” Your gaze looked up to Soap, both him and Gaz were staring at his arm.

You almost opened your mouth to speak, tell the truth, but Ghost was a step ahead of you. “Scared her last night, she was cooking.”

Your eyes darted up to Ghost, almost in disbelief. I haven’t cooked in a year. You then looked to Soap, deciding very quickly to roll with it. “Uh, yeah. Sliced him good.”

“That’s what you get for scaring a lady, hermano.” Alejandro called from closer to the back of the plane, you looked to him before you watched Price ascend the ramp. If only Alejandro knew. The Captain made his way towards Soap and Gaz, who pressed themselves against the wall of the plane to try to disappear. He sat his rucksack three seats down from them, diagonal to you on the left.

“Gentlemen and lady,” Price nodded to you as you looked back down at Ghost’s arm, beginning to retrieve some new bandages and cleaning wipe. “The information that the Ghost Squad had obtained is of upmost importance - we are heading back to see if the information they retrieved connects back to Makarov. The uranium plant being built needs to be destroyed regardless, it won’t be by us. If it has information pertaining to Makarov, we need it.”

All of the boys voiced their agreements, you did as well as you cleaned the slash and began to bandage it.

“Ghost will be leading the recon into the government building, we have to be in and out as quickly as possible. Alejandro and Soap will go with him, Mercy, Gaz, and I will be on look out and keeping the area secure.”

You kept your mouth shut. You knew it was most likely Price’s decision to keep you separated from Ghost, but it still stung the fresh wound you had opened in your chest. You didn’t even stop working on Ghost when Price spoke, you had just began to secure it with metal hooks and beige bandages when he dismissed everyone. The ramp had been raised when he spoke.

“It would’ve been fine.” Ghost murmured, you had finished it. You tugged down his sleeve and began to pack up your medical shears into your vest. “I am fine.”

“Wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He huffed a little. “I know. I was fine then, and I’m fine now. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

You just gave him a look, the look that made him know that you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He nodded then, at least he was sort of good at knowing. Good man. It was going to be a long flight.

—

Three hours in. Soap and Gaz had separated, evenly splitting some webbed seats so they could sleep on the flight laying down. Price had covered himself with his poncho liner, Alejandro laid on seats as well - if he moved half a foot forwards, he’d be hitting boots with Gaz. You and Ghost sat alone on the left side of the plane, still sitting upright. Your hand had found its way into Ghost’s gloved one, both of your hands held it as you laid your head on his shoulder. He hadn’t spoken since before take off, you assumed he was asleep.

At this point, you were getting close to it. Your eyes were drooping, you could feel the warmth of slumber claw at you - but you still couldn’t fall asleep. You gazed at your hands, one thumb threaded across the back of his glove. If you closed your eyes long enough, you could see the bright red painted end of the rifle, shoved in your face. If you kept them closed longer, you could see your jet on fire as you limped away. You kept your gaze on his hand, grounding you - because now you could taste that phantom blood in your mouth, taste the disgusting bread and rabbit you had to live off of.

Something came into your vision, you immediately recognized it. It was one of Simon’s knives, the handle facing towards you. You looked up to your boyfriend, he gazed back down at you with a clouded stare.

“What’s this?”

He moved the handle forward, tapping an empty knife sheath near your shoulder. “Missin’ one.”

You glanced down, one hand leaving his and pushing the knife away. “Don’t need it.”

“We’re not going to be together this time ‘round and I can’t-“ Ghost paused. You could see how he mentally backspaced, staring, “I need you to have it.”

He would have normally said that he couldn’t protect you since you were separated. You gave him a smile. “Thank you.” Thank you for trying. You took the knife in your hand, noting that the knife was not yours - but one of his. A set you had purchased him for your one year anniversary, three knives engraved with SR. Did it cost a pretty penny? Yes. Was it worth him worshipping you for a day straight afterwards? Absolutely.

The silver SR glittered in the dim light of the aircraft against the black knife it was engraved on; dusk had clawed its way into the sky so the cabin wasn’t as bright as before. You then moved to place his knife in the empty sheath, then looked back at him again.

“What had you so scared?” Simon’s voice was low, quiet. “‘Cause I know that this wasn’t you not knowing where you were. You knew where your knife was.” His free hand went forward and tapped his knife in your sheath, his hazel eyes dark. “You’re always safe with me.”

The hun of engine was all that was heard for a moment, a never-ending moment. The moonlight began to light the cabin, your eyes gazed to your fellow soldiers, all out cold. Even Price, you could see his steady breaths. The hand that held his pulled it to your chest, resting your chin upon his glove.

The little thought crossed your mind that you should go back to therapy, but you never felt better when you were there in that office. Clock ticking, fish tank bubbling - the therapist you didn’t care for asking every nitty gritty detail of what happened. Simon wasn’t like that, Simon isn’t like that. Simon cared about what you said, cared how it affected you - not like the therapist who made everything worse.

C’mon, just tell him. It can’t be that hard, right? One word after the other, and then he’ll know.

But then he’ll pity me. He will lose whatever trust he has in me and leave, throw me to the wolves. I could lose my job if I let it affect me.

I can’t keep digging this hole, I might never come out.

You pressed your cheek into his shoulder again, slumping your body against his as best you could. Your hands moved from the one of his you held, moving to hold onto his arm. His words came back into your mind, ‘No one has stuck around this long anyway, you won’t hurt me.’ You squeezed his bicep, closing your eyes. “I’ll tell you when we get back, okay?”

He hummed in agreement. You took a deep breath, trying to let sleep begin to pull you under again. You felt his hand gently pet your head, consciousness began to slip from your grasp.

—

The slam of a wooden door made you tremble, you pressed yourself farther against the wall underneath the table you were hiding under. You had counted your bullets that morning, only seven left - you had used your last magazine on the Russians who came thirteen days ago. You were praying whoever was checking houses would shoot you, put you out of your misery.

Your stomach twisted in anxiety and hunger, you hadn’t eaten in three days. The burn on your side was still throbbing, probably infected - the medical supplies you had when you crashed had burned with the jet. You had only what you could scavenge in this abandoned town, nothing but old alcohol and rags to care for a burn, multiple slashes and a bullet wound from escaping the Russians. The least these scavengers could do was put you down.

You prayed. A silent prayer that they would leave your body here, let the US Government find your bones and cremate them, like you had stated in your file. Hand them to your father, your godfather, your best friend slash lover at the moment. You knew Rooster would do what you wanted. Chuck your ashes from a carrier into the ocean, no funeral. You weren’t sure he could do it though.

You could hear muffled talking, shouting outside. You slowed your breathing, pressing your ear to the wall - praying that it wasn’t Russians. Footfalls squelched against mud next to the worn down house, you pressed your knees closer to your chest.

You didn’t even hear the footsteps in the house until they had entered the kitchen, your eyes flickered to the checkered tile as boots hit them softly. You could see the mud caked on the brown canvas boots, you felt your heart in your throat. You said a little prayer in your head. You weren’t religious by any means, but you still went to church with Rooster’s mom, Carole, every now and again. It wasn’t anything long, just something to say to keep your mind occupied from the angel of death that stood feet from you.

The table was thrown to the side, your immediately reaction was to point your pistol into the flashlight pointed at you - your finger was on the trigger, but before you could sound off a shot, the hand of whoever had found you grabbed the barrel of your pistol and forced it to the ceiling while you pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening, your ears began to ring like church bells as the flashlight then pointed down. Black spots in your vision made it hard for you to see, but you recognized the beige patch of the United Kingdom flag. Your eyes flickered upwards, meeting gazes with a man with a well kept mustache and bright blue eyes. The rifle of which the flashlight was attached to was dropped from his other hand, it swayed from its attachment on his vest. Your grip on your pistol loosened, the man pulled it from you and tossed it onto the floor.

“Y/N Mitchell?” He stated, he sounded like he recognized you but you knew he needed to confirm. UK Soldiers were allies, this man was most definitely Special Forces by the way he carried himself and how quickly he was able to evade being shot.

Your freezing and empty hand dug into your shirt, pulling out your dog tags and nodding, whispering, “Reaper.” You coughed, your throat swollen from infection and no use. “My callsign… is Reaper.”

The man nodded in confirmed, hand flying to his radio as he leaned in to speak. “Watcher 1, this is Bravo 0-6.”

You heard no sound from the radio, but a little buzz from his ear.

He kept his eye contact on you as he spoke, “Sight on Romeo Echo Alpha. Target is alive, I repeat. Callsign Reaper is alive. I need medical evac.”

His hand left the radio, he kneeled down to your level. He held out a hand, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Name’s Captain John Price, I’m here to take you home, soldier.”

———

comment for part five!! tumblr won’t let me tag more than 50 so i’m very upsetti spaghetti :(

———

i wasn’t able to tag everyone, i’m sorry!

@luhvbot @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @ladystarfishnut @chris3tom2pau1rdj @kat-nee @efsa-lks @angelsquidd @marytvirgin @medivalpersephone @ramadiiiisme @blueoorchid @guiltyconfessions @abbiesxox @lockleywife @nicomactavish @nose235678 @lumpypoll @multi-fandomlovers-world @holyfeck @thriving-n-jiving @kgive @simonsdoll @crazyfandomist @ryunniez @sofasoap @depressedacidtest @angelinathron @dindjarinsbby @kluhhsu @lazyperfectioniste @keiva1000 @jellyedkazoo @le0thely0n @1sam1 @lovecats123451 @erensonly @cielobgers @sunniiiiiiiiii @d1lf-luvr @thekuroinsomething @lake-145 @badpvn @guineapigzwei @qualitypudding @mariamorim28 @s0meth1ngs-n0t-r1ght @doodle-cat16 @5seastar @horniestbutterfly @allaboutirem0 @zechie-spams @zoraclover777 @joanne-uwu @miss-i-ship-it @merakiaes @multitargaryen @sweetybuzz25

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519 notes · View notes

atozfic · 2 years

Text

but, first, the reckoning.

⎘ fic type: drabble.

⎘ pairing: gn!reader x jeon jungkook.

⎘ genre: werewolf!jungkook, unrequited love (?), implied idiots in love.

⎘ warnings: angst, smut, mating system, underdeveloped supernatural world within the fic, descriptions of v*mit, bl*od and de*th, mentions of dr*g usage, open ending !!

⎘ description: there are only three things you need to know: jeon jungkook loves you, jeon jungkook is dying, and it's all your fault.

⎘ word count: 3.3k

⎘ author’s note: my fill for the @tohokuu fantasy collab. let's not address how lacklustre this is to my past fics, or the fact i've not published anything all year, let's just rejoice i finished writing something.

deepest apologies for a posting delay due to an accidental mischeduling on atozfic's end: scheduled for the 31st of august, was actually due the 31st of july.

masterlist.

navigation.

this is all fiction. none of the events in this story truly happened, nor do they reflect an accurate portrayal of how the members would behave or feel in these situations.

the night is one where hands shake, bones ache and hearts break.

outside the door, there's a cacophony of noise blending together. a song's thumping bass, a drumming of hearts beating erratically within the chests of dancing drunks, a riff of different voices all growing louder in an attempt to be heard over one another. it's headache inducing, yet it's not the cause of the pounding inside his skull.

inside the stranger's bathroom, the bass is every shallow breath he pulls into oxygen-hungry lungs, the drumming comes not from jumping bodies but a sink that's not quite been turned off correctly, drop after drop clashing onto white porcelain and mixing with the red from his veins, diluting it into a sickening colour similar to the oxidation of a rusted metal.

his hands, though weak and unreliable, hold a grip on the surface and are the only thing separating his tired limbs from collapsing onto the dirty tiles below.

"five things i see..." his usual boasting voice is a shadow of it's usual self, barely above a whisper under the artificial light. "the, uh, soap dispenser, a snapped hair-tie, a half filled bin, a used razor and... me."

he's trying to remember what namjoon had told him about, the tools he'd given him to ground him in a moment like this. instead, he's stuck on the broken sight he catches in the reflection of the dirty mirror.

changes in appearance are a main symptom, he'd known that long before the aching had even begun. what he hadn't known was how drastic the change would be.

expecting tired eyes and cracked lips, the sunken-in look on his face and the growing rottenness of his flesh is almost too much to handle.

if he were to be truthful with himself, a courtesy he's unable to extend towards you, he'd been in denial at first.

it's just a stomach ache, i'm just nauseous from dodgy take-out. because that's really all it started as, nausea. at first, whenever you were near, then whenever you were mentioned, then when he thought of you, until eventually it became a permanent part of his life. he would wake every morning, the sun would rise, the clock would move forward, the nausea would dance on his insides.

the headaches were what pushed or, more accurately, forced him to unveil his predicament to the others. they'd been expecting it, waiting on it ever since they'd accidentally stumbled upon you in the little cafe, a pretty outfit and a dreamy-eyed complexion while you giggled at the person sat across from you.

jimin had been empathetic, the first to pull him in for a bone-crushing hug till he pried him off when expressing it was hurting it.

taehyung had been angry, even if misplaced, ranting over words of integrity and birth rights and defiance of fate. i told you, we all told you, that you needed to let your secret out. why won't you just be honest with your mate? why're you letting this happen over an implicit rejection? like he had any control over the way his beastily dna reacted to the feeling of heartbreak.

namjoon had been logical, pulling him out of the room for some privacy. sullen expression, he explained what this meant, what would come next, what symptons would follow those he'd begun to present. you've already progressed to the second phase, the headaches. the nosebleeds will come next, alongside the hallucinations. then, a loose control over beast and man while your insides reject your bodies own attempts to keep your heart beating, until the pressure and pain all becomes too much and... crack. your heart breaks, literally.

the remnants of dried blood coat the rim of his left nostril. pulling in a breath, he watches the image of himself reflecting back at him. a walking corpse, more dead than alive, one foot in the grave while the other idly kicks back at every one of life's painful attempts to remind him of how much he misses you, despite his efforts to convince himself otherwise.

he'd been doing so good, having the first semi-normal night in weeks. sure, his stomach had been doing more flips than a gymnast's olympic routine and his brain felt as if it were growing too big for his fragile skull, moments away from bursting out through his ears, eyes, mouth and splattering across the four walls of the cramped kitchen he'd spent most the night chugging back various cheap liquors in. but he'd been able to lose himself in the frat party, allow him to feel like not a thing had changed and he was just another student who's only stress was how to fit studying into a busy life of sex, drugs and partying.

this false reality all came to a hault the minute he caught wind of a familiar smell.

velvet oud, fresh daisies, home.

for a moment, he reminisced on the before times. on the times he'd get himself a little too drunk, a little too high, a little too everything, and someone, anyone would call you up. you'd appear before him, like a guardian angel, smile always sweet and voice never scolding as you'd let him wrap his arms around you. he never remembered the journeys home but never forgot the mornings waking up next to you, your eyes still shut and giving him the chance to fantasize about the future, the one where he no longer has to keep a secret locked in his chest that you're his other half, the predestined love of his life, the kind of future where waking up to you is a habit more than it is a gift, and seeing your eyes open promises a flurry of sleepy kisses and lazy lovemaking, rather than a growth in the distance between you and joke about how he's sweating out the alcohol all over your poor, freshly cleaned bedsheets.

the smell of something darker, a hint spice that stabs at his throat like a thorn of a rose had him tumbling back into the now times. the times where your calls go unanswered, messages no longer opened, name-calling ignored on campus.

you'd tried so hard to ignore his obvious avoidance the first two weeks. and, while he thrived at how much effort you were putting into not letting your best friend turn his back on you, he crumbled in the way he had to fight back harder to get the unspoken message across: he didn't want to see you.

for reasons you didn't know, for reasons he couldn't tell.

he could sense you growing closer, panic consumed his soul, unprepared to see you for the first time in this setting, with a drink in his hand, with pupils blown wide, with him by your side. before he had the chance to see how such a reunion would go down, a drop of blood landed in his drink.

you promised you'd let us know when it got worse, hoseok had never sounded so betrayed, eyes focused on the centre of his face, the dripping faucet of red making a mess all over his inked hand.

"jungkook," he wretched at the sound, mouth clamping shut to hold back the contents of his stomach long enough for him position himself over the toilet. a knock came to the bathroom door, as if he didn't already know there was someone on the other side. "are you in there?"

he coughs up all that he can, and when there's nothing left in his stomach, his lungs join the party. one, two, three, four chest shaking coughs and a gooey, red tinted substance splashes onto the rim of the toilet seat.

that's new, he thinks. and thinks, and thinks, mind trying to get back to the excercises namjoon had given him.

"four things i can smell," he takes a grip on the toilet lid and heaves his body back into a standing position. "blood, beer, old pauperie, you."

if the sounds he was making before weren't enough, the flushing of the toilet should be suffice in confirming his presence within the bathroom.

it hurts to breath, there's now a miscellaneous stain next to the blood on his shirt and his hands can't quite seem to get a grip on anything but, at least, when he makes his way back to the mirror on shaky legs, his skin is no longer rotting.

the hallucinations, he thinks the obvious, they're getting more realistic.

so realistic, in fact, that he sees you standing behind him in the doorframe, mouth agape and eyes bordering on crying.

"oh my... jungkook, what's-" your voice has never taken that tone with him, not even in his darkest nights when he'd be high in the clouds with no one to bring him back down but you and your caring hold. heartbroken, emotionally mirroring how he was physically feeling. "have you been using?"

he wants to lie, wants to say no, wants to shove you out the bathroom and scream at you to leave him alone.

instead, he mutters your name like it's a warning, a blessing, a curse that's been cast upon him, the feeling of missing you nearly as bad as the feeling of loving you.

your gaze burns over every inch of his skin that it inspects, from the tips of his bitten fingernails to the drained look on his face. it's instinct to look away when your eyes reach his own, so afraid you'll stare too deeply into his pool of despair that you'll fall in and drown in the sounds of his overthinking mind, have your lungs crushed under the pressure of the secrets he's trying so hard to keep.

"let me help you, kook."

you're the opposite of help, he thinks but never says. he couldn't cast out words so cruel, not to you.

never you.

always yours, and that's the problem. how can one belong to someone who's none the wiser?

"or i can just... go, if that's what you need."

he knows he should say yes, let you walk out the door of the bathroom and his life. he wonders if you'd slam it as you leave, or not quite close it over in hopes that, eventually, he'll call you back in.

but the flood gates open with no warning and every inch of paranoid heartache seeps through his blood, veins working overtime to deliver it to every fibre of his being. tiny little daggers in the shape of longing and need and gut-wrenching love pricking at his skin and all giving him one simple command: make you stay.

with energy he does not have, he moves across what feels like the ocean-wide distance between both you and him, no warning given before he's pulling you into a coffin of arms. your own remain plastered to your side.

he knowns you can hear- or, more accurately, feel the way his chest shakes with every intake of breath. and, that once you do eventually give into his embrace and drag your hands up the expanse of his back, the sweat covering every inch of his skin doesn't go unnoticed.

he wonders if you feel the drop of blood stain your skin as he burrows his head in the space between your neck and shoulder, or if you catch the hiccups he's releasing while holding back rib-shaking sobs.

he wants to ask if you're suddenly overcome with emotion too, if the weeks of no speaking took a toll on you so badly it's rendered you a shell of who you used to be as well.

"i'm worried about you." four words never hurt so much.

"i'm sorry." his lips brush over your skin as he speaks, goosebumps rise in the path the movement leaves behind.

"why're you sorry?"

"for making you worry."

you squeeze him tighter against you, and it somehow makes him whole and rips him apart. heart beating faster at the prospect of you wanting him closer than physically possible, body screaming as pain licks up his tired limbs like a fire dying to keep itself alive.

who knows how long the pair of you stand like that, arms in a tangled mess, bodies so close the tips of your feet are pressing down on his and chests rise with syncopated breathing.

he doesn't think about all the things he should, like how the stains on his ruined shirt are likely making a new mark on your own outfit or the fact your boyfriend's cologne remains a lingering scent in the hair he's currently burrowing into. instead, the cruelty of imagination takes over and images swirl behind his closed eyelids: the embrace you share morphing into lips being pressed to lips, kisses leading to confessions, confessions leading to his bed- which, in itself, brings forth images of bruised skin from your neck to his own, and hardened nipples glistening with traces of his saliva, and fingers pulling on his hair as he devours you into a crying mess, the very same fingers that scratch masterpieces into the skin along his back as he holds you in a mating press-, and from his bed to the rest of your lives, lives where you never say goodbye when it gets a little dark outside and he never has to smell that smokiness on you ever own, replacing it with his own cinnamon infused essence.

it's almost like neither of you want to address the elephant in the room, you never mentioning the fact jungkook's been avoiding you like the plague and him never uttering an apology for doing so.

there's a part of him that can't help but wonder if you know the truth, if you've known all along- taehyung had always been a little looselipped after a couple shots of tequila- and have just been playing dumb, hoping it'll go away if you never speak it out loud.

heaven knows he's been wishing that were possible.

"it's, uh," he's the first to pull back, though it kills him more than the rejection. he clears his throat, hoping you believe him to be ill instead of holding back tears. "good to see you, really."

"jungkook-"

"but you should go." he cuts you off, he has to. the sound of your voice only makes you feel more real, and that's the last thing he wants you to be right now. "back out to the party. i'm sure yeonjun's looking for you."

the pounding in his head feels a little stronger and the sick feeling increases at the mention of his name.

"yeonjun's not here."

"why not?" he sounds more accusatory than he intends to, heart becoming jaded every time your boyfriend is the topic of conversation.

"we, just... yeah." you're dancing over the topic, eyes suddenly plastered to the ground instead of his bloodshot ones. "we broke up."

his heart pauses, the music outside comes to a halt, the planet stops spinning for a blink of a moment. everything is upside down, inside out, the truth is false and lies are honest.

the sun no longer burns, he's not slowly dying and you're not dating choi yeonjun.

when the moment passes, only one of those statements remains true.

"i'm sorry, i didn't know-"

"we've not exactly been talking, have we?"

"did he at least... give you a reason?" he chooses to let you have your dig, not even bothering to give a reason behind the ignored the calls or the missed meet-ups.

"no," your eyes are now on the shower curtain behind him, scanning up the various stains along the once white fabric. the offensively bright bathroom light shines a reflection in your eyes and it reminds him of the nights spent gazing up at the night sky before you were both grown up, nights where he swore the stars would freefall all the way from outer space and land directly in your wide eyed gaze. only, he never remembered your eyes looking as sad as they do now. "i was the one giving reasons. i ended it."

"why?"

"i just... i realized he's not really who i want to be with, and it's not fair to string him along over a teen-like crush when there's already someone who i'm in love with."

this is it, he thinks, the final blow to knock his lights out for good.

if the implicit rejection of hearing the words this is my boyfriend, yeonjun were enough to send him down this path that leads to peril, heart cursed to a fate of tearing itself in two, then he can only stand in shaking fear at what explicitly hearing you name the person you're in love with will do to him.

perhaps he'll die on the spot, put an end to drawn out process.

he contemplates, for a moment, just letting it all off his chest. throw away the silly promise he'd made to himself, one where he swore to never tell you about the fated bond that had formed between your soul and his, too cautious of you fearing a life where you feel forced to be with him and too enamoured with the thought of watching you fall in love with him slowly, naturally, no outside pressure. like normal, non-canine-infused relationships do.

it's too late now, though, so he holds back the confession like always.

"who?"

you sigh out his name, eyes somehow having found their way back to his. he leans in with anticipation. he's twisted, broken, dying, and he wants to at least know who he's leaving you behind for. wants to know that, if he can't have the luxury of loving you, the person who does actually deserves it. but you're not saying anything.

you're just staring.

and staring.

he stares back. he blinks one, two, three, four times. on the fifth, he rubs his hand over his eyelids, wondering if that'll clear up his vision and show him reality, instead of yet another deadly hallucination.

you're still there when his eyes reopen.

"y/n." he whispers, voice trembling while he struggles to find it. he feels sick to his stomach watching you look at him the same way he's looked at you for years now, like everything begins and ends with him. longing, loving, belonging. it's all he's ever wanted from you, in the worst way it could ever happen. "oh, y/n."

because here you are, loving him, and there he is, dying.

he'd thought the fates were cruel before, when they cursed him with a mate who would never want him the same way, a whole different species that could never understand the all encomposing emotions of a lupin in love. turns out, they're far crueler than he dared to fear, letting him begin the process of losing his life to his mate's rejection, only to flip the switch and reveal his mate loves him, wants him, sees him in the same star-littered light.

he's spent so many years waiting for this moment, imaging how it could play out, yet he never expected this.

he can't talk, or think, or make sense of anything that's happening. all he can do is inch closer, lean lower, hold you closer before he finally gets a taste of what it's like to love you.

he's seen what it's like to love you, in moments where you're sweating in his living room and demanding a rematch against taehyung at whatever song you'd just done on just dance. he's smelt it, when you crash into his arms with giggles and uttered hellos in the middle of campus, sending a cloud of your perfume and natural scent right up his nose. he's heard it, too, on halloween nights where he'd drag you to scary houses and witness you call out to him every time you got scared, hand clutching onto him to reassure yourself he was right behind you. and he's felt it, in every moment his heart beats harder around you, whether you're snoring a drool patch onto his couch or you're spinning under shinning lights, with a pretty dress and a forgotten prom date.

and at last he tastes it, when lips press to lips and space ceases to exist. it's not rough, nor as desperate as he expected it to be. a hand lays flat against his erratically beating chest, while one of his own finds a resting place on your warm cheek, the stroke of his thumb over your skin mimicking the way his tongue meets your bottom lip, searching to taste more of you, all of you, in just one kiss, savouring what might be the only chance he gets.

when he pulls back, red paints your lips.

#jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook oneshot #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts oneshot #angst.writings #smut.writings #bts.writings #jjk.writings #atozfic.writings

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vincess-princess · 4 months

Text

as we were falling

ch. 9

a/n: you though this was dead, didn't you? well IT ISN'T to surprise of everyone, me included. i just needed something to write that required no thinking whatsoever, and this one is perfect for that. hopefully it will help me get back into writing :) word count: 1426 warnings: none

“Oh god, no. No no no no,” Tommy moaned upon entering the cafeteria.

“Oh yes!” Nikki’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

Nutrient paste lay on plates in all its wobbly, vomit-colored glory.

“Are we gonna eat it for the rest of our lives or what?” Tommy complained.

“God, I hope so.” Nikki rubbed his hands in anticipation. “I mean,” he switched to a more serious voice, “it’s nutritious, cheap and easy to produce, so it’s just logical to feed it to the slaves. Sorry, bud.”

“You come across a rope, grab it for me. I’ll go hang myself in the kitchen,” Tommy said grimly. “Though they’ll probably grind me into this paste after that…”

“Ew.” Nikki’s excitement decreased, but not by much. “Though you know, only social norms make cannibalism taboo, and who cares about them?”

“Definitely not you.” They sat down at the tables. Tommy poked the paste squeamishly and watched it wobble. Even two days of hunger didn’t manage to make it more appealing. “You want my portion?”

“Man.” Nikki suddenly frowned. “You gotta eat. You’re already all skin and bone. Unless you plan a hunger strike, in which case don’t even bother, because they’ll feed you anyway, just against your will. Remember what that asshole guard said on the ship?”

Tommy nodded. The threat was hard to forget.

“You gotta get over yourself,” Nikki said softer. “Start small. A couple spoons. C’mon.”

“You sound like my mom trying to feed me broccoli.” Tommy stared into his plate. Nikki, of course, was right, which was rare and thus special.

“What’s broccoli?”

“Nevermind.” Tommy sighed, scooped up half a spoon of nutrient paste and put it in his mouth.

Yeah, it still tasted the way it looked: vomit plus snot plus an aftertaste of spoiled fish. He swallowed it without chewing, but the taste still lingered on the tongue.

“Good boy.” Nikki patted him on the shoulder. “Now just one more.”

Tommy’s mom could say those words, theoretically, but definitely not in that tone. He sent Nikki a confused look, but he already diverted all his attention to his nutrient paste.

***

The next day they had their skills assessed. It was the other primary factor of the price range given to a slave, and the price range at the first auction determined the quality of life the slave was going to have later in life – at least with the first owner. Which is why Tommy was just a little bit nervous. He had neither valuable skills nor intelligence to boast.

Nikki had little more to offer, but he remained carefree as always. “I’m a real catch. I can shoot and brew moonshine.”

“I thought you’d have to be a bit… better at survival on a planet like yours.”

“Well, they would hardly need the knowledge of local plants and animals, would they?” Nikki shrugged. “And yeah, I mean, I can also do some cooking and doctoring, but just a little bit. That’s it.”

It still sounded better than Tommy’s meager skillset, which included drumming, waiting on tables, rolling joints and breaking into cars. Who would need a slave like this? Without education he could only perform either simple menial work or sex work. Neither were appealing.

“Hey, at least they won’t send you off to the edgeworld to serve the troops,” Nikki tried to console him – unsuccessfully, because Tommy had no idea how he’d fare without Nikki at this point. Besides, soldiers were never kind to slaves.

It was another row of similar white doors, different by only numbers on them. The evaluation took longer than a medical exam, which is why the slaves were called up with longer intervals and Nikki was gone long enough for Tommy’s anxiety to flare up. What were they even doing there for so long? Cracking their skulls open and then sewing them back shut?

His number was called when he almost ran out of ideas. Tommy rose from his mattress, his gut twisting: he was about to find out how the evaluation was done – and what would his life be after an auction. Of course, the price couldn’t determine the future master’s temper – even the highest-cost slaves could end up with an abuser – but it sure determined whether they would eat normal food or nutrient paste and sleep in bed or on the floor.

The long corridor with a row of white doors was painfully similar to the medical exam cabinets. The architects sure didn’t spend too much effort on interior design. Of course, the vast majority of citizens never saw the interior, and nobody sought to impress slaves.

The farthest door opened, and a captive walked out of it. He walked funny, his forehead glistened with sweat. Tommy followed him with his eyes as the guard that brought him here pushed him into the room, grabbed the captive’s arm and led him down the corridor.

The room was almost empty save for a strange chair, a bit like a dentist’s, in the center of it, with a steel hoop at the top that presumably was fixed on a head. Tommy didn’t like the look of it at all. Then he noticed handcuffs on the armrests of the chair – unlocked, for now. Tommy imagined them closing on his wrists, and a chill ran down his spine.

A small table stood next to the chair with a small glass on it. From afar it looked like it was empty, but then Tommy saw there was transparent liquid inside of it. He really doubted it was water.

“Number 971-TP5?” someone said from behind Tommy’s back. He turned around and saw a darkened window in the wall on the right. Oh great, they’ll also watch him.

“Yes,” he said slowly, fighting the urge to step back and close the door from the outside. The guards sure wouldn’t appreciate that, and Tommy didn’t fancy getting another stripe at all.

“Drink the liquid on the table next to the chair,” came an order, in the same tone as the robotic voice in the torture chamber and the doctor at the medical exam. They all seemed to have one tone exactly for all the captives.

Tommy carefully picked up the glass and smelled the liquid – and felt nothing. Then he stuck his tongue in it. It was cold and viscous. He exhaled and drank it all in one gulp. It left a bitter aftertaste in the back of his throat.

“Sit on the chair. Hands on armrests. Head inside the hoop.”

Tommy did as he was told. When the cuffs closed around his wrists and the hoop tightened around his head, he heaved a sigh. So predictable.

The chair began to buzz quietly. Tommy tensed up. He waited for some more instructions, but none came.

The buzzing grew, and soon the whole chair was vibrating intensely, and Tommy’s ears rang so loudly he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. Shockwaves rolled through his body, and the hoop on his head grew so tight it sent spikes of pain through his brain, and Tommy might have screamed in pain - he didn’t know for sure, the ringing in his ears was too loud. His brain was frying inside his skull, his heart raced, his vision was dark, his limbs went numb.

Then it all ended. Slowly, the pain subsided and the colors returned. Tommy found himself drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, throat parched, hands trembling. He was relieved to discover the wetness in his pants was also sweat. Was it what it was like to be electrocuted?

“Could have warned, at least!” he shouted in the direction of the window. His voice came out hoarse and cracking. The window kept silent.

The cuffs opened and the hoop loosened. On shaking legs Tommy rose from the chair.

Then the window lit up, and white letters appeared on it. They were blurry in his eyes so Tommy had to come closer to read them.

971-TP5

IQ: 106

Primary skills:

Drumming: 76% proficiency Lockpicking: 65% proficiency Dancing: 48% proficiency Singing: 43% proficiency Cooking: 39% proficiency Writing: 21% proficiency Drawing: 14% proficiency

Preferable occupations: entertainer, house worker, sex worker

Starting price: 3429 EDs.

Nothing unexpected, Tommy sighed, though he never thought his lockpicking was so high. The price grew a bit since his medical exam too, but only a bit: his skills didn’t add much to it. Overall, he was in the moderate-high price range, mostly due to his age and health. He could only hope his appearance would attract a wealthy buyer, then.

“971-TP5, out. Invite the next number.”

#as we were falling #motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #tommy lee #nikki sixx #motley crue au #motley crue fanfic #my writing #i was thinking of returning to this one for a while and today it happened #it turns out when a person is sleeping well and gets enough rest they may even return to their hobbies #unexpected i know #hope yall still remember this exists lmao #thinking of posting it to ao3

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tanushakyrano · 1 year

Text

febuwhump day 5: "that's gonna scar."

starring my attempt at writing a hospital environment, with my only experience with medical stuff being greys anatomy and google search results!

characters: Gordon, Virgil

additional warnings: whump. they're in a hospital too but there's nothing graphic

________________

Gordon woke up feeling like he’d just been hit by a train.

Which, unfortunately, wasn’t far from the truth. High winds plus unsecured cargo containers equalled massive metal boxes careering across the deck of a transport ship during a storm, sending him flying through the air like a ragdoll until the wall had brought his impromptu flight to an abrupt end. His arm had snapped on impact. His head had thudded onto the deck, helmet failing to prevent him from sinking into unconsciousness for several minutes. The stabbing agony piercing his skull when he’d stumbled awake had made him wish he’d stayed unconscious.

Virgil had saved the day again. Of course he had. He’d sprinted across the deck to reach him in record time, kneeling at his side and supporting him as he tried to clamber to his feet. The two of them had limped back to Two, Virgil strapping him securely into the lift before heading straight back into the fray to get the last two trapped workers out before the entire ship went down.

They’d gone to the hospital. Gordon had tried to persuade his brother that no, it was fine, he could be treated on the island because they had a perfectly well-equipped medical bay plus a fully-trained doctor and several paramedics in the family so could they not go to the hospital, pretty please? But Virgil wasn’t having any of it. Which sucked, because Gordon hated hospitals.

The doctor had told him that the break was pretty bad. There was some internal bruising too, a good few cracked ribs from the impacts, but it was the sort that could only be fixed with rest and time. His head injury wasn’t too serious - they did a CT just to make sure there was no underlying brain damage - but he still had to go into surgery so they could piece the shattered bones in his forearm back together. Gordon just about managed to count down to four from ten before the anaesthesia kicked in and the operating room blurred around him into darkness.

Which led straight back into the getting-hit-by-a-train sensation.

His eyelids had never felt so heavy. It was like they’d been superglued shut; it was all he could do to prise them open a fraction. Overwhelmingly bright light splintered through his vision, and he gave up on opening his eyes as the sun sent waves of agony pulsing through his temple. There was that familiar sensation in his throat too, the hoarseness that came with the aftermath of intubation.

“Ow,” he croaked.

“Welcome back, squid,” a voice smiled from somewhere to his right. It took him a second to place its owner.

“Hey, Virg?” Gordon said hoarsely. “You got any water?”

He heard a chuckle. “Yeah, I can get you some water.” There was a pause, shuffling sounds filling the room as his brother moved around. “How are you feeling?”

Pretty fucking awful, if he was honest. There was a throbbing ache in his arm, snaking into his fingers too, and his head still felt like a fully-grown elephant had just sat on it.

“Oh, you know, just peachy. That cargo container had nothing on me.” His voice was strained slightly, though, and he just knew Virgil would pick up on it. He always seemed to know the things Gordon refused to say out loud.

“Do you want me to ask the doctors to up your pain meds?”

“...Yeah.”

A hand on his shoulder. Gordon forced his eyes open properly. Virgil was there at his side, still in his iR blues, looking like he hadn’t slept in a while. But he was still smiling. “I pressed the call button, so the nurses should be here in a minute, and I’ve got you some water. You’re gonna have to sit up to drink it.”

Gordon nodded - immediately regretting it, because even that tiny movement was enough to send more daggers through his head - and shifted so he was more upright on the bed, Virgil slotting an extra pillow behind him to support his back and stop him straining too much. The water was difficult to swallow, but he took tiny sips, and it helped to soothe his throat a bit.

The nurse showed up a couple seconds later. “Everything alright?” he asked.

“I think most of Gordon’s meds have worn off,” Virgil informed him, “and the doctor said that Gordon could have more on request if he needed them when he woke up.” The nurse nodded. Gordon tried to ignore him as he moved around the room. The uniform was giving him the heebie-jeebies.

When he’d left again, Gordon turned back to Virgil. “How…” he tried, “how’d the surgery go?”

“Pretty good, considering how bad the break was,” Virgil replied. “They had to go in and reconstruct part of the skeletal structure.”

"I've got a bionic arm now?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Virgil chuckled lightly. "You're gonna have a scar, though. Sorry."

Gordon already had way too many of those. The hydrofoil accident had left him with a spiderweb of scars on his back, gnarled and thick where surgeons had sacrificed aesthetics for the extra few seconds they needed to save his life and his mobility. He'd gathered others, too, as part of International Rescue. They all had. Burns, operation scars, lacerations. They always served as a reminder of some of the lowest points of their lives.

Then again, they also reminded him of the good. The people who got to see another day because of the sacrifices they all made on the job. Where there was now scar tissue, there had once been an open wound. Each and every one on his body was a reminder of life, not death, and every time he looked at himself in the mirror Gordon reminded himself that his scars were not just painful reminders of what he'd been through but proof that he'd been through that and lived. That other people got to live too.

"It's cool, Virg," Gordon said. The meds were starting to kick in; he grinned goofily, tipping his head back onto the pillow. "It'll make me look badass."

#thunderbirds are go #cora writes #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #febuwhump23 #whump #tw injury

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freckledbeom · 3 years

Note

Hello my love. Can I pls have a kyun car sex fic. Can b like friends who have a thing for each other but neither of them know or established relationship

hi love, i wrote this fic while i was feeling a little blue so im sorry if it’s a little drawn out. hope this is what you wanted! ~

car sex w/ kyunnie [18+]

side note before you all read this fic, i just wanna say how grateful i am. sometimes i go on hiatuses or don’t update in a timely manner but i still get so much love & for that im truly grateful. it’s all love here, ill be here for you all like you’re here for me <33

warnings; 18+ content, suggestive scenes

listening to outta time by bryson tiller ♪

it wasn’t unlikely for changkyun to call you at late hours of the night, he was usually studio bound at this time anyway. what was unusual lie in his simple, but daring request.

“come downstairs.” he barred a monotone voice through the phone.

his puzzling request struck curiousity in your bones; you couldn’t not meet him downstairs now. grabbing nothing but a spare pullover and sliding into your house shoes, your heart fluttered in your chest. what could he possibly want?

after finally reaching your destination, changkyun turned around, your eyes meeting.

he almost looked the same as you, dressed in not much but a pair of sweats and a loose hoodie. although you would probably never tell him, his appearance was one of the many factors that drew you in.

stepping foward, changkyun cracked a slight smile. “you didnt take long.” he joked, tilting his head to the side a little.

“neither did you.” you replied, smiling back at him. “are you here to just look at me or did you have something you wanted?”

he paused a little before responding, licking his bottom lip. that was enough to fuel the fire between your legs.

“what if i wanted to just look at you?” his breath hitched a little.

your heart was beating so fast you were sure changkyun could hear your excitement ready to leap out of your chest. you were even more sure of this since the dialogue between the two of you had ceased.

“kidding.” changkyun hit your arm a little, as if he was knocking you back to reality. “i do miss you though, you wanna go for a drive?”

right. he didn’t see you in that way. of course, this was expected since he had many other things in his life; you would be the last on his mind.

the walk to the parking garage was a brisk, but quiet one. your interactions weren’t usually this awkward, today was an especially off one. from kyun suddenly showing up at your apartment, to this odd tension that appeared, you could hear the silence.

opening the door for you, changkyun walked around to his side and got in.

“your car smells nice.” a pathetic attempt to crack the silence.

“it smells like me.” changkyun answered affirmatively, looking directly at you.

rolling your eyes, you gave your attention to the moon in front of you.

you could feel his eyes drawing in on you, lasered into the side of your skull. turning so you made eye contact, you tilted your head a little.

"staring contest?"

changkyun scoffed jokingly. "i'll win but sure."

you didn’t know what was stranger about this night; the way he looked at you or the way his looks kindled the fire between your legs.

"why do you keep looking at me like that?" you choked out, palms growing sweaty in the process.

"it's a staring contest." changkyun retorted.

"no i mean-"

his lips didn't allow you to give further explanation, his tongue lay bait for you to fall under. your breaths hitched and stilled. his hands wandered every which way until one landed on your chin, tilting it upwards.

if this was bliss then the second he pulled away was sudden death, leaving you puckered & red.

leaning back in with your noses just touching, changkyun bit his bottom lip. "i can kiss you like that right? is that ok?"

this time you opted out of verbal response, answering him the same way he did you.

changkyun's hands moved from your face to your bottom, pulling you over on the driver's side so you could sit on his lap. instinctively, you reached to the side and lowered the seat back.

his hands wandered underneath your sweater to fondle your breasts. the friction from your lower bodies and the way he touched you was enough make you bellow out a shallow moan. you could feel him growing beneath you, leaving you soaked.

bringing you down towards him, changkyun lifted away your top to give him full access to your nipples. unknowingly, your hips ground against his crotch.

changkyun let out a breathy moan, latching harder onto your breast.

“changkyun...i want you so bad...” you whined out, his brows raising at your request. tilting his head with his mouth now removed from your chest, changkyun bit his bottom lip.

“say it again for me.” his breath hitching a little.

with no hesitation, the words stuttered out of you. “i want you so bad.”

a part of you imagined that he got a kick out of hearing your desperation crawl out of itself. so much so that every reedy whine from you earned a bite at your neck or a grope to your backside.

this time you had earned the feel of his manhood, not a cushion but a slab of pure concrete, stiff under you.

playing with the hem of your shorts, changkyun met with your eyes for direct contact. “we don’t have to take these off.”

and you didn’t, with him pushing them to the side just enough to give access to your bare middle. finally, you could catch a glance of his lower. it sat up high, thick & gleaming with precum; it was as if it was waiting for you.

steadily, you sunk down onto changkyun, biting your lip carefully to not cry out. changkyun pulled your upper back forward so that you were chest to chest, keeping another on your bottom. slowly, you rocked your lower half on his throbbing member. the two of you kept eye contact, while his hand that was once on your upper back was now on your face.

out of the many faces changkyun had showed you, the one he was giving me at this particular moment had you ready to climax then and there. cheeks flushed, changkyun bit down on his lower lip, never breaking away from you.

a harsh slap to your ass made you whine even louder. “right there....it feels so good right there...”

speeding up your pace, you sat up a little so that both hands could sit flat against his chest. with one hand on his shoulder and the other on this chiseled chest, you bounced on his lap, sounds from your sopping middle filling the air.

changkyun reached a hand up to steady your thigh, with his mouth now agape. “fuck, did i get you this wet? huh?”

in a shallow attempt to conceal your moans you bit your lip, only for changkyun to catch on rather quickly.

his palms took grip of your ass, giving him full access to thrust himself into you. you only cried out, falling back onto his chest while he took you from under

times like this there was nowhere else your mind wandered except how he made you feel.

“mmm…changkyun…” every time you began a sentence it seemed as if you blacked out.

joining his rhythm, you brought your your hips back down onto him. it only took a few more strokes to have you, once again, calling out to him.

“i think im gonna come.” your grip on his shoulders tightened so that you could straighten up and look at him.

“yeah?” he answered, his eyes saturated with eagerness.

“mhmm.”

changkyun gave a harsh slap to your rear while biting his lip.

“go ahead…fuck…go ahead and come on me.”

you surrendered, riding him until your legs and core gave out. trembling, you stilled your movements only when you heard changkyun announce his orgasm.

panting, you look at the mess you made of him. although the garage was dimly lit, you still could share gaze with him.

“is this what you called me out here for?” you questioned.

he chuckled, licking his bottom lip. “does this count as a confession.”

“not at all.”

#monsta x #monsta x au #monsta x changkyun #monsta x smut #kpop #kpop smut #changkyun au #changkyun smut

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wolferine · 3 years

Text

Unforgivable - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: When the reader loses their temper, it causes them to commit an act they can never take back...

Warnings: Violence, blood, torture, death

Word count: 2372

Part 1

Tags: @yeetus-thyself @phoenixofash @lilclownx @yeeterthekeeper @alessiapn @diaryoflife

AN: Please read to the end before you come after me. :)

Everything is a blur. The last thing you remember is cradling Natasha in your lap and seeing the pain of betrayal in her eyes. You did this to her. You couldn’t control your anger and now she had a bullet—shot out of your gun—in her back. You hurt her and there was no way you could ever forgive yourself for that.

You finally let Tony get close enough to take care of her, because you realized you don’t deserve her anymore.

You run away from the Avengers Tower, your leg slowing you down, but you don’t care. Each step feels like a knife rubbing against your bone, but even that’s not enough to distract you from the pain in your chest. It feels like someone has torn you open, ripped your heart out of your ribcage, and thrown it into a bonfire.

But you have no one to blame than yourself.

Tears stream down your face as you stumble through the streets, eventually finding some privacy in a nearby forest. Your sobs echo through the trees as you crawl hand over hand, your uniform shredding open on bushes and branches. The trickle of a creek calls to you and you dunk your bloody hands in the freezing water, desperate to wash yourself of your failures.

You can’t believe what you’ve done.

The scene of Natasha falling to the floor plays over and over in your head and you would pay anything to unsee it. You curl into a ball, wiping your nose on your knees. You deserve all the pain and misery for your actions. You’re so caught up in your head, thinking about all the ways you can punish yourself, that you don’t notice the group of men sneaking up on you from behind.

“Over there! Over there!”

“By the creek, see?”

“Wait—that’s an Avenger?”

“Looks like someone had a bad day.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

At the sound of your name, you finally lift your head, only for the butt of a shotgun to slam into your face. Your nose breaks and blood fills your mouth. You turn away, not even interested in protecting yourself. If they killed you, you would thank them.

“Aw, come on. At least give us a reaction,” someone says.

The shotgun butt smashes against the back of your head and you wouldn’t be surprised if it cracked your skull. Someone kicks your leg where you were shot, and you bite your lip to hold back a scream.

“Well, this is anti-climactic.”

“Hey, if it makes our job easier, I’m not gonna complain.”

“I still think Hammer’s weird for wanting Y/N over the other Avengers.”

“Given the circumstances, he couldn’t really be picky—”

“Stop standing around and get to it!” someone yells.

The men surround you, punching and kicking every inch of you. The bulletproof vest of your uniform does little to lessen the impact of their blows. You feel bruises forming along your ribs and your rattling teeth bite your lips bloody. It doesn’t take long for you to black out and the peace is blissful.

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

Sometime later—you have no idea how long—you jolt awake, finding yourself strapped to a metal chair in the middle of a dark, concrete room. A man in glasses and a gray suit with white gloves stands in front of you.

“Hello, I’m Justin Hammer,” he says, offering a hand, then withdrawing when he realizes your arms are tied to the chair. “Sorry, force of habit.”

You stare at him. Your tongue pokes around the inside of your mouth and you notice some teeth are missing. There is a painful crick in your neck every time you try moving your head and every breath you take feels like a razor blade scraping the inside of your lungs.

“You’ve probably never heard of me, but I’m very familiar with you and your work with the Avengers. But the reason I have you here today is to talk about this man.” Hammer pulls out a folded photograph from his pocket and shows it to you.

It’s Tony Stark, but you have no desire to even think of that man anymore.

“Your best friend, right?” Hammer teases and you curl your lip at him. “What’s wrong? He’s the one who got you a spot on the team, isn’t he?” You look away from him. “I heard what he did to your girl,” he continues. “That must’ve felt like the betrayal of the century.”

“What?” you ask, confused as to what he’s referring to.

“I heard about what happened at the Avengers Tower. So tragic.” Hammer crumples Tony’s photograph and drops it on the floor. “Romanoff didn’t deserve that.”

“W-What are you talking about? Is she okay?” Your bottom lip quivers in fear.

Hammer kneels in front of you. “She’s dead, Y/N.”

“No, no…” You feel like he’s punched you right through the chest. “T-That’s not possible.”

“I’m sorry. I know she meant a lot to you.” Hammer stands again.

“How do you even know what happened at the Tower?” Given its security, there was no way news like that reached the public. At least not the truth of it. Maybe Hammer was just trying to mess with you.

Hammer motions behind him and a blonde woman steps forward from the shadows. Her face jolts your memory, but you don’t remember exactly where from.

“Recognize her?” Hammer asks. “She actually works for me, but she’s been pretending to be a SHIELD agent for some time now. She was right outside the door when your little spat with Stark went down.” Your mind flashes back to when you returned from the mission with Natasha. On your way to the private Avengers’ quarters, you remember passing the same blonde woman right outside the door.

“She heard everything that happened inside,” Hammer says as the blonde woman retreats into the darkness again.

“N-Natasha’s…She’s…She’s not dead,” you stammer.

Hammer shakes his head. “She went into surgery after Stark shot her, but due to the placement of the bullet, there were some complications and she coded on the table. They couldn’t revive her. That part was all over the news.”

You feel so sick you want to vomit. “I…I killed her?”

“No. You didn’t kill her. Tony Stark killed her.”

You start gasping for air, only worsening the pain in your chest. “No—But—He—I’m the one who pulled the trigger—”

“But you weren’t aiming for her. You were aiming for Stark, and he’s the one who deflected the bullet into her,” Hammer says. “He’s also the one who sent you two on that mission to begin with, wasn’t he? The reason you lost your cool and pulled your gun out? Think, Y/N. All of this is Stark’s fault.”

But the sadness of thinking you’ve killed Natasha is too overwhelming. You can’t focus on anything but your own guilt. You will burn in hell for this and you won’t even mind.

“Listen to me, Y/N!” Hammer snaps, striking you across the face. His rings cut into your cheek and blood fills your mouth. “I hate Stark just as much as you do. He’s been my business rival for years and I need someone to help me take him down. Who better than you, a former friend of his, who knows how to hit him where it hurts?”

You start crying at the thought of having to exist in a world without Natasha Romanoff.

Hammer tries getting your attention by slapping you again, but you’re unresponsive. You’re too lost in your grief to process anything he’s saying, and eventually he gives up, promising to come back another time to reveal his master plan to you.

It takes an entire month before he can even communicate with you. Your depression is all-consuming and their threats on your life have no effect. They’re startled to learn you actually enjoy the torture because you believe you deserve it after what you did to Natasha. But Hammer is relentless and finally figures out how to manipulate you into his bidding.

Six months after your capture and the accident, you finally crack. Your agony and pain turns into pure rage and hatred for Tony Stark. You can’t bring Natasha back, but you can get revenge on the man who took her life. After training with Hammer’s technology, which is almost as advanced as Tony’s, you’re deemed ready to be let out in the real world. Hammer personally asks for your help to kill Tony Stark, and it’s an offer you accept gladly.

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

Three months after the accident…

Natasha wakes up and looks to her right, disappointed to see the bed still empty. She’s tricked herself into believing that one day you’ll show up, ready to pick up the pieces and continue where you left off. But nothing has been the same since you left.

She sits up and turns the lights on. She scoots to the edge of the bed and carefully lifts her body into the wheelchair parked there.

The bullet had struck her lumbar spine, shattering her L1 vertebrae and paralyzing her from the waist down. Tony requested help from the best doctors he knew, but even the greatest modern advancements couldn’t repair her spine. He had personally designed her wheelchair, and she knows she should be grateful to still be alive, but she’s never felt so helpless and alone.

After the accident, you ran off and no one could locate you. Secretly, she held onto the hope you would return one day, but she knows your guilt and shame are keeping you away. She wants to tell you that it wasn’t your fault and that she doesn’t hate you, but you’re not even giving her that chance.

Tony made the public announcement that Black Widow had retired from the Avengers. No one knew she had been paralyzed, nor that you had unofficially resigned from the team. Without you, without Black Widow, Natasha didn’t know who she was anymore.

She leaves her bedroom and goes into the kitchen. Tony arranged most of the food and dishes down to her new height but she feels like she’ll never adjust to not being able to stand anymore. She locates a bowl and a box of cereal and rolls over to the table. She chokes down dry Cheerios and pours her second bowlful when Tony walks in.

“Thank God you’re finally up,” he says. “When you’re done, I have something to show you.”

“Y/N?” She perks up.

“Uh…no…”

Natasha knows Tony blames himself just as much as she does for her accident, but it wasn’t his fault either. She wrestled between anger and guilt, sometimes blaming you, sometimes blaming him. But in the end, it’s easier to blame herself. She should have stopped you the moment you took out your gun, regardless of whether or not you pushed her. But she got so caught up in the moment she froze, and now she was paralyzed and you were gone.

“Just come down to my workshop, okay?” Tony disappears again.

With nothing better to do, Natasha takes the elevator down to Tony’s workshop. She doesn’t visit often, but when she does, she’s always impressed by his latest inventions and gadgets. She rolls down the aisle of old Iron Man suits displayed in glass cases, admiring the subtle differences in each one.

“Where are you, Tony?” she calls.

“Over here!” He waves her down from the other end. “I’ve been working on this for a while, and I know it’s a little premature, but I couldn’t help myself.” Tony stands next to another Iron Man suit, but it doesn’t quite look like it will fit him.

The suit is curved to fit a woman, black and red instead of Tony’s iconic red and gold. Natasha sees a red hourglass emblazoned on the belt buckle.

“What…What is this, Tony?” she asks, tears in her eyes.

“It’s an Iron Widow suit,” he says. “Or, whatever you want to call it. You’ll have to get in and test it out for yourself, but it’ll allow you to walk again and…be an Avenger again.”

Natasha wishes she could throw herself into his arms, but pulls him down to her level instead. “Thank you,” she whispers, wiping her face. She never thought she would be able to serve as an Avenger again, but she’ll take the opportunity if it means taking her mind off recent events.

“Ready to try it out?” Tony presses a button on the side of the suit and the suit opens up, bending into a crouched position so Natasha can get in it like a chair.

She smiles for the first time since the accident.

“I am.”

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

Six months after the accident…

Natasha is in the gym, lifting dumbbells on a bench when Tony walks in. Although she now has a legitimate excuse for skipping leg day for the rest of her life, she now has to make sure her upper body is twice as strong to make up for it.

“Look who decided to slide through my DMs this morning,” Tony says, shoving his phone in her face.

Midnight. Central Park Carousel. Come alone.

The text was from you.

“Oh, my God,” Natasha says, setting the weights down. You haven’t even texted her since the accident, and she’s a little hurt you didn’t reach out to her first. “What’s this about?”

“I have no idea.” Tony shrugs. “I know it says for me to go alone, but since it’s from Y/N, I wanted to ask if you wanted to tag along.”

“Of course.” In a way, Natasha feels like the text is really meant for her. Central Park was where you had asked her to be your girlfriend. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“I’ll need you to be on your A-game. We have no idea what Y/N’s been up to these past six months. I don’t know if you’re gonna like what we find,” Tony says.

Natasha has spent countless nights wondering where you’ve been and what you’re doing. Now she has the chance to find out. “It’s going to be okay, Tony,” she says.

He shakes his head. “Just so you know, I’m praying more for you than me right now.”

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

Click here for Part 3!

AN: I never went to medical school, so forgive my medical inaccuracies.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow #black widow fanfiction #marvel imagine #natasha x reader

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vgilantee · 3 years

Text

i'm right here {simon kalivoda}

requested by anon

word count: 1.8k

a/n: a large chunk of this was hand written on various a6 pieces of paper while i was at work, or when i was in the middle of a lecture, i won't lie. (if i miss any warnings please let me know!)

warnings: blood, nightmare/night terror

pronouns: [none used], petnames 'baby' and 'sweetheart' used

You ran until your legs were arching, lungs pinching as you desperately sucked in the frigid night air. With every step, you were physically closer to the building, but it never seemed any nearer. There was a light on in one of the downstairs windows which, especially for the hour, was strange, but you didn’t care. He was behind you, running at the same pace, a game of cat and mouse, one where the cat never drew closer, but never fell behind.

You opened your mouth to let out a scream, hoping to alert the occupants of the house that you were there and needed help. But instead, you let out a garbled cough, spitting up blood as you did. Bringing up a hand to wipe away some of the blood from your mouth, you were met with more. It was darker, some of it dried. The adrenaline thundering through your system had you all but forget about the wound in your side.

You let out a sob, before trying to scream again. The noise that followed was loud and bone-chilling, and for a second you didn’t realise that you had made it.

Another light flicked on in the house, this one upstairs, and you let out a sigh in relief that quickly became a sob.

At the new light, the literal sliver of hope that peeked through the gap in the curtains, you got a second wind, another burst of energy, and you pushed to sprinting harder and faster than you had all night. And finally, the house seemed to draw closer.

But the heavy footsteps behind you didn’t seem to get any further away. In fact they-

A tiny dip in the ground, the smallest of inconsistencies in the dirt, but it was enough to catch you, your ankle rolling out, and with all the momentum that you had built up, you crashed into the ground with a roll. The angle you landed on had to have been bad, because up through the ankle that rolled to the knee, and in the opposite wrist, was a sharp, shooting pain. Another scream, not as loud but just as haunting as the pain seared through.

“No!” Your voice was hoarse and wet with tears and blood. “No, no, no, no, no.” You begged as you tried to scramble to your feet. But your knee couldn’t support your weight, so you crawled. Fingers digging into the rough dirt in hopes for purchase, you dragged yourself forward. Your wrists screamed with every pull, your leg protested with every kick, and you were vaguely aware of the blood dripping from your nose. And through the roaring of blood in your ears, you could only just hear the sounds of the footsteps of your soon-to-be murdering closing in.

A hand wrapped around your injured ankle as you kicked out, and gave you a sturdy tug. Your fingers dug in further to stop the man from pulling you to a halt and you screamed again, ignoring the feeling of your nails struggling to grip.

There was a dull thump noise before another hand dug its fingers into your side and in a fluid motion, rolled you onto your back. In a single, harsh motion, he dropped so his knees hit the hard ground on either side of you, all his weight on your knees and shins, and you screamed at both the weight, and the way your knees bent back to press flush to the grass beneath you, and your already aching leg flared with a new pain. You desperately clawed at his hands, his arms, his face, but he ignored your nails pulling at his flesh. The attempt at defence was weak, not only because the digging and pulling of your nails was ignored, but because even if you did manage to get him off of you, you would still be completely unable to run.

“Please! No!” It was pointless to beg, especially when it was obvious that your pleas were falling on deaf ears. He let out a growl, inhuman and shuddering, and you let yourself cry and sob freely. Between the flailing of your own hands trying to push him away, and his hands grabbing at you, you were finally able to see the man who had been chasing you. His features were vague, looking almost smeared. As if someone dragged a paintbrush through a wet painting. His strong nose was pushed to the side with a blur, and his mouth was only defined by his snarling teeth. But his eyes. His eyes were terrifying. Like the rest of his face, the outlines of his eyes were blurred, undefined, but the eyes themselves were defined, a stark contrast. The whites were crisp and bloodshot, and his pupils were so blown that his already dark irises were almost black. There was nothing behind his eyes, no indication of anything human left, but they glared at you with complete concentration. There was a pause, a split second where you were distracted by how clear his eyes were, and that pause allowed him to grab your wrists in his large and bloodied hands.

“No! Please!”You twisted your wrists, trying to break free, but he had the advantage and pulled your hands under his knees, flattening them and pinning you down. You screamed again as you felt the bones shift and crack under his weight. With your hands crushed under his knees and you completely unable to fight back, he grabbed the axe from where it had been dropped to his side.

“Please!” He moved slowly, readjusting his grip so that the axe was held firmly in both hands. As the axe swung down, another hand met your shoulder, one that was warm and familiar. The hand gave you a firm shake and your eyes flew open as the pressure of the man sitting on your legs and hands disappeared.

You squinted, trying to adjust your eyes to the darkness of the room. You took shallow breaths, as you scrambled to sit up, expecting there to be pain from the various injuries you had collected. Instead, there was nothing. No pain, bar a scratch in your throat.

“Hey.” Beside you, a soft and very concerned voice caught your attention. Simon. He shuffled closer to you, cautiously to avoid further starling you. You whip your head to face him, and only when you tried to make eye contact with your very concerned boyfriend did you realise that your eyes were still very full of tears. You hastily wiped them away, still on edge.

“Simon?” Your mind was still a little fuzzy, in that in-between state when you wake up from a vivid dream. With the little visibility you had in the room from the streetlight outside, you could see him shift closer and raise his hand. All his movements were slow, as to not startle you in your clearly on edge state. Gently, he ran a thumb under each of your eyes, getting rid of the tears that were beginning to dry in their place on your cheeks.

“I’m right here, baby.” You hiccupped before rolling into his chest, fists curling up in front of you. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, rubbing slow circles on your back as you shook. Every time you closed your eyes again to squeeze out any tears that fought to stay, you could see his face again. The cold eyes determined to kill you. The dirty, bloodied hands white-knuckling the axe as it swung down to meet your skull. You jumped slightly at the sudden feeling of Simon resting his lips on the top of your head, but quickly relaxed even further into him.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.” His words were warm against your head, and he pulled you closer to him. “You don’t have to tell me about it, but just know that I’m here, with you. I’ll keep you safe.” He pressed a kiss to your head between every sentence, and you gave him a small, feather-light kiss to his chest in gratitude.

Eventually, your breathing slowed and you stopped shaking, and Simon would have thought you had fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the occasional kiss you placed on his chest, just above his heart. He pulled back and you looked up at him with bleary eyes. His eyes softened even further and he leaned forward again to kiss you on the forehead.

“Better?” You gave a small nod in reply, rubbing your eyes with the ball of your palm. “Sleep?” You shook your head, nod ready to go back to sleep yet.

“Dunno if I can.” You moved your arms from being curled up in his chest, to wrap around his back.

“That bad?” That was something you cherished about Simon. With a few words, he could communicate with and understand you like nobody else. He could read you like a book and you, him.

“It was the curse.” You nodded slightly as you spoke, eyes watering as the vivid memory of the nightmare resurfaced again.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He gives you a light squeeze, his voice breaking. It had been a couple of years since you had helped Deena break the Shadyside curse, but trauma is trauma, and no matter how long ago it was, those few days were ingrained in you.

“I know, I know.” Your tone was defeated, said like an apology for bothering Simon or waking him up again. He stops you from continuing your thought with a hand placed on your cheek.

“It’s okay, I promise.” It wasn’t like Simon hadn’t woken you up in the middle of the night, thrashing with night terrors and memories that were too dark to talk about with anyone else. But you still had that guilt. You always felt bad when you woke him up with your own screaming and thrashing. It was worse in the beginning. When the memories were fresher and it was still on the news. You could barely sleep a full night, and Simon was the same. So when you started sharing a bed, there wasn’t a night for months where the pair of you got a full nights rest.

The nightmares were less common now, but the guilt of waking him up never left.

“I love you.” You said it softly, whispering them to him as the room began to slowly light up with the sunrise.

“I love you too.” Simon broke out into a goofy smile, still in disbelief that you did really love him. “And I’ll be here, always. Through every nightmare and early morning, I promise.” He pulled you down slightly so that you were laying in bed again, your head resting on his shoulder as his arms pulled you close. You knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, not when your cruel brain kept showing you the image of the man with an axe. So instead you and Simon talked in hushed voices, as if trying to avoid waking the air, and watched as your room slowly warmed up with the orange tones of the early morning.

#simon kalivoda x reader #fear street simon x reader #fear street simon kalivoda x reader #fear street x reader #char writes

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chil2de · 3 years

Note

Hi!! if possible can i please request yuuta having a girlfriend that’s his childhood friend? (So like instead of rika it’s y/n and she doesn’t die) that loves to dote on him cause that boy needs some love. Thank you!! <3

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE THIS MADE ME SO SOFT!!!!! ohmygod!!!! growing up with yuuta would be THE best onshdhfsh thank you sososos much anon this was such a pleasure to write! i don’t know why but the “and she doesn’t die” had me screaming LMFAOOOO

enjoy! no warnings, just old fashioned cute fluff and heart wrenching moments! thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for the best boy mwaaah you deserve eternal happiness! hope no insects bite you during these warm months <3

“okkotsu!” you cried out, feminine and shrill voice ringing in the air. the cicadas chirped melodiously, calling out their delightful songs in the spring air.

the young boy staggered around, losing his balance from spinning too fast. his fragile hands reached out, pulling in small grabby motions towards your innocent and joyous face.

you were always so optimistic, even when you were younger. yuuta could only huff and wail as his caretaker hauled him away from the playground, gesturing it was time for him to come home. thick and messy tears spilled out the corners of his eyes which hadn’t yet endured countless sleep devoid nights.

he was so far away, but that was okay because you knew you’d see him the very next day.

“okkotsu! promise to play with me again tomorrow!” you cupped your hands, exclaiming as much as your little lungs could endure. yuuta could see the tears heavy in your gaze, but even then, you prevailed. you grinned, all for him.

ever since the very start. till ‘death do us apart.

“okkotsu! come oooon, don’t cry, okay? (y/n)’s got your back! see, see?! look! they don’t bite!” you braved a smirk on your features, beckoning the shy and introverted young man over. his face looked uncertain and his lips wobbled as though he could crack at any moment. he took a few cautious steps, maintaining his distance between you and the furry animal on the floor.

“r-really? it won’t bite?” he coughed, reaching his unstable fingertips out.

“eh?! that’s the first time you’ve spoken to me! your voice is so nice! it’s so cool! hey! can i hear it again? pleaaaase? i know you’re shy but i’d really like to hear it! hey, okkotsu, say my name? pretty please?”

“um- i, uh.. it’s okay.. you can call me yuuta.”

“yuuta! you’re going to be late for your first day of junior high! i totally told you to wake up on time too!” you stood with your hands rested firmly on your hips, face stern and tone impatient.

“sorry! sorry- it’s um, my hair. i don’t know how to style it.” he admitted, albeit sheepishly by trailing the last few words off into a murmur. you only gave him a sigh before kneeling down behind him, propping yourself up to take a look at his hair in the reflection of the mirror.

“how on earth are you so tall already? we eat the same food, you know. slouch over a little.” you pinched his cheeks before glossing over his hair.

when you ran your fingertips through his hair, you felt butterflies and anxiety rock your stomach.

that’s never been there before.

you’ve touched yuuta countless times, whether that was accidentally hitting him, holding his hand to cross the street…

so why was it different?

you could feel yuuta’s body tense up and run rigid underneath your touch.

that definitely wasn’t there before.

“relax. it’s me.” you cooed quietly, roughing up his hair into different styles.

“like this? looks like you just woke up, sorta, but i think it’s cute.”

yuuta’s heart rate skyrocketed through the roof and his breath hitched.

“cute?” he reiterated, chewing out the phrase like he’d never heard it before in his life.

“hm? yeah-“

you caught his gaze in the mirror, eyes half lidded and attention averted. the tips of his ears were tainted a deep red with small flicks of blush painting his cheeks.

“eh?! nononono- not like that i’m- i just think it suits you, you know? oh, crap, would you look at the time? okay we gotta go and leave!” you clambered out of his bedroom, thudding the door shut behind you.

yuuta only gawked at you with bewilderment, lips slightly parted and fingertips outstretched in his failed attempt to stop you.

he turned to himself in the mirror, studying his features before running one hand through his jet black locks.

“cute, huh?” he muttered, avoiding his own judgemental gaze.

the bittersweet part about growing up with a childhood friend is change.

for all the time that you’d spent with yuuta, you didn’t realise that your relationship with him was something to not take for granted.

especially with those around you who would kill for what you two have.

you’d always get mundane questions from high school girls who thought they could have a shot with him, “what’s his type?” “do you think he likes me?”

meanwhile you only played along with their charades, laughing inwardly when he was actually extremely introverted.

“so? what’s the deal with you and okkotsu-san? you guys dating?”

“no. we’re just friends.”

“seriously? you guys are always glued at the hip. you know he has a picture of you in his locker, right?”

“yeah? so do i. it doesn’t mean anything.”

“it’s kind of a shame, he’s such a nice young man.. gone to waste like that..”

“what’s gone to waste?” yuuta inquired with an indifferent tone, plopping down beside you with his bento box. the classmate sat opposite you only gave him a phony cheerful temperament, twirling her index finger around her hair.

“oh! okkotsu-senpai! we were just talking about you! how was your da-“

“please leave.”

you could only gape at him in your peripherals, sputtering on your sandwich as you watched the life drain from your classmate at his monotony. yuuta didn’t spare you or the girl a glance as he worked to unpack his lunch, hell the guy even murmured a small itadakimasu as if nothing happened.

“wh- okkotsu senpai?”

“listen.” he let out a deep sigh before proceeding.

“whatever shot you thought you had with me? it’s gone out the window. don’t disrespect (y/n) in front of me like that again.”

“you’re making us uncomfortable, so get up and go.” he motioned with his chopsticks, giving her a dead gaze towards another table.

the girl scoffed, mouth hung wide open as she picked up her bag and stormed out of sight.

whilst your face was as blank as a stone, internally, you were only screaming in the depths of piping hot hell visible from the sun itself.

baby girl? that was when you noticed how fucking fine of a man yuuta grew up to be.

“that was seriously nerve wracking.. my stomach hurts so bad right now” yuuta coughed through a bite of his sandwich, refusing to meet your gaze.

you slapped his back, because, holy shit??? awe painted your face like you just witnessed your own child talking or walking for the first time.

“what the shit? yuuta? are you kidding?”

“oh, huh? did i overdo it or something?“

“no?! are you kidding? that was fucking awesome! i swear! this is why i love you-“

oh.

uh oh.

oh no.

yuuta let out a shrill squeak unbeknownst to any human being able to produce such a volume. it was a cross between a floorboard creaking, a mouse sniffing and him choking on his food. the poor boy had to excuse himself to the bathroom, hacking and sniffling in an ugly fit of coughs from the food that got caught in his windpipe.

your blood rushed to your head, veins lit ablaze, bones rattling as you could hear the chatter pound and drill into your skull, scoring you deep and down into your bones.

“did she just say she loves him?”

“i totally knew they were going out!”

“i can’t believe it…”

“do you think he’ll reject her?”

it replayed over, and over, and over. what a fucking fool you felt. did he even feel the same?

that’s why i love you.

i love you.

a blob of black clouded your vision and you could hear the glass breaking.

yuuta sat himself back down, excusing himself.

you could hear nothing but the tune of his heartbeat. or was it yours? it sounded too heavy to belong in either of your bodies.

his voice came as a wobble because of his anxiety, but this was the one thing in his life he’d be absolutely certain of.

“that’s okay. i love you too.”

“yuuta? you okay? you’ve been spacing out for at least five minutes. something on your mind?” you lightly shake your boyfriend, grip reassuring but firm. it takes a couple of seconds for his gaze to gloss over as he returns back to reality.

“sorry. was just thinking about our childhood, that’s all.” his voice comes out deep and masculine. it doesn’t have that tremor as it used to before, like he’d break down at any minute.

you can say with absolute certainty as you stare up your entire 5’10 boyfriend that he’s matured well.

his hand snakes around to your waist, pulling you into him for comfort.

some ways better than others, you suppose.

“can we stay home today?” he hums, resting his chin on top of your head,

“same as ever, yuuta, aren’t you? it’s fine, i’ll tell nobara my period’s making me act up. she’ll understand-“

“hm? you’re not due for another week though, right?”

you crease your eyebrows as you type out an apology to nobara for cancelling plans, glancing up at yuuta curiously.

“how the heck do you know that?”

“i’m not supposed to? i’d always count your cycle so i wouldn’t irritate you on the wrong day. besides, don’t you think it was too convenient for you to always find snacks in your locker when it rolled around?”

“those snacks were you?! oh my god! i was trying to figure that out for forever!”

“i know. i remember you ranting to me about it.”

“you just sat there?! yuuta! you’re so cheeky sometimes, i swear!”

“only for you.” he chimes, peppering a soft kiss onto your head. you smile against him, though unfortunately pry out of his familiar and welcoming touch.

“i’m gonna step out for a second tho, ‘kay? i think that’s itadori at the door with my chocolate and painkillers” you snort, giving yuuta a bold wink as you put on your best act, keeling over and clutching at your abdomen as though you’re on death’s door.

“you’re awful.” yuuta chuckles, slumping down onto the sofa to hear the events unfold right in front of him.

you clear your throat and slouch your shoulders as you pry the apartment door open.

“(y/n)-senpai! i came as fast as i could and i brought you some of your favourite sna- oh, okkotsu-senpai! hello!”

“hi there.” he leans his head back, giving itadori a small wave.

“i won’t interrupt you guys so get well soon! and fast! cause i wanna hang out with you! bye!”

you cradle the necessities itadori brought whilst gleaming at yuuta with a wicked grin plastered on your face from ear to ear.

“you want anything?” you cock an eyebrow, showing him the arrangement of snacks.

it’s not the answer you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t unwelcome. it made you feel warm inside, like eating warm and soothing soup on a cold winter’s day. this, for you, was okkotsu yuuta at his best, stripped clean and vulnerable.

you’re the only one who he can relax around, act like the world is carefree. like he’s young again, prancing around in that dingy colourful playground he met you at.

“i want you to kiss me.”

#okay hold up #yuuta’s little ‘hi there’ HAS ME ACTING TF UP #OOOOOOOHHH THIS MAN #anyways i hope i wrote him well!!#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk headcanons #okkotsu yuuta #jjk yuuta #yuuta x you #yuuta x reader #okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu imagines #yuuta okkotsu

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riitah · 2 years

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[onsra] - childe x fem!reader, i.

(A/N): I’ll be making a short series for this, courtesy of my friend “henry rumpelstiltskin III of the nuclear sock kingdom.” Hopefully I’ll have the diligence to do it. If not, this will become yet another abandoned project...

CREDIT FOR ART IN TABLE OF CONTENTS (A/N): expect angst later on in the series

1. encounter word count: 632

(Y/N) gritted her teeth, clutching her left arm in pain. In front of her, some distance away, Childe was panting, cuts and bruises littering his body, but none of his injuries as serious as the ones that were covering (Y/N) from head to toe. He wiped his mouth with one hand, smirking.

“Are you sure you don’t want to end it here, (Y/N)?”

(Y/N) suddenly charged at him, sword high above her head, trying to ignore the burning feeling throughout her body, from her chest to her legs, her movements sluggish, uncoordinated. Childe easily dodged her attempts at assaulting him, laughing all the way.

“C’mon now,” he said, “you don’t want to push yourself to the brink of death, just for a slim chance of beating me.”

His words fell on deaf ears as she tried to punch his nose, but only to fall forward when he got down on his knee.

Childe caught her right before her face could hit the soil, lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder. He stood up, and (Y/N) winced at the sudden movement, grabbing onto his shirt for support.

“You can fight any other Harbinger for their place, you know. Why don’t you try Signora? Although at your current level you won’t be able to kill her, you could get some kicks and scratches in and to help me get back at her. What do you say?”

“Put. Me. Down,” (Y/N) said hoarsely, twisting around to glare at him.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He loosened his grip just enough for her to slide down a little, letting out a good-hearted laugh when she gasped. “See? It’s best if you just stay still.”

“...let me go.”

Childe stared at her for a few moments, debating whether or not he should listen. Finally, with a sigh, he reluctantly let her onto the ground. Without missing a beat, (Y/N) immediately tried to kick his face, which he blocked with an arm and followed up with a kick to her stomach.

The wind was knocked out of her lungs, and she heard a sickening crack as her back met a tree. Her head hurt like hell; it felt as if her skull was going to split open at any moment. Through her tears, she could make out a blurry tall figure making his way toward her and crouch in front of her. She quickly closed her eyes, bracing herself for another kick, but none came. She slowly opened her eyes and realized just how close the harbinger’s face was to hers.

He grinned at her. “Let’s fight again next time, yeah?”

(Y/N) tried to get up, wincing as she felt her broken bones threatening to break off completely. Everything was heavy, and no matter how hard she tried to readjust her position, nothing moved. “I promise you,” she whispered, “the next time we meet, I’ll beat you.”

Childe chuckled at her little declaration. “Yeah, I’m sure you will,” he said, standing up. “So you better rest up and give me a challenge.”

He left her sitting under the tree, covered in blood and sweat, signaling one of the mages to assist her. He wasn’t disappointed in the new recruit; she had the boldness and guts, and strength as well. A great fit for one of the Harbingers, he had to admit. Someone who would definitely catch the eye of the Tsaritsa, with enough training. I wonder which Delusion she would receive, he mused to himself. Perhaps a Pyro one? It suits her fiery personality and determination. A small smile graced his lips. Perhaps he was getting too ahead of himself. After all, her injuries would take a while to heal.

I’ll see you around, (Y/N).

Hello, and thank you for reading till the end! If you enjoyed and wish to keep reading, here’s the link to ch.2.

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact boys #genshin impact x reader #childe genshin impact #tartaglia genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #oneshot #writing #yn #mini series #genshin impact #genshin

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bloodpacks-archive · 3 years

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Hands holding (33) with Jihyun please 💙☺️

i am so sorry it took me so long to get to this and now i’m posting it at 3:30AM but i hope you enjoy it anyway i deeply apologize.

endure | jihyun kim

warnings: mentions of blood/wounds, bandaging hands, general angst/self-doubt but it’s jihyun what did you expect

word count: 1.7k

His hands shake as he tries to loosen the bandages. The cloth sits between his teeth and he tries to unwrap them on his own—tries to make sure that they’re redressed properly without anyone else because he is so sick of asking for help.

He doubts he deserves it anymore.

He can hear her quiet footsteps in the kitchen, the clinking of pans as she makes something for the both of them. She’s been stubborn ever since he got released from the hospital, and while most of him is thankful, a much louder part of him begs her to please, go home. Take care of yourself first, not me.

In the shrouding darkness of his bedroom, his door only cracked open an inch, he can take care of things on his own. He doesn’t have to lay in front of her, the word burden laying heavy on his lips, his hands outstretched and practically begging.

He hisses as the bandage lifts off of his wound, a soft groan breaking past his throat. Blood pulls away with the dirty bandage, red and sticky. He scrunches his eyes closed and lets the bandage slip out from between his teeth, watching as it falls below his wrist. On instinct, he goes to grab it with his other hand, but the movement of his fingers makes his joints ache and he hisses again, bowing his head until he can feel the touch of his hair against the exposed skin of his hands.

He hears the creak of his door, sees the light from the hall begin to spill onto the floor until it laps at his feet.

“V?” She whispers, her voice sweet with concern. He doesn’t dare look up at her. He chews on his lower lip while his gaze stays on the ground. His hands itch to rub together, but every movement sends a shot of pain into his forearm. Her footsteps are soft against the hardwood. She walks on the balls of her feet, barely letting her heels touch the ground. She moves forward until her socks (do they have flowers on them?) come to meet his.

Her hands come down to his, and then she crouches before him, lowering herself until he has to meet her eyes. He tries to keep his gaze steady on her, but turns away after a moment anyway.

“What are you doing?” She asks. Her fingers move to the bandage that now hangs from his hand—half-wrapped and half-unraveled. Her gaze moves to the medicine that sits beside him then, and she sighs.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, weakness encroaching on the sound of his voice. He’s not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for, if it’s the bandages that lay on his hands or the fact that she’s now kneeling before him, the sound of sweet worry falling past her lips and into his ears.

She doesn’t speak, only slowly begins to unravel the rest of the bandages that lay in his right hand—the one he’d already begun to work on. She’s delicate against his skin, her fingers light on the cloth. As she pulls away the last strip of bandages on that hand, it tugs on one of his cuts and he scrunches his eyes shut again, letting a strained breath slip past his teeth. Her head snaps up and she whispers a series of apologies, one of her hands traveling up his forearm so she can lightly trace the skin there.

But he can’t look her in the eyes. His gaze stays on the way her thumb barely presses into the skin of his arm, and though he’s thankful for her touch, a disgusting kind of sorrow settles somewhere in his chest. She moves her hands freely along his skin, her fingers have the ability to wrap around the bottle of saline solution that lays beside him and she doesn’t cower at pain running through and into her bones.

It’s a heavy feeling in his chest, one that curls around him and makes him feel dizzy and sick. He wants to apologize just for the feeling, wishes to ask her to go home and please, enjoy your evening, he wishes he could sit in this darkness and take care of himself and stop hearing the voice that whispers burden so close to his ear that it wraps around and presses into his skull.

He wants to feel the stretch of his hands, wishes to feel the weight of his camera in his palm and the press of the cool shutter-release against his skin—the resistance of it, something he knows by heart, he wants to feel his joints adjust to that touch.

“V,” She says again. He doesn’t move, but he hums—a weak little noise, barely more than a creak in his voice. “Can you look at me?” She asks.

Hesitantly, he raises his head and his gaze until he meets her eyes once more. He can’t see all of her, especially not in this darkness, but he sees the tilt of her head and the shape of her furrowed brows.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, and she clicks her tongue and shakes her head in reply.

“No,” She says, “No, I’m not allowing you to be.” He wants to reply, but the only words that seem to fit well in his mouth are him asking for forgiveness, and she wouldn’t want that either, so he stays silent.

She sighs again and runs a hand up his forearm before returning back down to his wounds. She doesn’t speak yet, dripping the saline solution onto his hand. It’s cool against the skin there, and he lets a contented breath fall past his lips. He closes his eyes for a moment, and opens them to find her looking at him again.

“I can tell you’re feeling guilty.” She begins to unwrap his other hand as she speaks. He notices how she’s even more careful with this one, going a little slower than before and checking with him every few moments. “It’s okay to be taken care of sometimes.”

“You’ve cared for me too many times-“

“V,” She interrupts, and he stops at the sound of her voice. It’s stern, but there’s a tone there that suggests something of grief. He doesn’t understand until she speaks again. “When was the last time someone took care of you?”

He doesn’t respond, but he purses his lips. He feels as one of her hands moves away from his, and then she cups his jaw. Her fingertips are so light against his skin it feels more like a fantasy of touch than the real thing, but then he feels her thumb trace against his cheekbone and he knows that it’s real. That this- this affection, even of the most foreign regard, is real.

“Then let me,” She whispers, and then “please,” her voice breaking at the vowels. The word burden still sits somewhere under his tongue, but he doesn’t dare speak it. He only nods, but her hand doesn’t move away for a moment. Instead, she leans up and tilts his head down until her lips press softly to the crown of his head. On instinct, one of his hands wishes to curl around around her wrist that lays by his neck, but at the movement pain washes through his knuckles and he stops, suppressing the shaky breath that threatens his lungs. When she moves away and her hand leaves his face, his skin feels cold and he almost leans to follow her touch. He doesn’t, of course. He doesn’t allow himself anything of the sort.

They don’t speak while she treats his left hand, the only sound filling the air being that of their breaths and the rustle of sheets while she grabs the antibiotics from the space next to him. She’s careful as she rewraps both of his hands, only speaking to ask him if it’s too tight, but it isn’t. She’s managed to get it right.

When she’s finished rewrapping both of his hands, she holds them for a moment, careful not to bend any of his fingers—rather, her touch is under his knuckles, her fingers spread on the back of his wrist.

“I know how important your hands are to you,” She whispers. Her eyes flick from his down to the bandages. He notices her scrutinizing her work, her eyes following the weaving of the cloth. “I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do.”

“No,” He speaks, “No, you’ve done more than enough. I hardly deserve-“

“Jihyun,” She interrupts, and now her eyes move from her work to lay on his face. The lilt of his name burrows into his chest, leaving it tight as any words die on his tongue. “You deserve to be taken care of.” She shakes her head, furrowing her brows and closing her eyes before speaking again, “Even if you didn’t, no one should lay alone like this. No one deserves to sit in the dark with bandages between their teeth. You can’t- You can’t take every responsibility. You can’t.”

He feels like he’s spent so many moments in silence tonight. Like so many times he’s been left with only apologies resting on his tongue but no means to form them in the rest of his head. He only sits in front of her, hands opened and bandaged by her own fingers, the grief of not being able to reach out to her, no matter what desire tears at his chest. He struggles to find a response, and she must see the way his lips part and his brows furrow, because then she rises to sit next to him, the mattress shifting under her.

Without a word, she wraps an arm around his shoulders and lets him lean into her. His hands are awkward in front of him, but she grabs them so he can turn, letting one wrap behind her while the other stays in front. His forehead falls onto her shoulder, and she lets one of her hands settle into his hair.

In that shrouded darkness, they stay together for a while—his breath warm on her shoulder and her fingers cold in his hair. Light spills into the room, but it urges neither of them to leave. And though his hands ache, he turns his wrist until one of his hands can wrap around her side, a pain surging through his knuckles, but one he’ll endure for just this moment.

tag list: @drketim @bloodpacks @dis-gorl

#jihyun kim #jihyun kim x reader #jihyun kim x mc #v x reader #v x mc #mysme fanfic #mystic messenger fanfic #mysme #mystic messenger #hunterelys

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cherrywoes · 3 years

Text

bambi. miya osamu x f! reader.

au: idol au

pairing: miya osamu x female reader.

word count: 1.5k

prompt: established relationship.

rating: 16+

tw: alcohol, strong language, inferiority complex.

summary: osamu struggles with comparisons to his brother, but you’re always there to comfort him in the end.

genre: fluff, comfort fic.

a/n: this is part of the cafe x hangout collab! hopefully it’s fluffy enough for everyone’s tastes, it isn’t sickeningly sweet--it’s just enough. i hope everyone likes it! <3

“THANKS, EVERYONE.” Osamu yawned into his hand sleepily. The bright white of his screen kept him awake, along with the endless stream of comments popping up in the left hand corner of the screen. Several of them lamented that he was leaving so early, but a quick glance at the clock revealed that it had been over four hours that he’d been streaming—so almost immediately after he had gotten home, then. A rustling in his kitchen, so faint he barely heard it, snapped his attention back to the Instagram live he was about to shut down. He ran a hand through his hair, destroying it even further than it already was, and shrugged to the screen. “I’m going to call it a night, guys. I’m pretty tired and I have a packed schedule tomorrow; remember to rest and take care of yourselves.”

He ended the stream without looking at the rest of the comments, his eye barely catching one reading ‘Atsumu would have stayed on longer until he fell asleep :(‘. Closing his eyes tightly against the bright light, Osamu huffed and tossed his phone on his bed. He didn’t want to look at it right now—not when every time he logged on to Instagram it was to Atsumu’s cheery face, snapping selfies with his fans or whatever cafe he’d happen to stumble upon that particular day. They were just cafes he’d introduced his brother to, but every time he mentioned them he would have to move on and find another one to get away from all of the attention Atsumu brought him.

His own fans were okay—but Atsumu’s were on an entirely different level. From stalking his every move, staking out his apartment for discreet photos of his bare face and pajamas when he took out the trash, investigating everyone who came and went from his apartment (thankfully he lived in a complex where a lot of A-list celebrities lived), and even running down his license plate number to follow him on the road.

It was ridiculous. Osamu just wanted a quiet existence separate from his identity as an idol, but whenever he turned a corner, there was Atsumu dragging him into another crowd of people, exposing him to his insane fans and getting them to like him, too. He’d virtually given up trying to have some semblance of a private life, smiling politely whenever he was photographed in public and tiredly soothing fans who would break out into tears whenever they passed him on the street.

“‘Samu?” You poked your head past his door, scanning for his phone to see if he was still live. When the light bounced off the phone screen on his bed, you stepped further inside, this time revealing a tray of food, chamomile tea—Osamu could smell it—and his migraine medicine. “I brought you dinner—well, a late dinner, but I know you didn’t eat before you came home—”

Except you. A particularly bright spot in his life, the only one if he was to be honest; a reminder of what he came home to every day when his ‘idol’ facade was over until the next day. He sat up and mused his hair into something resembling the style he usually wore, although judging by the little giggle you tried to hide he had probably failed in that aspect.

You set down the tray on his desk, reaching over and smoothing down the pieces that stuck up like duck feathers in the back of his head. He leaned forward and pressed his nose into your collarbone, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. He sighed, all of the tension and anxiety deflating from him like a balloon, and smiled his first genuine smile of the day when you tipped his head back to look at his face.

“Aw, ‘Samu,” you tutted, swiping your thumbs underneath his eyes. “You look so tired nowadays; is Atsumu bothering you again? You know I can set him right, if you want me to.”

Osamu grimaced at the thought of you ‘setting his brother right’. The last time it had happened he had been sitting between the both of you while you yanked on Atsumu’s ear and hair with all of your might, screeching your fury—and Osamu’s irritation—at his brother. Naturally, it had gotten through his twin’s thick skull, but only for a few weeks before he was back at it again, shoving media attention at him worse than before. Those weeks had been the best days of Osamu’s life; even his management had commented on it, saying he looked more livelier when he was performing.

“No,” he sighed. You drummed your fingers against his brow bone, waiting for him to elaborate, and hummed softly to yourself while you did. “Not really. It’s more… Comparing me to him again, I guess.”

You clucked your tongue thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s your fans that I need to set straight then, hmm?”

You were no idol. It was different for actresses, at least for now; you could be as rude or curt to your fans about their behavior if you wanted, whereas he had to be kind, docile, polite—all of which Osamu was decidedly not in normal company. He was as snarky and droll as Atsumu was normally, but that contradicted their identity as ‘twins’; management couldn’t have two of the same person, even if they were different in their own ways. Their consumers wouldn’t see it that way.

Keeping your relationship—while serious—secret had been the worst part of it all. He hated that he couldn’t go out with you in public or take you to his favorite spots without gathering some rather nasty attention. Once had been enough; the scandal had rocketed through the tabloids until he’d said it was just a business transaction for his new video. Which had been true: you had starred in his music video. But the look of quiet hurt as you read all of the comments on the article had hit him hard.

“No,” he laughed quietly, pulling away and reaching for the bowl of broth and salmon. Another con: his diet. “Did you cook this?”

“Mhm. It’s pretty plain,” you began, side-eyeing him while picking at the clutter on his desk and straightening up a stack of books near the corner,”but I read your diet planner and that was really all I could come up with.”

“It’s good,” he reassured you, taking another healthy sip from his spoon. It wasn’t as strong as what he would cook, but it was the thought that counted, and he appreciated it. “I’m thinking about quitting, honestly.”

“What?” You hummed. You cracked open a book, saw it was a gift from Atsumu (his taste in literature was infamous) and shut it quickly with a frown. “Your diet?”

“Being an idol.”

You didn’t react like he had thought—there wasn’t any anger or disbelief. Instead, relief made your shoulders sag. “Oh, thank god, you’re finally getting out of that shithole. Oh, ‘Samu, you don’t know how agonizing it’s been watching you deteriorate into some carbon copy of—”

“You aren’t mad?” He blurted, wondering how you would act if it had been Atsumu who had said that—how you would act if it was Atsumu who was your boyfriend, not him.

“Are you serious?” The disbelief crept in, then, but not in the way he imagined. You rolled your eyes when he stayed quiet and cupped his face in your hands, pressing a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose. “No, you silly boy, I’m not mad. I’m happy you’re considering it. You seem so miserable doing those lives and fan meets—I’m not dumb. You hate being an idol. You even told me as much. Not in so many words, but I can pick up some clues, too, you know.”

Osamu blinked up at you, almost stupidly. “So… You’re okay with—?”

“Of course I am.” You smiled then, pushing all of his hair away from his forehead with a laugh. “Who do you think I am, Atsumu?”

Almost immediately his mood soured. Atsumu. The reason he had even become an idol in the first place; what would he say? What would he think of this? He would hate him. He’d be pissed, too—

“Hey,” you chided, tapping his cheek to get his attention. “You went and left again, ‘Samu. What are you thinking about?”

His silence told you all you needed to know.

“Alright. Here.” You snatched his phone up from the bed and unlocked it, typed a quick text, and held it out to him. “There. Done. Atsumu knows now. It isn’t his business what you do now.”

Osamu stared at the screen for a moment, then sighed and buried his face in your chest. “Thank you, [Name].”

“No problem, honey.” You ran a soothing hand down the back of his neck, ignoring the ping of a single text from Atsumu that you knew he was reading behind your back. “Come on, let’s watch Bambi while you eat. I’ve had a stroke of nostalgia lately while you’ve been busy.”

He put his phone face down on the desk, picking up his bowl and tea and toddling after you to the living room. “Alright, lead the way.”

The phone screen remained lit, reflecting a single, honest, ‘Finally’ on the wooden surface.

requests: open.

#haikyuucafe #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyū!!#miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #miya atsumu #idol au

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weelittleweasley · 3 years

Text

Amnesia (p1) | Draco x Reader

Prompt: The Battle of Hogwarts was one that was hard on everyone mentally and physically. During the war, you took a brutal fall, hitting your head, which caused you to lose your memory, amnesia if you will. You forget a solid chunk of your life, specifically your last few years at Hogwarts and the relationships you made with certain people, including your romantic relationship with Draco Malfoy. What happens in Part One of this multipart series?

Warnings: language, violence, blood, memory loss, death, mentions of PTSD, anxiety

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: This story is not about romanticizing mental health issues. These are serious conditions and this story is not meant to romanticize or fantasize these topics. It’s used as a vessel to convey a different story. That being said, please take care of yourself and sending everyone lots of love. Enjoy part one :)

Flashbacks told in italics!

War, chaos, violence, and then silence. Peace. The rubble had fallen, the chains had been broken, and the dust had settled. But things weren’t over. No, quite the opposite. This was just the beginning of it all.

Hogwarts, as you knew it, was falling to the ground. Everywhere you looked around you saw stones falling, students running, flashes of light and fire, the echoes of screams, yet the only thing on your mind was finding him. Finding the blonde boy who you loved so much your bones shook and you heart ached. You ran through the halls, dodging falling stones and avoiding spells, curses, and hexes from wands. Your breath was uneven as you ran down the stairs, screaming at the top of your lungs, your throat burning, “Draco!”

As you ran down the hall, your body collided with that of your closest friend. “(Y/N), you have to run, get out of here, Draco is gone, there’s no use searching for him,” Ron grabs your face in his hands, desperately trying to shake some sense into you. He searched your eyes for any sense of hope; he needed it now more than ever. His face was covered in dried blood and fresh blood, his hands covered in dirt and his eyes full of panic. He needed you to survive this war, if it was the last thing he could do. “Listen to me,” he shakes you as you let a sob escape your lips. “Draco is gone. Okay? He left.”

You shake your head ferociously. “He wouldn’t do that, he’s here. He’s waiting for me. He told me he would wait for me and he’d see me at the end of this,” you yell at Ron, your ribs aching and knees weak. You’d recall when Draco furiously kissed your lips hours before this all dissolved into madness, telling you to stay where you were and he’d come back for you. Draco promised that you both would run away from this and go somewhere you couldn’t be found. Away from his father, away from the Dark Lord, away from magic, away from it all. He wanted to escape just as badly, if not more than you. “I need to find him,” you pushed Ron off with all the might you could muster in your frail body. “Draco!” you scream again, your voice cracking, too weak to echo anymore.

Ron grabs you by the waist now, pulling you away as you kick and scream in his grip, demanding he let you go. “I’m not letting you get killed!” Ron yelled. “I already lost Fred and I’m not losing you too!” he screams, his voice cracking with anger and fear. “Hermione, help!” Ron calls to Hermione who grabs your fists that pound on Ron’s chest.

“Let me go!” you sob, breaking down under the grip of your two close friends, completely losing yourself to your emotions. “I need to find Draco,” you manage to speak in between sobs, choking on your own tears and cries. “He could be dead for all I know! Please let me find him,” you grab onto the collar of Ron’s shirt, begging him, staring into his eyes as tears pour out of yours. “I need to find him. He could be out there, looking for me, calling for me. I need him, Ron, let me go, let me go find him!”

Hermione wraps you in her arms, trying to get you to stop crying as they pull you behind a wall. She whispers in your ear that you needed to protect yourself. You couldn’t worry about Draco anymore. He was a lost cause. But how could you forget about him? This was the man you loved so violently that you would die before you let anything bad happen to him. He was your one and only and you knew that the day he kissed you for the first time. “You need to stay here. Right here. You understand me? This is a matter of your life and death, do you understand?” Hermione scolds you. “Under no circumstances do you run for anyone. You run for your life if someone tries to kill you. You fight back. But under no circumstances do you do anything else, do you understand me?” she yells at you, needing you to understand that you needed to survive this.

With a shaky breath, you nod. Hermione looks at Ron before Hermione runs back to the chaos, flicking her wand, sending beams at Death Eaters, protecting the students. Ron looks at you, tears still in his eyes as you hold back your sobs. Ron engulfs you in a large hug before pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. “I need you to live. Please,” he begs you, clinging onto every last bit of hope he has. “I’ll find you at the end of this and we’ll be okay.” You shake your head, giving him a tight hug again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you tell him before he joins Hermione, running off protecting her and fellow students.

So there you stood behind the concrete wall, looking around as others fought and got struck. People were getting killed all around you and you were being suffocated by the sight. Why were you just standing here not fighting back? Deliberately disobeying Ron and Hermione’s orders, you run from the wall, flicking your wand swiftly, pushing back Death Eaters, defending yourself and other students. You stood proudly beside your fellow classmates, slashing your wands, casting spells and fighting the good fight.

As you fight alongside your classmates, you turn your head, keeping a 360 on the area. But that’s when you see him. His blonde hair covered in dirt, his concerned face looking behind him as his mother and father guide him away from the scene, across the bridge. From a distance, you see him look in your direction as your heart sinks. He was leaving without you.

“Draco,” you whisper, forgetting about everything in the world and focusing on him. “Draco!” you scream with every last fiber in your body. You launch yourself into a run down the stairs and towards the bridge. You push people out of your way in a beeline for your love, hoping that he’ll stop for you, but he doesn’t. His parents keep an iron grip on him, pulling him along the bridge. Draco turns around, seeing you run as he tries to writhe out of his mother’s grip. His face is full of concern, but he can’t escape. His father puts his body in front of Draco’s as Draco screams out in pain and fury. “Draco!” you yell.

Your feet carry you as fast as possible as you run toward the bridge, trying to get to him as quickly as possible before it was too late. Draco claws at his father, trying to get past him. As you run you feel your breath becoming short and your lungs burn, but you ignore the sensation and push. You need to get to him. He needed to get to you. You needed to save each other.

But that all came to a screeching halt when you name being yelled out in horror by Draco. “(Y/N), watch out!” someone screams a blood curdling scream as you look up to see a large rock come crashing down.

And that’s when it went white. Your hearing gave out. You went numb. There was silence. Deafening. Palpable. The silence screamed for a million years and then a million more.

But then there was a roar. Your ears rung and yelled. Your brain thumped against your skull, your lungs burned like you swallowed ash, and your mouth tasted of metal and dirt. You repeated told yourself to open your eyes, but you couldn’t. You tried again and again, but nothing. All you could sense was ringing in your ears and muffled voices. Who was it? Who was talking? You couldn’t understand anyone or what they were saying. It all sounded like a different language. What happened?

Even though your brain was running at a thousand miles an hour, you crashed. Your senses gave out and the silence was back. Deafening. Palpable. The silence screamed again for another million years.

But this time there was a roar and your eyes shot wide open. You sucked in a large breath like you couldn’t breathe before. Your lungs swelled with oxygen, but hurt when you took deep breaths. It took you a second before you felt the rupture of pain that carried from the back of your head to the front. You sucked in a sharp breath, placing a hand where it hurt the most.

As you looked down, you noticed the white sheets covering your body and the small hospital bed you lied down in. Thin hospital robe on your body and on your arm stuck out multiple IVs and monitors. You heard your heart rate monitor picks up speed as your anxiety grew with every passing second. What happened to you? Why were you in the hospital? Who brought you here?

When you try to remember what happened to you, you can’t recall a single thing. You can’t even pinpoint what your last memory was, they all just mesh together. Before you can think about what is going on, the door opens up and a Healer’s assistant walks in. “You’re up,” she smiles. “Hello, (Y/N). How are you feeling?” she has a bright grin and calming eyes. This puts you at ease.

“My head hurts,” you respond.

She gives you a knowing smile. “I’m sure it does. You got severely concussed a few days ago,” she grabs a clipboard from the side table and starts scribbling down notes and checking your vitals.

Your eyes go wide, “A few days ago?” you speak bewildered.

The Healer’s assistant takes your temperature with a muggle thermometer before handing you a glass of water. “Yes, a few days ago,” she confirms. “You were in and out of consciousness a few times before you woke up today. Just to put your mind at ease, you have a few broken ribs, that’s why it may be a little hard to breathe and a sprained wrist. We administered you a healing potion, so you should be fully recovered in a few days, but you should still monitor yourself. Your brain, however, is still bruised.” She places down the clipboard and walks back to the door. “Let me tell the Healer that you’re awake. In the meantime, I think there are some people who want to see you.”

You sit up in bed and patiently wait for your visitors. The door swings open and in floods your mother and father. “Mum, Dad,” you smile as they both have tears in their eyes when they see you. They hurry to your side, crying into your hospital gown, kissing your face, thanking Merlin that you were alright. You hold onto them tight, afraid to let them go, as you let a few happy tears fall from your eyes.

“We thought you were dead,” your mother looks at you as you wipe her tears away, holding onto her and your dad’s hands. “Thank Merlin they got you to the hospital as fast as they could. Madam Pomfrey had taken good care of you before they brought you here,” she tells you. “I can’t believe you are alright.”

You spent a few hours with your parents, the Healer coming in a few times, speaking about how you had to take it easy and how you are lucky to be alive. Your father and mother, however, were acting a little strange whenever they spoke to the Healer. One would get up and speak to him in hushed tones as the other distracted you with conversation, but you couldn’t help but be curious as to what they were leaving you out of. What was going on?

“Mum?” you ask her as your dad whispers to the Healer. “What are they taking about?” you question. She just brushed it off and says he just wants to know how quickly your recovery would be. You knew she was lying, but rather than implore for answers, you let it be. You were tired.

A few more hours past when the Healer’s assistant from earlier came back in. “Hi, (Y/N), visitor hours are almost done, but you have a few more people who came in to see you,” she tells you as you furrow your brows. She motions her hand to let the visitors in.

When the visitor’s step in it takes you a second to register who they were. Your brain was trying to put names to their faces. You knew that you knew them. You felt your excitement grow when you saw them. You could tell that you had a deep connection to them because when they saw you, both of them started sobbing tears of joy. The girl with fluffy brown hair covered her mouth to conceal her sobs, but a large smile was on her face. Beside her the ginger boy stood, taller in stature but tears running down his face as he silently cried when he saw you. “You’re alright,” he whispers.

Your parents give you and these visitors some privacy, leaving the room so it’s just you three. You stay silent, but a smile is on your face. What are your names? The boy slowly approaches your bedside, sitting next to you, and gently grabbing your hand. He squeezes it and brings another hand to brush the hair out of your eyes. His touch was loving and delicate, handling you with the utmost care. That’s when it hit.

“Ron fucking Weasley,” you laugh as he joins in, pressing his forehead against yours. Ron laughs and cries against you as you cup his cheek gently. It felt like forever since you saw him. You give his hand a squeeze before pulling away and looking at the girl. “Thought I forgot about you, Granger? Get in here,” you speak as she laughs and joins the small group hug, still making sure not to hurt you. The three of you sit and cry and laugh for what feels like hours. “Where have you all been?” you ask with a smile.

Hermione laughs, “Well, for starters, you’ve been out for four days since your injury.” She rubs your arm. “We’ve all been really worried about you. Harry, too, but he’s also in recovery right now. You’ll see him as soon as you’re discharged from the hospital.”

You nod, the image of Harry Potter popping up at the mention of his name, significant memories flooding back into your brain of him. You think of year four when you had a crush on him briefly during the Triwizard Tournament and you smile at the memory. You also remember Ron teasing you about it after that crush died out, Harry laughing along with you both. Then a question pops up in your mind. “You guys,” you start. “How did I get injured? The Healer told me it’s mostly a head injury, but I don’t remember it. Did you see it happen?”

Ron and Hermione uncomfortably shift in their seats as Hermione shakes her head to Ron, letting him explain what happened. “During the battle, you were running for Draco when a piece of rubble came crashing down and hit you in the head,” Ron explains gently and slowly, making sure not to disturb any trauma that could be sprung up from the horrific scene. Ron recalls watching it unfold and the wind being knocked out of him as it happened. Ron remembers running to your side, screaming for someone to help pick you up and get you to Madam Pomfrey. Ron shakes the memory away and breathes in deeply. Recalling the day was too emotional for him and it happened to recently for him to relive it. He was careful with his words, stroking your hand as he explained what happened.

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Wait, hold on,” you laugh. “Battle? Is that like a new name for a quidditch match or something? I know that I play quite aggressive during games, but I didn’t think it was going to hospitalize me.” As you attempt to crack a joke, Hermione and Ron’s eyes go wide before they look at each other in fear. It was worse than they had thought. “What?” you asked, the concern raising in your voice. “What are you hiding from me?”

Hermione gulps, “Do you not remember the war?” The scoots closer to your bed, seeing if you were playing a joke on them, but you were deadly serious.

“War?” you repeat. “About what? Is He back?” you question, wondering if the Dark Lord was back. You remember Cedric Diggory’s death like it was yesterday, Harry yelling on the field over his dead body that the Dark Lord had returned. Hermione and Ron stutter, trying to find the words. “What’s going on? Are you guys playing a sick joke on me?” you start to frantically ask. “Did Fred and George put you up to this?” At the mention of Fred’s name, Ron instantly tenses and his breath hitches in his throat. Hermione rubs his back, comforting him, holding him close to her as if something happened to Fred. What was going on? Confusion darted through your brain. “I need to go take a breather for a second,” Ron sighs, rising from his chair. “I’m glad you’re awake, (Y/N).” Ron kisses your forehead before walking to the other side of your hospital room, opening the window for some fresh air.

Hermione looks back at you and grabs a hold of both of your hands. “(Y/N), I need you to be completely honest with me like I am being with you right now. What do you remember from Hogwarts? List out the last few things you remember. I need to know,” she pleads, looking deep into your eyes searching.

Your breath picks up as your lungs fill with oxygen, burning from the rapid movement. Your heart rate sky rockets and the back of your head starts to tingle in pain again like it did when you first woke up. Trying to recall your memories, your brain feels like it’s being squeezed. Not much comes up. “I don’t know, ‘Mione,” you tell her. “I remember Cedric’s death, I remember going home for the summer that year, I remember coming back to school and Harry being on edge because no one believed him about the Dark Lord, I remember that twat Umbridge,” you tell her, “but after that the rest is a blur...” Hermione looks at Ron who’s eyes are wide in disbelief. It was much worse than they thought. “What in the bloody hell is this war you’re talking about?”

Ron looks to Hermione and then looks to you and says, “(Y/N), what year of Hogwarts are we in?”

You take a second to think. If your memory and your timeline serves you right, you were in year five. “Year five...it’s 1995...why?” you respond. Wasn’t it obvious?

“Bloody hell, this isn’t good,” Ron runs his hands through his hair. Your eyes widen and your heart rate picks up, lungs burning from the rapid inhalations you were breathing in and out. Your head was pounding now. What was happening? Were you wrong? You were sixteen, right? How could you be mistaken? Ron paces back and forth as Hermione remains deadly still. Did your parents not tell you?

The more you think, the more your head hurts. “Wait a second,” you stop the small chatter between Ron and Hermione. “You said I hurt my head because I was running to Draco Malfoy?” you ask as your close friends shake their heads. “Why? I’ve had a total of four conversations with him. Why would I be running after him?”

And that’s when the severity of the situation hit Granger and Weasley. “Go get the Healer,” Hermione commands Ron as he dashes out of the room. “You are being honest with us, right?” she asks as you rapid shake your head. Why would I be lying? “(Y/N), you cannot freak out about this, okay?” she looks at your heart monitor as it beeps quickly, picking up the pace with every passing second. “Okay,” she breathes out. “Listen to me,” she grabs your hands, squeezing them. As she does so, Ron enters back in with the Healer from before. They observe what Hermione does. “(Y/N), you are eighteen. Hogwarts had a battle against Voldemort where many people died and sacrificed themselves for the greater good. That’s where you got injured. You were running to Draco to find him because he-”

“Hold on,” the Healer stops Hermione. “Don’t overflow her with information, she can have an aneurysm from the anxiety and overstimulation.” Hermione rises from her chair as the Healer replaces her seat. “(Y/N), I need you to look at me and breathe. Try to relax yourself.”

At this point you are hyperventilating. “What is going on? Did I miss two years of my life? How long was I asleep for? What war happened? Is this what you and my parents were talking about before? Are you all lying to me?” you start to panic. You look around, needing to get out, out of this room, out of this gown, out of your own head. You felt like you were being tortured from the inside out. “Get these fucking tubes out of me,” you claw your arm as the Healer grabs your hands in attempt to cease your manic movements.

“I need you to listen to me, I will give you the answers you want, (Y/N), okay?” he attempts to reason with you as you try to wiggle out of his grip. “I will tell you what you want to know. Hermione and Ron will be with you the whole time. None of us are lying to you, okay? You just need to trust us,” the Healer speaks slowly as not to rile you up.

Slowly, you let your breathing even out as you lay back in bed, looking at Ron and Hermione. You give them scared looks as Ron grabs your hands, giving them a squeeze, Hermione sitting herself next to you on the bed. “Okay.”

The Healer takes a deep breath in and starts. “You are eighteen, recently graduated from Hogwarts. Hogwarts went through the second wizarding war, which you fought in very bravely. In the midst of it, you saw someone you loved and you ran over to him and got a nasty head injury. The head injury has caused you to have something called temporary amnesia or memory loss. That being said, you can’t remember the past two years of your life,” he tells you.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. You don’t know what to say or do. You just sit in shock as your mouth goes dry. You feel like you’re going to vomit, pass out, scream, cry, or all of the above. How could this just happen to you? You just forgot everything that happened over the past two years? So much could have happened and yet you couldn’t recall an ounce of it. You only remembered up to year five and then your brain just shut you out. Your body was working against you. “What?” you ask breathlessly, tears starting to pool in your eyes as the Healer gives you the sorriest look you have ever seen. “I-I-I don’t understand how can my brain just forget?”

“I’m so sorry you are going through this,” the Healer tells you as you look to Ron and Hermione who are starting to cry now. This couldn’t be happening. “But that being said, this amnesia is temporary. It will wear off, but we don’t know when. It can just come back one day and that can be scary, I know. But you have great resources and friends and family and a boyfriend who will help you navigate through this. I will give you a minute to talk to your friends,” the Healer squeezes your arm before leaving the room.

As the door closes behind him, you erupt into sobs. Hermione cradles you in her chest as violent sobs rippled through your body, causing pain to shoot through every fiber in your body, but you didn’t care. Your brain didn’t work like it should and that was a horrifying thought. Why you? Why you of all people? Why was this happening? Who did this to you? How could this happen? Who let it happen? Too many questions danced in your head that you were unable to answer.

Ron pulls your head up to look at him. “We’re going to get through this,” he tells you. “You have me, you have Hermione, you have Harry, you have your parents, you have our friends,” he smiles at you.

“What did the Healer mean when he said I have a boyfriend? Who? Why can’t I remember him?” you speak through sniffles. You had a feeling that your boyfriend was a certain someone, but the thought of him being your romantic interest made your stomach churn.

Your two friends gulp, trying to figure out how to navigate this situation. “You know how I said you ran over to Draco Malfoy when you got hit?” Hermione says. “It’s him. Draco Malfoy is your boyfriend.”

That’s when you think your heart is going to fall out of your stomach. You could only pinpoint a few memories of him throughout what you can remember. You remember Draco being cruel and mean to you and your friends. He called Hermione a mudblood, he teased Ron relentlessly, he always had a bone to pick with Harry, and he made fun of you until you cried multiple times. How could you love someone like him?

Almost as if one cue, the Healer’s assistant came back in and said, “(Y/N), visitor’s hours are over in twenty minutes, but there is someone in the waiting room for you. He insists that he knows you and he’s your boyfriend. The name is Draco Malfoy.”

Everyone and the air freezes. He was here. He came to see you. He didn’t forget about you, but you certainly did with him. Although he was one of the last people you wanted to see right now, there was a feeling in the pit of your stomach that told you to let him in. He may have the answers you need. Ron and Hermione insist that she turns him away, but you halt their demands, you saying, “Bring him in. I want to see him.”

She nods and leaves the room as Ron and Hermione just look at you shocked, knowing that this is not going to end well for anyone. “Why did-”

“Because I want to know if he has answers,” you simply state, eyes not moving from the door. If Draco really was your boyfriend, then he should know you better than yourself. Maybe Draco could bring back your memory. Maybe he could help you recover quicker. Then his nightmare would be over.

The door swings open and there he stood, in all black, hair disheveled, a worried look on his face. Draco looked sick. He was pale and looked thin, almost sickly. When his eyes meet yours, tears fill his eyes and a soft smile appears on his face. “Darling,” he breathes out as he steps closer to you. Ron and Hermione instinctively stand up to protect you as he looks over to them, at first angry, but then he sees the looks on their faces and that’s when his fear worsens. He understands with just a look. The situation was worse than he had thought. He thought you would wake up and you would pick up from where you left off. He had explaining to do, but he was ready to work it through with you. But this situation was one he was not prepared for. Draco looks back at you and says, “You...don’t...”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry, Draco, but I don’t know you like you think I do.”

In that moment, all of Draco’s memories of you flooded his mind. The first time he remembered thinking that he liked you. You were in the room of requirement when Umbridge busted Potter and you had a horrified, yet angry look on your face. As you left the room, you pushed Draco out of the way, looking at him with a disgusted face.

“You’re despicable, Malfoy,” you spit at him.

Draco let a smirk appear on his face as he bit his lip. “If you want me that badly, (Y/L/N), you should just come to my room tonight,” he spoke, eyes raking you up and down, knowing it would annoy you.

You rolled your eyes before stomping on his foot, him wincing in pain as the boys around him laughed. “If you want to get slapped next time, you should have just asked,” you mimic him. “You’re deplorable.”

Although the memory was not a happy one, Draco was fond of it because he knew you were hard to get and Draco lived for the chase. He knew you could hold your own and not depend on him for everything; you were independent and he found that irresistible. It wasn’t long after that that he had asked you on a date, starting a rollercoaster of relationship. You were there for him in his darkest times, in the hours where he felt himself slipping away, but you were always there to pull him back out and show him the light to which he was forever indebted to you.

Draco knew that he had no greater love than the love he had found with you and if he had to fight like hell for it, then he would, the rest of the world be damned.

So there he was, standing in front of you in a hospital bed, the sight already making him sick to his stomach. He looked over to Ron and Hermione as if to ask them to give him some alone time with you. Your two friends looked back at you, to which you nodded, them giving your hands a squeeze before leaving the hospital room.

Now you were alone, staring at the boy in front of you who you were supposed to know everything about and him to you. But instead, your mind drew blank. You couldn’t remember anything about him besides what you had known up to year five. You got no feeling of excitement when you saw him in comparison to the reaction you had when you saw Ron and Hermione. You didn’t feel like you had a connection with him. You just felt numb. Tingling from exhaustion and burning with pain in your head and lungs. So badly you wanted to close your eyes and go to sleep, hoping that this was a sick dream and when you woke up things would be okay.

“You remember nothing?” he asks, blue eyes like the ocean brimming with tears that threatened to pool over, but disappeared when he took a deep breath in, his attempt to remain strong in front of you.

“I remember up to year five,” you correct him. “I don’t remember any of our relationship,” you confess.

This makes Draco’s heart plummet into his stomach, but he tries to not show it on his face. He slowly tries to approach your bed and reach for your hand, hoping that his touch would make you remember something, anything. But when he extends his hand out to touch you, you pull away, looking at him way too confused and scared to touch him back. You barely know who he was, why would you want to touch him? As if this whole situation couldn’t get any worse. He had run away from his mother after his father was taken to Azkaban, in hopes to find you and fulfill the dreams that you two had of running away from this place and magic to start a new life together. A clean slate. But his dreams came crashing down from around him. Now Draco had to pick up the pieces and build everything back up exactly as it was. Or else he didn’t know what he’d do. Draco had poured everything into this relationship of yours just for it all to be thrown away due to a nasty head injury. This had to be a sick joke crafted by his father in some way shape or form. But he wished it was that simple.

Draco shakes his head, “Right.”

You look at the deeply broken boy in front of you and you feel sorry for him. Even though you cannot remember anything about your romantic history, your heart aches for him. This must be difficult to go through. Someone you love not know who you are. What kind of sick torture. “I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I wish I could remember.”

He offers you a sad smile, “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” You just nod your head as the two of you stay in this silence for a moment. “It’ll come back, right? Your memories?”

Nodding gently, you speak, “That’s what the Healer said.”

Draco sits in that moment, knowing that there was hope for you and your relationship. But it was just a matter of if he was willing to fight for it.

To be continued

#draco #draco imagine #draco malfoy #draco x female reader #draco x you #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy fanficiton #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x y/n #hp #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagine

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aressss1 · 3 years

Text

Through Fire and Ice

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 1

Next Chapter

~~~~~~

They had caused this… An ice age the likes no one had ever seen before. A world thrown out of whack… The party of four, Philza, Technoblade, Tommy, and Tubbo had slain the dragon in the end realm. The final blow dealt to the neck of the dragon; had brought on a chill they had never felt before. Though they didn’t truly recognize what had happened until they got back to the overworld. Tommy and Tubbo had jumped through the portal first. Technoblade had stayed back looking toward his friend Phil.

Every breath they took could be seen due to the cold, but Phil was not bothered too much by it. He had read many scriptures leading up to this moment. As he excitedly looked out into the void, his hands on his hips. The pink haired man walked to Phil’s side. Phil’s eyes shined as he looked over at Techno, a smile gracing his lips.

“Hey mate.” Phil greeted Technoblade, “We did it!” Philza beamed putting his hand out as if to grasp onto something that just wasn’t there. “Do you know what lies just beyond that void?” Techno cocked his head to the side.

“Uuuuuuhhhh” Techno said in a monotone voice, thinking but nothing came to him. “I have absolutely no clue.” Techno shrugged his shoulders crossing his arms, hoping that would help warm him up somehow.

“There are cities out there, Techno,” Philza mused, “Filled with exceedingly rare items, just ripe for the taking!”

“Heh?” Techno looked through the pig skull he wore as a mask, at Phil bewildered looking out into the void. There was nothing but an inky blackness, the thought of it made his head spin. “Who do you think made those cities? Are they still there? Do you think they’ll let us just run off with their items?” Philza just shook his head.

“The scriptures read, that these cities are abandoned, I’m almost certain of it.” Philza pulled out a scroll from his robes, unraveling it to read it. “They do have some very… interesting defenses, so do be careful.” Phil added after a moment of reading.

“Uh huh…” Techno looked over the edge slightly leaning over it kicking a rock with his shoe into the void. “There’s just one flaw to your plan…” Techno looked back to Phil, “How do you plan to get over there?” Phil donned a playful smirk, handing Techno building materials.

“How ‘bout a race old friend?” Phil had challenged, watching the smile widen on Techno’s face.

“Perhaps…” Techno was already getting into position to start the race and they once they both were ready, they started building out toward the void, starting their search for the valuables the scriptures had promised them.

In the overworld, Tommy and Tubbo were chattering talking about how cool that fight with the dragon was. Tommy was boasting about how cool he was.

“I am massive Tubbo, that dragon has never seen the likes of me before!” Tommy proclaimed jerked a thumb toward his chest. Tubbo gave a confused look tilting his head, his hand coming up in a questioning gesture.

“Didn’t Techno have to help get a hoard of endermen off of you?” Tubbo innocently inquired, causing Tommy to bust up in nervous laughter.

“Listen- Tub-Tubbo,” Tommy feigned his confidence, “It’s all a part of the plan!” Tommy gave a wide smile to his best friend, “I had to help get them off Philza, Big Man.” Tubbo still looked confused as they walked up the stairs to exit the stronghold.

“Mmmm, but weren’t you screaming for both Phil and Techno to help you?” Tubbo asked, and he was immediately hushed by tommy.

“Listen, that was just me stroking Technoblades ego, it’s very fragile you know!” Tommy declared and he finally had a sigh of relief when Tubbo shrugged and didn’t press further on the subject. “You were great too big man!” Tommy nudged Tubbo in the arm. “It wasn’t easy breaking those crystals.” Tubbo nodded in response but started rubbing down his arms trying to get warm, his breath coming out in puffs of steam.

“Aren’t we in a desert?” Tubbo asked his teeth started to chatter. As they got closer to the surface, the colder it got. Tommy rubbed his hands together trying to use his breath to warm up his fingers. Tommy nodded, just as confused as Tubbo.

When they had reached the entrance of the stronghold and they were at the surface and their eyes widened at the snowy sight before them.

“Snow!” Tubbo squealed out happily, there wasn’t too much snow sticking to the sandy ground, but they could definitely start to catch the snowflakes on their tongues. The two boys ran forward laughing and playing in the ever-growing winter wonderland.

You found yourself sitting below a tree reading your book in the shade, it was a normal day. The day was warm, and you found yourself enjoying the occasional breeze that would roll through. You often came to this spot to read whatever book took your fancy, sighing contentedly you let your fingers stroke over the pages of the book. Opening the book to where your bookmark was, you started reading.

The rustle of the leaves in the tree calmed you as the branches swayed with the wind. You could even hear distant clucking from a nearby chicken. Stretching out in the shade of your tree, your eyes scanned over the words of your book. There was no other place you would rather be right now.

You had lost track of time, and the thing that was able to knock you out of your trance was a sound… You didn’t know how to describe it, but the sound came from a distant land it seemed. It was… discomforting. Something was happening and you didn’t know exactly what. Looking around everything seemed normal. You were in the forest, with no one around. It sounded extremely far off… But you didn’t know if it was a good sound or not. Nothing else happened after that so you shrug it off.

Before too long, you had forgotten about the sound, putting your nose right back into that book again. But this time around twenty minutes later, you had gotten cold, and that was what tore you away from the book. Looking around once more you were able to catch the first few snowflakes to fall to the ground. Unbeknownst to you a thick fog had rolled in around you as well.

“Wha-?” You whispered to yourself quietly. You slowly got up feeling your bones give off a crack sound from the movement. Stretching you put your book in your book bag and left in the direction of your home. You were a little annoyed being that you were almost done with your book, but it was time that you got a move on with your day at this point. You had to get home and get a fire started in your cottage so that you wouldn’t be cold.

It was weird how fast the chill had crept up on the day in summer, and you had a worrying thought about the sound that you heard from the distance. Maybe the two had correlated… But you couldn’t be too sure, you had never heard that noise before.

The fog rolled in heavily as minutes passed by and you couldn’t see a foot past your face. This was worrying… One wrong turn and you would be heading the opposite direction from your house. That thought terrified you. Considering the closest village was miles away from you, and that was if you were heading in the right direction. You hadn’t scouted the other directions yet. You were still new to the area…

Feeling a twinge of annoyance at your now runny nose, you stopped and looked around hoping there was something that you could identify. Nothing but the nearby trees caught your attention in the haze. The snowflakes seemingly got much larger in the passing minutes and they had no trouble sticking to the ground. You decided to just keep going. You had to keep moving so you wouldn’t freeze.

You had willed yourself to go just a bit more through what was becoming a fully-fledged snowstorm. Fingers and toes were starting to ache. Had you known that it was going to snow today, you wouldn’t have opted to wear summer clothing, the shorts and tank top were not helping in any case. One thing was for sure, you were going to find somewhere to get out of this snowstorm, be it your own cottage or someone else’s, you were going to get there.

Philza and Techno were back at the end portal their inventories filled to the brim with treasures. Winglike contraptions strapped to their backs, made it possible for them to fly, or at least glide through the air. This was the main item Philza had been looking for, and Techno was glad to be here for the expedition. Techno had even let out a high pitch gasp in delight when they had found a second, as Phil called it, Elytra for Techno.

“Aye mate,” Philza tapped Techno on the shoulder, “Ya think we should take the egg?” He pointed to the egg on top of the bedrock pillar.

“Does it count as an orphan?” Techno grinned amused as Phil busted up laughing.

“I suppose so,” Phil chuckled as he quickly built up to the egg, careful not to fall into the portal below.

“This is going to be the ultimate orphan trophy,” Techno mused as he watched Phil reach out to take the egg. But before Phil could get a finger on the egg… It was gone.

Phil let out a very confused and loud “What!?” before looking around for the egg further, it had teleported just few feet away, untouched. Techno laughed at Phil who climbed down from the pillar.

“You just got denied!” Techno taunted, wafting away some stray hair from his face. Phil puffed out a sigh and pulled out his scrolls to see if he had missed anything about the egg. Techno looked over the man’s shoulder. He couldn’t read anything on the scroll, that was Philza’s department… Even so… That wasn’t the language villagers usually spoke.

“Mmmm, seems like we can’t interact with it ourselves mate.” Philza’s hand covered his mouth in thought. “I have a plan,” Philza grabbed his bag and walked over to the egg. “Techno, dig out just enough for the egg to fall into the bag.”

“Alright.” Grabbing his pickaxe, he dug out just enough of the end stone for the egg to topple over safely into Philza’s bag.

“There we go!” Philza beamed holding the bag up. The top of the egg could barely be seen. He closed up the bag and strapped it over his shoulder. “Let’s get back to the boys, I’m tired of this chill in the air.”

“We gotta pack extra clothes when we come back for the other cities,” Techno mused pulling his blue cloak around him to help stave off the chill. Phil grunted in agreement and he made his way back to the portal. With one step into the portal, he was gone.

Techno lingered for a moment, his eyes searching the darkness. Had the dragon killed the inhabitants of the cities? Or… Was it something else? This realm was lonely, he wasn’t sure he wanted to come back here. The deafening silence was eerie. Shaking his head, he jumped through the portal. His eyes closed; he felt his stomach turn into knots. His body flew out of the other side of the portal and he orientated himself to land on his feet, though he kneeled when he felt his feet touch the floor to keep his balance.

“Everything good mate?” Phil asked extending his hand to Techno, who took it nodding his thanks. “Good.” Making sure they had everything, they opt to go up the stairs. At a certain point they could hear the boys outside playing and laughing.

“Am I missing something here? Why is it cold in the middle of the desert?” Techno asked with an edge to his voice. Something definitely wasn’t right. Phil shrugged looking on with an equally worried expression. The entrance they had dug had flurries of snow covering the first few steps.

“It’s the middle of summer at that…” Phil hurried his step, when the two men had gotten to the surface they were met with the sight of Tommy and Tubbo having a snowball fight. The boys peered over at them excitedly. They both ran up to Phil and Techno sizing up their new gear.

“So that’s what you’ve been up to,” Tommy pouted his eyes wandering over the elytras on Phil and Techno’s backs. “Why didn’t take us,” Tommy whined motioning to himself and Tubbo. “I want… Whatever that thing is.”

“Tommy, I hear you, but I really don’t think it’s the time for that,” Phil put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, as he looked around the snowy area. “We need to get back home.” Tommy scoffed but before he could retort Techno chimed in.

“We don’t want to hear it Tommy, something is going on and we need to figure out what.” Techno looked toward Phil. Ignoring Tommy muttering to himself about how it was unfair that they got all the cool loot, and he didn’t. “We need to talk to the others and make a plan of action if this storm doesn’t stop,” Phil nodded, “I’m going to get some supplies, take them home and call the others for a meetin’.” The plan was set, and everyone headed off on their journeys.

Techno was in a bit of a bind. He was stuck in fog, and there were strays shooting at him from all directions. He didn’t know where an arrow would come from next. Some even got close enough to hit him using melee. Their ability to slow their enemies was annoying but Techno made quick work of them for the most part. He knew he was on the right path to his cottage.

An agonized scream echoed out, making Techno’s head snap up, his heart dropped, and he trudged further. His steps taking their sweet time as he was still affected with slowness. He listened for anything but didn’t hear another noise other than the crunching snow under his feet, but he soon found red droplets in the snow. Someone out here was injured… Following the trail of blood, he eventually found a body in the snow.

You were riddled in arrows, breathing shallowly, lying face down in the snow. Unfastening his cloak, he wrapped you in the clothing and lifted your body with ease. You made some sounds of protest, which caused him to believe you were awake.

“Stay with me okay?” His deep voice called to you, causing your eyes to flutter open and meet his. You were having trouble keeping focus. Your eyes skimming over the mask he wore on his face. Fear courses through you. “You will be okay.” He reassures you; he can see your fear. He doesn’t blame you; it would be off-putting to be hurt, and to suddenly be carried by a man you didn’t know who was wearing a boar skull as a mask. You let out a little sigh, your body going limp in his arms.

Techno looked around, this had brought him off course, but he kept his compass on him, pointing to a lodestone he had in his house. Reading the compass, he trudges on, with you in his arms, still dodging arrows. It wasn’t too long of a walk before he suddenly had the cottage in his view, and he kicks the door open. Hurriedly he sets you down onto the floor next to the fireplace. Quickly lighting a fire, he searches his chests for any and all health potions.

He was going to have to pull all those arrows out of you, one by one. He wasn’t looking forward to it. He peeled the bloody cloak off your body, examining your wounds. He sighed in relief. Your wounds could be easily healed with his potions. He counted three arrows stuck in your legs in all directions and two in your back. Your skin was frostbitten, and your lips were blue.

Clipping the arrows shorter he made quick work, of the ones in your back. If they had hit any deeper, he would have been worried. Even so, your blood started to pool on his cloak that lie beneath you. Splashing a health potion on your back closed the wounds but they left definite scars. Now he was onto the arrows in your legs. He tended to the wounds in your legs just as he did with the ones in your back.

Looking down at his handy work, blood all over his hands, he pushed back thoughts, the voices that liked to plague his mind coming back for a split second. Hands shaking, he got up to wash his hands, only to find that the pipes had been frozen. With an irritated sigh he grabbed a bucket and started filling the cauldron above his fire with snow.

You were caked in blood and he wanted to have a bath ready for you when you woke up, he didn’t like seeing blood smeared on anyone, not even himself, as it just made the voices in his head stronger. He had tended to Tommy like this once upon a time when Tommy had overestimated himself and he fell from a cliff. Back then he didn’t have control over the voices like he did now. The memory made him shudder.

Sighing he searched his fridge; you both were going to be here for a while, and you were going to need to regain your strength. He had a good supply of potatoes, steak and carrots, that could keep the two of you going for a few days. To Techno, you didn’t seem like a fighter, so he wasn’t too worried you were going to stab him in the back but who knew, maybe he was wrong. If he was… Then he would be ready.

Either way, the both of you had time to get to know each other.

#technoblade x reader #technoblade/reader #c!techno x reader #techno fanfic #c!techno #angst #Through Fire and Ice #mcyt x reader

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kosmosguk · 4 years

Text

Fôret de Cauchemars (M)

Pairing: sleep psychiatrist kim namjoon x reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Plagued by nightmares of your boyfriend’s death, you turn to sleep psychiatrist Kim Namjoon for help. What you find in him is condolence in your isolated world, a ray of sunlight breaking through gaps of rotting leaves. What you find in him is a dream, a beautiful dream, until that dream shatters to reveal the true nightmare underneath. Sometimes, nightmares seamlessly blend into reality, and, unfortunately, waking up simply won’t make them go away anymore.

Warnings: Yandere themes, death, murder, mature themes (bondage, cunnilingus, unprotected sex), smut, violence, kidnapping, self-loathing, psychological disorders, manipulation, mentions of suicide, gore

A/N: Finally back with a fic in a...month? Sorry for the delay; the work load of classes this year has been a real bonk to the vibes, but hopefully testing out a oneshot fic will get me back in the writing energy. Happy fall, and maybe (just maybe) we’ll vibe it up with a new spooky series featuring our beloved yandere bangtan boys! Dedicated to Namjoon’s birthday (although it’s been weeks), and hopefully Jungkook’s birthday fic will be up next. Unfortunately, this means next release of Lineage might not be until October/early November, but I hope you guys stick around!

You didn’t quite know when the nightmares began.

They were unconscious little pricks of fear, the kind that crawled under your skin into your skull and left you with a cold sweat and rapid heartbeat. You always forgot them when you woke up, but their influence was engraved into your bones and etched in every sleep-deprived jolt of paranoia and every accusatory glance you threw to your empty surroundings. You felt eyes on you, even though the remnants of your fading rationality knew that there was nothing there.

Each night filled with the conflict of battling off your body’s desire to sleep left you even more exhausted and even more terrified of some nameless entity that your sleepless mind had conjured up.

The nightmares did not stop. They refused to stop; you knew you needed to solve it somehow. That brought you to the moment of now, in the present, across from a sleep psychiatrist in an office with an air condition system that blew cold gusts of air against the back of your neck and left bumps of goosebumps rising up on your skin.

You curled in on yourself, picking at the ends of your sleeves until the threads became loose, as the sound of rustling paper flipping between your sleep psychiatrist’s fingers filled up the gaps of your sleep-deprived mind. You tentatively threw a glance at the man across from you.

If you weren’t nearly irrational from the lack of sleep, you would’ve been able to truly appreciate how handsome the man was. He was the kind of handsome that artists drew portraits and sculpted of and poets waxed long pages of sonnets about. With smoky gray hair slicked back, eyes curved elegantly behind silver-rimmed glasses, and a sharp mouth set back in a firm expression, Dr. Kim was the type of beautiful that you found in every sharp edge of an icicle.

However, it was unnerving how familiar you felt with his beauty.

“(Y/n) (L/n), correct?’’

His voice, a baritone that encased the chilly office air, drew you back into your blurry reality. You heard a soft click as he turned on his stopwatch. The soft ticking noise reverberated in the still room, just a tinge louder than the blast of the air conditioning. You nodded your head mutely before reaching up to rub at your sore, burning eyes.

“Yes…,” you fought back a yawn, and your words slurred a bit as tears prickled your eyes,” Sorry…’m jus’ tired.”

His gaze, previously neutral, softened a bit more at your pitiful state.

“Though it is currently difficult right now, we’ll work through any psychological stressors that may be causing your nightmares. When did the nightmares begin?’’

You blinked owlishly at him—well, you were more like a raccoon than an owl with how severe your dark circles were, though that was a jab of humor your dwindling mind allowed you on only rare occasions—as you tried to register his words.

“Hmm,’’ you rolled your shoulders back, and a dull ache throbbed through your body as you stretched it,” I don’t…really remember. I don’t remember a lot of things now. Can’t even remember what I did yesterday… Maybe…a couple months ago? They weren’t…weren’t as bad as they are now, so I didn’t really pay attention to them.”

“Have you tried any over the counter sleep medications?’’

You scratched your neck.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Tried a few, but the nightmares didn’t seem to go away. Woke up…,” you shook yourself as if to demonstrate,” cold sweat and everything after a bit. Nightmares came right away, which is weird cause I don’t think I’m even asleep long enough to enter REM.”

“We’ll try a stronger prescription to see if it’ll help you sleep better. Has there been any troubling situations lately? Some time before the nightmares started, right when they started, or even ongoing ones?’’

You blinked again, your eyelids scraping against your dry eyes.

“Hmm…Someone, uh, passed away… My boyfriend? Maybe these nightmares are about losing him, but I dunno…can’t remember them.”

“Would you like to talk more about this?’’ Though his tone was more gentle, Dr. Kim had a look in his eyes that seemed even more chilling than the artificially generated wind against your skin.

You didn’t pay attention. It took you a lot more effort to pay attention to things nowadays and noticing tiny almost unnoticeable things was even more difficult.

“Yeah…It was tough that time. He disappeared, and they found his body. Said he killed himself, but, uh,’’ you tugged even harder on the loose threads, your eyes glued to them,’’ I didn’t even notice the signs…”

“Do you blame yourself for what happened?’’

You blinked once and then twice and then thrice. You could not look at Dr. Kim, but there was a strange shift in the air. Maybe it was a delusional mix of emotions and sleep deprivation. Maybe it was something more. You settled on the former.

The next words came out a bit more choked than you wanted them to. You thought you might’ve cried if you weren’t already so mentally and physically exhausted.

“Yeah…I was his girlfriend. Shoulda seen the signs, but I was busy, and we were drifting apart…,” you bitterly mumbled,” No excuse, though. I have no excuses…”

A silence settled between the two of you. You felt like you had just bored some piece that you had crammed in your soul so tight that it drifted into your thoughts like a second poison. You were so tired; you wanted to tuck yourself into the leather chair and fall asleep to avoid how vulnerable you felt. You noticed him level his steady gaze on you.

“No one can see the signs. People are good at hiding the worst things affecting them, even from those they care for deeply and who care for them deeply. You can’t continue to blame yourself for events in the past that cannot be changed and let that blame affect the you of the present and the future. (Y/n), the first way to conquer your nightmares is to forgive yourself.”

For the first time in the meeting, you raised your gaze to meet Dr. Kim’s gaze straight on. Your eyes, vulnerable and holding onto a devastatingly deep sorrow, were surprised to see that the look in Dr. Kim’s eyes was not as pulled together as his words were. But maybe, as you unconsciously tugged on another thread so hard that it yanked out of your sweater sleeve and drifted to your lap, that was just another one of your delusions.

Dr. Kim’s words resonated throughout your mind on your commute home. They bore a weight on your mind as you slowly shuffled throughout the rest of your day, and they rang even stronger as you laid in bed.

When you closed your eyes, you felt yourself drifting off into the land of unconsciousness. You were running in a forest, clumps of dead grass, rotting leaves, and mud staining the soles of your feet, and your breath gusted out in sharp white puffs of air. The dew of the forest left a sheen on your skin as the wind brushing against your body chilled you to the bone. Underneath the whistle of the wind, you could hear the sound of something ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

Something grabbed your ankle, sending you sprawling to the forest floor, and you threw a frantic glance at what had yanked you down. Tears built in your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You were trying to push yourself off the floor to keep running, but the branches and roots of the trees of the forest broke out from the floor and wrapped tight around your trembling form, pinning your quaking body to the muddy ground.

You saw a glimpse of a hand and part of an arm extending itself from the forest floor, dirt crusted under the fingernails and staining the crevices of the palm. The forest floor opened up, dirt jaggedly fragmenting and cracking open, as the body behind the hand emerged. You watched, petrified from your spot to the floor. The head pushed out from the forest floor first, and your eyes made contact with the sunken eyes of your dead boyfriend. You were screaming now, your voice hoarse, but no sound coming out. The ticking sound grew louder and louder, and you were crying even harder.

He was so pale that the moonlight trickled through his almost translucent skin, a corpse that dragged itself to the land of the living, and his dark hair was matted to his forehead. There was a sticky glint to the side of his head where his hair looked more clumped. You forced yourself to tear your gaze away from it.

“Why…Why did you leave me behind?’’ his voice was like a haunting croak. You could speak now, and your voice pitched into a petrified scream.

“I didn’t mean to…! I didn’t mean to! You told me to run! You told me to run!’’ your voice broke out of your throat, and it grew and grew in an unruly crescendo. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve never left you behi-“

You drew in a sharp inhale that suffocated you, leaving the last words still on your lips as you woke up in your bed. The chill of the forest left you; you were in your bed again, the sheets and blanket messily wrapped around your body. You had been thrashing in your sleep, sending pillows down onto the floor. The room was still dark, just a few moments before dawn. You got up, the cold sweat on your body leaving you breathless, and you blindly reached down to grab your pillows and throw them back onto your bed. Instead of touching the slippery silk covers of your pillows, your fingers met something soft and cuddly.

Your fingers wrapped around a tiny, stuffed arm, and you pulled up what the item was.

A scream tore out of your lips as you threw away the item. It was the stuffed bunny your boyfriend had given you the night of your first anniversary, the last night you had seen your boyfriend before he had pushed you to keep running; this was the very item you had dropped in your run out of the forest. You had left it there.

Why, why was it here?

Your head was hurting, and you dropped the plush animal back onto the ground. You hadn’t noticed the faint blood stains. Its faux fur was too dark for you to make out the splashes of dried brown red.

No, no, what do you mean you left it there? You never went in a forest. Your boyfriend overdosed. They found his body. You weren’t there; you were at home working— You sagged against your bed as your head pounded in throbbing agony.

No, you were here. You were here, waiting for him. It was your first anniversary. He was late. He never came home. You had gotten angry and had called him several times. And then…And then, you got the phone call the next morning that they found his dead body. He killed himself. You forcibly repeated that until it was ingrained in your head, and your breathing slowed down.

The next time you woke up, the sun was blindingly warm against your face, but the nightmare had already left your body cold long before.

You were seated across from Dr. Kim again. The dark circles were even worse today, and you fought back a yawn as he clicked his pen and pressed the tip against the pristine white of his notepad. You watched through watery eyes as your name elegantly swirled out in ink on the notepad.

“I’ve been sleeping the most I’ve ever had in a while, so, uh…Hah, would that even qualify as a perk?’’ you smiled weakly,” And I can remember my nightmares now, though that in itself is exhausting me more than the nights before the remembering ever could.”

His pen stopped right at the second curve of your name. He raised an eyebrow, his demeanor still as composed as ever. He was listening. He was the only one who would listen to you now. Well, you suppose he was the only one who listened because you were paying him for each second of his time.

“That’s good to hear. Remembering your nightmares can help us continue to identify and potentially reduce the impact of your psychological stressor. Continue to talk about them. What do you see?’’

“Uh,’’ you yawned this time, your yawn so big that it cracked your jaw and filled your eyes with tears,’’ They’re a little vague.’’

“It’s okay. You’ve made progress.”

“Mmm…if you say so.’’ You scratched your wrist, your gaze on the skin,” Well…I’m in a forest. Super scary. I think it’s the one they found my boyfriend in. And I’m running. And, uh, a hand comes out and grabs my ankle, and I try to break free…but…but I can’t, the trees are coming and they’re wrapping so tight…I can’t breathe.”

Your words sped up, and you didn’t know you were choking on your own breath until you let out a strangled cough at the last word.

“Keep on going.”

“And I—,’’ you’re tearing up now, sobbing slightly as you force the next words out through ragged breaths,” I look over, and it’s him! It’s him! He’s there! He’s climbing out…and he’s asking me why. Why! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!’’

Your voice heightened in its pitch, and you were just a whisper below a full-on yell. Your shoulders shook, trembling as the tears spilled out and splashed against your cheeks and dripped down your chin, and you were curling further into yourself as you fought to inhale a deep breath. Dr. Kim was out of his chair, his hands stroking your shoulder gently, and he was soothing you. He was holding you now. You buried your head into the collar of his shirt, staining the cloth with tears and snot.

This wasn’t professional, but Dr. Kim made no move to get away, and you didn’t care that you were probably violating some doctor-patient code of conduct rule. It had been so long since someone held you and stroked your back so kindly.

When you finally broke away from the hug to look at Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim brushed the drying tears off of your cheek, his finger glistening with your tears. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. This was wrong. Not only professionally, but your boyfriend…You couldn’t move on from him. But you couldn’t push away the only hand that was willing to dry your tears.

You somehow managed to look at him, your cheeks feeling hot, and you shakily whispered,” I’m…I’m sorry.”

Who were you apologizing to? Dr. Kim for having a mental breakdown, though his job in the very first place was to help you with mental breakdowns? Your dead boyfriend, who was rotting away 6 feet under for finding solace in another man? Or you, poor innocent you who had suffered so much?

He tenderly smiled at you, the warm look strange compared to his usual stony expression but oh so comforting.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s normal.” He cleared his throat, his expression turning cold again, and he was back in his leather chair.

Somehow, although the two of you had resumed as if was normal, you knew something had changed. Maybe it was when his arms were wrapped around your trembling form, his touch warming up your freezing body, or maybe it was the very moment you had sat down on the sofa across from him just a few minutes ago.

Or maybe, maybe something was different between the two of you all along.

You had the same nightmare again that very night. Well, it was not like it ever really changed, not when your psychological state of mind seemed to seek its purpose in rattling every single nerve in your poor body. But something seemed even more worse than usual in your dream.

The scent of mildew was the same, damply settling on the back of your tongue and in your throat, and you could smell something rotting underneath the sickly-sweet scent. However, that wasn’t what was off in your dream.

You weren’t running for the first time. No rapid breath escaped you; your chest rose and fell in even beats. That was your first indication that something was terribly wrong.

What a horrible irony bestowed upon you.

Your fears were confirmed when you heard something small and thin and sharp snap underfoot, and you turned slowly. Your mouth fell open in horror at the sight.

There was a skeleton, one with ivory bones that gleamed underneath the waxy moonlight, and something told you that that skeleton was your boyfriend. Your gaze darted to what made that terrible crackling sound: a foot clad in a leather shoe against the delicate bone wrist of your boyfriend’s postmortem state. Your eyes trailed up and up and up until they settled onto the face of the perpetrator.

“Dr. Kim?’’ the dream you, despite the roaring screams of your thoughts, smiled a coquettish one that stretched almost painfully on your face. You took steps forward, the mud staining your bare feet, and you felt bone snap and crackle and crumble underneath your weight as you got closer and closer, and Dr. Kim laughed as he swept you up in his arms and left a loving kiss on your lips.

“My beloved,’’ his hands trailed to your waist. You felt the bone underneath your feet turn into a mass of bloody flesh and bone. There was a streak of red carnage on Dr. Kim’s face that you hadn’t noticed before,” Oh, how I adore you.”

“Dr. Kim,’’ you whispered playfully into the side of his neck,” Dr. Kim, touch me.”

His fingertips brushed underneath your skirt, toying with the fabric of your panties, and you let out a breathy sigh of laughter as you opened your legs further. A squelch of flesh and blood underneath the soles of your feet accompanied your movement. As you looked up, your eyes tenderly swept his face and took in his features.

His handsome features, his strong jaw and his softly curved lips and the indents in his cheeks dappled underneath the romantic pale moonlight peeking through the trees, looked absolutely maniacal. His voice was amused, and it swathed the crisp air of the forest in a breathy husk that left you shivering in both pleasure and thrill.

“It’s what I’ve been waiting for all along, my beloved.”

You woke up with a start. Your pajamas were sticking to your body in a feverish sweat, and you pushed yourself up and off the bed. Your body was unused to the sudden movement, and your legs froze, sending you to a tumble to the floor.

“What the,” you stayed there on the floor, unable to move. Your breath was heightened and came out in shallow pants through your dry lips. “What the absolute fuck?’’

When you finally managed to get off the floor and onto shaky legs that trembled to hold your weight, your first action was to call the office and cancel your upcoming appointment with Dr. Kim. You didn’t mind the large fee that came from this cancellation; even the thought of seeing him after what had transpired between the two of you in both reality and the imaginary world left you disgusted with yourself. You could feel the aching throb in between your legs, a neediness still settled in your veins, and the wet spot you left on your pantie. Bile rose up in your throat as your mind engulfed in self-loathing.

You turned off your phone and threw it onto your bed. It bounced off and landed by your feet on the carpet. You swallowed a shriek of ragged frustration before getting up in quick desperate movements. The uncomfortable drag of the fabric of your panties seemed to remind you only more of your shame. You felt dirty.

You needed to be clean.

You stepped into the tub, turned on the faucet, and silently stood there as the shower sprayed cold water onto your still-clothed body. Inhaling a sharp breath, you closed your eyes again.

“I’m so sorry.”

Looking back, you wondered to yourself, what were you even sorry for? Wouldn’t it have been better to be sorry for yourself?

Perhaps it wouldn’t have ended the way it did if you had done that instead. But you’ll never know now. It was too late.

The echo of the clock ticking seemed to sound over the rush of cold water. Each click and swing brushed against the other, softly like the wind that brushed through the leaves and the branches and the trees and by the roots that bounded your feet to the dirt.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

You couldn’t keep cancelling your appointments.

Some part of you didn’t want to. You hated that part of you. But it was ingrained in you. Some part of you was addicted to Dr. Kim, addicted to the way he had tenderly held you, to the way his fingers had felt against the soft skin of your cheek as he wiped away acrid tears.

You were sitting across from him again. The soft, almost inaudible but painfully audible to you ticking of his wristwatch echoed in the silent room. There was no notepad in his hands again, nor rustling of paper forms between slender fingers to fill up the tension in the room; there was only his gaze rested on you. You couldn’t breathe.

You were yanking on the threads of your sweater again. The threads, loosened, snagged on your nails, and you dropped the soft material with a mental huff of displeasure. The setting of the sun outside of the window drowned the both of you in a peaceful warm orange hue…but you knew: there’s nothing peaceful going on. Not in your heart, not in the crevices of the office, not in the way Dr. Kim coolly smiled at you as if nothing was wrong…Nothing was peaceful.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you.” If you thought too hard into it, you might have perceived his words as accusatory. But he was just your psychiatrist. There was no way he was going to cross the professional boundary between the two of you. The first time was already a mistake.

Or was it?

“How are you?’’ his words sent a thrill down your spine.

You looked at him through your lashes. You couldn’t seem to think properly when he was so near you. The smell of his cologne, musky and rich, settled in your throat.

“I’m,’’ you swallowed thickly before ducking your head back down,” I’m fine.’’

“Are you really?’’

Those words seemed to break you down.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,’’ the heaviness of your voice gave the truth right away, and you were sobbing. The you of before, the you back in the past when you were better, had hated crying, but something about being in this office, with the air conditioning blasting heavily at the nape of your neck and the thought of Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim left you glued to the seat in tears.

You sucked in a shaky breath, fiercely wiping away tears with your sleeves until your skin stung; you didn’t even notice the tissue box that Dr. Kim picked up and placed by you. He was closer to you now, sitting next to you on the couch in his office, and you leaned in closer to him. You felt him stroke your hair, comforting. You melted into his warmth.

“I’m s-…sorry,’’ you stammered out,’’ It’s just…It’s just I’m feeling guilty.”

“Why do you feel guilty?’’ his voice, deeper than usual, brushed hotly against your ear, and you shivered. Was it the air-conditioning that chilled you to the bone, or was it something else?

Ironically, despite the icy feeling in your gut, you could feel the heat coming to your cheeks, and you swore there must’ve been some hint of a flush that gave away the rapid pit-pattering of your heart. The guilt swelled and crashed in your chest with every thump.

“I’m guilty because…because!’’ the words dried up in your throat, and you clenched your eyes shut as you forced them out through trembling lips,” I shouldn’t be viewing someone else like this.”

“Like what?’’

“In the way I viewed my boyfriend…I’m—,’’ you swallowed thickly.

“Who do you view this way?’’ The gentle stroking of your hair halted, and you peeked open your eyes. You couldn’t meet his gaze, though, and your eyes fell back down to your lap.

“Y-,’’ you sucked in a breath,’’ You, Dr. Kim.”

Tick, tick, tick.

The ticking of his stopwatch drew your attention, and you stared at it breathlessly as you waited for his reply.

He didn’t reply right away, and your heartbeat spiked painfully in your chest. You made a move to stand up, a torrid heat swelling up in your face as tears of embarrassment and guilt and shame pricked your eyes, and you pushed away from him.

“I-I should leave. I’ll cancel my appoint—,’’ your remaining words squeezed out in a surprised gasp as Dr. Kim’s hand encircled your wrist and pulled you to him.

His lips were against yours, the kiss bitingly rough, and you let out a surprised moan as you felt his hand cradle the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He sucked your breath right out of your lungs, and you meekly realized that you were drooling slightly out of the corner of your mouth as he probed his tongue through your lips and against the warm crevices of your mouth. He sucked on your tongue, and you made a soft startled mmph against his lips.

“Dr.—Dr. Kim!’’ you managed to place a trembling hand between the small gap between his chest and yours—you briefly admired the feeling of the muscles of his clothed chest against the palm of your hand—and pried your lips from his. Your eyes had watered in a wanton surprise; you looked like sin itself with the way you trembled and quaked and breathed shakily through swollen lips, a trail of saliva glinting on the corner of your mouth. “Dr. Kim, what—what are you doing?’’

“What do you think I’m doing?’’ his lips curved in an attractive teasing smile that caused shivers to roll down your spine,” Is it a sin to view you the same way you view me?’’

You sucked in a breath and opened your mouth. No further words of protest managed to come out.

Laughter, rough and hoarse, rumbled in his throat as he took off his jacket and loosened the tie around his white collared shirt. The setting sun cast shadows and made him look almost sinister. His voice was like a purr as he spoke.

“Then we’ll sin together. On your hands and knees.”

Some part of you trembled as you heard his voice. His voice was alluring, the way it wrapped around you and dragged you, limp and terrified, into a daze. You were flat on the palms of your hands and your knees before you knew it.

You felt his hands, cool and slightly rough, against the heated flesh of your exposed thighs, and they dragged up to your skirt and pushed it higher up around your waist, leaving only the exposed fabric of your soaked panties behind.

“Dr—Mmph!’’ you were about to question him, but the drag of his finger as it peeled away the flimsy string of your panties left you shivering in bliss. You made another move to question it; you tried your best. Your arms trembled, struggling to hold yourself up, as you felt his tongue drag against the outer folds of your pussy, and then he was devouring you.

His tongue brushed and stroked against your swollen clitoris, and you made a muffled moan through clenched teeth at the spine-tingling touch. And he was shoving his tongue deep into your walls; your walls shivered and quaked and trembled and tightened around his tongue, and you heard him grunt a muffled curse before you were coming.

Your toes curled, your eyes rolled back, and your arms collapsed, sending you careening into the plush arm of the sofa.

You tried to recover, but Dr. Kim didn’t let you recover. He pushed the fabric of your panties further down, and you made a muffled sound of protest as you felt something hot and hard against your sensitive pussy.

You were panting, breathless little whimpers leaving your lips. You were so sensitive; you couldn’t handle anymore. But he was already pushing his cock in.

“Dr. Kim, I’m so…,’’ you sobbed out, your hair a mess. You made a move to twist around, but he grabbed your wrists and, using the tie he had pulled out from around his neck, tied them together. You could only press your face, breathing out high-pitched gasps and moans, against the soft arm of the sofa as he pushed deeper and deeper into you.

The sensation was almost burning the way your walls stretched around his big cock. Oh god, he was bigger than your boyfriend, and you hadn’t fucked anyone since his death. You were tearing up, ready to open your mouth and tell him to stop it, when his cock finally was fully in. It felt like it was pressing against your womb with how deep it was. You made a choked cry.

“Dr. Kim…Dr.—Oh!’’ you keened in pleasure as he pulled out, his cock dragging against your gummy walls, and then pushed back in fully. He set an unforgivable pace, his hands firmly placed on your hips, and you swore you were getting fabric burns from the rough way the pace of his thrusts sent you crashing again and against into the sofa. Your tits bounced, and he grabbed one of them with a hand, stroking the clothed hard nipple with his finger. “Please…Please slow…Mmm! S-slow…slow down!’’

He didn’t slow down. If anything, it seemed like he sped up instead. You could feel your wrists getting red from the tie, but you didn’t care. You were getting so close to your next orgasm. You were already sensitive from the first orgasm, and Dr. Kim’s cock was dragging against your walls just right. You were so, so, so close.

“Dr. Kim!” you squealed out as your walls squeezed around his thrusting cock, and your eyes squeezed shut as you clenched hard down on him. He didn’t even pause, continuing to fuck you even through your orgasm. “Dr…Nngh! Dr. Kim…!’’

You were drooling again as he continued to pound into you, your sensitive pussy trembling fervently around him. You couldn’t think, not when his cock was rearranging your insides, and you could only shiver as he chased his own orgasm with your wet pussy.

He was pounding against your cervix, the sensation leaving little pricks in the nerves underneath your skin, and then you felt him twitch. You realized, with heightened panic, that he wasn’t wearing a condom and made a panicked move to stop him, but he was filling you with hot cum and your eyes were rolling back as you reached another orgasm. He pulled out, his cum staining the bare skin of your ass, and you felt his cum ooze out slightly from your walls.

You twitched, your ass still up and your arms sore from being pinned to your back. You couldn’t move. Not when your brain couldn’t even form coherent thoughts, and you were left spent.

“With the way you haven’t moved,’’ his voice lowered to a predatory tone,’’ Fuck, you make me so hard.”

He was hard again; you could feel it against your sensitive walls before he slammed back into you. You couldn’t even make a sound of protest, not when he had already fucked you thoroughly, before he was fucking you again. You heard the sound of his hips colliding into your ass, the sinful clap of skin together and the squelch of your juices around his invading cock and the rough drag of the fabric of his pants against your flushed skin. You were making panting noises, too tired to even moan. Your cheek rubbed against the sofa as he knocked against your quivering womb with each thrust.

His thrusts were as animalistic as the first time. He fucked you like he was stealing a part of his soul. He fucked you like he craved your existence. He fucked you as if you were his. And you took it, falling into the next orgasm and whimpering as he came again, quicker this time. He was filling you up, marking you from the inside out, and you… you could only moan as he did so.

He pulled out this time, and you couldn’t even hold yourself up. Your thighs trembled, the inner skin of them coated in an obscene mixture of his cum and your juices, and you clumsily fell to the sofa. You were drifting off, your eyelids closing, and you were, for the first time in a long, dissolving in bliss.

He draped his coat over your sticky body, and you felt him stroke your hair again. His touch was gentle, so gentle. Your eyes drooped further shut.

“Did he fuck you like I did? Make you more like the whore you are?’’ his voice was low, but you could hear it. When it came to him, you could always hear him. But you were too tired. You wanted to sleep. Maybe if you slept by him, the nightmares wouldn’t come.

He chuckled at your lack of response, smoothing the strands of your hair down, and you heard the faint sound of his ticking watch. If you looked closely, through half-lidded eyes, you could make out small scratches and a single crack on the watch’s glass.

“Good night, my beloved.” His voice was like a hum. You…you remembered that. You knew that voice long before you ever sat in front of Dr. Kim. Some part of you screamed, but that part was weaker, blurred by the calming strokes of his hand over your hair and the sweet daze of sleep that kissed your eyelids shut.

You were dreaming again. It was a nightmare. You were in the woods again, the wind in your hair, and you were laughing at a joke your boyfriend said. He gave you the stuffed animal, pretty and soft and comforting, and you were giggling in delight as you hugged it to your chest.

“Babe, I love—,’’ the words died in your throat as a gunshot cracked through the crisp forest night. You were screaming now, the previous words of your love confession dying in your chest as ragged yells dragged out of your throat. He fell down, fearful-stained eyes growing glassy, and you felt a splatter of blood against your hands that stained the stuffed animal you were cradling. You were sobbing, your hands trembling as you reached out to try to touch his paling face. His lips shivered as they made one final desperate yell.

“Run!’’

You turned on your heels and made a run for it. You broke through trees and branches whipped at your fast as you ran and ran and…A hand grabbed your hair and slammed you against the tree so hard you were left winded, and you were screaming madly in grief and fear and outright hysteria as you lashed out.

“Why are you after us? Why us? Why did you kill him? Why did you kill him? WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?’’

Your fingers snagged a watch, leaving scratches on the wrist of the perpetrator, and you yanked it off the wrist in the midst of your struggle. You kicked out, frantic and desperate, and the moonlight of the night hit the perpetrator.

Dr. Kim’s face glowed underneath the waning light, his handsome features twisted in a mad glee as you thrashed and thrashed, and he was laughing through a choked breath even when your foot crashed into his rib and sent him sprawling to the forest floor.

You didn’t even wait to turn on your heel, and you were running again.

“Good night, my beloved.’’

You heard him laughing in the distance after he spoke, the sound rough and coarse and haunting, and there was that ticking again resonating from his watch still drowning in the forest floor’s mixture of mud and branches and rotting leaves.

Tick, tick, tick.

You saw the edge of the forest, the blinding light of the lamppost flickering in the distance, and your foot caught on a root protruding from the dark ground. You crashed into the ground.

You fought to get up, but the mud was soft underneath your thrashing body, and you were sinking into it. It swallowed your feet and your hands first, and you were sobbing in hysteria as it began to swallow up until your neck, and you were choking on mud as you drowned in it.

Flashes of Dr. Kim’s face flickered through your mind. His cold face, the warmth in his eyes as he wiped off your tears, the hunger in his expression as he devoured your lips, and…and his face twisted like a maniac as he dragged you against the forest tree and mockingly laughed at your struggle. He was going to finish you next, he was going to love you, he was going to break you, he was going to hold you, and he was…he was obsessed with you.

The mud filled your lungs, and you stopped coughing, stopped trying, stopped fighting. Your lips twisted in a content smile as you closed your eyes and went limp.

A/N: Leave a comment/review if you enjoyed the fic (or tell me if I made a mistake anywhere. Always a bit nerve-wracking copy and pasting from the word document I use to write). Sending my love to all of you for your support, as always!

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pleasantanathema · 3 years

Text

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Sins of the Past

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of violence, mentions of character death, enemies to lovers, angst, and eventual smut (don’t worry, it’ll come sooner than you think).

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: As promised, here’s chapter two! Chapter three will take a little longer to come your way as I have a final thesis due in a few days. Also, I promise that I’ll give answers to things that have happened in the past between Reiner and reader. Just gotta wait for the right time to reveal it all. 💕

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Reiner laid flat on his back, chest twisting with melancholy as he eyed the lazy ceiling fan. He couldn’t sleep even if he tried, not with the day’s events still so fresh in his mind. Everything happened too quickly, a whirling rush of movements and decisions that left him caught in a purgatory of past and present. When Zeke had kicked your head into the floor, Reiner instinctively put pressure on the trigger of the gun squeezed too tightly in his hand. He wondered if things would be easier if he had taken the situation into his own hands and not let you live to torment him another day.

Though, he knew the ghost and the guilt would haunt him even more than your living presence.

That saying was rolling around in his brain, the one his mother always used to recite whenever he’d get into mischief as a child, be sure your sins will find you out.

Well, they had, and one of his biggest regrets was now asking him about fucking Marco Bott. How long had it been since he heard that name? The Scouts had stopped muttering it even before the boy’s blood ran cold. He still remembered the smell of gun smoke, remembered how Bertie had fallen into his chest and cried at the horror of it all.

But there was nothing new to be said about that past, yet even still, Reiner feared that you already knew what had been left unsaid.

He hadn’t even bothered to undress, just let his weight sink into his mattress until his restlessness got the better of him. He knew his agonies would call to be smothered, that his frustrations would lead to him marching down the same hallway to face the inquiries of an equally troubled mind.

He debated going to Zeke first. He knew his comrades would still be up in the meeting room, sleep and disgust in their eyes. Last he checked in, the Chief had Bertie scribbling on the whiteboard as he threw out all the notions and ideas that they had on how to break you down, on what you could possibly know that would be of interest to them. Reiner hadn’t stayed long enough to watch the black ink dry—he didn’t want them to pry into his time with you. He’d told them just enough: you didn’t give him anything worthwhile other than admitting you might speak if you were fed information from their side as well. When he’d left, the last thing written out in bold letters was a list of lies to feed you.

Reiner was going to end this shit. One way or another, you were going to disappear from his life again; he was going to throw you back into the sea of the past where you belonged, dead or alive.

A sick pride boiled inside of him as he saw the shock and fear spread across your pretty face as he threw open the heavy metal door. Good, you should be scared of him.

He spoke your name with a bitterness he’d become too familiar with, dragging a chair from against the wall to sit directly in front of your iron cage.

He’d only been gone a few hours, yet you already looked more tired, a little more frail, like if he screamed too loudly you might melt into a puddle where you sat on the floor.

Too much time alone with nasty thoughts can make you weak, that much he knew all too well.

He cleared his throat, cracking his knuckles beneath his fist, “Listen to me. You talk now, and maybe I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly before the others get the chance to come pick at your bones.”

“You know my stipulation, Braun,” he watched your eyes narrow, determination coating your voice, “answer my question and I’ll answer yours. Let me die knowing the truth about—”

“There is no truth about Marco.”

“I know you had something to do with it. I kept finding holes in your story, and now that I know who you really are, I have no doubt that there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

An angry sigh rushed out of his nose. He didn’t know what he was thinking coming back here so soon, why did he ever suspect that you’d ease up on this issue? He should’ve known that all your disdain for him began when that idiot got himself killed.

“Marco was cute and clumsy, you know that. He was in the wrong place at the wrong—”

“No, he wasn’t!” you sat up on your knees, shackled hands shaking, “I trained that kid myself. I know he knew how to use his gear; I know he wouldn’t just…he couldn’t have gotten into that situation alone.”

“You��re running out of time. Stop wasting your breath on something as useless as Marco Bott.”

He could tell there were more words brewing in your mouth, but you were swallowing them down.

Reiner leaned his elbows on his knees, burdensome back hunching as he debated what to do here. He watched you closely for a moment, saw how you were constantly shifting your weight, fidgeting with the cuffs around your wrists. Bruises were blooming on your skin, especially around the tender flesh of your fingers where he had crushed them earlier. A vile mixture of remorse and compassion spread down his nerves at the sight of you.

“My friends don’t know I’m here,” he admitted, observing how your still brilliant eyes looked up at him.

“I was once your friend, you know.”

You spoke the words so slowly, so dolefully that he actually felt them begin to pierce at his heart.

“We were never friends.”

That much, he knew, was a lie.

━━━─── • ───━━━

“Reiner,” your tongue pressed against the back of your teeth as you stared into his golden eyes. He felt dangerous, fingers mean against your flesh, digging into your thigh, petting at the column of your throat.

But you felt protected, secure, your hands threatening to tear at the buttons of his shirt from how tightly you clung to him. You craved a comfort that you’d come to find from being pressed against his body.

“I’d kill someone for you, I hope you know that.”

You wondered if the same memory was playing in his mind, behind his older, more noble face. You felt them, the sins of your past, like a heavy string binding the two of you together in this cold room. You knew there were feelings you could tug on, emotions that could have you both tumbling to the floor and wishing that the past could be washed away. But there were too many scars, too many faults that bound you together, wounds that time could not heal.

And you knew your time was running thin.

Selfishness reared its ugly head. You wanted to live, you needed to get back to Paradis, back into the arms of the people you loved. You didn’t want to die because of your stubbornness, or out of some forged loyalty that you knew friends would even give up if it meant being together one last time.

“We know about the arms trading,” you conceded, head hanging low.

You heard his chair scrape against the floor as he sat to attention.

“How?”

You thought about all the carefully considered words that you’d played in your mind earlier. You couldn’t give too much, but you had to lay enough on the table to make yourself valuable, to perhaps make yourself trustworthy. You needed to sprinkle lies into the truth, give a little in hopes of taking a lot.

“Not everyone knows. It has been an investigative project I’ve been working on with Erwin and Miche…” you sucked in a deep breath, eyes closing, “we only figured it out because it came up as we were inquiring into the legitimacy of the President of Paradis. We’re pretty sure he’s a pawn, that there’s some untouchable group of aristocrats pulling his strings and ruling the nation from the shadows.”

You waited patiently to see if he had any remarks, but the brooding man before you stayed silent. You could feel the weight of his gaze, scrutinizing, curious, perhaps disappointed that you’d be willing to give away secrets so easily.

“That’s what you can give to Yeager. Tell him that…tell him that I’m tired of working and killing for a government that I can’t trust, whose true intentions I don’t know. Tell him I’m willing to work with him.”

“And why would he be interested in that? You’re much more valuable as an information source than an agent.”

You finally lifted your face to him then, a bold trepidation creeping over your skin.

It was now or never.

“Reiner, what I have to say next is something I’ve saved only for you. You can do with it what you will, but I beg of you, be careful with it. This could hurt you as much as it could hurt me in the long run.”

Part of you expected him to leave again, to bristle at the thought of hearing something he doesn’t want to know.

But he stayed, brows wrinkling together as he studied you before him. You felt like a beggar at his feet, spreading out all you carried in hopes that it was enough to appease the executioner before you.

“Tell me,” he demanded, “though I make no promises to keep it silent.”

You felt your courage implode. You almost wanted to gobble up your information and let it rest inside you forever to be gnawed at by your conscience.

But if there were any fragments left of the man you once knew, of the Reiner Braun who had once held you so dearly, you knew that he would latch on to your words.

“Zeke—your war chief—is working with Paradis. He’s plotting something so devious that even Erwin can’t pinpoint what it is, but we are certain he has contacts within the government that go beyond securing weapons for Marley.”

You took a moment to pause, to let what you were saying sink into that thick skull of his.

“Reiner, something seriously fucked up is going to happen if we don’t figure out what’s happening. And what’s happening is bigger than us—it’s bigger than all the shit we’ve been through. Help me, or it will be more than just me dying.”

You surveyed him as he straightened his broad shoulders, rolling them like a predator who was examining his prey. You’d just offered your life to him, held it out on willing hands with perhaps irresponsible words.

You held in a sob as he left wordlessly, leaving his empty chair behind.

━━━─── • ───━━━

Reiner sat with his arms crossed, trying to keep his face neutral as he watched Bertie haphazardly stretch his long arms across the board to erase of their previous work, writings of threaten Erwin, reveal the past of Paradis, and remove the bucket so she can’t piss all being wiped away from thought. He wondered, for a moment, if his friends were idiots, or just wasting time because they knew he’d wander back into her orbit sooner or later.

He’d come straight to them, of course, straight to his trusted comrades and announced he’d managed to pry your lips open.

Sans torture, he had stressed to Galliard.

But he had sat on the real information you gave him, letting your confessions about Zeke fester in his mind.

Part of him wanted to believe you; he’d always been wary of his superior officer, always knew that his cunning and depravity could lead them all down a path of no return one day. But another part of him thought you were toying with him, trying to manipulate his doubts and sow seeds of skepticism into his mind. You’d always been so capable of getting whatever you wanted, always had a charm for subtle exploitation.

“How can we believe any of this?” Annie berated, lighting a cigarette in the room despite knowing it was against Zeke’s rules.

“Because we know she’s close to Erwin, close to the brass that runs the Scout Police Force,” Reiner countered.

“More like she has always been up his ass, probably in his fucking bed too.”

Reiner didn’t like the image that flashed in his mind, didn’t like the thoughts of the Commander running his hands across your skin, of you tangled in his sheets. He chided himself, worried it was a jolt of jealousy, but at this point, he could never distinguish his emotions anymore.

“Annie,” Zeke hushed her, finally taking a seat at the rounded table instead of pacing a hole into the floor, “everything she has said adds up. I’ve kept our arms trading as quiet as I can, but if those little rats were going around interrogating congressmen, then it’s very possible one of them squealed on our operations just to keep their puppet president in power.”

“So, it’s true then?” Bertholdt chimed in, shaking a marker within his aching fingers as he paused from taking notes, “that the government of Paradis is basically a sham.”

“I’m afraid so.”

And how do you know that? Reiner wanted to question, wanted to prod at the smug man who was waving cigarette smoke from his face.

“So, what are we going to do with her?” Reiner finally addressed the elephant in the room, pulling at the last remaining thread to this horrible game they had gotten themselves into.

“We’ll keep using her, of course. Though I don’t think she will give anything else up so freely. We need to give her some hope that we trust her, that she’s going to live through this little nightmarish web we’ve caught her in.”

Reiner didn’t like the tone in Zeke’s voice. He seemed too relaxed, too humored by it all.

It was at this time that Pieck wandered into the room, carefully balancing a crutch underneath her arm. She was carrying that soft smile of hers, leaning against the wall momentarily before also settling at the table.

“A little birdy told me what all is going on,” she turned her grin to Galliard, whose chest puffed at his recognition, “Sorry I couldn’t make the last mission, Chief, the old leg just couldn’t handle it. But, I do have a suggestion to your little, hm, captive issue here.”

The room felt tense, everyone focusing on the small woman as her prim cheerfulness refused to fade.

“Let her free, under supervision, of course. Turn our old reconnaissance mission on its head; watch an outsider from inside our group, see if we can get her comfortable enough to open up again.”

“Yes, exactly, Pieck!” Zeke let out a hearty laugh as he smacked the table with an open palm, wicked delight brightening over his features. He ran his fingers through his blonde ponytail, like he was settling into relief.

Reiner felt his heart sink into his stomach, acid tearing at its flesh.

“And it seems we have just the man for the job, seeing that he magically got the little vexation to open her mouth.”

“No.”

Reiner gritted his teeth, jaw flexing at the thought of being your god damn babysitter.

“Oh yes,” Zeke fished around in his pocket then, pulling out a set of keys and sliding them across the table. Reiner didn’t move, just let the clinking metal fall into lap and sink into his thigh.

“Go let her out of her cage, let her know we’ve agreed to take up her offer of help, but only if she follows orders and stays in your sight.”

“Don’t you think a woman is more suited to this?” Annie chirped, carelessly smothering her cigarette out directly onto the table, hot ash settling into the grooves of oak.

“You already passed on this task, sweetheart. Besides, it seems she might find Braun a little more tolerable after all.”

━━━─── • ───━━━

And all this, all these words, all this fucking time passed, led to Reiner standing before you once again. His head rested against the rusted iron; grip so tight around the metal bars he worried he might actually bend them.

He’d relayed the messages, but ensured you that this fucking Zeke business had stayed behind tight lips.

When he opened his eyes, his vision focused on you, still sitting, an almost dumbfounded look on your tilted, tired head.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, a sincerity he wasn’t used to pooling in his ears, dripping down his skin.

“Don’t thank me yet. There are still long nights ahead of you.”

Ahead of him, he recognized.

All he wanted was for you to disappear, to be washed away, but it seemed you were about to become a permanent stain on his life—a living, breathing body to remind him of the past he had left in the dark depths of his mind to rot.

Be sure your sins will find you out, he mused, looking at a sin that might be too tempting not to partake of.

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