#ive been meaning to just Draw Him for MONTHS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hamsterclaw · 10 months

Text

Anywhere but here

You wake from a traumatic injury to find everything around you isn't the same.

Pairing: Jimin x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Nurse Jimin, smut, angst

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings: Swearing, sex, traumatic injury, hospitals, memory loss

When you wake, it’s like you’ve been reset to factory settings. You’re not a robot, but there was a you before, and now there’s a you after.

The accident cut your life into halves, and that’s the reality that you’ve been dealt.

The people around you are nameless faces apart from your family. Your parents, your younger sister and a man you don’t know but he says he knows you.

You can’t imagine what it’s like for them to lose the woman that was the old you and pick up the new you, metalwork in your thigh and a scar along the back of your head that they gave you an uneven choppy haircut to fix.

You don’t have the headspace to try and remember the names of everyone else who cares for you.

There’s the slim woman with a ponytail and kind eyes who always smiles cheerfully when she greets you.

There’s the stern looking older woman who never smiles but has gentle hands.

And then there’s the young guy who looks like he belongs in a magazine who you find a little intimidating, to be honest.

The brain injury means you take longer to process, sometimes you know what you want to say but the words won’t come. It’s annoying but you’re assured it will get better.

More pressing is the frame on your leg from where you broke your femur in multiple places. It took you a while to get used to trying to get around on crutches without help, because there was no way you were going to ask the young guy to help you to the bathroom.

You don’t think there’s anything left of your dignity but you’ve got some pride still.

You’re sitting awkwardly on your bed, listening to the man you don’t know but who seems to know you, trying to shift positions because your leg is singing a chorus of pain, when the young male nurse walks into the room wheeling a portable blood pressure monitor.

‘Time for some observations,’ he says, politely.

You take the opportunity to move into the chair and hold out your arm.

The nurse frowns a little. ‘Your blood pressure and heart rate are up. Are you in pain?’

‘A bit,’ you admit, an understatement.

‘I’ll get you pain relief,’ he says.

It’s another fifteen minutes before he comes back with the meds, another fifteen minutes after that before you can draw a breath.

The man who you don’t know but you’re told you used to love is telling you about people you don’t know, and it’s not nearly distracting enough.

When he leaves you want to cry with relief.

The door to your room opens, the nurse walks in. He checks on the IV that’s running, you hold out your arm because that’s the routine.

As he disconnects the drip, he turns to you.

‘There’s a call bell,’ he points out. ‘If you’re in pain don’t wait, just call and one of us will come.’

‘Thank you,’ you say. You’re wrung out, emotionally exhausted, physically stretched, and all you want to do is pull the covers over your head and be alone.

You’re never physically alone in hospital, there’s no fucking privacy, and somehow you feel lonely anyway.

***

The calendar on the wall orientates you to the day and month, and you’re not so bad that you can’t remember the year.

It’s your birthday today they say, another year older even though you’ve gone nothing but backwards since the accident.

Your family bring you cake, fluffy slippers, and love that makes you feel warm. The man, you know he’s called Taemin, that you were about to marry him, why do you think of him as ‘the man’ in your head?

He calls you sweetheart and you think he means it less and less every day.

Today he kisses you, lips on yours and you weren’t expecting it, weren’t ready.

He pulls away, a flicker in his eyes that looks like disappointment that you see before he can hide it.

You want to say that it’s not fair, that you can’t be expected to be the person you were before, but the words don’t come.

You stammer an apology, make it worse.

You only feel relief when he leaves.

Lately they’ve been letting you wheel yourself down to the restaurant, out to the front of the hospital.

It’s tiring, but it’s nice to be out of your room.

You press the call bell, and the male nurse comes in.

He looks rushed, busy, but he’s already here so you might as well ask.

‘Can I borrow a wheelchair to go downstairs?’

He says, ‘yes, of course. It’ll take me a while because it’s quite busy at the moment, but I’ll try and bring one up when I can.’

You thank him and settle in by the window to wait.

The late afternoon sun turns into early dusk, and he doesn’t come back.

You’re getting ready to manoeuvre yourself back into bed when there’s a knock at your door.

It’s the male nurse, dressed in his street clothes instead of scrubs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘It got so busy, I completely forgot.’

You look at the wheelchair he’s handling.

‘Would you still like to go?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re worried you sound desperate but you’ve been cooped up in your room all day and you want to go out even if you don’t get to see daylight.

He helps you into the chair. The ID badge tucked under his jacket says ‘Jimin.’

You try to commit it to what remains of your memory.

‘Jimin,’ you say, hoping that saying it will make it stick.

‘Y/N,’ he replies, giving you a smile that makes his eyes scrunch up.

‘Were you on your way home?’ you ask.

‘Yeah,’ he says.

‘Thank you for this,’ you say. You put your hand on his arm, and he moves it away so quickly it’s hard not to feel stung.

‘Sorry,’ you say, putting your hands in your lap.

He’s quiet as he pushes you to the lifts.

‘I can push myself,’ you tell him. ‘You should go home, it’s past your shift.’

‘I’m heading down anyway,’ he replies, very politely.

You sneak a glance at his profile as the lift descends.

He’s pretty, even fourteen hours into a thirteen hour shift. His nose is straight, lips full, and his skin glows like it’s lit from within.

You catch a glance at yourself in the mirrored wall. Your uneven hair that you’re still growing out makes you grimace.

You look down at your lap quickly.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks.

You force a smile. ‘I know the docs saved my life, but they ruined my hair,’ you say, trying to make a joke of it.

Jimin’s quiet again.

‘I was joking,’ you say, quickly. ‘I’m grateful for everything.’

Thankfully, the lift doors open.

‘Good night,’ you say, smiling at him.

He asks,’will you be ok?’

‘Yes,’ you say. Wild horses couldn’t drag any other answer from you.

He looks at you for a moment longer, then he nods and turns to leave.

***

Physical therapists are demons in disguise, you think disgruntledly to yourself as today’s therapist tries to encourage you to get out of the chair.

Your thigh is screaming in pain, you’re tired and dizzy and sweating from exertion.

As soon as the therapist leaves, you press your call bell and a nurse arrives.

It’s not someone you’ve met before, you know they’ve been short staffed lately.

His ID badge says Matsu.

You ask for pain relief.

He says, firmly, ‘you shouldn’t ask for pain relief unless the pain is bad. The last thing you need is an opiate addiction.’

You’ve never been denied pain relief before.

You feel a wave of shame.

Is he right? Are you addicted? Does it matter?

The pain’s bad though, your stomach’s churning and clenching.

‘The pain is bad,’ you say, dignity be damned, pleading.

‘I’ll check on you in an hour and if you’re still in pain I can give you some then,’ he says.

He’s out the door before you can formulate a reply.

You sit very still, try to distract yourself. The pattern on the ceiling’s swirling, you’re concentrating so hard.

The door opens, the male nurse called Jimin comes in, and you bite your lip so hard you taste metal on your tongue.

He’s saying something, but you can’t hear it over the rush of blood in your ears.

He comes closer, leans over you, voice firmer now.

You can hear your name.

You gaze up into his face, and he looks so kind, and concerned, the tears start trickling down your face.

‘Please,’ you whisper. ‘I’m in pain.’

Jimin leaves and comes back, hangs an IV on the drip stand above your head, connects it up and opens the port.

The cold trickle through your veins makes you shiver but soon enough relief comes, so sweet and welcoming you start crying again.

You don’t know how much time has passed before you realise Jimin’s still in your room, typing notes into the computer.

He says, ‘don’t let it get that bad next time.’

His voice is quiet, neutral, but you can’t help the flash of anger.

‘I asked for the painkillers, and the nurse told me to hold out as he didn’t want me to be addicted,’ you reply, sharp.

You can hear the tone of your voice as it comes out, and you hate it. The thing that you resent most about the constant pain is the way it’s draining away your generosity, your indulgence, your humour.

You can’t stand yourself.

Jimin, instead of snapping back, somehow manages to reply with a kindness that makes you feel even worse.

‘I’m sorry the nurse said that,’ he says, sounding regretful. ‘Please know you can ask for pain meds anytime.’

You’re still crying, indulging in your moment of self-pity, wallowing in it.

God, you hate yourself.

The only thing you hate more is the pain.

***

You’re going for another trip out, you’ve started spending more time outside now that the weather’s better.

You’re waiting to be let out of the double doors to the ward when the nurse, Jimin, passes by.

‘There’s a hairdresser in the hospital,’ he tells you. ‘They’re open now, and they didn’t have any customers when I checked.’

You look at him, considering.

‘Since you said you didn’t like your hair,’ he adds.

You smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll check it out.’

You look at your reflection in the mirror of the elevator on the way down, and impulsively, decide to visit the hospital hairdresser.

It takes you a bit of back and forth to find it, you’re sweaty and frazzled by the time you press on the buzzer.

A woman with bright orange streaks in her hair answers. She gives you a once over, then smiles, kind.

‘You must be Y/N? Jimin said you might come.’

You’re surprised. ‘You know Jimin?’

‘Honey,’ she says, taking the handles of your wheelchair and pushing you in front of one of the mirrors, ‘everyone knows Jimin. He’s a sweetheart.’

‘He’s easy on the eyes too,’ agrees another woman, smirking. The tag on her chest says ‘Suzie’.

‘Jimim said those neurosurgeons did a number on your hair,’ the first woman says. She winks at you. ‘Lucky for you I’m an expert on cleaning up after them.’

You’re startled into a laugh.

Her smile brightens. ‘You’re so pretty! And you’ll look even better when we’re done.’

An hour later, you find yourself in the lifts on the way back to your ward.

You can’t stop staring at yourself in the mirrors.

Is this what you used to look like? You’ve seen a few pictures of you. Taemin’s lockscreen is a picture of you and him on a beach, but you don’t think you look exactly the way you looked before.

Rhonda, the hairdresser who greeted you at the door, had waved you away when you tried to pay her, saying all patients got their haircuts on the house.

You’re waiting to be let back into the ward when you hear a familiar voice.

It’s Jimin, smiling at you so broadly you blink a little at how pretty he looks.

‘You went! Your hair looks beautiful,’ he says.

You look at him searchingly but he seems perfectly sincere.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him. You give him a half-smile. ‘They like you a lot down there.’

Jimin laughs. ‘That’s because I let them do whatever they want to my hair.’

He rakes a hand through his hair to illustrate, and you notice he’s got a new undercut beneath the blonde curtain of his hair.

‘Pretty,’ you say, admiring.

Jimin glances at you. ‘Just like you,’ he replies.

You laugh, because he can’t possibly be serious. ‘Please, in this old thing?’

You pluck at a fold in your hospital gown, and Jimin says, deadpan, ‘the green specks in the fabric really complement your eyes.’

You laugh again.

Jimin asks, ‘Need a push back to your room?’

‘Nah,’ you say. ‘I can do it.’

Jimin nods. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’

It’s only when you get back to your room that you realise that your conversation with Jimin, short as it was, is the first real conversation you’ve had in a long time.

***

Taemin’s looking at you very seriously, and a sudden flash of intuition tells you what he’s going to say before he says it.

‘I can’t do this anymore,’ he tells you.

You concentrate hard on the hand he’s put on top of yours.

Was his touch ever familiar to you? All you feel is detached.

You search his face, the curve of his brow, the line of his jaw. He’s attractive even now, but did you ever really love him the way he said you did?

It’s only been a few months since the accident.

Did he ever really love you if he’s this keen to move on without you?

The tears come as a surprise.

He looks alarmed now, as the wetness spills from your eyes, down your cheeks.

You know it’s unfair for you two to be in limbo like this, especially when you don’t think the old you is ever coming back.

It’s just the new you, the now and forever you left.

You assure him you’re fine, that it’s the right thing to do.

He tells you he’ll pack up your things and deliver them to your parents’ house.

You tell him to throw everything away.

What use do you have for the trappings of a life you can’t remember?

It seems like hours before you gather yourself together enough to go back to your solitary room.

You put yourself to bed because you think you’ve had enough of today, and you can only hope tomorrow will be better.

***

It’s Halloween, and you’re amusing yourself with the thought that you don’t even need a costume this year to look frightening.

You’ve had another operation, your leg’s healing well enough that the surgeons have taken the frame off, leaving a collection of red scars and a leg you don’t trust without the external metalwork.

Without the scaffolding that held you upright for months.

Your hair’s grown out, the scar across the side and back of your head is covered but if you run your fingers along your scalp you can still feel it.

The doctors tell you that you’ll be home before Christmas.

You refrain from telling them you can’t remember a home apart from this hospital bed.

Nobody likes a killjoy.

You glance up as someone knocks on your door.

It’s Jimin, a satin cape over his scrubs, plastic fangs peeking out between his lips.

‘Are you here for my blood?’ you ask.

It’s a joke you wouldn’t have been quick enough to make a month ago.

Jimin frowns at you. ‘Where’s your costume?’

You gesture to your leg. ‘I’m the Tin Man,’ you tell him.

‘You are pretty heartless,’ Jimin agrees.

You snort. ‘You’re a nurse, aren’t you supposed to be caring?’

Jimin says, ‘I do care. There’s going to be fireworks later, I got permission to take you to the park if you want.’

You can’t believe your ears. ‘The park? As in, out of the hospital? Do you mean the car park?’

Jimin smiles. ‘I mean the park next to the hospital. An actual park.’

‘When?’ you ask, guarded, not letting yourself get excited, worried he’s going to tell you it’s a joke.

‘I clock off at eight, I’ll take you then.’

You know how hard he works, you’ve been on this ward for months and you think he’s been here almost as much as you have. And you literally live here.

You want to ask why he’d spend his precious time off with you but god help you, you want to go to the park more.

You haven’t been off hospital grounds since you were admitted, a mangled mess of broken bone and blood.

Jimin’s looking at you. ‘If you don’t want to —-‘

‘I want to!’ you say, so quickly you startle both of you.

He’s still eyeing you carefully, so you say, ‘I just feel bad taking up your time off.’

‘It won’t be long. I don’t live far from the hospital anyway,’ Jimin says.

He smiles, and he looks so kind you feel like crying. ‘So are we going?’

‘Yes,’ you tell him. ‘Yes I’d love to.’

***

You feel an unfamiliar fluttering of butterflies in your stomach as you wait by the entrance to your ward for Jimin to finish handing over his patients.

Jimin hurries up to you. He looks a little tired, but he smiles kindly at you. ‘Ready?’

He’s dressed in his street clothes, a plain t-shirt, a hoodie and jeans, and you catch yourself thinking how pretty he looks, even in casual clothes, tired after a long shift.

Shit.

Do you have a crush on him?

At least you don’t have to think about him having a crush on you, you think ruefully. All he’s seen of you are your dumb jokes which you can’t even blame on your brain injury, your hideously scarred leg and your terrible post neurosurgery haircut.

You think you’re good.

Jimin takes the handles of your wheelchair as you leave out the main entrance of the hospital.

‘Thanks for taking me out on your own time,’ you say, wishing you could see his face.

‘It’s not a problem at all,’ Jimin tells you. ‘Like I said, I live close.’

You feel lighter the further you get from the hospital, the fluttering in your stomach getting stronger.

Is this what happiness feels like? Excitement?

Jimin parks you by the side of the lake.

‘I’ve got some time off after this, anyway,’ he says.

‘Yeah? Going skiing?’

Jimin looks at you, bemused.

‘Sorry,’ you say, apologetic.

Your injuries are from a skiing accident. At least that’s what you were told. You sure as hell can’t remember it.

You want to say something else, but you’re distracted by the sudden eruption of fireworks, over the lake.

A starburst of metals burning in the sky.

You don’t realise you’re laughing until you notice the way Jimin’s looking at you.

His face gleams red and orange in the light reflected off the lake.

He’s beautiful.

You stop, self-conscious.

‘Don’t,’ Jimin says. ‘Don’t hide it on account of me, you look so happy.’

A shower of purple falls gently, and it’s so pretty you could cry.

You could keep watching forever.

‘I haven’t seen your fiance in a while,’ remarks Jimin.

Distracted, you say, ‘we broke up.’

Jimin looks at you sharply, you feel the need to explain.

‘He said he couldn’t do it anymore,’ you tell him. You shrug. ‘It’s ok. I know I’m different to how I was before.’

Jimin says, casual, ‘What a dick move.’

You’re startled into a laugh. ‘Isn’t it? But I don’t have any feelings for him either, not now anyway. It would have been a farce.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jimin says. ‘If you’re committed in health ——‘

‘I don’t know how committed we were,’ you say quietly. ‘I can’t remember a damn thing about us.’

You’re both quiet for a moment.

You ask, to break the silence, ‘what are you doing with your time off?’

‘I’m going travelling,’ Jimin says. He looks at you sideways. ‘I’m going to Tuscany with friends.’

You’re excited for him. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Tuscany,’ you say. ‘You’ll have to show me pictures when you get back.’

Jimin smiles. ‘Of course. But at the rate you’re healing you might not even be on the ward when I get back.’

You hadn’t even considered this.

‘I’ll be gone three weeks,’ Jimin says, gently.

‘Well, send me a postcard,’ you say, laughingly. ‘You know where I live.’

‘Deal,’ Jimin says, offering his hand. You shake, as the lights rain down around you, burning bright in the dark.

***

You’re struggling at physical therapy today, more so than usual. Your breathing’s heavier, and it feels like you’re fighting through mud.

Your physical therapist, Mara, finally stops you, just as you’re about to ask for a break.

‘Are you feeling ok?’ she asks, concerned.

‘I’m fine,’ you grit out. ‘I can do more.’

‘I think we should stop.’

You just have enough consciousness left to hear her calling for help as your vision goes dark.

The padded mat is cool under your cheek.

You hear rapid footsteps, voices, and then, nothing at all.

***

You lose two and a half days before they allow you to wake.

First and most pressing, the tube in your throat that it hurts to swallow around, pushing air into your lungs. Breathing for you.

The line in your neck, the stitches holding it in that itch, madly.

You would scratch it but your hand’s tethered with the weight of a probe on your finger, another line in the back of it.

The tube in your nose, hooked up to a pump.

The catheter between your legs, attached to a bag hooked carelessly on the side of the bed.

You’re in intensive care.

When your breathing tube comes out, a cough and a splutter, you ask what happened.

It turns out you had a wound infection that made you septic. You’d collapsed after a physical therapy session.

If you hadn’t already lost half your life to the skiing accident, you’d mourn the loss of the last few days. As it is, all you can do is what you’ve been doing.

Try to move on.

Your muscles, painstakingly built up through months of physical therapy, have weakened even though you’ve only been asleep for two days and change.

Breathing becomes an exercise in endurance that you’ll never take for granted again.

The lines come out, one by one, and then, at the end of your first week, you’re finally line free, untethered again.

Just your battered body for company.

Sohee, the older nurse with gentle hands, coaxes you through your bad days.

You think of Jimin, more than once, sunstreaked and golden in the fields of Tuscany.

You hope that wherever he is, he’s having the time of his life.

Your family, initially terrified by your deterioration, are now talking about where you’ll live when you get discharged.

Trying to help you get over the setback from your sepsis.

You’re trying not to let your discomfort show on your face as Matsu tries for the third time to draw blood from your abused veins.

He buries the needle, deep, and you bite your lip at the throbbing that results.

The door opens, and you look up, grateful for the distraction.

It’s Jimin.

He’s tanned, and glowing with good health, and he stands out like an angel in these four walls that have been your home for months.

‘Jimin!’ you say, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.

‘Y/N,’ he says, with such warmth there’s a glow in your chest.

You flinch as Matsu moves the needle in your arm, and Jimin’s face darkens.

‘Hey, Matsu, I can take over.’

The tone of his voice brooks no argument.

Matsu nods, and Jimin takes his tray from his as he leaves.

‘I had a little jaunt to the ICU whilst you were gone,’ you say, lightly. ‘It’s not as nice as Tuscany, but it was a change of scenery at least.’

Jimin smiles. ‘I heard. I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece.’

His hand is warm on your arm as he prepares to draw blood.

‘They did a number on my veins,’ you say.

Jimin hums. ‘I know,’ he tells you. He’s gentle, thumb pressing on your skin as he searches for a vein.

‘There goes my life of being a junkie,’ you say dramatically. ‘I wouldn’t be able to find a place to shoot up.’

Jimin says. ‘Tuscany was lovely. You should go someday.’

‘Yeah?’ you ask, interested. ‘Tell me more. Where did you stay? What did you do?’

You feel the prick as Jimin draws blood, and he says, quietly. ‘I’m in, you can relax, ok? I’ll be done in a minute.’

You close your eyes as Jimin tells you about the vineyard where he and his friends stayed. His voice is low, melodic, and he distracts you so well you barely realise when he’s done.

He places a plaster on your hand, thumb smoothing the edges.

His touch calms you in a way you haven’t felt in weeks.

You turn to him. ‘Thanks Jimin.’

‘I’ve been doing this for years,’ he says.

‘Not just for this,’ you say, gesturing to the plaster. ‘Thanks for the company.’

‘Apparently you like it so much you got septic so you’d still be here when I got back,’ Jimin says, grinning at you, easy.

You laugh. ‘One day, when I get out of here, I’m going to make you breakfast, and the best coffee you’ve ever had.’

Jimin snorts. ‘Can you even cook?’

‘I don’t know,’ you admit.

You both laugh.

‘Well, I look forward to it anyway,’ Jimin says. He gets up, holding up the vial he’s just drawn from you. ‘I should get this labelled up and sent off.’

You’re still smiling long after he’s left the room.

***

It’s Christmas day.

Your family are visiting, they’ve even brought in turkey, your favourite roast potatoes which you used to love, and you haven’t had such a good day in a long time.

You’re still in your Christmas pyjamas, looking out the window after they left, when there’s a knock on your door.

Jimin steps in, slightly bemused at the collection of food and presents you’ve been bequeathed.

‘I know you don’t know who you were before, but you’re very loved,’ he observes.

You’re oddly touched.

‘They left me a tonne of food, have you eaten?’ you ask.

Jimin smiles. ‘I’ve been eating all day, all the staff working today have brought in things for Christmas lunch.’

He pauses. ‘And dinner.’

He laughs. ‘We’re all set until the end of the year, I think.’

‘Dessert?’ you offer. ‘It’s my mum’s sticky toffee pudding, I won’t be able to finish it.’

Jimin considers the container you show him. ‘I can heat it up and we can share it?’

‘Deal.’

Jimin disappears with your container and comes back with two bowls and two spoons.

You eye the tiny gummy snowman candy he’s placed on top of your helping.

Jimin sees your expression, laughs. ‘They’re good. Sohee gave me a whole bag of them.’

He perches next to your window, and you eat in silence.

‘There’s a big tree in the main hospital, do you want to go and visit it after this?’ Jimin asks.

You nod. ‘Also, I got you a present.’

You rummage in your pile of presents for the gold box your sister helped you get.

Jimin accepts, looking shyly at you. ‘You shouldn’t have got me anything,’ he says.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t expect special treatment,’ you tease. ‘I know you save the best treats for Mrs Kim in room 12 anyway.’

Jimin laughs. ‘May I?’

He unwraps the box, and a moment later is staring at the gold Christmas bauble ensconced in delicate tissue paper.

He runs his thumb over the design etched in the glass. ‘The tree of love,’ he says.

You smile. ‘When you came back after your holiday, you looked so happy and recharged, and I thought this would remind you of it.’

Jimin smiles back at you so bright and pretty he’s blinding. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’

He puts it carefully back in the box. ‘The tree I was going to show you isn’t as beautiful as this, but shall we go now, anyway?’

‘Sure.’

You grab your crutches.

‘I can get a wheelchair if you want –’ Jimin offers.

‘It’s my Christmas present to myself,’ you tell him. ‘I’m not going to use a wheelchair again.’

Jimin looks at you for a long moment.

When he opens his mouth, his words aren’t what you expected.

‘I guess I could carry you, if the worst happened,’ he says lightly.

You roll your eyes. ‘Lead the way, Park, I’m fine on my crutches.’

Two lifts and a walk across the link corridor later, you find yourself standing in front of the giant Douglas fir in the front foyer of the hospital.

It’s huge, at least 20 feet tall, and covered in blues and silvers.

You sigh. ‘It smells so good.’

You catch Jimin looking at you.

‘It reminded me of you when I saw it,’ he says.

‘Does it also have a bad leg?’ you ask, teasing.

‘I used to go hiking with my family, every weekend,’ Jimin tells you. He’s looking up, away from you, at the star on the top of the tree. ‘This tree reminds me of that.’

He turns to you. ‘My dad used to do a bit of woodworking, and his favourite type of wood was Douglas fir. You can paint it easily so it can be any colour you want, and at its core it’s light and strong. Look after it, and it lasts a lifetime.’

You’re trying to think about how this relates to you when Jimin says, ‘You’re rebuilding your life, painting yourself different, but you’re the same person at your core. You’re one of the strongest people I know.’

You don’t realise you’re crying until he reaches out, gently, to wipe your cheek.

‘Do you believe in fate?’ Jimin asks.

‘I don’t know what I believe in now,’ you say, honestly.

‘I never did,’ Jimin says. ‘I wanted to leave nursing for a long time. I actually put in my notice last year.’

You’re surprised to hear it. From what you’ve seen, Jimin loves his job. He’s damned good at it.

‘I was on one of my last shifts when you were brought in,’ Jimin says. He’s looking at you now, an expression on his face that makes your heart skip several beats.

‘Seeing you pick up the pieces after you had something so devastating happen to you —-’ he breaks off, throat working as he swallows.

‘It made me realise how much I love my job,’ he says. ‘I think I was meant to do this. I’m good at it.’

‘You’re great at it,’ you say, earnest.

Jimin reaches out and puts his hand over where yours is braced over your crutch.

‘Here’s to next Christmas, when all this is behind you,’ he says.

You don’t know what to say, so you grasp his hand. ‘Merry Christmas, Jimin.’

‘Merry Christmas, Y/N.’

You stand there, hand in hand, admiring the sparkly tree, enjoying the relative lull in activity in the normally crowded hospital foyer this Christmas night, until your legs start to give out, and then Jimin walks you back to your room.

***

You’re in your room, just back from physical therapy, when Sohee walks in. ‘We need your help,’ she says, brisk.

You look up, curious.

‘It’s Jimin’s birthday, and the tradition here is that if you work here and it’s your birthday, you get slimed.’

You’re incredulous. You can’t imagine anyone would ever dare to slime Sohee, with her perfectly starched uniforms and her stern demeanor.

‘Park manages to evade us every year, but this year, he has a weakness,’ Sohee continues.

She looks right at you. ‘You.’

You splutter. ‘Me? How am I Jimin’s weakness?’

‘He likes you,’ Sohee says, matter of fact. ‘He’d never act on it, not whilst you’re in his care, but he likes you, and this year, Park Jimin’s going to get what’s coming to him.’

‘What’s in it for me?’ you ask, nonchalant.

‘I’ll get the catering staff to give you an extra helping on Sunday roast day,’ says Sohee, like she’d been expecting you to ask exactly that.

‘I don’t want to hurt Jimin,’ you say.

Sohee rolls her eyes. ‘No one wants to hurt Jimin. But he’s the quickest out of all of us, and he’s slimed us all over the years, and no one can catch him.’

‘Come on,’ Sohee wheedles. ‘You’ll be discharged next week anyway.’

You sigh. ‘What do I have to do?’

***

You shift nervously in your chair as you wait for Jimin to respond to the call bell Sohee activated before she left.

He knocks on your door and enters, a smile already on his face. ‘Are you ok, Y/N?’

‘I’m sorry,’ you start.

Jimin’s two steps away when the door bursts open, and Sohee, Matsu and the other nurse, Alice, rush in.

Jimin looks at them, then you, and steps in front of you quickly. ‘Ok, ok, you can slime me,’ he says, hands out. ‘Just don’t get anything on Y/N.’

Jimin stands perfectly still as Sohee and Matsu unceremoniously dump buckets of green and purple slime over his head.

You don’t miss how the slime makes his scrubs top mould to his torso.

Jimin turns, slips, and you reach out to stop him from falling.

You lose your balance and Jimin, trying to stop you from falling, slides to put his body under yours as you end up in a heap on the floor.

Jimin’s looking at you, concern in his eyes. ‘Are you ok?’

He looks so ridiculous, covered in green and purple slime, that you can’t help but laugh.

A moment later, he’s laughing too.

‘I’m sorry,’ you tell him.

He’s still smiling. ‘I can’t believe you helped them,’ he complains. He shifts a little, and suddenly you’re very aware of the hardness of his torso under you, how his thighs strain against his scrubs bottoms.

‘I’ll leave you kids to clean up,’ Sohee says, not unkindly, ushering Matsu and Alice out of your room. ‘Happy birthday Jiminie!’

Jimin helps you get up. ‘Be careful, it’s slippery,’ he says, holding your arm.

You’ve never been this close to him before.

He wipes his hand on his thigh, then brushes a streak of slime off your cheek. ‘I’ll get cleaned up, then I’ll come back and clean the room, ok? Can you get cleaned up on your own?’

You nod. His hand is still against your cheek.

You’re thinking about what Sohee said about Jimin liking you. Is she right?

Jimin pulls his hand away, and you mourn the loss of his warmth.

‘See you in a bit,’ he tells you.

***

You take one last look back at the room you’ve spent the last few months in whilst you’ve been recovering from your injury.

You came in, in pieces, and now you’re walking out, changed in ways you can’t even fathom.

Your dad and mum are in the car with your things, you’ll be staying with them for a while until you learn to live independently again.

You’ve said your thank you’s and goodbyes. To Sohee, who made good on her promise to get the catering staff to give you extra roast potatoes on Sunday. To Matsu, who you’ve seen grow in compassion since the initial days when he wouldn’t give you pain meds. To Mrs Kim who was constantly saying how much you reminded her of her daughter.

To Jimin, who dropped by after his shift yesterday and gave you his number. He’d told you to call him and it’d seemed like he meant it.

You close the door behind you and see Jimin, rushing down the corridor.

‘I was worried I’d missed you,’ he says.

‘You’re not even at work today,’ you remind him.

‘I live close. Besides, I couldn’t not say goodbye on your last day.’

Jimin smiles. ‘Ready to face the big bad world again?’

You smile back. ‘All my monsters are in there,’ you say, gesturing to the empty room behind you.

‘We should meet up,’ Jimin says. ‘You owe me a breakfast and the best coffee I’ve ever had.’

‘We can meet up,’ you say. ‘Anywhere but here.’

You reach out, and enclose him in a hug.

‘I’ll see you soon, ok?’

He holds you a moment longer, then lets go.

‘Yeah.’

You walk down to the ward doors, press the button to let yourself out.

You give Jimin one last wave, and then, you’re out.

***

You’re watching TV with your parents after dinner, when the news comes on.

‘Hey, that’s your hospital,’ you dad says.

You watch, interest piqued as the newscaster reports on upcoming nursing strikes.

‘They should strike,’ you say. ‘They’re underpaid and underappreciated.’

Later, in your room, you’re looking at the number Jimin saved on your phone.

It’s been two weeks since you left the hospital, and you’ve not got in touch with him.

It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him, but you’re worried about what things will be like, now that you’re out of the hospital.

You think of the news report you saw, and you make a decision.

***

It’s the first time you’ve really been out since you left the hospital. You’ve been with your mum to the store, round the corner to the park, but you haven’t made any longer trips than that.

Your leg’s completely healed, you don’t even need crutches anymore, but some days there’s still an ache deep in your bones.

You get headaches but they’re nowhere near as bad as they were.

You hear the chanting, the sound of a hundred conversations, as you walk over to where there’s a crowd gathered, picketing in support of the nursing strike.

Every face is unfamiliar, and you’re starting to wonder if it was wise to come and support the strikes when you see him.

He’s dressed casually like the other times you’ve seen him in off-duty clothes, his hair styled back, holding a placard that says, ‘Safe staffing saves lives’.

Like he senses your eyes on him, he turns, and your eyes meet.

In an instant, he’s making his way through the crowd, to you.

He stops a step in front of you.

‘Is it really you?’ he asks.

You smile.

Jimin wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as a group of people push past.

‘What are you doing here?’ he scolds. ‘You shouldn’t be in a crowd like this —’

You put your hand against his cheek, and he stills.

He moves his head, closer, so close your lips touch.

You’ve wanted this for so long, and this new version of you takes what she wants.

You kiss.

Jimin makes a soft noise, deep in his throat, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head as your lips meet again.

By the time you come up for air, you feel flushed, giddy, your heart pounding a million miles a minute in your chest.

Jimin presses another soft kiss on your cheek before he pulls away.

‘I’m so glad you came,’ he says.

***

Jimin’s shucking his shirt over his head in the quiet of his bedroom, only the moonlight to show you the beauty of his form.

He gathers you back into his arms like he couldn’t stand even that short time apart without touching you. You don’t think he’s stopped touching you at all since you met him at the picket line.

You’re not complaining.

Jimin pulls you closer so your lips meet again. His lips are soft, full, pressing against yours firmly.

He doesn’t shy away, so you don’t either.

He tugs your top over your head, litters your breasts with kisses, tugs the cups of your bra down so he can get better access.

He laves your nipples with his tongue, like he enjoys the sounds you make as he sucks on your flesh.

You can feel his hardness against your centre as he strokes his tongue and hands over your skin.

You reach down to touch him, and Jimin grunts as you curl your fingers around his cock.

‘We don’t have to—’

‘I want it,’ you tell him, lips against his skin, hand on his ass.

‘I want to give it to you,’ Jimin groans. ‘Fuck, are you sure?’

You’ve never been surer of anything in your life.

Jimin rolls a condom onto himself, hissing a little. He positions himself above you, and you move to make room for him between your thighs.

He nudges in a little, gentle as he’s always been with you, and the stretch is so good you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

Jimin presses his face to yours. ‘Tell me to stop if —’

‘Don’t stop,’ you say. ‘Don’t you dare stop.’

Jimin seals his lips to yours as he drives the rest of himself into you. He stops when he’s all the way in, stills.

He lifts his head to look at your face. ‘Are you – is this ok?’

You smile, breathlessly. ‘Can’t you tell, Jimin?’

Jimin groans as you clench around him.

‘You’re so wet. Fuck —’

He moves, and your eyes close with the pleasure of it.

‘Fuck, Jimin —’

He moves again, and you cry out as he rocks his hips against yours.

It’s overwhelming, the weight of him against you, the way his skin gleams with sweat in the moonlight, the soft whines he makes on every thrust. The feel of him inside you.

It’s his voice that eventually tips you over the edge. ‘You’re so pretty,’ he vows against your ear. ‘I can’t believe you’re here —’

You cry his name as you come, and he keeps going, seeking his own release now, gentle even when he’s taut with need.

He kisses you again, grinds hard, deep, and then he’s holding you like he doesn’t want to ever let you go.

***

You can hear Jimin moving in his bedroom, and sure enough, he emerges, shirtless, hair mussed from your fingers through it.

You admire the beautiful lines of his cut torso as he walks towards you.

‘Who knew you were packing all this under those blue scrubs?’ you ask, teasing.

Jimin smiles, pulls you into a hug. ‘What are you doing in my kitchen?’

‘Making you breakfast,’ you tell him. ‘A promise is a promise.’

Jimin leans down to kiss your neck, and you shiver at the touch of his lips.

‘Later,’ he tells you. ‘I’ll make us breakfast later. Come back to bed.’

He grasps your hand, and you follow him back to his bedroom.

You have no idea where this is going, but you figure this is a hell of a good start to the rest of your life.

©hamsterclaw 2023

#park jimin fic #park jimin imagine #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #bts smut

473 notes · View notes

dustykneed · 3 months

Text

for context: star trek into darkness (specifically, my take on the implications of bones doing what he had to do and the emotional fallout of those missing scenes) (not that ive seen it!! but ive read enough fic to know the gist of it LMAO) (can you believe this started as an impulse draw to see if i could use pastels to convey heavy emotions and now im writing a very very long headcanon in my notes app.)

...

Leonard goes and he plays god, and injects Jim with that godforsaken blood, and then there is nothing left to do but wait.

He sinks into the chair at his desk, and steeples his fingers together. It occurs to him that these circumstances are the sort that would drive any religious man to bow his head and clasp his hands together, like so, and pray.

--but he is a doctor, and he has never been religious, and he has a duty to do, and he has broken his oath, and there is blood on his hands and flecking his shirt.

Leonard sits very still at his desk and weeps, and he does not pray.

...

sorry to all of y'all who had to find out i was an angst goblin this way <///3 but basically the hc/rough fic is an extension of the angst potential of that one scene where jim wakes up and fixates on spock (and his lack of response towards bones is never addressed afterwards i think? not sure but it's an interesting premise imo)

brief summary: bones never gets closure from jim after he wakes up because jim and spock get together immediately after and it just slips their minds, so bones is stuck in "oh god jim's dying" mode and feels absolutely terrible, but the bridge crew helps a bit by being there for him to hang out with, but still bones does overwork while trying to work through the sense of wrongness of not being able to have his emotional needs met after the whole jim dying fiasco and feeling like his best friend has forgotten him. he admittedly makes good progress (by which i mean he's able to take really big overwhelming feelings and put them away well enough in his daily life to function relatively normally) but the crushing grief is always in the background. about a month or so after spirk gets together, spock accidentally brushes bones' arm and is absolutely slammed by a wave of unexpected exhaustion and emotional pain and is like ??????!!!????????? long story short he drags bones to jim and bones cries for the first time since jim "died" and it is immensely cathartic and then jim blurts out a confession because he has horrible timing and asks bones to join him and spock and obviously bones cries harder and spock is about to smack jim upside the head lmao (bones says its way too much to process and he needs time but hes not exactly opposed, and they all start spending more time together, and then eventually bones is like fuck it and asks for a kiss and they finally get together !!!!!!)

as a treat for reading all of my mildly insane word vomit y'all get a soft bittersweet aos mcspirk scribble<33

gotta love aos jim's majestic eyebrows and aos spock's general sort of >:[ expression!! really growin on me tbh

#star trek #star trek aos #star trek fanart #star trek into darkness #mcspirk #aos #leonard mccoy #bones mccoy #spock #s'chn t'gai spock #jim kirk #spirk #dust trek hcs #dust hcs #im going very steadily insane #also thank you guys so much for all the sweet tags and comments on my scribbles and hcs!! i appreciate all of them so very much and #i have a low social battery but just wanted to say i love yall sm!! and i will continue to go insane and make things for yall as thanks<333

118 notes · View notes

cheeriecherrymain · 8 months

Text

papa!Viktor blurb, anyone?

A/N: slowly, slowly, recovering from the creative drought ive been in

it's nowhere near a waterfall again, more like a frustrating dribble, BUT. It's something. But anyways, here is a Papa Viktor Thought Blurb (listen, my sister is almost three months old now, and I am so besotted with her, she's my favourite tiny person, and i am full of Caretaker Feelings)

Content Warning: 18+ MDNI (not explicit, but very very suggestive), afab!Reader, pregnancy, labour and birth (again, not explicit, but still with some depth), papa!Viktor, no beta no editing we simply die

Imagine Viktor, and him believing he'll be alone for his entire life - working so hard to make some kind of legacy for himself, putting everything he has into his creations and his machines. Every calculation, every experiment a labour of love.

This is how the world will remember his name.

At least, he hopes.

But then he meets you.

You're charming, he has to admit. You make friends wherever you go, and you have a weird habit of bringing people out of their shells. There's just...something about you that makes others want to bare their souls to you. Something that draws people in.

Like you have a tangible sort of gravity, and wherever you go, someone ends up in your orbit.

He won't mean much to you, he thinks, after conversing with you a couple times. You're creative, like he is, and you're enjoyable to talk to. But nothing more. Sooner or later, you'll continue on somewhere else, making waves and drawing attention. And in your wake, he will be left to sink. It's what expects.

Except...

You don't leave.

Your chats start out small. Short and sweet, a How are you today? wondered whenever you pass each other in the halls a couple times a month, curious about the goings-on of his life.

He never has anything interesting to tell you about. No adventures or tales to tell, nothing beyond the walls of a cramped and cluttered office.

You must be bored, he thinks.

But then you start seeking him out. Instead of just catching up for a couple minutes whenever you happen to walk past each other, you hunt him down in his office - and god, he wasn't lying when he'd told you it was cramped.

You're amazed he even has the space to think in there, with how tight it is. Yet you still shimmy yourself into the tiny room, careful not to disturb any piles of papers, and find a careful seat on a spot of open floor beside his desk. There's no room for a second chair, and you've always made it clear that you dislike standing when you're having a long conversation.

It's nice to sit down and rest somewhere together, you'd told him one time.

You grow closer after that. From seeing him a couple times a month, to a couple times a week, to literally every day. You don't seem to care that he never has anything 'exciting' to share with you, even going so far as to chastise him for calling himself uninteresting.

Your experiments are cool, you'd insisted, while leafing through one of his old journals. It's incredible to get to see how your mind works, and how creative and inventive you are. You have so many ideas, Viktor, and I really believe that they could help people.

Something changes in him, after that. He'd always been quieter around you, listening to your stories, and dutifully answering your questions: never quite letting you in.

Now he looks forward to seeing you.

His heart skips a beat every time he hears you knocking on his office door, a chipper little pattern reserved only for him. You know that he doesn't always like dealing with students after hours, so you'd come up with a way to let him know that it was you who was greeting him.

Things progress...surprisingly natural.

He's not subtle by any means, even if he thinks he is. The moment he realizes that he has feelings for you, all bets are off. His cheeks dust pink whenever you're around, his palms get sweaty and he fidgets, and the staring.

Looking at you with ill-contained admiration and affection.

You can't not kiss him.

You spend the next couple years having the time of your lives. Moving from classes and overbearing internships, to actively working on experiments. Collaborating with each other, drawing up ideas and debating functionality and form. The two of you get so heated when you're creating things together.

Neither of you are surprised when it devolves. Wide gestures and hasty chalkboard sketches, impassioned explanations and wild eyes - you bite your lip as you let your gaze trail over him, in all his dishevelled beauty. Hair a mess, tie crooked and loose, shirt partially unbuttoned, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Many nights are spent like that, cooped up in his little laboratory, surrounded by sketches and blueprints and scribbles and stray notes. His fingertips digging into the soft of your skin as he kisses the breath out of you. The rhythmic clunking of his crooked desk most telling, as he draws forth your little squeaks and sighs of delight.

Absolutely ruining you, filling you, stretching you open. Feeling the way you tremble in his hands, held tight to his slender body as he reaches so deep into you that you'll feel him for days.

Sinking his teeth into the side of your neck when he finds his own release - to stay quiet, he tells you. But you both know it's his way of marking you.

Claiming you.

You're his. You're his person, his love, his partner. Your eyes only ever shine the way they do when you look at him.

Your body, splayed out and spread before him, quivering and gasping and covered in a thin sheen of sweat - his.

Your taste, sweet on his tongue - your mouth, your skin, your arousal that drips out of you whenever he so much as looks at you.

His.

And he knows, without a single atom of doubt, that he's also yours. So entirely entangled with each other, neither of you knowing how you'd managed to exist separately before now.

How had you possibly found beauty in every day, when you'd never heard his voice? Never caught a whiff of his sweet shampoo as he ambled past you? Never felt the warmth of his touch, or the puff of his sighs on your cheek? Never known the tickle of his hair on your bare skin as you slowly woke every morning to find him curled around you, his face smashed into your back and soft snores emanating from him?

No matter, you think. You have him now, and that's what's important.

...until everything changes.

You miss a period.

You tell him about it.

You're both on edge, but he tries to remain optimistic. Cycles can be upset sometimes, he tells you, as if you don't already know. (You're certain he's really just trying to reassure himself.)

But deep down, you know.

You can feel it in the all-encompassing tiredness you wake with every morning. In the random bouts of nausea, and the sudden food aversions. The back aches, and all the sudden new smells you can detect.

You know something is amiss.

And he knows, too, when he finds you one time in the middle of the night. Standing in your shared little kitchen, in the dark, illuminated only by the light of the open refrigerator.

Pulling pickles straight out of the jar, dipping them in mayonnaise, and sinking your teeth into them. Like they were to most delectable thing you'd ever ingested.

You're both terrified, of course.

You're not really surprised that you've managed to fall pregnant - not with the way you two lust after each other practically every night, and sometimes in the morning. Maybe even once or twice in between meetings, when you're both squished together in his compact office.

Neither of you ever thought you'd become parents.

And certainly not right now.

But...you want this, you realize. You want this with him. You want a family with him, you want the evidence of your love - you want a future with him, and you want to see what beautiful little person you'll make together.

Would they have his eyes? Yours? He hopes they have your smile, he tells you, eventually.

It takes you by surprise, his words, what with how quiet he'd been since you'd both figured everything out. You'd been worrying that he wasn't really on board with keeping the baby - with being a father. And you hadn't blamed him, really.

You'd been beyond stressed at the idea of raising a child alone. The thought of him leaving you, leaving behind something so intrinsically tied to him, had been slowly breaking your heart. You hadn't wanted him to stay simply out of obligation - you know you wouldn't be able to cope with the eventual resentment that such an action would breed.

But to know for certain now that he'd only been anxious?

That he wanted this with you, and was excited?

You're so happy that you immediately burst into tears, squeaking and sniffling and snotting uncontrollably while Viktor bites back a laugh and herds you into his embrace. Stroking your back and murmuring the sweetest things to you while you try to catch your breath, leaving gentle kisses all over your face.

Telling you all about what kind of person he hoped your little one would be.

Your smile, most certainly, he said, resolute. You have the most beautiful smile. You light up the room wherever you go. Maybe your sense of humour, too. And certainly your compassion.

Your tears slowly began to lessen, as you let yourself be lulled by the comfort of his arms around you.

Your hair, though, you insist, smushing your face into his shirt. You look so pretty in the mornings, all fluffed up and in disarray. It's the cutest shit I've ever seen.

That garners a laugh from him.

I want them to have your eyes, as well, you admit, albeit somewhat shyly. I've never seen a colour like yours, so intense and complex. Way back when we first met, and you looked at me for the very first time? I almost lost the ability to breathe. It was...it was like I knew, right then. That you were the person I wanted to spend my life with.

He squeezes you a little bit tighter, stooping down to tenderly slot your lips together. Slow, lazy, intimate. Sharing breath and warmth and love and-

He takes you again.

Right there, in the dim quiet of his office, not seeming to care if anyone passing by in the hallway might hear you. Spoiling you absolutely rotten, speaking praises against your skin as he brings you over the edge again and again and again.

Pupils blown wide as he sinks his fingers into you, crooking them perfectly as to reach the spots he knows will drive you mad. The papers strewn around the room don't matter - they don't even cross his mind, as you wriggle and squirm and quiver and cry out for him.

How could they, when all he can focus on is the way you look when your body tenses up, another wave of ecstasy coursing through your veins, culminating in your lovely little noises, and the addicting feeling of your pleasure dripping down his fingers and over his palm, soaking him thoroughly.

He would be happy to have you like this, as frequently as you would let him.

He knows how sensitive you must be by now, not only from his ministrations, but also from the way your body is changing. He's done his fair amount of reading since discovering your pregnancy - he's aware of all the ways you might be feeling.

The hunger, the exhaustion, the aches and pains.

The all-encompassing, single-minded lust you might go through.

He's ready to please you, however you might want - his fingers, his mouth. And whenever you might want. You could wake him up in the middle of the night, for all he cares. You could nudge him from the sleep that he so desperately needs, and he'd ask not a single question besides What do you need, darling? How would you like me?

What he doesn't expect is his own desire.

You're beautiful. You always have been beautiful. Even as things change, he was absolutely certain that you would never stop being beautiful.

It's you, so of course he's going to want you.

But seeing you now, whining and looking at him like he's hung the moon in the sky, specifically for you? Your tummy already growing round with the life that you've made together, visible proof of your love? Desperate whimpers falling past your lips, begging him for more, for him to fill you up again and again and again?

He can't resist you.

Even when he starts to ache, and his arms start shaking, and his throat is raw and dry from breathing hard and calling out for you.

He can't resist you.

You're insatiable.

So is he.

He's a little more careful as the months progress. Manhandling you less, digging his fingers into the soft fat of your hips a little gentler. He's cognizant of how you're most comfortable, watching in awe as you tremble on top of him, grinding down on him and taking his entire length into you like you were made specifically for him.

Nearly every day, you beg for him.

He loves you.

And when the time eventually comes for you to waddle carefully into the labour centre, meeting your midwife along the way, Viktor tries to keep his worrying quiet. Tries to stay by your side as a supportive pillar, regardless of how well or not he might actually be able to hold you up.

Holding your hand, kissing your knuckles. Trading his fingers for a stress ball when you squeeze a little too hard (and then another stress ball, stronger this time, when the first one explodes in your fist after a couple minutes. It shocks both of you, but to his surprise, you start laughing).

He tenderly dabs the sweat off your forehead as the hours go by, keeping your hairs from pasting themselves to your face and neck. Staying nearby as a source of comfort, but not so close that you feel smothered by him - allowing you the space you need to wiggle around as you see fit.

Telling you stories to distract you, listening to your complaints and observations as his words become unable to mask the pain of your contractions. Doing his absolute best to bite back a fond grin as you breathlessly curse him for doing this to you.

I didn't mean it, you tell him, as soon as the words leave your mouth, your eyes wide and tearful with sorrow.

I know, he promises, leaning forward to press his lips to your dewy skin.

You sigh happily.

It's not for another couple hours that your baby finally decides to enter the world.

You're beyond exhausted, and Viktor is starting to get fidgety with his worry. Is it supposed to be taking this long? he wonders internally, keeping his questions to himself so as not to stress you out even more.

The midwives, to their credit, are incredibly skilled. Staying by your side throughout the whole process, carefully monitoring everything they need to in order to make sure you're healthy. That the baby is healthy. He knows that they would say something, if anything was truly wrong.

And when the little one finally arrives, she does so kicking and screaming, making an absolute ruckus in the quiet room. The door is shut tight, keeping the sounds of the busy establishment at bay, and the curtain is drawn for your privacy so no one can see in when the staff come and go.

But when your girl begins shouting her absolute displeasure into the air, Viktor swears he can hear some quiet clapping and cheering from the hallway. He doesn't know if it's for your success, or for something and someone else entirely - but for a moment, he likes to believe that there are some strangers out there who are happy for him.

They don't know his story, and they don't know yours - but they've heard a great cry from somewhere hidden and full of struggle. An all-encompassing wail that confirms the presence of life, shouting to the world I am here, I am alive, and I have absolutely no idea what's going on!

He doesn't know when the tears start trailing down his cheeks.

Perhaps it's when he first lays eyes on your girl, pink and cranky and a little bit squished. Putting up a fuss on your base chest, scrunching her little face up as you speak softly and tenderly to her.

Perhaps it's when one of the midwives hands him a very soft towel, instructing him on how to carefully pat away the blood and fluid still clinging to your child. His eyes growing wide when he oh so gently cleans her off to reveal more of her tiny features.

She's still new, and needs time to decompress (so to speak), but he stares at her with such rapture. Taking in every inch of her, burning her face into his mind so that he might never forget her. Ever.

She's still new, and yet he can already tell that she has your nose. And your lips. Your smile, he realizes, with a palpable joy spreading through his chest.

His tears eventually dry, if only so he's able to better see you and the newest member of your family. Laying kiss after kiss to whatever part of your skin he can reach. Stroking the tips of his fingers over your girl's hair - her tiny arms and shoulders, her chubby cheeks, the bridge of her nose and over her brows.

But some two hours later, when you're finally allowed to rest in your comfortable hospital bed: when your baby is now dry and fed and swaddled up happily in Viktor's arms?

The tears begin again.

Privately, in the dim of the room, while you snooze a couple feet away from him, he weeps. Silently, and without so much as a sniffle. He cannot stop the wetness that rolls down his face, even if he wanted to.

Your girl is finally relaxed, after her grand, dramatic entrance. On the edge of sleep, warm and with a full tummy, making funny little expression while she dozes.

Much to Viktor's delight, she has a head of fuzzy brown hair - dishevelled and sticking in every direction, not matter how the midwives had tried to tame it. It'll settle down in a few days, they'd promised. But he didn't care.

The wild mop on top of her head rivalled the chaos of his own. The same shade of chestnut, though perhaps less coarse in texture. Maybe it will grow to the same thickness eventually, he thinks, a fond smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he imagines how much he's going to have to help her with it as she grows.

Brushing the inevitable tangles out with a soft brush. Pulling the strands back into braids so she can run around and play easier - or maybe little buns on the top of her head, he realizes, the image conjuring up in his mind.

All at once, pictures pop through his head, so vivid and bright that he can almost see them appearing in front of him.

Watching your daughter grow. Sleepless nights of taking care of her, catering to her every whim. Making sure she's fed, and comfortable - entertaining her with silly little toys that make silly little noises, bright colours painted across them. Reading her books with bright, enticing visuals for her to stare at, despite the fact that she doesn't know what words are.

Making trinkets for her as she gets a little older. Things that help her learn, but that also keep her excited and enticed, encouraging her exploration of the world around her. Teaching her to walk, by helping her strengthen her little legs. Sitting on a footstool, a wide smile on his face, as you hold her by her arms and support her as she figures out how to use her legs while upright. Leading her right over into his waiting arms.

Until she's able to balance on her own, after a number of weeks of practising together. Pushing herself up into a wobbly stance, doing her absolute best to try and balance. Maybe she stumbles a couple of times, but she's persistent -stubborn, like he is- and continuously rises back up until she's able to make it over to him on her own. Giggling and wiggling when he scoops her up and praises her and showers he in affection.

Teaching her about anything and everything, the bigger she gets. Answering every question she has, no matter how confusing or senseless - encouraging with his own suggestions, and prompting her to discover some answers for herself. Putting together little experiments for her, so they can learn together and so he can watch her eyes widen with the joy of new information.

Fixing her toys for her whenever they break, as she brings them to him with misty eyes and a wobbly bottom lip. Papa, it fell apart, she says sadly. To which he pulls her onto his lap, regardless of what work he was doing, and helps her repair the damage. Letting her watch and observe when she's still too small to hold a screwdriver, and carefully explaining things to her when her motor skills start to develop more.

And then helping her figure out in what way her toy broke, when she's a little bigger. Asking specific questions, so she can work to connect all the dots herself. Helping her gather the materials that she needs in order to fix things herself, and praising her to the high heavens when she presents the finished product to him.

The little thing is slightly lopsided, but he fully believes that it adds to its charm - tells her as such, when she sighs about it not being the same as before.

It's a little uneven, just like me, he says, with a laugh.

And, much to his complete shock, she wraps her little arms around him, and gives him her strongest possible squeeze.

It adds to your charm, she parrots back to him with complete honesty. I like you, Papa.

And once again, for the umpteenth time throughout his daughter's life, his eyes well with tears and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She could go anywhere she wanted, once she grew up. Learn anything, do anything, be anything. Perhaps she'd enjoy the sciences, like he does - machinery, and building, and designing, and inventing. Maybe she'd get into art, and spend her days painting or sketching, or writing, or making music - inspiring other people with the things she makes.

It doesn't matter, though. Because no matter what she ends up enjoying, or where she goes in her life, Viktor will support her with his entirety. Even when she grows all the way up, and inevitably leaves home to begin her own life, whatever that may be.

He knows he's going to cry then, too. So many years together, and yet it will still never be enough.

But for now, he sighs, staring adoringly down at the tiny infant in his arms. For now, they have time. He vows silently to never waste a single moment with her, and never pass up the opportunity to spend time with her. No matter how busy or frustrated or tired he gets, he won't let her grow up feeling unwanted or unloved or unimportant.

He'll give her a better life than he grew up with, and that is both a promise and a threat.

After all, he would do anything, for her.

His greatest creation.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #viktor headcanons #viktor blurb #viktor reader insert #arcane reader insert #i am slowly rising from the dead whoops

359 notes · View notes

jaemified · 10 months

Text

same dream, same mind, same night - hong jisoo

“ive waited this long to be with you. what’s another few months?”

pairing; joshua hong x fem!reader

genre; angst, childhood best friends/brothers bsf, kinda fluffy, unrequited love, friends to lovers

warnings; swearing, drinking, mingyus mean but hes just drunk, y/ns scared of commitment (arent we all), mention of bruises/scraping against concrete, and blood (blood parts pretty brief)

wordcount; 3.0k

synopsis; confiding in her longtime best friend after the end of a rocky relationship, choi y/n begins to heal once more and realizes what’s been waiting in front of her after all this time.

note - i love samex3 sm+i wanted an excuse to write w this song and for josh soo

read below the cut !

“you can’t just leave me here!” y/n exclaims to her boyfriend of four years, stumbling out the back door of a club to follow the man before her.

the loud music echoed throughout the alleyway, ringing through y/n’s slightly pounding head though she wasnt nearly as drunk as mingyu.

“actually i can, the car is registered under my name anyway.” he scoffed as he wrapped his arm tighter around his one night stand’s waist.

“and how are you supposed to drive? you’re absolutely wasted.”

“i’m not wasted, in that sense. but i realize how much time i’ve wasted on you.”

y/n grabbed her boyfriends arm, clinging onto him with watery eyes and a shakey grip. she ignored the way the desperate girl next to him gave her a dirty look, rolling her eyes.

“you don’t want to do this mingyu.”

“no,” he lowly chuckles. “you don’t want to do this, y/n.”

he shakes his arm harshly as y/n’s hold on him began to slip, before the girl tugged on her forearm, shoving her backwards into a puddle of god knows what.

y/n ignored the bruises beginning to form on her knees as she scraped against the rough concrete, struggling to get up with weak knees.

the ‘couple’ turns around, walking away towards the other side of the street.

“are you fucking serious? you’re gonna throw away a 4 year relationship for some girl you met at the club?!”

“you’re spewing nonsense, you’re drunk, you should just go home sweetheart.” the girl yelled back in faux pity, pulling mingyu into a kiss while she knew y/n was watching.

it was heartwrenching sight. y/n felt her heart ache, her stomach drop, eyes heavy, head hazy.

“mingyu! stop! please.” she called after to no avail.

with her already shaky knees, she tried to run after them only to trip and scrape herself more harshly then the first time.

she winced as she saw the blood begin to draw, the dirt falling into the open wound.

it was a rather big gash for a small fall, before she realized it was a broken glass bottle she had tripped over.

it was raining now, pouring rather heavily.

y/n sat flat on her butt in the middle of a sketchy alleyway. she began to cry, not just from the ache of the glass digging deep into her flesh, but from the ache in her heart mingyu had left her with.

she sobbed loudly, clutching her chest. she began to curl up into a ball and hugged her knees tightly.

with every drop of the heavy rainfall, her sobs only grew more painful she could feel herself running out of breath.

y/n was pretty fucked. stuck in the middle of who knows where, in a pretty bad area not to mention she was caught midstorm, left with no money (as mingyu used the rest of her money on drinks while she got up to the bathroom), no umbrella, phone in low battery before she realized-

wait.

with her vision blurred, she dug into her purse for her quickly dying phone.

through all the old receipts and packs of gum, her white phone with its clear case still stood out the most. inside the clear case was a polaroid. of her, her brother (seungcheol), and their best friend, joshua, as kids sitting side by side in the sand.

she laughed sadly as she looked at baby her, with her arms wrapped around both josh and cheols necks, the three of them flashing bright smiles.

well shit, she finally snapped out of it and realized what she needed to do.

y/n unlocked her phone, quickly scrolling through her favorites in her contacts.

‘4%’ the upper corner of her phone flashed.

she thought of who to call yet no one seemed to be a good choice.

seungcheol? no, he’d get mad and yell a lot.

jihoon? stuck at work, as always.

wonwoo? working the late shift at the cafe.

mingyu? absolutely not.

y/n thought hard before one familiar name popped up in her mind. how could she not have thought of him?

she scrolled for his contact, finding it, then questioning how she missed it when he was third on her favorite contacts.

calling shua🫶

the loud buzzing of his phone caught both his, and his friends attention, interrupting one of their late gym sessions on a random saturday.

“who could be calling you at this hour?” chan questioned, putting down one of the two weights he was lifting.

“his beloved y/n!” soonyoung teased with a soft grin.

“its not even that late? its only like 10.” seokmin said with a hint uncertainty attached at the end before he checked the time.

joshua brushed off his friends, stopping the treadmill as he paused his music before he had checked the contact name.

‘incoming call from y/nn!<3’

“hey, how are you?” he asked with a genuine smile.

“fucking terrible.”

“are you okay, do you need help?”

“are you free right now..?”

“i mean yeah, im just at the gym with the guys. what’s up?”

“hate to be a bother but can you please come get me?” she emphasized.

“why, what’s wrong? i mean- not why like, ill pick you up either way but just kinda, you know-” “stop being like that and just go get her already!” chan yelled with his distinct laughter.

y/n sniffled, quickly wiping her eyes before chuckling in response, “hi channie!” she spoke with as natural of a voice she could put up.

“she said hi channie.” “dont be jealous!” soonyoung teased.

she smiled at how natural they were with each other, and also at how easily joshua got annoyed.

he walked out the gym of the apartment complex and stood outside the door, ignoring how he had 3 sets of eyes on him.

“okay, im alone now. what happened?”

“ill tell you what happened in person, just please hurry. im kinda injured and also soaking wet. rain really isnt friendly.”

josh walked back into the gym, quickly grabbing his sweater and keys, signaling to the guys that he’d be back later as he pointed towards the parking lot through the window.

“im leaving now. where are you?”

“i dont know, mingyu was the one driving. ill just drop my pin.”

“that bastard i swear if he hurt her..” he mumbled, thankful it wasn’t heard by y/n.

“thank you shua, i really do owe you.”

“it’s fine. that’s what friends are for right?”

“yeah. love you.”

“love you.”

he sighed as he remembered you were just two best friends, nothing more, nothing less. and yet you still had him wrapped tightly around your finger.

y/n squinted when the bright headlights flashed in her eyes as joshua pulled up in his black sedan.

he quickly ran up to y/n with his umbrella, unzipping his gray hoodie and wrapping it around her cold, bare shoulders while the spaghetti straps of the black dress slipped off.

his eyes fell as he saw how puffy hers were, her red cheeks, and bloody scraped knees.

handing the umbrella to the girl before him (and telling her to make sure she’s covered, saying to not worry about him getting wet in the process), he picks her up by the underside of her knees and arms, carrying her to the car.

joshua puts y/n down to sit on the hood as he opened the passenger seat, making sure she has enough leg room, not wanting her to scrape her knees any more then she already had.

he picks her up once more, setting her down inside before taking the umbrella and closing the door for her.

“ill take you back to cheols?” he mumbled as he backed out into the street, pressing his sneaker into the gas pedal.

“no no no no god please don’t. he will kill me and i really don’t want to have to deal with that. can i please spend the night with you?” she begged, grabbing onto his muscular, veiny, covered in rain droplets, arms.

he sighed, looking over to her with a soft gaze, meeting her hurt eyes. he changed the navigation on his phone and entered in the address of his apartment complex. “how could i ever say no to you?” he flashed a lazy smile, rubbing circles into her hand.

realizing his right hand had subconsciously made its way to her rest on her thigh, he half-mindedly pulled his hand away before he felt y/n pull him back, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“so what happened? not to be, you know. but im really worried about you. you’re lucky cheol wasnt there when you called me you know.”

“i know and im sorry, it’s just- I didnt know who else to go to.”

he hummed as he stopped at the red light. joshua turned to face y/n again, repeating his earlier words. “well, how could i ever say no to you?” he mumbled as the green flash illuminated his face in the dark light.

“you know how gyu can be. but this time he just drank way too much i guess and lost it. it started at the high school reunion party last month. he got drunk and ended up sleeping with someones sister who’s like 4 years younger, she was like in 8th grade when we all graduated.”

“damn we’re old now- oh, sorry. i thought it was a girl he met at the club?”

“that’s what i thought. but she was here with her brother and he told me everything. they were meant to be a one night stand since he thought they’d never see each other again but we just so happened to enter the club as they were leaving. after he told me, i ran out after gyu but he abandoned me.”

she didn’t miss the way joshua’s jaw clenched.

“ill kill that son of a bitch i swear.”

“it’s okay, really-”

“no! its not fucking okay!” he shouted, apologizing before he realized how loud he was.

he parked in his parking space before turning off the engine to talk to her, face to face.

“choi y/n. you are a special girl, a once in a life time even, and you deserve to be treated as such. and if someone as stupid as kim mingyu cant see that then why don’t you go for someone who does?”

“like.. who..?”

“like, hong jisoo.”

“hong jisoo? i- ah.”

y/n gave him a pitiful look, and that’s all it took to get the message across.

“shua..”

“no. i get it, i can’t expect you to feel the same way especially since it hasn’t even been 3 hours since you broke up with mingyu. and even after that i can’t expect you reciprocate my feelings either way. but, even so, ill always be here for you. no matter how you want me, as a boyfriend or more realistically, a friend.”

“joshua. i love you, i really do. you know i do but,”

“-but as nothing more as a friend, yeah? its alright. i really didn’t want to say anything but it just slipped out. i didn’t want to stress you out because i know what you’re going through is hard. i understand. but what we feel for one another is a different type of love,” he stopped to gesture two different points moving in opposing directions with his arms.

“to different for our own good.” was all he said before getting out the car to carry y/n upstairs.

y/n winced as he put ointment into the fresh wound where the glass once was, looking away from josh as he held her leg, directing her gaze to the bloody chunk of glass that sat in the sink.

“soonyoung is staying at chan and seokmins place on the seventeenth floor, but i want you to take my room, and ill stay in soonyoungs since i have a softer and bigger mattress.” he whispered, making eye contact with her as he left an innocent kiss where the bandage covered her skin.

she whimpered as the events of today hit her with the small kiss, unsure of how to proceed.

y/n ran her fingers through her hair, still damp from the shower she had just taken.

“can you stand?” he asked offering his hands to help her down the counter, looking over the many bandaids covering all her scrapes and bruises.

she took his hand and tried walking around the kitchen. she had a bit of a limp, yet was still a bit stable.

“here, take this tylenol and you can wear the hoodie I left on the bed since I know you get cold, ill just shower first.”

she sat on the bed, hugging the shirt she currently wore which joshua had lent her, before slipping on his black zip up hoodie. it had smelled like him, and his familiar, comforting vanilla shampoo she recognized all too well.

she fell back onto the mattress and let her mind be consumed by her thoughts, falling asleep yet only for a short while after.

she later awoke at the sound of joshua digging through his drawers for a white tee, being able to catch a glimpse of his toned body before he slipped the shirt on.

he turned around to y/n, bending down to tuck her stray hairs behind her ear, pressing a kiss into her forehead. “goodnight.”

before he could fully walk away from the bed, y/n grabbed his arm. “stay.” she sleepily whined.

“you need your own space so you can heal, i dont want to accidentally hurt you or anything.”

“you could never hurt me. so just please stay.”

“y/n..”

“please? what happened to you can’t ever say no to me?”

he playfully scoffed before giving in and slipping into the sheets.

y/n dug her head into the crook of his neck, smiling at how he shivered whenever he felt her hot breath against him.

“goodnight shua.”

of course, when cheol found out he was absolutely pissed. y/n would wake up from hundred of missed calls from mingyu, begging for her to take him back after he realized what happened. cheol (and josh.. and, chan?) ended up giving mingyu a bit of, talking to. he learned his lesson didnt he?

it was now over a year, almost two, later. winter time now. joshua had taken y/n to the han river bridge at night. they walked along it together.

with mingyu out of the way, josh and y/n became inseparable (more so then they already were) and drew even closer to one another if that even was possible.

with time, y/n began to realize what it is she wanted. joshua hong. after all, they had always shared the same mind, same dream, all within the same night - ever since they were kids.

“can i tell you something?” she asked, looking down at the river below.

“go ahead.”

“i think, that i like you. and im not sure when or how but you were just always.. there. i don’t know why it took me so long to realize what was there waiting for me, right in front of me.”

silence.

“that’s too bad. because i don’t think i like you, i know i love you.”

“ew you’re so cringey!” she exclaimed, jokingly pushing his face away from hers.

just as joshua reached for y/ns hand, she pulled away. “but before you say anything else, i need to tell you something. i don’t think i want a relationship- or, no i do! just, im scared. i feel like i need a short while longer but i really do wanna be with you,” she paused, thinking of her next words.

“its not that i don’t trust you. im just scared of whatever that was happening again, or if mingyu comes back or something. just, give me a month?”

he smiled, and pulled her into a hug, letting y/n’s head rest on his chest.

“ive waited this long to be with you. what’s another few months?”

y/n felt her heart melt at such a simple yet meaningful statement. she wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“ive dreamed of being with you since we were kids. you dont know how much it hurt me when you started dating mingyu. and i knew your brother wouldnt dare to let his one and only little sister date his best friend.”

“well. none of that matters now, because it’s in the past. you have me now dont you? and don’t worry about cheol, he’d just want us to be happy. and if he doesnt then that’s just him being a big baby.”

joshua laughed in response, smiling as he held y/n tightly in his arms while they watched the city below, over the river.

she knew she was right giving a guy like joshua a chance.

i will never change.

promise me eternity,

if you feel the same way as i do

they had both dreamed the same dream for years, and now here they’d be, spending the same night together forever.

he knew in that moment she had been worth the wait.

joshua hong’s (almost) finally got to call the girl of his dreams, his, and he couldn’t be happier.

317 notes · View notes

cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme · 3 months

Note

Lol Ive got an Artoria Pendragon prompt for both saber Artoria and lancer Artoria. Where a previous male master of hers is summoned as a heroic spirit that she has a romantic relationship with that turned into a marriage after she stayed with him as a familiar after the grail war ended. She's constantly spending time with him and having alone time with him leaving the knights of the round confused on who reader are until they finally ask Artoria and she announces that That The newly summoned servant is her spouse and therefore her queen.

I went in a bit of a more... Chaotic direction for this then I intended...

Still, I had a blast writing it!

NOW! YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND!!!

Mordred’s 1000 yard stare bored into the cafeteria wall, coming dangerously close to burning a hole through it.

At the most definitely not round table next to her’s, the knights of the round sans their king were drawing straws to ask Mordred what was wrong.

Now let us all pray for Gawain and thank him for his sacrifice.

Oh, now he was sitting next to Mordred with the same traumatized stare…

Then Lancelot.

Then Bedivere.

Then Tristan.

Then Merlin, who began to laugh his ass off as if he was in on an inside joke.

That left only Gareth, who, upon asking what cursed knowledge caused this, followed them promptly.

That cursed knowledge in question being this.

Mordred heard moans from the king's room, and the king telling the newest Caster of Chaldea “Don’t Stop”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The Knights stealthily watched Artoria and you from across the room, a sense of impending doom hanging over them.

And that sense of impending doom was growing with every second as Artoria began to slowly and very conspicuously scoot closer and closer to you on the couch.

Eventually Artoria was sitting as close to you as she possibly could, a content smile on her face as she began to whisper something to you.

The Knights were quite concerned about this, but there was nothing they could do about it.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Artoria eyed her knights conspicuously watching her as she stealthily slid closer and closer to you with each passing second.

She should probably tell them who you were.

Alternatively, she wanted to keep you to herself as long as she could.

Needless to say, she knew what option she was going with.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

This torture of the knights continued for a month.

Mordred saw Artoria share food with you, nearly killing her from the shock of it on the spot.

Gawain saw the king give you a secret kiss on the lips, causing him to faint dead away.

Lancelot has been into the infirmary for head trauma a concerning amount this month from slamming his own head into walls.

Tristan was mostly normal about all of this. Mostly.

Merlin was laughing his ass off.

Gareth had gone into overdrive with making food and sweets to keep her mind off things.

And Bedivere was really just still traumatized by the implications of what happened.

Eventually this all came to a head when Artoria had her fill of fun and called the knights to assemble.

After that things got… chaotic.

Especially when she explained that, through a surprisingly well thought out powerpoint, you were the Queen and then you popped in to say “So that means I’m your mom now Mordred! Technically at least.”

Mordred kinda… checked out after that…

Slowly things began to fall into place, but a certain flower mage wanted to keep his entertainment going for just a while longer.

So, Merlin being Merlin, asked “So then Artoria, how was it to have your bed warmed by your lover again?”

“What do you mean? We haven’t… wait… wait! Oh! HA! HA AHA AH!” you said before beginning to laugh, leaving the knights confused and Artoria blushing as you laughed while falling to the floor, unable to control yourself.

“T-that wasn’t… intercourse…” Artoria said before muttering something under her breath as you howled with laughter on the floor.

“What was that my king~?” Merlin cooed, a mischievous grin on his face.

This when put together with your laughter and her knight’s confused stares led to the inevitable.

Artoria cracked, and, much to her shame, told them exactly what happened.

“IT WAS THE QUEEN GIVING ME A SHOULDER MASSAGE!!!”

Artoria Lancer, unlike many of her other counterparts, can be rather… mischievous at times.

Not to the same effect as Merlin, but she does take some amusement at others' expense on occasion.

And so when you showed up one day and after all of the hugs, kisses, and crying, Artoria knew just what to do.

She was going to introduce her knights to their queen.

Eventually.

Until then however, well, Artoria was going to ensure her knights were kept on their toes.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

First up was Mordred, and Artoria’s plan for her was simple.

A hickey on the neck, or what looked like one at least.

The reaction, to be expected, was Mordred completely breaking.

Second was Bedivere who showcased similar results after seeing her exiting your room.

Next up was Gawain where all she had to do was make a few implications to have him clutching at his proverbial pearls.

Lancelot was next, and he was a slightly tougher nut to crack, at least until she gave you a quick kiss on the cheek.

Gareth simply received an off-handed comment from Artoria about you being “Someone rather important from her point of view.” This left Gareth confused for a few moments until the dots connected in the way Artoria had predicted.

Tristan was… already in the know… somehow…

And so, with all her little pieces of chaos sowed, Artoria sat back with you at her side and had some popcorn and a massive buffet of other foods.

However, she eventually ran out of food after… several months.

You were surprised she had that much self control.

You were also surprised when the knights of the round kidnapped you in a very dramatic fashion.

Bag over the head, handcuffs, the whole nine yards.

“WHAT IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH MY FATHER YOU HOMEWRECKING RIDER!!!” a very distressed Mordred shouted as she tore the bag off your head, revealing a room covered wall to wall in bulletin boards filled with pictures, red strings, documents and the other, equally distressed Knights of the round..

It seems Artoria’s little mischief has gone a *Tad* too far…

And now Mordred was shaking clarent in your face…

It is probably time to start talking, fast.

Then the door was blown off its proverbial hinges as Chaldea had sliding doors.

And there stood your one and only, Artoria Lancer, looking very, very irate.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

One quick ass whooping later, the Knights of the round were sitting on the floor, lumps on their heads and looking very ashamed of themselves.

After all, they had just kidnapped the queen…

And that was a whole other can of worms for Mordred…

Nonetheless, the entire charade came to an end, and you were only slightly disappointed the amusing antics Artoria had caused were over.

Simply put, there is no pomp or flashiness when Artoria Alter is involved.

When you are summoned she is going to find you, kiss you, and tell everyone in no uncertain terms, that if they were to even think about touching “Her Berserker” she will use their head as a doorstop and feed their bodies to pigs…

After that, she refuses to elaborate and leaves, you following her closely behind.

This left a very scared Chaldea and a very confused Knights of the round.

This is because of the following.

They had just been threatened by a very, very scary lady.

Artoria Saber Alter had just walked up to someone and claimed ownership of them like a lost puppy.

ARTORIA SABER ALTER JUST KISSED SOMEONE IN A VERY PASSIONATE AND LOVING MANNER!!!

ARTORIA SABER JUST DID SOMETHING IN A LOVING MANNER!!!

So, the Knights immediately set to trying to track you and her down.

This took a lot longer than any of them thought possible seeing as the two of you had simply disappeared into thin air.

Then everyone heard a massive crash from the material storage room…

On that day Guda was to be found in the fetal position upon finding their entire storage of materials having an absolutely massive chunk bitten out of them when Artoria forced you to eat them in order to have you in your “Final Ascension” as Guda dubbed it. She did this because she wanted you in “The right clothes for my queen.”

This left the Knights in shock, however, Artoria simply went off gallivanting with you again instead of clarifying anything.

#fgo x yn #fgo x reader #artoria pendragon x reader #artoria lancer #artoria pendragon #artoria alter #artoria lancer x reader #artoria alter x reader #fgo #fate grand order x reader #fate x reader #fgo fate grand order #fate #fate go

92 notes · View notes