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justrandomfanfictionskh · 2 years ago

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Mary Todd pt5

ao3 beginning previous

Batman did not know enough about Ladybug, and that was never more apparent then at that moment. When he had expressed his concerns to his family and the other Leaguers, they had not been understanding. They all seemed to believe that he was being overly paranoid. That it was ok for him to not know every single hero's secret identity. That Ladybug was the literal champion of order and good fortune, so really how could she be evil? A lot of ways. There were a lot of ways for "order" and "fortune" to be used against them. However, he never said this to the others. Mainly because the last time he even hinted at the possibility of Ladybug deceiving them, Wonder Woman had nearly taken his head off. And yet he felt justified in his paranoia, the moment he saw the alert on the Batcomputer.

Perhaps he would be more amenable towards the young hero, if he had a clearer grasp of her strengths and weaknesses. Or any grasp of them, he barely understood how her powers worked, and no one with even a scrap of knowledge on the subject was willing to share it with him. Batman hated magic. He probably could be more accommodating, if Ladybug at least attempted to control the chaos she was making in the League. Afterall she was not only the youngest member to be indoctrinated into their ranks (Captain Marvel didn't count because he turned into an adult with the wisdom of Solomon), but she was also immediately made a senior member of the League. Not to mention the fact that she had no official mentor among their ranks. She had never worked any League missions. She had never been even remotely partnered with one of their affiliated teams. And yet she already had a seat at the high table, much to everyone's confusion and admiration. But perhaps, if he was being honest with himself, all of this could have been over looked, if she was just even slightly intimidated by him. It was a new feeling for the Dark Knight, to not have someone shrink at his glare or flinch at his anger. Even if his colleges didn't fear him, or were so powerful they didn't need to fear him, they stopped talking when he stared, and they listened when he spoke.

But not Ladybug. She never flinched or backed down from him. When he glared, she rolled her eyes as if he was a child and continued to argue her point. During their first meeting, she had interrupted him...twice. And now! Now that he had caught her researching files she had no business even knowing about. Files he had sealed, personally. Even as other heroes immediately began to back track the moment they saw him coming, she didn't even stiffen. She just sat relaxed and smirking at him, like the cat that ate the canary and was about to have bat for dessert. Even as Wonder Girl, stiffened and cast panicked looks between them, Ladybug just sat and calmly said without a hint of guilt or fear,

"Hello Batman, and how are you this evening?"

"Ladybug," he huffed, attempting to control the headache that always seemed to creep in whenever she fixed him with her bright blue eyes. "May I ask what you are doing here?"

"Well," she sighed leaning into one of her hands, "I was just doing some research for a friend. And everything was going swimmingly, when all of a sudden, this happened." She turned so that he could get a full view of the monitor, flashing the words "Information Not Found." Batman stayed silent and Ladybug continued, "You know, I was at a complete loss. About to give up actually, when all of a sudden...you show up, glowering as if I'd died your cape pink! Care to explain that?"

Ladybug smiled too sweetly at him, as her fingers drummed her cheek. Batman's scowl deepened. If this was Superman, he could give a vague non-answer, and nothing would happen. If this was Wonder Woman he could give a pointed non-answer, and she would let it go. If this was literally anyone except for Ladybug, the one hero who was not afraid of him, it would be enough to know that he, Batman, had sealed the files and would move on. But that look in her eye sent a very clear, very pointed message. It said, "Don't even try it. You have something I want. So you will satisfy me, or I will satisfy myself."

Batman sighed. If I knew her identity, I could find some way to control her, he thought. But what he said was, "We will discuss this in private." And with a billowing of his cape, he turned and marched out the door. He was barely half a step away when he heard the young heroine scoff, "Drama Queen." Before following him. He ground his teeth, and heroes lesser and greater averted their eyes when they passed.

Batman ushered Ladybug into the conference room. He immediately regretted that decision. Usually, if a lesser member was being unruly, a quick conversation with the Bat in this room would quiet them for a while. Because this room, was a stark reminder of their place. The grand table, the ornate chairs spoke far louder than he ever could. So, it didn't matter how powerful the hero thought they were when the fact remained, that he was the one with the authority that a chair in this room provided. Except...Ladybug did have a chair. A chair which she slunk into immediately, and leaning back put her feet on the table. She smiled at him, and it was clear that she new exactly what his intentions were, and that she new who to play this game. Batman took a deep breath he went to stand behind his chair at the head of the table and spoke,

"What is you're interest in Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

Ladybug waved dismissively and said, "I owe her a favor. Which shouldn't surprise anyone who did even a basic internet search on her. I mean the number of times that girl was targeted by an akuma, yeesh! Hawkmoth really had it out for her. What I do find surprising, is that you have an interest in her Batsy! I mean a young, relatively normal, Parisian girl with no criminal record, who--as far as I can tell, has never set foot in Gotham once in her life, has the infamous Dark Knight sealing and monitoring her files? That's...interesting, at the very least." She let the unspoken question hang between them as the two stared each other down. The tension was thick as they each waited for the other to speak and make the next move.

Batman just observed the hero, attempting to understand her. She was relaxed. Her feet on the table, chair slightly reclined, head resting on her right hand, left hand drumming the arm rest. But there was something in her eyes. A silent challenge and a deadly fire, as if she was demanding him to refuse her. As if she was daring him to deny her anything, that she felt she had a right to. Except, she did not have a right to this information. This was Jason's secret, his son's sister, and Batman had made him a promise. Batman could not do much for his second child. But the little he could do, he would do with a passion that could burn hell. Ladybug wanted to know about Jason's sister, well that was just to bad. Because, he was a stubborn bastard, and he would die three times over before he failed his son again.

"What you find interesting is of little importance," Batman said letting the steel he was feeling enter into his voice. "The fact is that under the current circumstances, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is of no consequence to anyone within our community, and it is to remain that way for the forseeable future."

Ladybug threw back her head and laughed. It was a short derisive laugh that had Batman on edge, but he stayed silent as Ladybug made the next move, "Under the current circumstances? And tell me Batman what do you know of her circumstances? Because whatever information you have, I'm afraid it's a tad outdated."

"Explain."

"She was one of my temporary heroes."

Batman froze. He had not known that. How had he had not known that? Ever since he had identified Marinette Dupain-Cheng as the long lost Mary Todd, he had monitored her religiously. It was how they had discovered the Hawkmoth situation to begin with. There was nothing on the CCTV footage, social media, or her records to ever suggest that she had connections to the hero community. Yes, the majority of her collège and lycée class had been akumatized. But Marinette's name was never on that list. And since the akuma records only mentioned the victim's motivation and not their target, there was no sign of them singling her out specifically. And even the widely inaccurate tabloids about her and Chat Noire were fake to the point of ridiculousness. How could he have missed this? Batman looked up and saw Ladybug's sly smile observing him with vindictive eyes. He scowled.

"That may be, but she is not currently one of your heroes."

"No, but--"

"Then she is of no consequence to the hero community, and I have no need to explain myself to you."

"Actually--"

"Furthermore, it is Justice League policy to protect the privacy of all retired heroes with every means necessary, so divulging any sensitive records that could potentially lead to her exposure to our enemies, is immediately out of the question. I thought you had a better understanding and respect for such individuals, given your extreme defense of your former partner. Or do you only concern your self with the protection of certain members of your organization."

Batman betrayed no emotion, but he felt all of the smugness of his earned point. Ladybug no longer had her feet on the table. She sat straight and rigged, clutching her chair with what had to be a white knuckled grip under her red gloves. Her blue eyes had become icy daggers as they stared him down with a glare that could match his own in ferocity, and intensity. Batman glared back. She would not flinch from him. He would not flinch from her. For a moment, no one moved, as the cold, dark fire of Batman's stare met the sharp, icy fire of Ladybug's. Then something changed. Batman blinked, as he watched Ladybug's spine unstiffen back into her chair. The fire bled out of her gaze, until she was just casually observing him with a warm calculation.

He had seen this before. It had happened almost every time they met with the spotted hero while they were still on bad terms. Someone, usually Hal or himself, would say something that had Ladybug on the brink of exploding. And then after a tense moment of still silence, she would melt into a controlled casualness that somehow undermined every impassioned speech, brittle comment, or passive aggressive threat they could throw at her. It was as if after that single moment of furry, nothing they could do or say would effect her. There was a power in that, that Batman could not help but respect, even if it annoyed him to no end. So as Ladybug relaxed, he tensed. Eventually she broke the silence saying,

"Marinette is looking for her brother."

Batman blinked. There was no teasing jabs, or subtle aggressions in her voice. It was a simple statement of fact, and it had Batman reeling, although you would never know it to look at him. Still, something in him must have shown his shock, because Ladybug stood and continued in the same controlled casual manner as she walked to stare out the window.

"I won't go into too many details about Marinette's tenure as a hero. But these are the highlights. She was targeted by akumas multiple times. I assume that part of the reason for that was because she was never akumatized. I think Hawkmoth took it as a challenge. She was, for a while, the hero Multimouse, and she served well. In the end she was exposed to Hawkmoth, but not to the public. She didn't want to stop being a hero, but she had no choice. However, she never stopped helping. It would not be inaccurate to say that Marinette Dupain-Cheng is the reason we were able to defeat Hawkmoth. Many members of my team owe her their lives. But I," here Ladybug turned and Batman saw the sincerity and determination in her gaze. "I owe her everything. So when she tells me that the only thing she wants, after everything she's given...after everything she's sacrificed, the only thing she wants is to be reunited with her brother. Batman," Ladybug came to stand directly in front of him. "She has bled, died, and been resurrected more times than I care to admit. She gave everything to defeat that bastard! So go ahead. Threaten me. Glare at me. Give me vague, passive aggressive, non-answers. I will not stop until I have found Marinette Dupain-Cheng's brother. I will tear Gotham apart if I have to. And you can't stop me...but...you can help me."

Batman was silent, stunned. The bare faced truth of Marinette's situation hit him like a freight train. This was not how he was expecting this conversation to go. But then again, the only thing he had intended for this conversation was to put Ladybug in her place, and protect Jason and his sister. But this...if this was true, then they had failed. Worse, they hadn't even tried. Batman sighed, Jason would never forgive him. He had come to terms with that fact long ago. But this fresh wave of failure on his part might just lead Jason to cut him out of his life forever. Batman closed his eyes. He could still Alfred's words as he had sealed the files all those years ago.

"This is a short term solution at best, Master Bruce. If it were my decision, then I would at the very least visit the girl. After all, there is only so much you can learn and do an ocean away."

Batman cursed his past self and took in Ladybug's silent, steady stare. "I cannot tell you what you need to know."

"Then who can?"

"Red Hood."

Jason was going to kill Bruce, and he meant it this time. He hated coming to the Watchtower. Between the hostile stares and the not exactly quiet whispers, the attention he drew only put his spine on edge and stirred the pit inside of him. He scowled under red mask and pushed through anyone who didn't jump out of his way. He was furious. Because not only did he have to enter the Watchtower, but it was because of this! Someone was looking into his sister! No! It was not happening! He had already failed her too many times, he would not let anyone drag her into this word under any circumstances! He couldn't protect her when they were kids. He couldn't protect her from Hawkmoth. He would protect her from these "heroes." And the fact that Batman had caved to them, and told them of their connection! Jason seethed. He had seen it all on Bruce's body cam, and Zetaed there the moment he saw Bruce cave. He knew the bastard didn't care, but Mari was innocent! Couldn't he at least have summoned enough of a heart to put this person in their place!

He slammed through the doors of the conference room, to see Ladybug and Batman staring each other down with arms crossed. Or well, Batman was staring down, Ladybug was staring up. The contrast in their everything would have been hilarious under any other circumstance, but right now Jason didn't care as he stormed around the table to loom over the spotted hero and growled, "What the fuck do you think your doing?"

Ladybug studied him incredulously, but it was Batman who spoke, "I was just telling Ladybug, that I could not help her locate Marinette Dupain-Cheng's brother."

Red Hood whipped around to look at Batman. His voice was stoic and unchanging. It did not silence the pit. He turned back to Ladybug and snarled, "And why do you want to know that?"

"She's my friend. She has questions. I want to help her. It's what I do."

"Oh, so you're the reasons she's died!"

"Excuse me!"

"You're her friend?!" Red Hood spat, "You put her in danger! You want to help her! Forget you ever met her! Forget she exists! Just take your stupid, fucking yoyo and leave Paris and never even think about her again! It took you five years to stop that mad bastard! Five Years! Of her suffering! I will not let you put her in danger anymore. So stay the fuck away from her!"

"Fuck you," Ladybug said casually. Red Hood saw Batman blink. The only sign of surprise he ever gave. Apparently, the spotted hero was not prone to cursing. Not that Jason minded.

"Excuse me?" Red Hood snarled.

"Fuck. You." she said slowly, and that's when Red Hood noticed something. Ladybug wasn't angry. She wasn't frightened by his outburst. She wasn't even disturbed. Most people, any kind of people, would be at least a little effected by someone of Red Hood's stature and reputation coming at them in a screaming furry. But Ladybug just seemed mildly annoyed. It had Jason subtly reassessing the hero, even as the rest of him fumed with rage. Ladybug continued speaking,

"Listen, Red Hood right? Let's get this straight. You don't get to talk about Paris, or Hawkmoth, or Marinette. You don't know my city. You don't know my enemy. And you most certainly do not know the woman who helped me save it. Did Marinette die? Yes, she did. But so did everyone in Paris. Hell! I've died! More times than I can count. So you don't get to tell me I've failed. Not when I have faced horrors and nightmares the likes of which, you're fragile egotistical mind could barely dream of. I have stood on a roof top and watched millions drown. I have looked to sky and seen it fall in flaming rain. I have stood over my own corpse and watched the world turn to ash around me. So sit down and calm down, because unless you can tell me how to find Marinette's brother, I don't care. I don't care about your petty reasons or you're petty problems. And I especially don't care about your petty rage. What I do care about is the truth. That's all I want, the truth. And if I can't get it from you, I will get it from someone else. That you can depend on."

Red Hood didn't know which was worse, the unfeeling stoicism of Batman, or the collected casualness of Ladybug. Either way it stirred the pit madness until Hood didn't know if he wanted to fight it off. A large part of him wanted to give into it and tear the woman apart limb from limb. How dare she treat Mari's suffering with such coldness?! How dare she just dismiss her like a number on a page?! He barely even registered what else she said, because it was all he could do not to give in to the rage. But before he could, he hissed cold and quiet in a way that made the worst of humanity cringe in the shadows, "If you think for one second, that I'm going to let my sister anywhere near you, you've got another thing coming, bitch!"

Ladybug froze. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened. There was silence for one single heart beat. Then in a small breath, almost as if the voice couldn't bare to be heard, Ladybug whispered, "Jay-Jay?"

Taglist:

@laurcad123 @craftgremlin @toodaloo-kangaroo @blackroserelina @maanae @kitsun369 @idkamt @aksartisticlife

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #miraculous ladybug #batfam #batman #fanfiction #marinette dupen chang #jason todd #big brother jason #ladybug

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lemielewis · 1 year ago

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WILL + LEMIE

where: hospital who: @lemielewis x @willxmeyers what: will wakes up at the hospital

WILL:

Will's body lied vertical in the hospital bed, his lungs, and heart going through the motions of life with a little extra help from the small pacemaker that now resided inside his chest cavity. He wasn’t still clinging to life, he was apparently on the road to recovery. Or so the doctors told whoever came around asking questions. The uncomfortable stiffness of his body was the first thing he felt, the next being the bright lights that shone in front of his eyelids. Keeping his eyes shut, his body slowly started coming back to life, waking from what felt like being hit by a bus. What would normally be known as a death rattle escaping his lips, thankfully it came out more like a groan. The orchestra of whirring and blipping of the machines and monitors that filled the room almost sounded like a pulse, beating in unison around one single, only just operational, heart that laid in the center of the room in the shape of a man. Broken but still beating.

LEMIE:

Despite their last conversation and the way their relationship had crashed and burned, the call Lemie had gotten from the hospital had been the most terrifying two minutes of her life. The nurse she had talked to had been so patient with her, having to repeat the same information a few times before Lemie managed to put all the words the woman was saying together in a way that made sense. Will. Hospital. Heart. Surgery. In her defense, they were scary fucking words together or apart.

She jumped in the first taxi she could find, making her way to the hospital the nurse had mentioned and marching in there yelling like she owned the damn place. Not long after, she was sitting next to Will's bed as he recovered, a scowl permanently etched on her face. She was pissed, to say the least. Mostly at him, but also at herself. Lemie had the decency to let him rest as long as he wanted, but the second his eyes opened… she was ready to give him hell.

After a few hours of pestering doctors and nurses with questions and nervously glaring at Will as he slept, she finally saw his eyelids flutter slightly. The first visible sign of life apart from the breathing. Blinding rage and relief washed over her, which was a weird sensation even for her. She sat back stubbornly, waiting for him to come to. "If you weren't already hurt, I would murder you," she hissed, not too worried about someone hearing her threaten him. "Who doesn't have an emergency contact? They had to go through your phone log and try to figure out who you wanted here." She didn't address the fact that they had picked her because her name seemed to come back the most.

WILL:

His eyes opened a sliver, the lights feeling so blinding that he almost wished it was that mysterious light people talked about seeing when they died. Almost. But as his vision adjusted, Will slowly pieced together what had happened. Memories of lying on the Oasis bathroom floor came to him in waves. The immense pain had subsided to an overall ache now, thankfully. But it didn’t mean he would be up and about any time soon.

For a moment, Will thought he was alone until she spoke. Slumped against a shitty hospital pillow, he turned his head slightly to see her sitting nearby. Had Will finally fully lost it and was hallucinating her? His lovesick stupid brain had snapped. There was no way she’d actually be here, not after what had happened. If this was heaven, he didn’t deserve to be here and if it was hell, he didn’t mind the torture of seeing her again. Will didn’t reach out to her, despite wanting to, in case it made the mirage disappear.

Lemie’s snide comment clued him into why she was here. Breaking the illusion that this was anything other than reality. “Emergency contacts are for people with loved ones,” Will replied in a rasp, the first words he’d spoken in what felt like days. He had officially asked anyone to take on this role, reckless as always. It was unlikely to be any family, given most were dead and the remaining were estranged. The pain from the tube they’d used to keep his lungs going lingered in his throat, his chest felt like someone was pushing down on it. His eyebrow pinched. “What happened?” He knew the cliff notes version, probably an overdose. Which would be very embarrassing to have to admit to his NA group, but he doubted they’d be all that surprised by him. But it didn’t feel like it at the time it was happening.

LEMIE:

Lemie would’ve thought waking up to her bitch face would at least scare Will a little, but for a second her looked almost happy to see her. What the fuck was wrong with this man? “You’re a fucking dumbass,” she added, as if he didn’t already know that. After her talk with his doctors, she had realized he was even more of a dumbass than she thought.

“Don’t try to make me feel bad for you because you can’t and I won’t,” she said categorically, leaning forward as to get closer to him. She wasn’t embarrassed about the things she was saying, but she didn’t want to get kicked out either. Honestly, she didn’t think she’d be able to let him out of her sights for the foreseeable future.

“Like a dumbass, you decided to revert back to your coke-head days and your stupid, malfunctioning heart decided to quit on you,” she told him, her voice growing in volume with every word. She was exposing how much she cared, how much she worried, and she hated it. “Meaning you had a heart attack. Apparently, amongst the myriad of things you decided not to tell me, there was a genetic disease. One that you were supposed to be monitoring and just decided not to, evidently. So, you have a pacemaker now. Idiot.”

WILL:

Despite her fury and how he felt roadkill that had been left on a highway, Will’s lips still twitched with a smile at her. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that he found her berating him hilarious, especially now. He listened intently, as Lemie pieced it together for him. She wouldn’t feel bad for him and that was valid, this was truly a hell of his own making. He couldn’t blame anyone else, except his stupid self. “I knew about the cokehead stuff. That part I was actually conscious for.” It was the aftermath that was a bit fuzzy.

The heart disease wasn’t news to him. He knew it was in his family, it was how his dad died. In a similar fashion, with people who hated him at his bedside. Will felt a pang of hurt at the thought, that despite everything he tried, he ended up just like his father. “A pacemaker?” Will repeated, it made sense why his chest felt like it was tight. It had been ripped open and sewn back together. He turned his eyes away from her and towards the ceiling, focusing on the gross water damaged spot that hung above him.

“I guess that means no more playing with magnets,” he sighed, feeling a little more himself. Or maybe it was the pain medication that ran through his system. It was a life-altering thing, to now have something else assisting his every heartbeat. But he couldn’t comprehend the seriousness of it. Not right now. “That’s a shame. I bloody love magnets.”

LEMIE:

Lemie was completely baffled by his reaction, the smile on his face making zero sense to her. She was so upset with him, so worried, and he was smiling. “Stop smiling! Are you still high? What part of you almost died on a dirty bathroom floor do you not understand?” She asked him, so loudly a few heads peaked in the door to check on them. Lemie ignored them, in typical Lemie fashion. “I figured, but I wanted to rub salt into the wound a little. Out of all your stupid decisions, that was the worse.”

The pacemaker news seem to hit him the hardest and, honestly, Lemie had not a clue as to why. It was probably related to one of the many things he’d kept from her. “Yeah, a pacemaker. It’s basically keeping you alive, so… don’t look so fucking bummed about it. You’re lucky you’re still here,” she told him, wanting him to grasp the seriousness of the situation. She wasn’t sure he did. He didn’t look half as shaken as she did.

“More importantly it means no more drugs and regular checkups you actually go to, dumbass. Magnets are the least of your worries.” Lemie was quickly losing patience, her worry not exactly easing given his reaction. Would he go back out into the world and immediately try to find himself some coke? It sure looked like he might with how nonchalant he was being. “Is this funny to you? Do you know what it felt like getting that stupid call?”

WILL:

She was right, as usual. It wasn’t funny in the typical sense. If he had died on that dirty bathroom floor, he wouldn’t have gently disappeared into that long night. No sense of peace overcame him in the end. It was just a long list of regrets that now that he’d somehow pulled through, Will would eventually have to address. The biggest one was letting her go. “I understand it all just fine,” his eyes still on the ceiling, thinking it through. The last thing he wanted was to upset her further, but controlling himself was not easy in his current state.

He wasn’t feeling particularly lucky, but it was better than dead. If they had asked him whether or not they should put the pacemaker in, Will would have probably told them not to bother. It was better used on someone who deserved it. But he kept that to himself. It was a sobering thought and Will remained quiet, turning a little somber as she practically begged him to take this seriously. He turned his head back to her, eyes meeting hers. “I’m sorry,” Will began. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. But you’re right, that was a stupid decision and if it makes you feel better, I have a feeling I will continue to pay for it.” His IV-clad hand motioned loosely to his chest, which was feeling particularly achy. The beeps and boops of the machines attached to him increased with his alertness.

“I am not sorry that they called you, I’m actually quite happy about it. I am sorry that it happened and that you were worried about me, but I honestly didn’t think I was going to see you again. And now I do.” It was as simple as that. “So that’s why I was smiling.” He waited for a moment before looking back up at the ceiling, exhausted by speaking so much. But it didn’t stop him from adding. “If none of that made any sense, forgive me. I just had heart surgery.”

LEMIE:

Lemie deflated slightly when he assured her he understood what had happened and the severity of it all. He still wasn't taking it as seriously as she wanted him to, but everyone had different ways of coping with shit like this. She coped with anger, he made a joke out of it. It wasn't his fault their coping methods weren't exactly compatible. "Doesn't look like it," she muttered, falling back into the chair and crossing her arms over her stomach like a child throwing a tantrum.

Everything she had said to him so far pointed towards her wanting an apology but getting it didn't feel quite right. It surely didn't alleviate the guilt she felt over him relapsing and ending up here. Although she wasn't egotistical enough to think she was the sole reason for him snorting lines in a shitty club's bathroom, she did think their fight and estrangement had played a small part in it. Had it been worth it? She didn't think so. It seemed kind of silly now if anything. "Yeah, I guess you will," she admitted, following his hand to his chest, her own heart aching in a way it never had. "Why would you do something like that? Why would you willingly skip out on important medical checkups? Do you want to die? Because I'm not equipped to handle something like that. Heart issues, addiction, I can live with, but not a death wish."

Lemie shook her head in annoyance, not that surprised by his answer because she could see where he was coming from. Despite the circumstances being less than ideal, it had forced them back together in a way and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't missed him. "Well, stop it. It's annoying. We would've seen each other again at work, stupid." She sighed deeply, getting up from her chair to fetch him a glass of water. "You sound like Marge Simpson, so have this." She held it out for him, not quite sure how to go about this. Lemie had never been great at taking care of people, especially not people she was particularly upset at.

WILL:

Will groaned at the question. Whether or not he wanted to die was a complicated one with many answers depending on so many things. Right now, it felt like he already had and he’d come back more a mangled corpse than a man. “I was busy,” he answered, seeing the cop out ahead and leaning into it. But acting this way was why she’d left in the first place. So he sighed and spoke truthfully. “And I didn’t want to deal with it. I hate hospitals and doctors and following the stupid instructions they give.” Now it was his turn to sound like a child. “I thought if I just... I don’t know, looked after myself, it’d be fine.” He stopped for a moment before adding, “Drug relapse not included.” He’d removed most stress from his life, eaten well, and exercised daily, Will thought that was enough to get by. But apparently not.

Truthfully, there was a lot Will was willing to ignore. He was stubborn like that and denial ran deep. Will hadn’t even thought about how they would have handled seeing each other at the cottage. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be pining looks from across the room. More like fiery daggers shooting at his head. “Maybe we would have, but it wouldn’t have been the same.” And that’s what he wanted, things to go back to how they were. He attempted to shuffle upwards in the bed, earning a hiss of pain as he did so but eventually, he was more upright and he took the cup from her with a stilted thank you. The water helped soothe his throat but only slightly. There was more to say it seemed, maybe nearly dying made him feel better about opening up, maybe it was the morphine or maybe he was worried that if he wasn’t quick enough, she’d be gone again. “I should have told you everything, I know that. I was being.. stupid. A dumbass, as you would say. A running theme.” How many apologies could be squeezed into a minute? “I should have fought harder.”

LEMIE:

Being busy sounded like one more bullshit excuse coming from him. She knew for a fact he wasn't too busy to go to a few appointments, they worked together after all. She knew his schedule rather well. He wanted to avoid the actual question most likely. “We're not talking about annoying rules teachers made us follow in school, we're talking about instructions that could very well keep you alive,” she insisted, not really buying into his logic. She hated authority so much, but even she wouldn't fuck with instructions from a doctor. “Right, I'll remember that when I have to write your eulogy. 'He thought he could keep himself alive by taking his vitamins and going on long-walk on the beach. May he rest in peace.' How does that sound?” She wasn't even touching the relapse, he knew what she thought of that and was probably beating himself up enough as it was.

Had she wanted him to fight for her? Probably, to some extent. To ask her to say, to go over the things he had hidden from her. As fast as she had been to dismiss him and their relationship, he had been just as quick to let her go. They were both in the wrong, as much as she hated to admit it. “It's too late now, so what's the point in dwelling on it?” The point was that she still cared about him, more than she could articulate right now. She was overwhelmed with countless emotions and she didn't think she should be making any decisions right now. He probably shouldn't either given how heavily medicated he was. “The doctors said you shouldn't be alone for a while, so I thought I could stay with you. Just while you recover. I assume you have a guest room.”

WILL:

Had he known this would have been the outcome, maybe Will would have taken their caution around his heart more seriously. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he replied lowly. She had asked for his reasoning and he had given it, stupidity and all. If this is what being honest got him, it made sense to keep his ridiculous thinking to himself. Her reenactment of his eulogy did siphon a small chuckle from him which only made him wince in pain. “Without the context of my heart exploding, that was actually quite nice. Hopefully, we can make a few edits before you have to perform it for real.” He’d been given another chance a life, whether he wanted it or not, so he might as well keep trying.

So it was too late. There was no coming back from this no matter how many times he apologised. And Will supposed that was what he deserved. This wasn’t some bid for attention or a cry for help, and she’d said clearly that there was no making her feel bad for him. Will turned back and shut his eyes, unsure if he could stand watching her leave again. But they opened quickly when she offered to look after him after he was discharged. Confusion covered his face. “I do,” it came out as a question, but he gave as much of a nod as he could. Will wasn’t completely alone. He did have others that could help, but none that he wanted as much as her. An ex-wife that would berate him just as hard, as well as the various friends he’d managed to keep. But everyone else paled in comparison. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to.” She shouldn’t have to drop everything to look after him. “But I also don’t want to miss an opportunity to have you over to my house.” A callback to their fight. It was probably too soon to make light of it, given everything.

LEMIE:

She was telling him things he already knew, that much was obvious. He was beating himself up about it and she wasn't exactly helping. No words were enough to explain just how horrible that initial phone call had been. Not knowing if he was going to make it or not had been torture, which said all it needed to say about her feelings for him. They weren't gone, no matter how hard she was being on him. “Nothing, I just thought you needed to hear that your stupid decisions don't just affect you. There are people around that care about you, people that are gonna be hurt by this. People that are going to miss you.” As vague as she was, she was obviously referring to herself. It wasn't like she knew anyone else in his life. “I'll only make edits if you die in a less stupid way. You've been warned.”

He was putting her in a tough spot by giving her a way out. She didn't want to tell him that she would've been able to sleep at night if she wasn't there, right next to him, to make sure he was taking care of himself. She didn't want him to know that she was fighting so hard not to crawl into his hospital bed and put her ear to his chest to make sure his heart was beating correctly. “I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to do it. Do I look like someone who does things against her will? Don't make a big deal out of it,” she said quickly, hoping to dismiss any inkling he might have that she wasn't as over him as she liked to pretend. “It took you almost dying to get an invite, so my expectations are high.”

WILL:

The typical William selfishness meant he hadn’t thought about anyone else but himself at the moment he decided to jump off the deep end. It was like it was a well-thought-out plan, it was an itch that begged to be scratched. But there were people, ones likely to show up in the coming days that would echo her sentiments. “I expect others will come and berate me as well.” Friends, mostly. No family to speak of, there was no way his sister could find out about this. “You know I wasn’t like I was trying to die,” he felt the need to say, in case it wasn’t clear. “I just wanted to forget for a bit.” Look how well that turned out. “Suppose that’s what happens when you’re officially too old to party.”

She looked like she was having some kind of internal battle, maybe deciding if it was a mistake to offer. But it was true, she didn’t do things she didn’t want to do so he guessed that said something. As long as Lemie knew she wasn’t obliged to look after him, that was all that mattered. “I hope you’re not expecting a castle. It’s just a house, no moat.” He wasn’t exactly living a lavish lifestyle these days. “I do have that lovely king-sized bed though. You’re welcome to have it and I can sleep in the guest room. Probably shouldn’t tackle stairs yet, anyway.” Considering that he’d just come to, it would be a little while before he’d be discharged.

LEMIE:

Did it mean something that she was the first to show up, the first to give him this speech about his actions having consequences on more people than just him? Had she given herself away by showing up here and taking charge of the situation? Probably, to some extent. If Will knew what was good for him, he wouldn't point it out. “Well, that's a relief. I mean who chooses to die in dirty public bathrooms?” Definitely not the most worrisome part of the whole ordeal, but she was just as good at deflecting as he was. “How ironic. You trying to forget led me right back to you.” He would have a hard time forgetting this part of his life with her being in his face all the time. “Yeah, well, needless to say, you're done partying and snorting cheap coke.”

It was weird making plans about where she would be staying at his house after the major fight they'd just had. They're never been too conventional, though, so it wasn't too surprising. “We'll see what makes the most sense. It'd be weird kicking you out of your room. I do think I deserve the king-size bed way more than you do, though. Especially after being forced to sleep in this chair for the foreseeable future.”

WILL:

As someone who had nearly died in a dirty club bathroom, Will felt he could answer her obviously a rhetorical question. “Heathens and drug addicts, mostly.” Both of which he definitely was and although it hadn’t been his intention, being such a way had consequences that he now had to live with.

The idea of forgetting her at all seemed irrational in hindsight. If something like this could bring her to him, what was wrong with a simple phone call? A heartfelt apology letter? He’d remember this for the next time they’d inevitably fight. “Some might call that fate, you know.” If you believed in such things. He grunted as he moved slightly, trying to get comfortable was impossible with this shit on his chest. Making light of himself seemed like the only way he was going to get through this, so the witty remarks carried on, a little slower than usual. “Had I known it was going to be the last time, I would buy something more special for the occasion. Really gone out with a bang.” He supposed that had happened anyway when his heart gave out.

The realisation dawned on Will that he didn’t actually know how long he’d already been here. Or how long she had. “You slept here?” Eyebrows pinched in concern, he wasn’t sure why it surprised him that she had. “How long have you been here?” Which led to another question, how long had he?

LEMIE:

Lemie snorted at his answer, which was the closest thing he'd get to a laugh out of her at this point. It was all still so fresh, her feelings too conflicting to really allow her to let her guard down just yet. “Touché,” she said quietly, crossing her fingers that this would be his last close call. The odds of him getting this lucky a second time were slim to none.

Her blue eyes rolled dramatically to the back of her eyes at the suggestion that this had happened because some cosmic force was trying to bring them together. “The fact that you had to almost die for us to be in the same room together really doesn't bode well for us.” Lemie shook her head, not able to find the humor in this situation just yet. It was too soon, it had been too close a call. “I'm being serious. You can't do this again. If you don't figure your shit out, I won't be here next time. I'm not going to stick around to watch you kill yourself.”

The blonde shrugged, the very picture of nonchalance if you didn't look closely enough. “They called me while you were having surgery. I stayed in the waiting room until they gave me the okay to come in here with you,” she explained, keeping her tone light. The wait had been pure torture. “I've been here since then. Not really sure how long it's been… Twenty-four hours-ish.”

WILL:

Knocking at death’s door does shift things in terms of perspective. Will knew now that maybe their fight wasn’t as relationship-ending as it seemed at the time. And as she said the word us, he couldn’t help but feel hope for them. “I like to think that’s what makes us special.” It was easy to fall back into his feelings for her, they hadn’t gone anywhere and they both knew it.

His jokes weren’t funny and she wasn’t having it. Not even in an eye-rolling, “you’re an idiot” kind of way. “I know,” he said acknowledging that he only got to pull this bullshit once. “My NA group is going to be so disappointed I missed a session. I really bring the vibes to that church basement.” It was his way of saying he had been trying but maybe it was better to just say it. So he looked at her solemnly. He’d take her hand if he wasn’t hooked up to the various machines. “I’ll be better. Promise.” Will just hoped it wouldn’t end up being a lie.

Will nodded, thinking of how long it’d been. Thankfully it wasn’t like he’d lost more than a couple days. Which compared to dying wasn’t all that bad. “You must be exhausted, it’s okay if you want to go home. Get some rest. It’s not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon.” He meant in a locational sense, but it could also be applied to his overall state of being.

LEMIE:

He had to know what hearing him say cheesy shit like that did to her, the way it made her heart do somersaults inside her chest. He had to know, if only because of her presence there today, that she wasn't over him, over them. “Shut up. We're not having this conversation while you can barely sit up on your own. I wanna be able to yell at you without worrying about your new pacemaker giving out.”

His jokes were obviously a way to protect himself, to deflect from the seriousness of the conversation they were having. She could let it slide, as long as she was sure he understood that he would lose her for good if something like this happened again. “Right, I'm sure you're the life of the party over there,” she said with a chuckle. He probably came up with all sorts of interesting stories to avoid talking about real shit. Unless he actually managed some honesty, protected by the anonymity those meetings provided. “I'll hold you to that.”

He was right, he would probably be stuck in this bed for a few more days at the very least. She intended to only leave if absolutely necessary. “I'm fine. I've slept in worst places than a chair. If you think I'm leaving and missing out on whatever instructions from the doctor you would otherwise ignore, you've got another thing coming.”

WILL:

An attempt at a chuckle was made but it didn’t come to fruition. It only made his chest hurt more, he truly had to stop finding things funny. “Alright, give me a couple days and then you can really let me have it.” Maybe once the machinery in his chest got used to beating especially fast when she was around. He was feeling a little lightheaded, but that was to be expected. “But you do realise this is the best time to interrogate me, I’m helpless and weak. I’m also high as a kite and it’s not like I can run anywhere.” And maybe he wanted to prove he’d learned his lesson. That he could give her the whole truth if that’s what she really wanted.

Will had always been bad at keeping promises. Making them was the easiest thing in the world but actually making sure to follow through? That’s where he lost people. But he didn’t cop out on a technicality. He didn’t say he’d try and be better so that if he failed, there was some wiggle room and maybe he’d get a third chance. He knew he was lucky to be receiving a second one. Lemie didn’t seem like the type to just forgive and forget so he knew it was now or never. He had to make it work.

It was sweet that she didn’t want to leave, even if it was wrapped up in making sure his stupidity didn’t linger. “I’m in their house now. Pretty sure if I don’t listen, I’ll get strapped down and I’m not really into that.” Even being confined to a bed was difficult for him, he liked to be up and about but simple things like shuffling in bed and breathing on his own were still difficult, so there was none of that.

LEMIE:

Lemie was fully planning on letting him feel her wrath in due time, maybe over a long period of time as well. He wouldn't be wrong to assume her presence at the hospital meant she was ready to give him another shot, but he also wouldn't be wrong to assume she would make him work damn hard for it. "No. When you finally tell me about all the things you thought were going to scare me off, you'll be fully sober. I'm not letting you do it while you're high on morphine, that's a cop-out," she told him, her tone making it clear she wasn't going to change her mind about this. "You can give me a preview, though."

He was right about him being at a disadvantage while in the hospital, but it was more about making sure she was aware of all the things he was supposed to do once he got out of there. Could she trust him to relay all the information correctly? Recent events made her think not. "I'm not leaving, so you can stop trying to chase me away. Plus, I'd really like to be here if they do decide to try the strapping-you-to-the-bed method. I think I'd get great enjoyment out of that."

WILL:

That was fair, he supposed. It also wasn’t like she could yell at him fully in here without getting kicked out so he understood her unwillingness to let it be easy. He only hoped that opening up to her wasn’t going to be any more ammo she could shoot his way. Will wasn’t sure that his now mechanical heart could take it. “Kinky,” he retorted to her wanting to see him bound. Most of his quips were monotone, exhaustion from being alive again washed over him like waves.

“Heart attack was how my dad died,” he revealed, looking away and suddenly becoming very engrossed in the off-white waffle blanket that covered his legs. “I think I lost an uncle that way too. Men in my family have always had very uncooperative hearts.” He played with a loose thread between his fingers. “My dad tended to not use his at all, so I think it just gave out from atrophy.”

It was one of the hardest things for him to talk about. Perhaps it was a display of good faith, that he would tell her what she wanted to know, that he told her a truth that no one alive knew. “My shoulder was broken and I did need surgery for it. But it wasn’t an accident and I wasn’t the one who caused it.” He looked over at her, hoping he didn’t have to verbalise it. “Some people are just really not supposed to be parents,” he added softly. This wasn’t a reveal for any kind of sympathy but an explanation of why he didn’t talk about it further when she had brought it up before.

LEMIE:

"I can be," she said with a knowing smile, although fleeting. If she was going to stay with him until he got back on his own two feet, she would have to make an effort from time to time. Otherwise, it'd be a pretty bleak time for both of them. So, she allowed herself and Will a little bit of a break. He deserved it, he was trying. Even she could admit that. Apart from relapsing and almost dying, he was doing and saying all the right things.

Lemie wasn't sure what she had expected his big secret to be, but even she had to admit the truth was ugly. So ugly that she felt bad for pressuring him to tell her. The truth made the revelation that heart issues ran in the family pale in comparison. She wanted to reach out for his hand, to give him some kind of control, but she also didn't want to think she pitied him. She hated pity, as most people did and as Will most likely did as well. "Is it bad I'm kind of glad he died? Because I am. If he wasn't, I hope you know I would've made it very, terribly painful."

WILL:

“You can’t say things like that while I’m in here, you’ll kill me.” He was sure Lemie had probably thought of killing him multiple times while he’d been lying there, actively trying not to die all on his own. If his heart rate elevated too much, there was no telling what would happen. Better to think of other things. Cold showers. Conan O’Brien.

Will gave her a small smile. He was well aware of what his father was like, none of it good, but it was hard to reconcile with the person other people saw. He was a “great man” who “loved his family” - so Will had learned to not speak negatively of the patriarch. Only quietly simmered with the truth, or flat-out ignored it. Gregory Meyers had the same charm that Will did, a way with people that meant he could manipulate his way into anything and get away with nearly everything. Even in death.

“Well lucky for you, you’ll never have to meet him.” Will’s father would have hated any person who spoke back to him, especially women. He didn’t long to think of how well a Meyers family dinner with Lemie would have gone. “But if he felt even a quarter of what I did, I can assure you - it was very painful.” Will looked down at his chest, the various bits attached to him, now that he was fully awake, he could see some of the damage through the V of his hospital gown. “Do you happen to find scars rugged and sexy? I think this one will be a bitch to heal.”

LEMIE:

“You deserve to feel a little bit uncomfortable,” Lemie said with a devilish smile, enjoying this way too much given his condition. “I’m gonna be staying with you and I really don’t like wearing pants, so… Better get used to it.”

It was probably a good thing that he wasn’t around for her to meet. If he was as impatient (to put it nicely) as Will seemed to imply he was, Lemie and he would’ve clashed within seconds of meeting. She was unable to hold her judgment in and was wildly protective of the people she loved. She felt murderous just hearing that he had hurt Will.

“Lucky for him, you mean. I would’ve ended him. Glad it was painful, though,” she said flatly, anger simmering right beneath the surface. His question did manage to alleviate the heaviness in the room a little and she couldn’t help the scoff that left her mouse. “No, actually the scar is a dealbreaker. Please.”

WILL:

Despite it all, it was nice to see anything other than a scowl on her face. He was sure that there was no way she’d continue to put up with him, especially now. But here she was, bantering with him like before. “If I die from you wearing no pants, can you leave that out of the eulogy? I have a reputation to uphold.”

He could see the rage on her features, obviously, his confession hadn’t stirred up sympathy for him but anger on his behalf. He was thankful for it. Looks of pity were not something he enjoyed. Maybe if someone close to him felt the same as she did, things would have been different but no one stood up for themselves in his household, it only made things worse. Will took the brunt, so his mother and sister didn’t have to, but no one escaped unscathed. The rest didn’t know or didn’t care to. Maybe she understood why it wasn’t exactly pre-first date pillow talk now. But it felt strangely good for her to know. Will wasn’t about to debate who would win in a fight, he’d never seen his father lose anything except his life. But Lemie’s words did cut through like a knife. So maybe they were evenly matched.

Now the trauma dump was over, for now, he could go back to talking about other things, feeling a little lighter. “What? Scars are cool, everyone says so.” Maybe not self-inflicted ones that were a result of stupidity, but still. “Hopefully they did a better job piecing this back together than my shoulder. I couldn’t move it for ages.”

LEMIE:

"Not a chance. It'll go something like this… 'The shitty coke didn't kill him, but Clementine Lewis' naked ass sure did. May he rest in peace.' Like it?" Lemie asked him, a seemingly innocent smile on her face. At this point, she was probably doing the opposite of what the doctors had ordered, but the beeping of the machine monitoring him was still pretty steady, so… No harm done.

"I still think you should've been honest with me. I know this isn't light and fun, but what did you think was going to happen once you told me? What you just told me pisses me off, but it doesn't make me see you any differently. At least not in a negative way. It just explains things," she said with a smile, hoping he didn't feel like he had been forced to spill the beans. Hoping he didn't regret it. "I would have run the other way."

Lemie shook her head, the look she gave him very obviously judging him for the things he chose to focus on. "Won't be enough to get in my pants again if that's what you were hoping for," she told him with a grin. "Is that you trying to warn me that I'll be waiting on you hand and foot for a long ass time?"

WILL:

Will let out a snort, the only kind of laughter he could do without straining himself too much. “Sounds like the perfect way to go,” he commented, a lopsided smirk on his face. For all the riling she was doing, he wasn’t feeling particularly sexual himself, being all hooked up to machinery was a bit of a boner killer.

Apparently, there was more to say but he didn’t bother trying to shy away from it. “It wasn’t about you,” he assured her. “I didn’t tell anyone. Ever. Even the doctors didn’t know what happened, although they could have probably guessed. My mum had a busted lip, she’d been crying. He said that no one would believe me if I said anything and he’d just pay off anyone who did. I’d seen him do it before, so I had no reason but to believe him.” He was somewhere between a boy and a man when this had all happened but for all of his life, whatever his father said came to pass. “I guess it’s just a reflex to hide it. Even now he’s gone. I usually use a foolproof backup story about skiing in the Alps, but I didn’t want to lie to you. But I also didn’t want you to know the truth.” He pursed his lips together. “You can see my predicament.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not fully convinced I can feel my body from the waist down yet so I don’t think getting into anyone’s pants but my own anytime soon.” Not that it was the furthest thing from his mind, but it definitely wasn’t a top priority right now. “Probably, if you get sick of it, I can just hire someone. They won’t have the same bedside manner though.”

LEMIE:

As far as ways to die went, being shaken by how great her ass looked wasn’t terrible. “Better than the way you almost went, that’s for damn sure,” she told him with a chuckle. Her laughter died out quickly when she remembered she was supposed to be mad at him. She had a weak spot when it came to Will, but she still wasn’t convinced that just picking up where they left off before was a great idea. Did he really need to be dealing with a fragile relationship on top of drug addiction and heart issues? Probably not.

Lemie gave him her full attention as he explained why he had chosen to keep this part of his story to himself. His logic made sense, it was impossible to deny it. He had been conditioned to believe no one would ever believe him. Even as an adult, it probably wasn’t the easiest thing to get over. “Why didn’t you want to tell me? I would’ve believed you, you know that.”

“I think even that last part might not be happening for a bit.” The doctors have said something about physical effort and having to avoid it during his recovery. He’d taken one look at Lemie and thought it relevant to ask that sex did count as physical activity. The glare he had gotten in response had been enough to chase him out of the room. “They might have a better bedside manner, let’s not kid ourselves.”

WILL:

Her laughter made his heart clench, he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing given his current condition. Most likely not. But it did still fill him with joy that even as everything stood, he could still make her laugh. Maybe things would be alright after all. He wasn’t so stupid to think that she wasn’t still pissed at him, and rightly so. Will had played a stupid game and won a stupid prize, but it was one that still kept him alive.

Maybe she couldn’t get over the fact that he didn’t want to tell her, it wasn’t about believing now. Will was the only living person who could tell the story, no one alive could attest to what happened but still, he kept it a secret. “It’s not about that,” he said lowly, eyes dropping. “When he was alive, sure. It was a secret I thought no one would believe. And it wasn’t the only time too, it’s just the only time it left a scar.” It felt stupid to be talking about it, what happened to him wasn’t an excuse for how he behaved. “I just honestly don’t like talking about it. I don’t like the pity and weirdly, I don’t like hating my dad. He may have been a piece of shit, but I wouldn’t be here without him.” So much of his life was dedicated to making his father proud and Will had failed time and time again.

Will rolled his eyes dramatically, groaning as he did. “So you have to help me into my pants and I don’t get to help you out of yours? That seems highly unfair to me.” Maybe it would have been nice to just relax and have someone look after him for a while if it were anyone other than Will. He’d never had someone care for him like that unless they were getting paid to. “Good bedside manner is overrated. I much prefer being belittled and made fun of, it makes the healing go faster.”

LEMIE:

Lemie had figured that the shoulder thing wasn’t the only display of violence from Will’s father—although perhaps it had been the worse. “Whatever. I can hate it more than enough for the both of us. Him somewhat contributing to your birth doesn’t allow him to do that to you,” she said, pointing at his shoulder, at the wound she knew was hiding under the fabric. “And I don’t pity you, for the record. I’m angry for you because you deserved fucking better than that.”

She chuckled, shaking her head slowly. “You’re gonna have to work really damn hard to ever get to take off my clothes again. Luckily for you, there seems to be plenty of time for you to do just that.” In reality, she would be taking care of him and not the other way around, but she figured it would give them time to patch things up if such a thing was in the cards for them. “Stress and terror are good for healing? That’s new.”

WILL:

Will felt like either the morphine was wearing off or perhaps he just hated this particular topic of conversation. He felt like throwing up, but he couldn’t determine why. Maybe it was the major surgery he just had. “Being angry about it doesn’t change anything, it just makes you angry.” He’d felt all the emotions of it, several times over but it never changed. Rehab therapy had told him to process it and move on, he’d tried to do the latter numerous time. But he never truly processed it. “I appreciate you saying that though.” Will wasn’t sure he necessarily believed it himself.

He would have to work hard, Will knew that but he’d hoped that so far he’d shown that he would try. “I can’t exactly sweep you off your feet right now,” he replied lightly. “But when I can, I will.” Will shut his eyes softly and chuckled. “I’m never stressed or terrified when you’re around, even when you’re trying to be that way. I find your anger quite charming. It shows that you care.”

LEMIE:

"You sound like my therapist," Lemie muttered reluctantly with a roll of her eyes. It didn't matter that she knew anger was as useless as the therapy sessions she stubbornly attended, but the familiarity of it was almost comforting at this point. Better to feel anger than to feel nothing at all, it gave her purpose, she thought. That was the whole problem, wasn't it? "Don't thank me, just believe it. I know you well enough to tell you don't. It probably partly explains why you don't want to talk about it."

She chuckled, picturing what might happen if he tried to literally sweep her off her feet in his condition. They'd probably both end up on the floor and not in a sexy way. "Yeah, you work on your big romantic gesture in the meantime," she said, the coldness in her tone slowly slipping away. It was hard to stay mad at him. "I'm glad you're the only one unhinged enough to think shit like that. Otherwise, my reputation would be completely ruined."

WILL:

“I never thought I’d be the peddler of sage wisdom. Must be old age.” Will was feeling particularly old and decrepit, which seemed fitting. But he sat in the uncomfortableness of her words, still unsure if with the entire understanding of himself and the long list of sins committed, if they were true. If life was about a balance of good and evil, Will knew which end of the spectrum he lived in. “Considering I’ve just had a near-death experience, maybe I can get to dealing with my daddy issues later. Kinda got my hands full.”

Will hadn’t thought about a big romantic gesture, other than giving her the truth like she wanted. And although she said it maybe sarcastically, he would come up with something. It’s not like he had anything else to do. “Other people are blind if they can’t see that.” If someone didn’t care, they wouldn’t waste their energy on being angry. “But I’ll keep it to myself so I don’t wreck your image.”

As he finished speaking, a doctor rounded the corner, looking over some papers on a clipboard. He looked nervously at Lemie before speaking directly at Will. “Mr. Meyers, I’m glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?” Will wasn’t sure exactly how to answer that honestly so naturally, he cracked a joke. “Like someone played a bad game of Operation on me.” It did not land. The doctor cleared his throat before beginning to check over him. “You’re lucky to be alive,” the doctor said, sounding as annoyed as a Lemie did for him not taking it seriously. Will looked over at her, who was watching eagle-eyed and listening intently. “So I’ve been told.”

LEMIE:

“You have almost a decade on me and, yet, I’m not the one half alive on a hospital bed,” she said flatly, still not over the fact this had happened at all. It’d take her a while and no sad stories from his past would get her mind off his stupidity. “Let’s add finding your therapist to our list of shit to do in order to fix Will’s life. Given that I have both daddy and mommy issues, I have no business giving you advice.”

Despite normally hating compliments, the ones that came from weird had this weird effect on her. Yes, it was kind of cringy to hear someone vocalize how they thought so highly of her, but it was also the warmth in her cheeks and the way her heart beat just a little faster. “They can stay blind, I don’t want their attention. I like it when they fear me, I can avoid most social interactions that way.”

Their conversation was interrupted by yet another doctor coming to do a quick checkup on Will. She was listening attentively, ready to make mental notes, when Will decided to crack the worst joke she’d ever heard. “Ignore him, the drugs he snorted killed the few brain cells he had remaining,” she told the doctor, shooting a glare Will’s way while she was at it.

WILL:

“Do as I say, not as I do.” If it were any of his friends in this position, he wasn’t sure he’d be so sanguine about it all. The mention of a therapist made him bristle, but there was no point in fighting. If that’s what she wanted, it’s what he’d do. He’d been to therapy before when he was in rehab, but Will knew it was something that only helped if you really wanted to change. Until now, he didn’t feel the need to.

The death glare he received from her made the joke worth it, the doctor didn’t seem to think so. “Yes, speaking of the drugs you ingested..” the doctor turned to Lemie, before looking back at Will conspiratorially. “We can have this conversation privately if you like.” If the doctor didn’t currently have his stethoscope on Will’s recently opened chest cavity, he would have laughed. “She’s staying, she’ll remember whatever you say better than I will. She’s right about the brain cells.” Not to mention, the doctor could try and remove her but Will knew who would come out on top. “Are you family?” The doctor spoke directly to Lemie now.

LEMIE:

"Trust me, I plan on doing neither what you say nor what you do," she said with a grin, leaning in a bit closer to him. She could tell he was a bit reluctant to hear what she had to say, what she thought might help him in the long run, but they would both have to work on some things if they had any intention of this thing between them actually working. Herself included. "Don't freak out. I go to therapy too, it's not that big a deal. I mean, it can be uncomfortable and confronting, but that's the point of therapy."

Lemie's lips were parting, ready to rip this doctor a new one for even suggesting she leave the room, but Will was quick to assure him that she belonged in there with him. It was disturbing how much she wanted to grab him and kiss the shit out of him at this very moment. The doctor, however, failed to realize the importance of this moment and seemed dead set on getting her to leave the room. She looked at him defiantly, her eyes narrowing in his direction. "I'm his wife, so yes. We're family," she lied without missing a beat. Saying they were related would be too weird and she wasn't getting kicked out of this room on a technicality.

WILL:

Will thought about warning the doctor, not to push his luck with how contained she was being. But he should have known Lemie wouldn't have given up without a fight. Although when she said she was his wife, Will nearly choked with laughter but by some miracle, he managed to keep it together. The doctor looked back at Will, possibly hoping for him to say differently, but he said nothing and gave an affirmative half-smile. "The drugs in your system weren't enough for you to overdose," the doctor continued as though Lemie wasn't there. "But they did cause an arrhythmia, which mixed with your coronary artery disease diagnosis caused a mass heart attack. You've now been fitted with a pacemaker." This was not news, and it was easier to digest the second time hearing it.

"They'll be a fair amount of maintenance for it. Regular checkups every 3 to 6 months, no excessive alcohol usage, and no recreational drug usage, including marijuana." The emphasis on drug usage was very heavy but it was to be expected. Obviously, his history of drug use was well recorded in his files. "No keeping your cell phone or headphones in your shirt pocket if you have one," the doctor rattled on. All the information entered Will's brain but he wasn't convinced it was really sticking. "It's all in this pamphlet." The doctor went to hand it to him, but instead, Will just pointed Lemie with a smile. "You're better giving that straight to her, she'll make sure I follow it. Won't you, darling?"

LEMIE:

This doctor seemed not to like her too much and Lemie wished it was acceptable to tell him that the feeling was very mutual. She hadn't even considered what Will's reaction to her lie might be, but she would've been willing to bet he wouldn't blink an eye. He seemed to find all the crazy things she did endearing, which she wasn't about to question. "Is your job just to repeat everything the nice nurse told us an hour ago?" Lemie muttered under her breath as she glared at him, all her anger not redirected at him. He might hear her, he might not. Either way, she didn't care.

Lemie stood up and ripped the pamphlet out of his hand, immediately skimming it in the hopes of catching a mistake in the asshole doctor's patronizing lecture. It was only okay when she did it. "Yup, this is all me," she said immediately, closing the pamphlet a second after having opened it. "When can we have sex? Is that in the pamphlet too?" She tilted her head to the side, hoping her bluntness would make the man at least a little bit uncomfortable. "You should avoid strenuous activities for at least a month." He was directing his answer at Will and avoiding Lemie's gaze completely, which made her think she'd achieved her goal. The blonde sat back in her chair with a satisfied grin, scooting her chair closer to Will this time.

WILL:

It was fascinating to watch her seethe with rage, and this time, he was not directly the cause of it. They were technically here because of him, but still. This doctor's reaction to Lemie was not something Will was responsible for. He looked deeply uncomfortable, and Will almost wanted to say 'I told you so' but he settled for a look of sympathy towards the man. "Good to know. Mark that in the calendar." He tilted his head towards Lemie, who looked quite happy with herself, before looking back at the doctor and adding "—happy wife, happy life."

Not amused. "Call a nurse if you're having any trouble," he gave a side-eyed glance towards Lemie as he left the room. When they were alone again, Will's grin spread slightly as he looked at her. "Well, that was fun. We should do this more often," he joked, chuckling to himself softly and shutting his eyes, a huge wave of exhaustion washing over him.

LEMIE:

This was going to be a long stay at the hospital if they were forced to deal with that asshole. "Yes, I'm sure there's plenty we can do in the meantime. We're very creative," she said, lacing her fingers through Will's and attempting a loving smile in his direction. It probably looked more like a grimace, but maybe that would make the doctor even more uncomfortable. "We'll be counting down the days."

She had every intention of calling a nurse if it could avoid having to deal with him again, but she somehow managed to keep that to herself. The poor man looked miserable enough as it was. "I think he hates me. Do you think it was that comment about your brain cells? Can't he take a joke? See, those were some worse bedside manners than mine."

WILL:

Their fingers were still interlocked, Will decided not to move, just in case she noticed, and withdraw her touch from him. He lay with his eyes closed, leaning back against the pillow, still slightly upright. "I think it was the red hot lasers that nearly came out of your eyes when he asked if you were family that really did it. I feared for his life." Personally, the comment about his brain cells wasn't all that bad compared to the things she probably wanted to say about him.

If there was a way for that doctor to not see them again, Will was sure he'd find a way too. He looked so uncomfortable as he left. "He's probably telling everyone about the crazy woman who wants to shag her husband after he's just had heart surgery." It was particularly unhinged how she'd gone about it all, but Will found it amusing, as always.

LEMIE:

Holding his hand felt almost like second nature, despite not even being much of a hand-holder. They had done this late at night every time they had hung out in the garden or in her bedroom. It was so familiar that she forgot that pissed off people didn't hold the hand of the people they were pissed at. "He was trying to get rid of me, of course I was annoyed," she told him with a roll of her eyes. "He was right to fear for his life. Let's just be glad he didn't try to kick me out because that would've been bad."

"Don't go thinking I was serious about that. It was all part of my evil master plan to get rid of him," she felt the need to say, not wanting him to think everything was forgiven just yet. Not that she wasn't actually kind of thinking about having sex with him. It was hard not thinking about it when he was around. "And he shouldn't judge our fake marriage. Maybe he's just jealous his sex life with his partner isn't as active."

WILL:

"Bad for who?" He quirked an eyebrow, opening his right eye slightly to look at her. "I know who I'd bet on in a match against him and you. Lucky for him, he learnt what I did pretty quickly. There's no use in fighting." It was better to just accept your fate sometimes.

Will shut his eyes once more, enjoying the comfort of her skin on his. His thumb drew lazy soothing circles against her hand. "I know," he replied, surprisingly chipper for a man who had essentially just been pied off. It was hard to be upset about anything with the amount of morphine pumping through him. Plus, he wasn't exactly feeling like he was in his sexual prime. "Was he judging? Or was he just really hoping the ground would swallow him whole so he didn't have to hear about how creative we can be?" His lip twitched, a smirk wanting to rest on his lips.

"About the therapy thing," he returned back to their conversation before the doctor interrupted them. "I'll go." He wasn't interested in ending up in here again, or losing her so he'd do what it took.

LEMIE:

"For him, obviously. I think he knew that too. I'm sure he's kicked people out before, but… Here I still am." If there was anything Lemie was good at apart from anger, it was holding a grudge. She would've found creative ways to make his life a living hell. There was always the possibility that he might walk back in with security, but she had a feeling she was out of the woods for now. "You learned that, huh? Was that before or after the fight we had in your office?" It was probably too soon to joke about that, but did it matter when she was sitting right there next to him?

Maybe it was the way his thumb was stroking the back of her hand or the hope that things might just turn out okay between them, but Lemie allowed herself to scoot the chair even closer to the bed, to him. It was only fair that she got to put her anger on pause after he had almost died. "I was absolutely planning on going into details, so it's a good thing he walked away when he did. It was about to get way worse."

She could tell he was getting tired, exhaustion written all over his face. She nodded, momentarily letting go of his hand so she could rest her head on the free space on the bed, her arms folded under her. "Thank you."

WILL:

The fact she could joke about their fight, mixed with her letting him hold her hand, he tried not to get his hopes up too high that everyone would be alright. There was still every chance he’d say or do something too stupid to forgive. But all he could do is try. “After,” he was steadfast in his answer. “If I didn’t fight with you, I wouldn’t have ended up in here with a bionic heart.” Not to say that she was to blame at all. “I just like learning lessons the hard way.”

She scooched her chair closer to him, the nearness helping him relax more into the bed. The weight on his chest was still there, a desperate ache. “You did me a mercy,” he chuckled. “I’m not sure I would have lived through that.” Having her close without kissing her was already torture, he didn’t need her listing all the various things they could still do to each other.

The absence of her hand in his, he opened his eyes slowly to see, just in case she’d gone. But she was still here so he felt at ease once again. “No,” he waved her thanks away, it wasn’t needed and he didn’t deserve it. “Thank you for being here.”

LEMIE:

Lemie rolled her eyes, finding it hard to argue with him when he was stuck with said bionic heart. Who knew how long the other one would've lasted--fight, breakup and drugs aside. It could've been a lot worse. It could've happened while she was sleeping in the next room, while he was at work in his office. So many scenarios where he might not have been found in time. At least now they knew, now he was taking it seriously. "Yeah, well, that was the last time you're doing it your way. From now on, we're taking the easy route," she told him, including herself in that statement. They both had to be better if they wanted this to work sometime down the line.

"I figured. You're very easily riled up," she said with a chuckle, leaning forward against the bed. If the doctor did come back and walked in on this, he might actually buy that they were married. She allowed herself a moment of vulnerability as she grabbed the hand she had just been holding and brought it to her cheek. "You scared me, you know. For a second, in that waiting room, I thought you might not make it, and everything that happened just felt so… stupid. Pointless."

WILL:

Somehow, even when Will was looking for the easy way out, it turned out to the be the hard way. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve never had anyone display healthy coping mechanisms before. His father chose violence, his mother chose silence. His sister was passive aggressive to the point of bitter resentment. Will was a bizarre mixture of all three with a tendency for the self destructive. But maybe together, Lemie and Will, they could finally find the easy way to deal with things. With some help.

Lemie rested her cheek in his hand, the hot flush of her cheek contrasted the coolness of his fingers which lacked the usual circulation since his heart had given out. He would have died with regret, he thought as he lightly caressed her cheek. Up until recently, Will had convinced himself that he wouldn’t apologise for how he’d lived his life, for better or for worse. But on that bathroom floor, pain and regret were all he had felt. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, unsure that it truly encompassed everything he wanted to apologize for. “You deserve a lot better than this.”

LEMIE:

Lemie was scared to let him in again. Scared he would go right back to being a closed book, scared he might relapse, scared his robot heart would give out. She was scared of getting hurt before and it was somehow amplified tenfold now. As much as she wanted this to work out, she knew they couldn't just jump right back into it. They had a lot of work to do before they were in a place to try dating again. She just had to remind herself of that. Multiple times a day, most likely.

His fingers were cold against her skin, so she put her own hand over his to warm them up a little bit. She figured it had to do with circulation or some medical shit, but it didn't make it any less disturbing. "I'm not saying that because I want an apology, I'm saying that because you need to know that it was terrifying and I've never felt like that before and I never want to feel again. Emphasis on the last part," she insisted, wanting him to really hear her. "So, next time a shitty, reckless idea crosses your mind, please keep that in mind. There are people that would miss you. I would miss you."

WILL:

This wasn’t the stupidest thing Will had done by far, nor the most destructive but considering how much it pained him to see Lemie this way, it sure felt like it. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever truly been in love before. Maybe there were inklings of it in the past, moments that passed that frightened him so hard that he snuffed it out as quick as he could. Leaving in the middle of the night, never to return. But the look on her face was so fragile for someone who’d built herself so strong. Will wouldn’t let himself hurt her like that again.

He was unsure of what to say. How to assure that it wouldn’t happen again without a vague promise that he wouldn’t, it didn’t seem like it was enough. “I understand,” he gave a small nod, his face about as serious as it could get without looking pained. Will didn’t want it to seem like he was only getting better for her. He’d seen firsthand that if you hinged all your happiness onto a person, you’re doomed to fall eventually. But she did give him something to live for. “I missed you a lot. I thought about calling you, but I didn’t think you’d pick up.” She’d been so angry with him, he wasn’t sure how they’d manage seeing each other at work. It had plagued him for the nights that she wasn’t lying beside him. Many messages were drafted but never sent, Will hoped that they weren’t still sitting on his phone when the doctors were looking for a person to contact.

LEMIE:

Only time would tell if he had taken her words seriously if he'd really grasped the magnitude of her feelings towards him. It was just like her fall for someone who had this much baggage. It made sense that two broken people would gravitate towards one another, she supposed, but it also made everything more dramatic and fragile. "Okay," she said simply, choosing to believe him. She hadn't realized that her eyes had filled with water until her vision turned blurry and she quickly wiped at them before any tears could escape.

"I'm kind of ashamed to say it now, but I wouldn't have picked up. I really couldn't see past my own anger. It's an issue," she said honestly with a defeated shrug. Lemie felt the need to quickly deflect from the seriousness of the conversation. "Don't be dramatic, William. You barely had time to miss me. You avoided a few days of me yelling at you. It was like a little vacation. Where you almost died." Not much of a vacation, if she were honest.

WILL:

He gave a final nod, knowing that this was the only time she’d sit idly by and cry at his bedside. There would be no third chance. The thought of it made him feel a bit panicked, but being scared to lose someone wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She rubbed at her face, hiding whatever emotion was there but he knew. Moving his tube riddled hand back to rest on the bed, he already missed her touch.

A small chuckle. “Well, then I saved myself the embarrassment of having to leave a voicemail. That would have been pretty embarrassing.” Especially if it was like any of the drivel that sat firmly in his Notes app. Heartfelt apologies weren’t his strong suit. He gave a scoff, as she deflected any tone of seriousness. Surprisingly it wasn’t him for once. “Vacation to the afterlife. I’ve heard it’s quite lovely there this time of year.” The rustle of his ugly hospital nightgown on the uncomfortable mattress would be a familiar sound, he already found it difficult but an extra dose of Morphine would help. “I should probably tell people I’m in here, huh? Might get someone to watch over the cottage. I’d ask you but you’ve signed yourself up for nurse duty. This is why people say to not date people you work with.”

LEMIE:

In her short life, Lemie had never cried over a boy or a girl who anyone she was in a romantic relationship with. Will was the first. She wouldn't say that to him right now because she had a feeling the knife had been twisted quite enough. He knew what he had done was bad and seeing her cry over it wouldn't help him feel better. She kept rubbing at her eyes until she was certain nothing would spill from them, but inadvertently ended up with red, irritated eyes. "This never happened," she said with a glare, the threat clear enough in her tone.

"I would've loved an embarrassing voicemail actually. Something to hold over your head when you're being annoying." The blonde groaned in annoyance when he joked about his death. It was only okay when she joked about the whole ordeal because he had caused said ordeal. "I'll send you right back if you keep the jokes up." She nodded when he mentioned other people, the words almost weird to her since she had not one fucking clue who else was in Will's life. That was part of their problem. "Do you want me to text anyone? I don't mind. As for the cottage, I think my sous-chef can take over my duties for a bit," she admitted reluctantly. The food might not be as good, but he was a hard worker. "Don't be presumptuous, who said we're dating?"

WILL:

He wanted to take her hands and stop her from rubbing at her face, tears over him were a waste. Will knew what he'd done and how it affected her. Maybe not to the full extent until now. "Already forgotten," he lied, a sad smile. This wasn't something he'd take lightly.

Well, if he was going to be completely open like he said he would be, might as well start now. "There's a few unsent messages in my Notes app if you want some light reading. Very cringe." He was quite drunk when he'd written them. A re-read in the morning had left him feeling particularly low. Will didn't even notice the slip up, he supposed they technically weren't dating. "Sorry, habit."

He let out a small groan at the thought of letting anyone else know, they'd fuss and bother. He preferred his current company, but it'd be worse if they didn't know. "Yeah. Should probably let Anna know," despite how much he didn't want to. His sister would be about as unforgiving as Lemie was to start. "Jude, Connie, Eileen. Astrid" he realised that these were mostly women's names. "Friends," he felt the need to clarify but he paused before speaking again. "Technically, Connie is my... uh, she's my ex-wife but it's not how you think." It was no more a marriage than his own parents was.

LEMIE:

Lemie nodded furiously, eyebrows pinched together as she tried to convert whatever sadness she felt into anger. At least there were no tears to be shed when she was pissed off. She was glad for his mention of unsent messages, a welcomed distraction, immediately reaching for his phone and handing it to him. "Unlock it. Now," she said, a little too eager to read shit he was obviously pretty embarrassed about.

"Look, I'm not saying we won't date ever again. That was harsh. I'm just saying we shouldn't necessarily jump right back into it. You've got a lot to deal with. New heart, relapse, recovery. I think that takes precedence on being able to call me your girlfriend," she said with a not-so-convincing shrug. "Maybe we can revisit in a month. Right around the time you can start strenuous activities again, which is convenient." A joke, to lighten the mood a little.

The sadness on her features was quickly replaced with annoyance as he started listing all the people he wanted her to contact. "Are they all women? I feel like this is a red flag," she said with a scowl, waiting for him to unlock his phone before creating a group text. He hadn't given her specific instructions, so she was doing this her way. The cold yet efficient way. "Ex-fucking-cuse me? Did you say wife?"

WILL:

He knew that it was a mistake for her to read the drunken fumblings of his brain, but there would be no more secrets. Every instinct he had to keep something to himself, it would be a challenge for himself to tell her. No matter what. He put in his passcode, noticing a few unanswered texts and a phone call in his notifications. Whoever it was would have to wait until he regained control of his phone, whenever that would be.

Will waved a hand nonchalantly, it would be a lie to say it didn't hurt but he only had himself to blame. "You don't need to justify it, I just forgot for a second." Maybe he could blame it on the morphine, not the fact that it felt so comfortable to have her near. How seamlessly they went together. But whether it was weeks, months, or years, he'd keep trying until she said she didn't want him anymore. "I'm starting to think you're just using me for sex."

"Jude is a man," he quipped, the rest were women but he'd only slept with one. Will couldn't help but wince at her reaction."Ex-wife. The ex part is important also." Of course, she fixated on the wife part, like he was somehow still married. "We were married for a like, a year when I was in my late twenties. My dad said it was time I settled down so he went out and made a business deal to get me a wife." They hadn't quite gotten to the part of getting to know each other where you talk about all your past relationships. "An arranged marriage."

LEMIE:

The fact that he put in his passcode without a hint of worry before handing her the phone like it was no big deal was more meaningful than he knew. It was just a phone, but it was also symbolic in a way. It meant he had nothing to hide anymore, that he trusted her. "Alright, let's see," she said as she went into his notes application to find the drafted texts there. She smiled as she found them, clearing her throat before she could start her dramatic reading. "Please come back, be angry at me where I can see you. I know we both said things we didn’t mean. But I need to see you and apologize." Her tone had changed slightly as she read the first text, her eyes moving to the second. "I was stupid to think you couldn’t see me for who I really am. You always have…," she read, her voice trailing off at the end as her eyes skimmed the next two. She couldn't read them out loud. These weren't embarrassing. They were practically declarations of love. "You should've sent these, asshole."

It wasn't about justifying, more like explaining where she was coming from. Making it clear she didn't want him to reopen his Tinder account and just work on this thing with her. It wasn't over, but it wasn't completely back on yet either. "I'm using you a little bit for sex," she said with a grin. "But I also enjoy the part after the sex. You're a good cuddler."

"I don't know if I believe that, but okay," she said with a roll of her eyes, pulling up all the names he had mentioned to create a group. "I can't believe you have an ex-wife in town. I can't believe I'm this hung up on a 40-year-old divorcé. What is my life?" She paused as she looked at the list and deleted the ex-wife's name, glancing up at Will to make sure he hadn't seen. "Arranged? What century did your father live in? So you didn't want to do it?"

WILL:

He busied himself with anything else as she prepared herself to read them, looking back up at the ceiling - an easy place for his eyes to rest. It was embarrassing and he could feel an additional tightness in his chest from what was already there. She began and he closed his eyes, actively tuning the words out so he didn't recoil - although they sounded a lot sweeter on her tongue. As she trailed off, Will turned his head to look at her before he spoke. "I didn't think you'd want to hear from me," he said honestly before adding, "whisky makes me melancholy." He was sure he did look like a sad sack, moping around the garden with a bottle tucked under his arm, typing on his phone like a twat. Quite the picture.

Too many years of practice on both accounts but good to know that it worked for her. "Was that a compliment?" He hadn't expected her to say anything that nice to him while he was still reeling from his dumb decisions. "I think my heart just skipped a beat." A stupid joke before he looked at her with a grin. "Kidding."

He chuckled at her realisation of who he was and how she felt about him. Still staring at the roof as she typed away, Will wasn't super proud of his behavior during his marriage, no matter how short it was. "No, I didn't want to." Connie was a lovely woman, perfect even. But at that time, Will wasn't looking to be settled down and she wasn't necessarily interested in him like that. Luckily they were still friendly. "But I had no choice. Connie was a lot stronger than me, stood up for us and we got a divorce. My dad never let me live that down."

LEMIE:

It was a good thing she had stopped because Will seemed to be considering death again for the second time in a few days. She didn't think there was anything to be embarrassed about. They were a little cheesy, sure, but not in a way that made her cringe. In a way that made her think he had realized quickly that he'd made a mistake and would've done anything to get her back. She had clearly underestimated how much he cared about her. What a fucking mistake on her part. "I didn't know this is what I would be getting, dumbass. This is like… sincere and romantic. It's the kind of shit you see in romantic comedies."

Lemie was about to admit that it was indeed a compliment when he had to go open his mouth. "Nope, moment over. You ruined it. I take my compliment back," she told him, as if she could actually take back something she had said that easily. With the joke he'd made, he fully deserved to unhear it, though.

"That's fucked up. Your father literally sold you." She faked a gag, truly repulsed by the things she was learning about Will's father. No wonder he had a bag full of issues and terrible stories. "And now I'm your pretend-wife. I'm sure your dad would roll over in his grave if he could see you with me."

WILL:

It had felt like he’d gone through nearly all five stages of grief when she had left. He’d gone through them all: denial, bargaining, anger.. those messages she’d read were part of the depression period of time. The final stage of acceptance wasn’t exactly the right word for him doing lines in a club bathroom though. “It’s not like I was going to text ‘u up’ at 3am.” Will didn’t consider himself a romantic, he was just drunk and feeling sorry for himself. A small shrug, feeling quite exposed under her gaze. “Saying the right words is easy, the actions part is where I tend to trip up.” Maybe it was a warning, mostly to himself but a little to her as well.

He let out a chuckle, knowing he was in trouble for that one. “Worth it,” Will murmured, a little too happy with himself.

Lemie’s comment hit him hard. Will hadn’t really thought of it that way, and it wasn’t like he was some nubile virgin and Connie wasn’t remotely machiavellian. It was like playing matchmaker with veiled threats if you didn’t follow through. “It wasn’t that bad and it’s not like I followed our marriage vows.” Like at all. Although he looked at it now and it was just another way for his father to control him, another way to make Will suffer. “Luckily, she’s a lovely person.” Connie could be a lot of things, forthright and stubborn mostly, but she was kind. “Pretend-wife, not-girlfriend, a live-in nurse. You wear many hats.”

LEMIE:

His words broke through the shock of reading those texts, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips. “I guess I was expecting more booty call and less… whatever this is,” she couldn’t even put a word to it, but it explained well what she had felt during their short time apart. The longing, the regret. Just because she had walked away didn’t mean she hadn’t felt just as terrible. “Is that a warning that I’m gonna catch you doing coke on your bedside table eventually?”

Will seemed to make up a lot of excuses for his father still, which Lemie got to some degree. Not everyone could completely cut out their parents the way she had. Most people couldn’t. “I beg to differ. It doesn’t matter if you got to step out or not, your father had no business using you to make deals. You’re a human being, not a pawn.” Her scowl deepened when he mentioned how ‘lovely” Connie was, immediately picturing someone that had the opposite personality she had. She kept her jealousy to herself, not wanting to show her cards or badmouth someone Will obviously loved. “Well, I’m a multifaceted person, William.”

WILL:

In the past, he had sent texts of that nature but that wasn’t what this was and it wasn’t what she deserved. And they both knew it. Obviously, she didn’t find it as cringey as he had in the light of day. Maybe they had seemed more pathetic when he thought that she’d never give him a second look. Or maybe his tolerance for feeling pathetic had lowered since nearly dying near a club toilet. “That’s not what I’m saying.” A moment of thought as he tried to construct exactly what he wanted to say. Thoughts floated past him but none seemed to fit right. “You’re right that there are things that I need to work on. And I won’t let you forgive me until I do.”

If only she knew how much of Will’s life was playing puppet. It made him feel a little ashamed that he just let it happen for so long. If Connie hadn’t stepped up where he couldn’t, they’d probably still be trapped in that marriage. If his father hadn’t cut him out of their company to spite him, Will would still be trying to prove himself there. “He didn’t want a son, he wanted a miniature version of himself.” Instead, he got Will who tried so hard and still could never live up to his father’s expectations. He really did need therapy. She was still holding his phone in her hands, although her attention was elsewhere. “Don’t I know it?” He gave her a half smile, hoping to distract her from whatever. “Are you sick of hearing me talk yet? I’m starting to hate the sound of my own voice. It can sound quite pompous. Have you noticed?”

LEMIE:

At least he was committed to making the changes necessary to make this work, to ensure nothing like what happened before could derail their relationship. “It’s not just you, you know. I’m going to work on my shit. I think I was kind of looking for a reason to run away. I have this tendency of ruining things that are good to avoid losing them.” It was better to end something else than to have it ripped away from her. It was a defense mechanism, one she was fully aware of. “I wasn’t planning on forgiving you so easily, but… you’re on your way there. If we decide to try again, I want it to work. I’m not just trying to torture you. Well, maybe a little.”

She leaned in again, her fingers slipping through his. It was clear whatever had happened with his father was far from resolved. He carried a lot of it with him still and seemed to be torn between his loyalty to his father and his love for him.“From the few things you’ve told me about him, I can tell you that you’re nothing like him.” Her fingers stayed locked through his, his phone disregarded on the bed stand. “No, this is what I wanted from the very beginning. I have, however, noticed the pompous aspect of your voice. I think it might just be the accent.” She grinned, attempting to mimic said accent when she said that last sentence. She really was no actress.

WILL:

He was by no means healed, physically nor mentally. The longer this conversation went on, the more he just wanted to take a big ol’ nap but he was fighting the exhaustion. Knowing this conversation was important. “I didn’t give you much reason to stay,” he added. Will did have the ability to make her see sense on occasion, he had wondered in his sentimental moments if there was something he could have said to make her stay. But the stubborn part of himself wouldn’t let him. He gave a nod, glad that she wasn’t going to let his behavior slide now she’d unlocked a few bad childhood memories.

Will let out a scoff. “There was a time when I thought that was a bad thing.” He remembered looking up to his father. So trying, so powerful. Nothing touched him. Young William wanted that. There were parts of himself that were distinctly his fathers, probably his most undeniably vile traits. Her attempt at his accent ended up sounding a lot more cockney than expected, Americans were terrible at accents at the best of times. But hers was especially bad. It did cause a small laugh, which they said is the best medicine. “That was terrible, don’t quit your day job.”

LEMIE:

Lemie nodded slowly, taking in his words. It wasn’t his job to get on his knees and bed for her to stay, but he had let her go rather easily. At the time, she thought it meant he didn’t care, but now she could see he was also protecting himself. “That’s okay. I’m here now," she said, not because she forgave him but because she wanted him to stop apologizing and justifying himself. As much as they both might want to, there was no going back and changing how that night went. They had both agreed to work out some stuff on their own and eventually that would bleed into their relationship.

"I can assure you it's not. I, for one, would've had zero interest in your father. From the sound of it, he had no redeeming quality and you happen to have a lot, which says a lot about you as a person," she insisted, wishing he could see what she saw in him. A man that had been strong enough to live through abuse and come out on the other side a kind, decent person. It would've been so easy for him to fall into his father's expectations of him and turn out just like him, if not worse. He didn't and that was a testament to his strength. "You don't like my accent? I think it's rather good," she said, still in her shitty British accent.

WILL:

His hand squeezed hers, not much strength behind it but it was almost like he was confirming what she had said. She was here. And he was thankful.

There was no point in fighting her on it. He wasn’t quite sure what anything said about him right now, other than he was too grown up to act so reckless. His body had paid the price for what his mind refused to think about and his heart refused to feel. 40 years was a long time to live under someone’s shadow and there were times when he could have sworn his father was proud. Those were some of his darkest. If he had looked in the mirror during those times, Will wouldn’t have recognized himself. “There you go, complimenting me again.” This time he managed to not make a heart joke. Her strange accent continued as she spoke, his grin staying firmly in place. “I can’t tell who you’re trying to be right now. The Queen of England or Mrs. Doubtfire? Neither is good or what I sound like.”

LEMIE:

He was quickly fading, that much was obvious by the way his hand gave hers the softest squeeze known to man. It was a miracle he managed to stay awake this long in all honesty, so she couldn't blame him. The drugs he was on were strong and he did just go through major surgery. "Yes, yes, I gave you a compliment. If you keep pointing it out every single time, I'll just stop giving them," she warned him, using her free hand to pull the blanket up a little bit.

"My accent is perfect and I think you don't know what you sound like," she told him with a grin. She sounded nothing like him and it was probably for the best. There was nothing sexy about the accent she was attempting and his was very sexy. "You should probably get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

WILL:

His smile deepened. “Alright, I’ll just keep a mental tally instead-” he countered, watching as she fussed over his blanket. It was comforting to have her here with him. The familiar buzz of more morphine releasing into his system from the IV bag attached to his hand flowed through the room. It gave him a warm tingly feeling throughout his body, the addict in him enjoying the sensation a bit too much. Like it had been satisfied by his impromptu trip to the hospital mid-relapse.

“Well, now I’m concerned for your hearing” he quipped. The mention of him sleeping reminding him of just how exhausted he was, despite trying to fight it. “You should go home, rest yourself.” Another small squeeze of her hand. As much as Will did want her to be here when he woke up, Lemie needed to take care of herself too.

LEMIE:

"Yeah, you do that, dork," she said quietly, the insult sounding more like a term of endearment in this particular instance. She watched his face as the drugs kicked it, making it obvious he would pass out any second now. "I'll just take a shower while your sleeping and have a nap in my trusty chair. I'm fine, I'm not the one who had a heart attack and major surgery in the last forty-eight hours." She didn't let go of his hand just yet, choosing to wait until he fell asleep to do so. "Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. Been doing it a long time."

#t: will #tw drug addiction #tw medical condition #tw hospital #tw heart attack #tw parental abuse

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iru-iru · 27 days ago

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//Starter for @faultfindingfirebot!//

First sensations that filled Iruru's waking consciousness were the dull pain on her forehead and her cramped position. When she opened her eyes, all she could see for a moment was bright red. It took her a moment to understand that the emergency light of her spaceship's cockpit had turned on, painting her surroundings with alarming red.

She found herself laying on the floor under the console, and she realized that the sudden crash had hurled her off her seat. She placed her hand on her forehead and winced as the pain intensified. However, there was no blood. A quick look down on her body confirmed that, at least on the outside, she had not suffered any other injuries.

Iruru got up and felt unease wash over her as she took a look at monitors above the console. The space map showed that she'd landed on Pekopon.

After finishing her last mission, Iruru had been told that another platoon was in need of extra hands after their base had been invaded by a group of hostile aliens. However, the platoon hadn't been informed of Iruru's arrival since it shouldn't have taken her longer than a day to reach their planet.

However, she'd been hit by a meteor storm on the way. One meteor had caused her to lose power, another one had sent her ship flying towards Pekopon, and then...

...she'd landed here. But where was "here", exactly?

Iruru tapped a few buttons on the console, and soon the main monitor showed her exact location. Apparently Pekoponians called this place "Griffin Rock". The name didn't sound familiar.

Next she tried to turn on the space radio so that she could send an emergency message, but nothing happened. Another set of keystrokes brought the blueprint of her spaceship on the monitor. More than half of its parts were colored red.

Iruru slumped on her seat as the weight of her situation started to set in.

Sure, Iruru had made a few short trips to Pekopon before, but she'd always been accompanied by a platoon. Now, she was alone, in a broken spaceship, in an area she hadn't explored before... and no-one knew she was here. No-one would realize to come looking for her.

#faultfindingfirebot #hello fellow alien #(pekopon is earth and pekoponians are humans!)#(also iruru's spaceship isn't very large; think of the size of a helicopter without its rotor and tail!)

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jackrrabbit · 4 years ago

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Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

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natasha-in-space · 2 years ago

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Heavily inspired by @marshmallowprotection's pocket Saeran au! While originally I planned to leave it on this, I just couldn't help myself, so here's a fic featuring my cmc Natasha below. This turned out way longer than I originally intended for it to be, but I quite like the final result nonetheless. Oh, and btw: Natasha plays the role of Ray's/Saeran's assistant rather the being a tester for the RFA app!

"No, that's not the right code! What did I tell you!? This is your third attempt, and you STILL can't grasp the solution to this one simple problem that I've already laid out clearly for you!? What, apparently you can't even type correctly!?"

With a heavy sigh, Natasha buried her head into her elbows, tightly squeezing her eyes shut in a feeble attempt to block out yet another fit of yelling assaulting her ears. Her head was slowly starting to pound from the sheer amount of information she was desperately trying to process in the shortest amount of time possible, while her eyes were already drying up from hours of meticulous grueling work in front of multiple bright monitors. Her entire body seemed to be begging her for rest, or at the very least, even a minute to stretch her stiff limbs and distract herself with literally anything else other than countless of symbols on the annoyingly bright computer screen in front of her.

Ever since Saeran had shrunk to the size of a newborn kitten in one day - to the sheer shock of them both - she had tried her very best to carry out their shared responsibilities on her own shoulders, under the strict guidance of her boss. However... she's not sure how long she can hold out like this.

Natasha's assignments as an assistant hardly included work on Magenta's code or general software, not after Ray concluded that it was much more productive for them both to delegate and leave all the paperwork to her, along with various applicable tasks that he had to occasionally focus on, instead of his main tasks. Thus, they both worked in areas which they were most efficient in, while at the same time easing each other's workload. And even with Saeran's strict instructions right at her ear, her energy and concentration could only take her so far. It took her only a couple hours of uninterrupted work until her fingers began to ache and she unconsciously started to miss out on even the most obvious of mistakes in dozens of words on multiple screens.

However... It's not like she could blame Saeran right now. She couldn't even imagine what it was like for him in this situation.

Moreover, she could feel that all these screams and insults he continuously threw at her were simply a manifestation of his fears and paranoia, which were quite difficult for him to cope with at the moment. The Savior cannot know about this. And his whole life, at this very moment, was in her hands. Literally. He easily fits in the palm of her hand - harming him would be so easy, even by mere accident. The only thing left for him to do was shout, yell and appear as intimidating as his size could allow him to be.

No wonder he's been so on edge lately.

So... Natasha tried not to dwell too much on his venomous words that were slipping off the tip of his tongue one after another in a fit of utter frustration and helplessness. He was simply expressing his feelings as best he could, given his heavily limited resources.

She was pulled out of her musings about their troubling situation by a slight jerk to the side, accompanied by a small pain shooting in her temple. Twitching in her seat, the girl tried to carefully return to a proper sitting position, while doing her best as to not accidentally push Saeran onto the floor when lifting her head.

He pulled at her hair - Natasha quite quickly figured out what was the matter. She had to maneuver awkwardly in her seat, holding out her palm to him for safety, until he successfully settled onto her shoulder where he could interact with her most closely. Her hair might be quite long, but she certainly didn't want to test whether or not he could hold onto the thick strands with enough strength as to not fall off.

It's rather intriguing how quickly they developed a system of sorts out of non-verbal interactions with each other, given the drastic change in communication between them.

Turning her head to the tiny hacker on her shoulder, she was met with a pair of irritated mint eyes.

...oh yeah, he's definitely not in the mood.

Saeran clenched his teeth, trying to sound as menacing as possible, given his unique eccentric circumstances.

"And how long are you planning to lie around doing nothing, huh? Should I remind you for the hundredth time of the importance of what you do here? Or is your brain so impossibly small that the concept of 'duty' is too complicated for you?" He spat out with clear venom in his rough voice.

She couldn't help the raw feeling of disappointment blooming deep within her chest, listening to these harsh words. Her boss regressed to the same old cruel insults and humiliation that Natasha now had to deal with on a daily basis yet again. Not that he was a tender angel to her before this, but now it felt like he was on a crisp of exploding at her at every single insignificant mistake she made.

It was suffocating and draining.

Saeran was scared and tired, she understood that.

But this applies to her in equal part as well. She simply wanted him to understand this fundamental fact and quit trying his very best to see her as a villain that was ready to pounce onto him at any moment of vulnerability on his part. They're in this mess together... just because his position is more vulnerable doesn't mean that she immediately becomes the one with all the control at her fingertips. However... she had no desire to argue with him or respond with anger to anger. That wouldn't solve anything.

So, with yet another tired sigh falling from her lips, Natasha raised her palm to the miniature man on her shoulder, offering her hand as a platform of sorts for easy movement. She avoided his piercing gaze, chewing on her bottom lip. Her voice came out in an unsure half-whisper, with her testing the waters and hoping that she'll successfully calm him down, at least a little bit.

"Saeran... We need a break. I won't be able to do a good job when I'm this easily distracted, and I think you understand that very well. It would be much better to give both of us some time to recuperate, so that we can get back to work with renewed vigor and achieve much better results at the end of the day. You know, rather trying to finish something when we're both on edge like this?"

Despite a clear audible sneer of annoyance on his side, he obeyed, jumping down into her palm and allowing her to gingerly wrap her thumb around his tiny torso as a safety net. He folded his arms across his chest, clearly not feeling pleased with her offer.

"...At this rate, the Savior will become suspicious in a matter of days, stupid toy."

Natasha hummed under her breath as she gently lowered her boss onto the smooth surface of their shared desk, where they could look at each other face to face. She folded both of her arms on the table, resting her chin on her hands and thus lowering herself down to his level, where he could reach out and touch the tip of her nose with his hand.

"I know..."

She sounded hoarse and completely worn out - a perfect representation of her exhausted state of mind after days of grueling work. She reached forward, her fingertip briefly touching the tangled mop of his white hair, before he had time to quickly step back and push her finger away with an angry scowl on his face. Just like she expected him to do. At this size, he even looked... kind of cute like that.

Natasha hid the lower half of her face in her arms, thus concealing a small cheerful smile that helplessly tugged at the corners of her lips, despite her best efforts to hold it back. She didn't want him to think she was laughing at him, after all.

"We'll figure something out."

The words sounded somewhat naive and even stupid, she got that. A childish belief that everything will inevitably work out, and they will be able to find a path to their happiness while also avoiding any harm on the way.

As if confirming her internal concussions, Saeran grimaced in clear revulsion, clenching his hands at his sides into small fists.

"You know how much I hate empty promises like that."

Natasha could not ignore a brief glimpse of hurt in his clouded mint eyes, as if her words made him think of something extremely unpleasant to him. A short reminder of a distant past that was still a mysterious and complex puzzle for her. A puzzle that she'll have to solve sometime in the future. At least, he noticeably calmed down, although he is very unlikely to admit it out loud to her face like that. One way or another, now he was talking to her in a relatively calm tone. He stopped trying to desperately ground himself through endless screams and threats, which were only making him feel more stressed out at the end of the day.

She lifted her head off her elbows once again, facing him fully now. She tentatively searched his gaze with her own, feeling an odd need to reassure him any way she could. This odd sense of determination gave her enough courage to speak out yet again, more firmly this time.

"Saeran, no matter what happens... I won't let anything or anyone hurt you. You don't have to believe me right now, I know that these are just words, nothing more. But even if the Savior finds out... I will do my best to keep you safe."

She gave him a small reassuring smile, though her green eyes seemed much more sorrowful and fatigued when compared to her seemingly warm and kind facial expression.

"After all, you're doing your best for Magenta even now, I don't see any reason for her to be angry with you. I consider your diligence and perseverance to be worthy of respect, not disappointment."

Natasha unconsciously bounced her leg up and down with a quick anxious rhythm, carefully picking out her next words as to not annoy him too much with her silly attempt at consoling. She stuttered.

"...B-but hey, I am quite confident that we can find a way out of this ordeal without any worst-case scenario occurring!"

She swiftly realized that she started babbling away once again, her face flushing with an embarrassed blush at her own unnecessarily long speech. Oh yes, she and Ray could share long conversations about anything and nothing for hours on end, not stopping for a single minute, until their voices felt horse from talking for so long. They both tended to get lost in their thoughts and daydreams, oftentimes even forgetting about the world surrounding them in the process.

On the other hand, Saeran was inclined to express his inner feelings through actions rather than words. Which made this slight difference between them somewhat embarrassing at times.

Saeran's gaze was fixed to the side, and his eyebrows were deeply furrowed, casting a dark shadow on his incredibly pale features. It seems that her words had caused him to rethink some of his own deductions, prompting him to carefully consider his course of action for a proper response to her statements.

Although, Natasha did not at all expect loud gratitude, or joy for her meek support. More so, the girl did not want anything from him at all. All she wished for was to provide him at least a small bit of comfort amidst the raging storm of seemingly endless obstacles and problems of all kinds that had surrounded him in these past couple of days.

So, she waited patiently, not interfering in any way and not invading his small bubble of personal space.

He was just as worn out as her. While maybe he was no longer torturing himself with long hours of grueling work at his desk, this did not at all mean that all these new changes, to which he had to adapt whether he wanted to or not, did not fall on his shoulders as a heavy burden. Not to mention the fears about what awaits him in the future that constantly haunted him. None of them knew how the Savior would react to such a bizarre change, and they did not really want to find out. Nobody needed to voice these concerns out loud to confirm that. No one knew how long he would have to stay in this form before everything would return to normal.

...would it return to normal?

Another question that even Natasha herself was too scared to say out loud.

She understood his feelings.

Saeran has always been the 'strongest' - the sword and shield that will protect both himself and their eternal paradise until his very last breath like the vicious hurricane destroying everything in it's path without any mercy. The one before whom everyone trembled and bowed their heads both in deep respect and fear. The one who the Saviour trusted with her own safety wholeheartedly. In his current state... how is he supposed to support this fragile role entrusted onto him? It's no wonder he's so short-tempered and restless lately.

And although Natasha certainly would love for her boss to see more in himself than just this one extreme trait, due to which he is eternally obliged to continue to prove his usefulness... Kind words alone can only take you so far. And yet, she tried time and time again.

Finally, Saeran responded, quietly huffing under his breath and averting his gaze.

"I don't need your protection or pity, airhead... Don't talk to me like I'm a helpless weed begging for sun and water to survive."

The phrase came out hardly as sharp and indifferent as he most likely intended for it to be. Natasha could have sworn she heard his voice involuntarily tremble at the last couple of words, causing him to turn his head away from her only further. He refused to raise his eyes up to her face again, only staring bitterly somewhere at his feet. It hurt to see him so dull and fatigued as opposed to his usual fiery self.

The girl cocked her head to the side, slowly and carefully sliding her index finger across the rough surface of the table and stopping inches away from her tiny boss, leaving him room to breathe, and at the same time, wishing to express her compassion one way or another.

Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper that slipped past her lips in a soft melody, loud enough to reach his ears, but too quiet to be audible outside of their shared private space.

"Well... I don't know how you'll feel about it, but to me, you're still one of the strongest people I've ever met, Saeran. Even in front of a situation that's so unbelievably confusing and scary to you, you still do your best. You keep moving forward no matter what. Fitting in the palm of my hand hasn't shrunk my admiration for you at all."

Giving him a faint but sincere smile, Natasha turned her green eyes to the large stack of papers on the side, deciding not to keep her thoughts hidden inside her own head this one time. A quiet hum escaped past her lips.

"But, you know... there's nothing wrong with being afraid either. After all, for me courage doesn't mean the absence of fears or worries, but the decision to move on despite them. Having doubts and fears doesn't make you more or less resilient. More so, when you think about it this way, fear is also a kind of concern for one's well-being. If we were not afraid of heights or darkness, it would be very easy for us to hurt ourselves, don't you agree?"

She crossed her legs on her seat, thoughtfully resting her chin on her free palm.

"Sometimes, there is nothing wrong with listening to your inner troubles, whatever they may be."

A certain melancholy filled her dull gaze as she started gently tapping on the surface of the table with her forefinger: a nervous habit that tended to come out in all its glory whenever she sank too deep into her own mind. She continued, paying no mind to the rhythmic sound of drumming filling the air around them.

"-And weeds need sunlight and fresh water, even when they're in bloom and are reaching for the sunny sky. Just because a flower looks healthy and strong does not mean that it does not need the same love and care as flowers that have wilted for whatever reason. You should provide them with all of your warmth regardless of their states. Sometimes, a flower may look like it's flourishing, but in reality, it needs some sort of care."

Before Natasha could continue her allegory, she was interrupted by the rough annoyed groan of a young hacker nearby.

"-You're starting to sound like that marshmallow boy, stop it. It's grossing me out to hear such lovey-dovey speeches, especially from you."

Saeran folded his arms across his chest, glaring at her with slightly puffed-out cheeks, like a grumpy cat demanding for attention. Once again, she couldn't help but point out just how utterly adorable he looked right now, making her want to try poking his cheek at least once.

...Of course, in the end, she decided not to. Besides, he is unlikely to enjoy being the object of her cooing due to his small size. Instead, Natasha let out a good-natured giggle as she tucked a lock of stray hair behind her ear and returned to the reality in front of her, shifting her gaze back to the white-haired man below.

"Hehehe, yeah, we definitely can't let that happen, can we? But I hope my 'lovey-dovey speech' touched you in one way or another."

A playful wink lightened up her tired features, while she puffed out her chest in false bravado.

"I was completely sincere with you, after all!"

He arched an eyebrow at her. Seems like he didn't appreciate her playfulness that much.

"Are you seriously playing cheeky with me right now, toy?"

Natasha faked deep astonishment, covering her mouth with her palm and letting out a soft gasp of shock.

"Sir, what are you saying? I'm in no position to allow myself to be playing cheeky with you! All my words are the pure and honest truth. That's why I am your assistant, don't you agree with me?"

Saeran rolled his eyes at her, suddenly reaching out and sharply pinching at her fingertip, which still rested defenselessly beside him. Not expecting such a direct move from him at all, the girl squeaked in bewilderment, instinctively pulling her hand back and staring at him with shocked pair of green eyes the size of dinner plates.

Pleased with her stunned reaction, Saeran chuckled with his trademark smirk now playing on his lips. He cocked his head to the side with a sort of defiance in his cool mint eyes.

"What was it you said? I think I didn't hear you clear enough, would you care to repeat that for me? You've become too arrogant for your own good, silly toy. Don't think you can escape your punishment for this just because I'm physically unable to enact it on you just yet. You know very well how sharp my memory is, so don't expect to slip away when everything will go back to normal."

He leaned forward, confidently folding his arms behind his back.

"In addition to that, I'm more than assured that you've already rested quite enough during all this time babbling about nonsense. Your long useless speeches are plenty of proof of that. Now get to work!"

Natasha sighed in defeat, drooping her shoulders and obediently grabbing a stack of papers that demanded her attention at a distance.

"Roger that, boss... But, would it be too arrogant of me to ask for your permission to take care of this part of the job first? My eyes are tired of staring at the monitor all day..."

She put on her most pitiful expression, hoping to take advantage of his good mood while she still had this rare chance.

With a little bit of effort, Saeran climbed onto the stack of papers, staring at her with a defiant spark glittering with renewed fire in his previously dim eyes. This sight involuntarily made her smile with joy, despite the very possible refusal of her bold request. Natasha definitely much more preferred seeing him like this, rather than when he was so blinded by his inner demons that anger and fear consumed all of his thoughts, forcing him to wear himself out to the very limit.

And it was quite funny how domineering his posture looked with such small stature, she couldn't lie.

"I still can't believe Ray chose such a useless assistant for himself, but... that's the way it is. However, if I don't see this stack of papers finished in an hour, you'll regret it, got that!?"

Her grin only grew in size as she nodded enthusiastically, feeling a new rush of motivation to keep working hard rushing through her body.

"Yes, boss!"

They will find a way out. Natasha was sure of that.

#mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #mm #suit saeran #saeran choi #mm saeran #saeran x oc #mm oc #oc natasha stakh #had a pocket au brainrot for a while now so here's my spin on it :)#and yes i will put freckles on saeran whenever i draw him that's the law

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hopelesshawks · 3 years ago

Text

Companionship XP Part 33- Mob

18+ Kaminari Denki x fem!reader quirkless, streamer au

Summary: The decision to start a youtube channel was a spur of the moment thing. Sure you’d watched your friends have great success with their own channels, but when you uploaded your first video playing Genshin you never would have guessed it would take off the way it did. You’re perfectly content with the community you’ve built but if there’s one thing you’ve been missing, it’s someone to co-op with. When Mina offers to link you up with one of her old friends with his own channel, you just hope he won’t be too obnoxious. Enter Kaminari Denki. He’s definitely obnoxious, but he’s also so much more.

Masterlist Help Lulu <3

You’re not sure how you managed to make it to work.

After using up any and all good will to get out of shifts for a few days, you finally had to talk yourself into going in. After all, explaining to your manager you want to take time off because you’re a faceless youtuber who’s just had their identity revealed would be a little antithetical to you trying to delay everyone knowing who you are as long as you can. The whole ordeal has turned you into a bit of an agoraphobe, and even the brief walk from the bus station to the coffee shop has you paranoid that at any minute someone is going to pop out and ask for a photo or an autograph or something.

It’s a relief that the coffee shop is relatively quiet but even still you feel jumpy and nervous the whole time you’re working your shift. Any time a customer takes a little too long to say something or answer a question you pose you wonder if they’re trying to figure out if it’s really you. It takes hours for you to finally relax and get at least a little bit less paranoid about someone calling you out as Ad Astra.

So of course that’s when it finally happens.

“What can I get you today?”

“Holy shit.”

“Sorry, don’t think we have that one,” you chuckle, but when you look up from the register’s monitor the customer is staring at you with wide eyes.

“Uhm… Can I help you?” you ask cautiously, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach.

“Sorry! Just, well, I knew this was a long shot because I only had the leaked photo and Yo’s livestream where he celebrated your subscriber milestone to go off of but I can’t believe I actually found you and the coffee shop you work at! I’m a huge fan, Astra! Can I get a photo with you? Oh my god, could you autograph my coffee cup?? That would be amazing! I have to tell people about this!” the fan rambles excitedly, already tweeting out your location before you can get a word in edgewise and ask her not to.

“I’d really rather-” you start but she cuts you off.

“Don’t worry! I only sent it to a small-ish Ad Astra discord server I’m in. God they’re gonna flip when they see this! Say cheese!”

Suddenly she’s leaning across the counter so she’s next to you, facing her outstretched hand so she can take a selfie of the two of you together before you can even fully process what’s happening, only to gleeful send it to her group chat before giving you a bright smile as if she hadn’t just completely violated every boundary you’d attempted to set when you started on youtube. She then proceeds to give you her coffee order as if the past few minutes haven’t happened at all and then walk away to wait for it humming, apparently pleased with herself and how the interaction had gone.

Either the girl’s discord server isn’t as small as she claimed or one of the other people in the server didn’t keep things nearly as tight lipped because no more than ten minutes later the once empty cafe is packed full of people scrambling to try and meet Astra. It’s terrifying and while your one other coworker working at the same time tries to make things easier by taking over the register, that still leaves you to actually make the drinks, meaning you’re still well within view and occasionally arms reach of the absolute pack of people all crowding around the counter trying to get a glimpse of or a photo with or an autograph from Ad Adstra.

God you’re just trying to do your fucking job. Your real world job. That’s supposed to be distinct from your social media job. And it’s all just so overwhelming and everyone is calling for your attention and you didn’t ask for any of this and why couldn’t Yo just use his brain for five fucking seconds and wait to post his stupid coffee photo for like fifteen goddamn minutes after you two had talked instead of before!

Just when you think you’re going to have a proper anxiety attack you catch a flash of familiar blonde hair shoving through the crowd to get to the counter. Denki finally fights his way to the front and reaches his hand out to you in a scene that truly feels right out of an action movie.

“Grab my hand!” he tells you urgently. You shoot an apologetic look at your coworker, who immediately shakes their head to indicate you’ve got nothing to apologize for, before turning back to your boyfriend and taking the offered hand. He swiftly pulls you over the counter and into his arms, wrapping you tight against his frame much to the initial protest of the others.

“Holy shit is that Chargebolt??”

He doesn’t keep you there long enough to even recognize who said it. He all but drags you out of the shop, hurrying you over to a black motorcycle. He climbs on effortlessly, encouraging you to do the same as the crowd hurries to follow you both. Before the first few people have even managed to rush out of the doors, you’re already straddling the bike with your arms tightly wound around Denki’s waist. You bury your face against his back as he quickly peels out of the parking lot, the disappointed calls of your fans quickly fading.

Your heart is still pounding in your chest but the more distance Denki puts between you and the shop the lighter you feel, slowly forcing your breathing to match the steady rhythm of his.

A/N: This may be overdramatic but considering regular celebrities do indeed get mobbed I'm keeping it anyway. I love the idea of Denki swooping in to save the day. Not sure if I want to have the next part be texts or written account of what Denki and reader do after he saves her so sound off in my inbox or the replies ig

Taglist: @hutaoscoffinn @hhawkz @touyasdoll @pillboxmb @hoobish @fandomsgotmefucked @buckybearbabe98 @lovemegood @articmace

#hopelesscx #denki x y/n #denki x fem!reader #denki x reader #kaminari x reader #kaminari x y/n #kaminari x fem!reader #denki kaminari x fem!reader #denki kaminari x y/n #denki kaminari x reader

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simpurnatural · 4 years ago

Text

Possessive Warden!Sam

Sam said something on the lines “We were fine till you came around” (don’t quote me on that) to Tommy while escorting him out of the prison after trying to kill Dream.

OML possessive Warden!Sam is something I think we all need in life. I’ll be right back… 🖊

Just giving a more in depth blurb on our favorite Warden! ^ know that this is completely separate from Power is Power

Warden!Sam x Prisoner!FReader, C!Dream x Prisoner!FReader

Warning ⚠️: NSFW, Smut, Cussing, Dirty-Talk, Daddy Kink

Any writing errors? Point them out! Love some helpful feedback! <3

REQUESTS ARE OPEN LUVS <3

You had somehow convinced Sam that you and Dream should be allowed to talk to each other. First, it was confiscated letters, then monitored phone calls, and now you’re getting to speak face to face.

The lava lowered slowly and revealed everyone’s favorite bad guy, Dream. The blond turned his head to look at you as you waved eagerly.

“You have to walk with the platform once it starts moving,” Sam instructs, you nod quickly as Dream returns the wave. “Let me know when you want to go, alright?” he asks, whispering in your ear.

“Yes,” you reply, looking at him and noticing his jaw clench “-Sir,” you add quickly.

“Good girl,” he hums before walking away to switch a few levers. “Be good!” he hollers, loud enough for Dream to hear.

“How’d you convince him?” Dream asked as the distance between the two of you closed.

“Well, I asked.” You replied, the lava wall beginning to flow back down.

“On your knees?” He questions, “The Warden’s dick in your mouth with tears streaming down your face?”

“What?” You said quickly, face reddening.

“You’ve been nothing but a cum-slut since you got here!” The blonde wheezes, his hand hitting the lectern.

“No-“

“Oh come on, I can see through you,” he says, trying to catch his breath. “Is that why you’ve come to see me?” he asks.

“No, I just wanted someone else to talk to,” you explained.

“Okay, but you just say the word and I’ll have you calling me sir too,” Dream chuckles, stepping closer to you.

You bit your lips teasingly “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” you say.

...

Sam grumbled an incoherent curse word as he monitored the cameras in Dream’s cell. You and the blonde criminal were moments away from sucking each other’s faces off.

At least, that’s what Sam thought. His brows furrowed when he noticed that his knuckles turn a ghostly white from how gripped his trident. Surely he wasn’t jealous...right?

His attention went back to how Dream was so touchy with you. The way his hands would slightly go under the hem of your orange top. Or how his face would disappear in the crook of your neck. Not to mention the fact that you weren’t stopping him.

Your laughter could be heard through the camera's scuffed mic. He had managed to corner you and now had your hands above your head.

“Why don’t we give him a show?” Dream whispered, head nodding towards the camera behind him.

“Oh we shouldn’t,” you sighed “I’ll be “

“-Punished?” He cut off “I’m sure you won’t mind,” he says before beginning to leave soft kisses on your neck.

“Dream-“ you gasped, feeling his boner against your thigh.

“Okay! Party time is over!” Sam shouts as the lava wall discontinued flowing down.

“Daddy’s mad,” Dream cooed with a taunting pout to the Warden as you stepped on the platform again.

Sam’s creeper-likeand hissing became more apparent as you got closer. The green hues of smoke emitting from his gas mask.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson about letting other boys touch you,” he grumbled, yanking you towards him and furiously flipping a few levers.

Sams routine of opening and closing doors was as quick as he was ripping clothes off your body. He balled up your now torn clothes and threw them across your cell.

“You. Don’t. Ever. Listen.” He huffs, undoing his belt and letting his pants fall. “How many times should I spank you?” he asks.

You were now bare naked with your ass in the air. Face in a pillow and your core was aching.

“Answer me whore,” Sam says, smacking your ass which made you moan.

“T-ten” you whimpered as he ran over the red outline for his hand gently.

“Let’s make fifteen for letting him kiss you. Count for me.” He instructs.

“One”

“T-two”

“Three”

“Four”

“F-fuck, five”

“Six”

“Seven”

“Eight”

“N-nine”

“Ten”

“E-eleven”

“T-twelve”

“Thirteen”

“Fourteen”

“Fifteen”

Your ass was now bright red and Sam gave it a squeeze.

“Gonna be good for me now?” he asks, moving even closer to you with cock exposed.

“Yes sir,” you nod before being flipped over.

“I wanna see you crumble as I fuck you so good.” Sam says, his tip teasing at you folds.

“S-sir please,” you beg as he began to fill up.

“Always so tight for me,” Sam smirks “Now matter how many time I fuck that perfect hole of yours,” he says, snapping his hips into yours.

His cock going in and out of you at an animalistic rate, a bulge disappearing then reappearing in your stomach.

“Dream could never fuck you this good,” he growls to which you moan out his name.

Sam attacked your neck with blood vessel popping hickies. You were moaning so much from the intense pleasure he was giving you right now.

You came with a shaking cry but Sam kept going. Not skipping a single beat as he overstimulated you.

“S-Sam please,” you sobbed, squeezing his biceps which would leave marks later.

“I won’t stop until I’ve filled you to the brim.” he says, somehow speeding up even more. “You won’t be able to even walk back to Dream’s cell.”

And that was just the first round.

#mcyt #mcyt fanfiction #dream smp #mcyt fandom #awesamdude #mcyt smut #awesamdude smut #dream smp smut #dream smp fanfiction #dreamwastaken #Dream smut #simpalicious

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joonsdragoneyes · 4 years ago

Text

We’re live [Gamer!Jungkook x Reader][M]

Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader

Warnings: Smut, profanity, semi-public sex, protected sex (reader is on birth control), mentions of reader needing reading glasses, oral m receiving, drooling, handjobs, orgasms male and female, f and m orgasm denial/edging, big dicks, body worship (kinda), tattoos/piercing's, mentions of sex in other locations, minor hair pulling, mentions of disapproving families/hiding things from parents, mentions/descriptions of reader having a large chest, reader is kind of bratty, usage of the word cock, voice kink if you squint

Genre: Smut, some angst, streamer/youtuber au, college au if you turn on a blacklight

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: You and Jungkook have been living together for a little over a year now, a big decision after your previous several years of dating. He, of course, brought his job with him- a full gaming set up, which you happily let him set up in a spare room. Your boyfriend was a pro-gamer. This job usually kept him busy, his focus on his screen rather than you for a majority of the day. You normally didn’t mind this at all, since you were usually out during that time anyway. Today, however, was different. You were home, attempting to study as he worked in order to give him the space he needed. Except, you were missing him in a way you hadn’t in a while, and the only way to get rid of this frustration would be to get him away from his work.

{A/N: This work is completely unedited, so apologies for any typos.}

----

You could hear him yelling through the door.

The laptop sitting in front of you was beginning to dim from lack of use, the loud shouts from the room a bit down the hall further ruining your already destroyed concentration. Your glasses slid down your face as you lifted, the feeling causing you to pull them off. Flopping tiredly against the back of the chair, you took one final look at the multiple windows you had open on the screen as the screen finally went black, leaving you with nothing but your reflection on the screen. Your hair was messily tied back, strands and chunks falling around everywhere from where they escaped from your hair tie. You looked away from the sight of your own face, burying your face in your hands as your elbows came to rest on the shiny, hardwood table; you slamming the device shut as your hand lowered, your fingers pulling the skin down along with it. You sighed in frustration, letting your head flop back against the chair as you slid down, your butt now hanging off of the seat.

His voice practically bounced off the walls, each full-concentration shout of sudden frustration ringing through the house. Each time caught your attention, snatching you quickly from your exhausted daze. He seemed to be having fun in-between moments of what you assumed was either interacting with the chat or moments where it sounded like he lost- or rather, almost lost. You could already hear him coming out in a few hours, bragging about he remained undefeated in a game you couldn't remember the name of, a large, bright grin present on his face, his own pulled back hair messily sprawled in every possible direction.

You sometimes watched his streams and videos while you worked, at least you used to. It always ruined your concentration when you did, as it was now, but they were admittedly entertaining. He never knew you did, you showed little interest in his job, and you'd rather keep it that way.

Sitting up, you lifted your hands to adjust the straps dangling uncomfortably down your shoulders, adjusting the rest of your top in the process, pulling it up from where it slid down, at this point revealing almost everything. It appeared to have shrunk given how tight it was and how easily it slid down, but it wasn't like it would be anything your boyfriend hadn't seen before in the instance you failed to notice and flashed him. The tank top you had on usually did well with covering everything, but knowing that lately, for some reason, it wasn't, made you frown. It was comfortable and nice to wear around the house; you just felt irritated adjusting it constantly.

You stood up, moving toward the various loud sounds coming from the room. The door clicked as you turned the knob, pushing the large wooden object open, the many lights strung on the walls greeting you as you stepped inside the large room. The whiteboard he had hanging on the wall was full of writing and multiple expressive doodles- a few piles on the floor from a few other random activities. It was dark aside from the many lights hanging from the walls and ceiling, your boyfriend well illuminated by the glow from the multiple monitors sprawled in front of him.

Turning to face him fully, you closed the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you paused. He hadn't noticed you yet. You felt odd about walking in like this. You had never interrupted him while he was working unless he needed something, in which case he usually just came to get you. You honestly didn't even know if any of his fanbase knew he was in a relationship at all-; you both usually just kept to yourselves. Aside from him eventually coming upstairs to meet you in bed to sleep, coming out to eat, or the occasional 'date'- which was just running errands together or him coming with you to watch a movie you were pretty much already leaving for- you both didn't really spend a lot of time together. At least you hadn't recently.

The sight of his wide eyes and pouty expression made your heart melt, and you couldn't help but smile. He was sitting in his much-bigger-than-him gaming chair, his legs crossed with his knees near his chest as he leaned forward, his expression serious despite the generally cute nature of everything else about him. His way too big shirt swallowed him easily, and it was only at this moment that you realized he had borrowed one of your hair-ties. The pale purple band was more than familiar, and there it was, tightly holding his long black hair neatly in place.

"Jungkook-" You started as you moved close, his head instantly lifting in order to meet you, his serious expression quickly growing soft. He seemed a little confused seeing you in here but still happy about it nonetheless.

You suddenly panicked slightly, watching the screen nervously in the hope you didn't appear in the camera too much, mostly attempting to keep your face out of frame. Gently, you leaned against the back of the chair, his teeth quickly appearing in a wide, excited grin. "Do you need anything?" He asked, his bright, wide eyes meeting yours. You could feel the excitement radiating from him, his lips and cheeks pink in the light from the lamp as he spoke. "Just missed you." You admitted, crossing your arms against the back of the chair as you leaned slightly forward.

The chat on one of the monitors suddenly sped up, you noticing it from the corner of your eyes. A loud mix of emotes and words in all caps filled the screen, zooming by before you could read any of them. You watched Jungkook slide his headphones off, letting them rest on his neck as his legs uncrossed, his socked feet flopping against the carpet. "Here, you can sit with me and watch." He chirped, quickly pausing whatever game he was playing and scooting over to make as much room as he could. You shook your head.

"No, I..." You trailed off, pouting a bit as you lift your arms, moving your hands around your face in a way you hoped emphasized your unwillingness to be on camera. You knew they could see your body just fine, but you were on your computer all day and hadn't slept well, so showing your face was definitely out of the equation. Jungkook simply let his head fall slightly to the side in confusion, letting out a small "But you look fine.".

You pouted, watching as he quickly stood up, the chair rocking slightly as he slid out of it. "Here, I know just the thing." He quickly shuffled near the back of the room and over to the closet doors, pulling them open. You watched quietly as he began to shuffle through a box, the already present pout on your face growing stronger. You recognized that box. That box was from your senior prom. You already knew what he was looking for.

He quickly pulled out a black mask, the very one you had worn years ago. Why he had kept it this long, you didn't know, but you still found yourself sighing as you realized it would still work. You didn't really want to remember that masquerade themed prom, especially considering neither you nor Jungkook had fun during a majority of it. It had its moments, but you had hoped you wouldn't have to go near that specific costume again.

"Sorry, it's all I've got." He whispered, gently placing it in your not-very-eagerly awaiting hands. Taking a deep breath, you slid the mask onto your face as Jungkook scoot past, flopping once again into the large chair, his voice loudly sounding as he began to interact with the apparently very excited chat.

Once again adjusting your top, you moved over to where your boyfriend was sitting, plopping down next to him as one of his muscular arms wrapped around your waist as you settled against him, your thighs touching. You shuffled, wrapping your arm around his waist as well, your legs bouncing from where they hung off the seat as Jungkook pulled the chair forward. You felt the tension in your crossed legs relax as you realized you'd only be seen from slightly above your waist.

His hand slid around you, grabbing onto the controller resting on his thighs. Your arms flopped to the side, resting against your boyfriend's thighs in an attempt to keep them out of the way. Your fingers gripped tightly onto his sweatpants, your head coming to rest gently on his shoulder. Jungkook grinned, his teeth shining through his lips the more comfortable you became.

You could feel his voice vibrating against you as he spoke, the sound making you feel warm inside, a soft tingle running from your head to your thighs. "What're you playing?" You questioned, leaning against his strong shoulder, enjoying his warmth. His face slowly contorted slightly in thought, a pout forming on his lips as he noticeably racked his brain for the answer. "Astrotech." He finally responded, his expression moving quickly back to the way it was, his cheeks noticeably a bit pink.

Various loud booms and screeches flooded from the headphones around his neck, which he had turned up for you to hear. You didn't know what was going on it, but the sight of him expertly doing whatever objectives or maneuvering the obstacles in the game was somewhat fascinating to you.

He suddenly squirmed under you as you adjusted yourself, the sudden movement surprising until you realized your hand had just accidentally rubbed along his thigh in the process. Your lips pressed together in thought, realizing just how sensitive he seemed to be. Deciding to see if that was truly why, you cautiously ran your hand along his thighs, feeling him once again squirm under you. The barely audible groan of protest as you slightly ruined his concentration made something in your brain just click.

You knew why you were so distracted earlier.

Slowly, your hand moved along his leg before sliding inwards towards the warmth where they met. Before he could squirm again, you gave a soft squeeze to his strong thighs, enjoying the slightly surprised noise that escaped. He seemed annoyed that you were attempting to distract him, but his lack of any indication for you to stop or any sort of 'no' from him gave you the willingness to continue.

Your hands moved further up, sliding along the space between his legs and up towards his stomach. He had stopped moving aside from the slight tremble of his thighs as you made your way along. His legs slightly parted, allowing you to continue on your way, the outline of the package you were searching for soon starting to appear in his sweat pants. You licked your lips gently, tracing the outline with your fingers, enjoying the sighs you heard from his weak attempts to keep quiet.

"Alright, well, I guess I'll see you when you're done." You suddenly spoke. "I just came to visit because I missed you, but you seem pretty busy with work." You added, pulling your hand away as you stood, sliding out of the chair as you moved quickly towards the door. Thoughts ran through your brain as your hand grabbed the doorknob, opening it before gently shutting it immediately after. You turned to look at your boyfriend still sat behind you, biting your bottom lip in thought.

Slowly and quietly, you dropped down to your knees, crawling on the ground over to the desk as you swiftly slid under it. Leaning forward, you grabbed the tops of his pants, slowly pulling them down as you felt your eyes grow wide at the sight. You had seen it before, but it was still a pleasant surprise each time.

Your hands moved along his legs, swiftly grabbing the still mostly soft length, pumping them quickly as Jungkook once again squirmed under you, his legs spreading. You could feel him continuously growing under you as you moved, the sight and feeling causing your thighs to tingle.

Licking your lips, you moved forward, licking the tip of his eagerly awaiting cock, listening as he tried to stifle a pleased hum. Before he could fully react, you took the full length in your mouth before sliding down, bobbing your head with vigor, enjoying the soft noises that escaped as a result of your movements. Your hands continued to slide quickly, making up for what you couldn't reach.

Your boyfriend sighed above you, doing his very best to act as normal as he possibly could. The soft clicking and tapping from his controller continued, you only drooling as your head continued to lower, taking in as much of the steadily hardening length as you possibly could. Pawing at him for the bit you had the chance to seemed to work, not quite in the way you had hoped, but you were fixing that just fine. A soft slurp sounded as you suddenly lifted your head, the noise causing you to pause as you hoped no one had heard the sinful action going on under the desk. The conversation between him and the on-going chat seemed to be normal despite his occasional deep sighs. His fingers ran through your hair, giving a slight tug as you continued, closing your eyes as you attempted to savor the moment- still being careful to make as little noise as possible.

A sharp tug to your thick hair pulled you upwards, your breasts practically in his lap as your arms lifted, grabbing onto his thick black hoodie in an attempt to keep yourself steady. You hummed a bit in surprise, the action causing his strong hands to increase their grip on you as your head only continued to bob. He was gasping now. Loud pings and sound effects rang from the screen from what you assumed was possibly the hundredth donation of the night. You increased your speed, enjoying the strong but more gentle tug that followed with each movement of your salivating mouth.

You were only wondering how he was managing to hide this so well.

Your gaze slowly moved upwards, checking his expression. His face was flushed, his teeth on display as he bit his lower lip in a last attempt to keep quiet. His expression was otherwise unchanged aside from his noticeably dilated pupils, his face still stern with concentration.

With a loud pop, you finally pulled away, quickly using your knuckles to wipe away the strand of saliva that followed. Swiftly pulling his pants back up, you shuffled from under the desk and over to the door. That would be enough for now. After all, you didn't actually want to get caught.

You could feel him watching you as you stood up and quietly opened the door. How upset he was that you didn't finish could be felt from where you stood, but you knew he'd get you back later. He always did. It didn't matter if you just ate his food or if you pulled a small prank, he always got you back, and this time you could say you looked forward to it.

---

The door flew open with a loud bang, you jumping with surprise at the sound, nearly dropping your phone in the process. Your head lifted to meet the sight of your boyfriend standing in the doorway, his hair messy as he loomed over you. "What was that about?" He questioned, his eyes darting to take in your form.

"What was what about?"

"You know what."

You felt your cheeks warm but decided to continue pretending you didn't have a clue what he meant. "No, Jungkook, I don't know what."

His lips pressed together, his eyes narrowing. He stepped forward, closing the door behind him, a soft click sounding as he slowly locked it. You watched quietly, biting your lip as you knew what would happen next. He wasn't usually this quiet.

"Thankfully, I was able to continue normally without much issue." He plopped on the bed next to you, the weight of his larger form causing the mattress to sink under him. The force was almost enough to cause you to slide along with it.

"But you must think I'm a fool if you think you'll get away with sneaking under the desk like that."

By then, he had leaned close, his voice low as he spoke. His tattoos could be seen poking from under the dropped neck of his shirt, your eyes slipping down the closer he leaned. You flopped forward, your gaze meeting his as your hands came to rest on top of his own. "And what are you gonna do about it?" You teased. This wouldn't at all be your first time with each other, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"You're not even ready. I could hear you taking care of it yourself before you came up; you're not as quiet as you think."

His hand lifted quietly, curling under your chin as he held your head still. "Alright, smartie, what're you gonna do about that?"

"You're usually the horndog in this situation. What am I gonna do about it?"

You were suddenly shoved against the bed below, the thick blanket warm under your body. He placed a soft kiss on your lips, his hair draping around his face as he leaned over you. "You'll have to wait to find out, huh?"

"Damn, you must really be upset." You teased without even a second of hesitation. "Man, I really wonder what you'll do. Oh, how long must I wait? Forever? Years; Centuries of waiting just to punished in the end! Just end me, as waiting is its own punishment." You whined dramatically under him, your arms lifting as your hand sprawled against your forehead, your eyes closing as your head flopped back in exasperation against the mattress below.

Jungkook laughed. "No, you won't have to wait very long. You know I wouldn't do that to you." He grinned, his teeth bright and shiny behind his lips. "Remember when we were younger, and I still lived with my parents, and you came over to study?" He asked, his noticeably strong hands trailing over your body, their attention quickly focused on your chest. You opened your mouth to speak, only to get interrupted as he continued.

"We waited until they left to run some errands, and we decided to try and be super quick." He paused to laugh to himself, you barely listening as you bit your lip, your nipples beginning to poke through the fabric his hands continued to glide over. "We started getting way too loud near the end and almost got caught because we didn't hear them pull in. The only reason we were able to clean up and everything was because you happened to finish before they walked in and could hear what we were doing. Man, what an adrenaline rush that one minute was as we scrambled around listening to them slowly come up the stairs."

By then, you were moaning under him, the fabric rough against your extremely sensitive chest. His strong fingers continued running along, teasing the hardened nubs as he moved on with another story, seemingly unaware of what he was doing. His hands snuck under your shirt, his hands warm as he grabbed as much of your breasts in his large hands as he could. "Sorry, I was talking." He apologized, taking the moment before you responded to swiftly yank your shirt over your head.

In your moment of distraction, you had become so hot and bothered that you hadn’t even noticed how long he had been rambling. You could hardly hear his reminiscing over your increasingly more desperate moans. The feeling of the cold air hitting your already erect nipples made you squirm slightly, you only coming back to reality to a soft warmth on your neck. Your hands lifted, gripping with white knuckles tightly onto his thick hoodie.

You lowered your gaze, the sight of his face resting on your chest greeting you. His hair messily covered his eyes, the deep brown underneath shining in the light of your bedroom. His lips were pressed softly together into a pout, his tattooed arms lifted to lay across your shoulders, wrapping under your head. “You’re not paying attention!” He whined, continuing to pout as he shuffled to lean over you, the mattress squeaking ever so slightly as his knees rested on the bed.

He paused to pull the thick fabric free from his body, letting it thump to the ground as he leaned over you once again, the thick ink on his arms dancing as his muscles flexed in the process. Your eyes widened as his face approached yours, your noses quickly touching, the pout still present. “You didn’t hear my story.” He whined again, softer this time, the shine still present in his wide eyes despite the shadow he was casting over you. “You weren’t even listening.”

“Honey, you were rambling.” You responded, hoping he couldn’t feel your racing heart. He flopped down, his hips straddling your own as he sat up, his strong arms causing the bed to sink in as he continued to lean over you, your thighs tingling at the slight bounce that followed as he grew comfortable on your hips.

“I was telling a story.”

He lowered himself, his lips coming into contact with your own, your hands lifting to grab on the thin white t-shirt that remained. His teeth ran softly over your lips as he pulled away, his hands once again moving to slide under your head. Your thighs burned and tingled with each movement he made.

You were beginning to sweat as you continued gripping him tightly, your hips wiggling to wrap your legs around him. His lips once again moved into a pout, the shine is his eyes disappearing as his head came to rest on your chest once again. He definitely felt you move.

His legs slid around you, his knees moving under your hips to lift them up, pressing his now noticeably tight sweatpants against your shorts. He once again lowered to kiss you, more gentle this time as his hands lowered to remove his sweat pants, leaving nothing between you but your shorts- which already barely covered anything. Your own hands lowered, grabbing onto the hard length poking between your legs, pumping slowly as he sighed into the kiss. Your shoulders ached as his hands pressed against your shoulders, pressing you into the mattress. You sped up your wrist movements, listening as he groaned into the continued kiss.

Suddenly, his hands shot down, levering your legs open and lifting his hips to practically rip your shorts free of your body as he finally broke the kiss. His legs slipped off the bed and onto the floor with a loud thud, swiftly yanking you close to the edge. His fully flexed arms caged you in, his lips coming into contact with your exposed neck, his breathing soft and warm against your skin.

“Roll over.” He huffed, moving to kiss along your chest and shoulders. His face was now a soft pink, lifting to watch you intently as you rolled onto your stomach, letting out a noise of surprise as you were yanked yet further off of the bed, your feet now touching the floor. Kisses once again returned to your neck, an occasional moment of cold causing you to shiver with delight as his tongue traced over your warm skin with each mark he left behind. Your still erect nipples dragged softly over the sheets under you, the cool mixture of the sheets and his tongue piercing causing you to moan loudly under him.

Your face slammed softly against the mattress below, his strong arms pressing against your shoulders to hold you in place, your hips lifting in the process. Of all the times you’ve done this, he wasn’t usually this rough, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t exciting.

“Fu-” You moaned, burying your face in the mattress at the stretch that followed. “-ck.” Your hands gripped onto the sheets, the feeling of his teeth and tongue reaching every inch of your neck making you whimper. He had always been taller, but it wasn’t until now that you realized just how much stronger- and bigger than you he was. You could hardly move with the grip he had on your shoulders, your head the only thing able to move freely. He had you where he wanted you, and it’d probably be a while before he’d free you.

Each thrust ruined your hopes of being quiet, drool beginning to fall from your lips as he continued- each thrust more intense than the last. Your eyes were soon rolled back, your mouth open as saliva dripped from your parted lips, the sharp tugs to your hair adding to the overall ache. Your legs, hips and shoulders were growing more pained with each lewd slam into you, each second bringing you closer to the edge. You were silent, the ache taking your breath away, a loud gasp escaping as he freed your shoulders, yanking you upright by your hair.

His arms wrapped under your chest, freeing you from the bed entirely as he held you in place, your arms contorting behind you to hold onto his now moist t-shirt. You were trembling, your chest burning as you gasped for air. “Jungkook...” You managed, your voice hoarse as your head flopped backwards against his muscular shoulders. You could feel the mess you were already making in your excitement, awaiting the finish you were mere seconds away from, only to groan as you felt him stop, your chest bouncing as he adjusted you.

“No...” You whined in complaint, taking the time to catch your breath only to catch yourself moaning with each exhale. You continued shaking as he kissed along the back of your shoulders. “Don’t stop...” You continued, wiggling your legs slightly to get him to continue. He groaned with your wiggles, grabbing your thighs to keep you in place. “Stop moving.” His voice was soft and gentle, your head rolling around on his shoulder as he placed another kiss on your aching neck.

“You’re so pretty.” He complimented, letting you fall forward with your hands hitting the mattress, his arms firmly gripping your thighs to stop your hips from moving from their position. The little eyeliner you had on had started to run, your hands gripping the sheets in anticipation as you wondered what about you with messy makeup was pretty.

You cried out, your voice still hoarse as the edge approached faster than before. After a minute you were trembling under him again, the ache returning as you tipped closer and closer to the edge. You were reduced to a shaking, squealing, moaning mess in a little over a minute, your legs struggling to hold onto him as they shook.

Your face once again slammed into the mattress, a loud groan felt against your back as his hips sputtered slightly, his large hands grabbing onto your hair once again as he attempted to keep himself steady as he finally tipped over the edge. His breaths were rough and quick against your back, you too busy attempting to catch your own breath to notice his hands had lowered.

You gasped, pleasure coursing through you once again as his fingers moved with renewed vigor. “Ju-Jungkoo-” You pleaded, struggling to even get his name out as his strong hands made quick work of your clit, you finally reaching your release with a sudden, violent shake. He pulled away, the emptiness that followed allowing you to fully fall against the bed, your legs weak as you attempted to stand. His arms wrapped around you, gently laying you down.

“Too much?” He questioned, taking in your exhausted form, his voice dripping with concern. His eyes widened slightly at the black smeared along your cheeks, pouting as he gently wiped it off, not seeming to notice his still wet fingers. “Too much.” He lowered to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, running his fingers through your messy hair. “Definitely too much.”

---

[A/N: Sorry that this came out so much later than I promised. Hopefully it was worth the wait.]

#bts #bts jungkook #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #gamer jungkook #jungkook au

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royalnugget42 · 3 years ago

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Ok so now that I’m officially in the Resident Evil fandom here’s something

In the aftermath of the explosion in that little village, Ethan’s body is recovered. He is completely molded though, and has no memory except that he has a daughter named Rose, and he is sent to a secret facility to be contained and researched. He spends years being experimented on, poked and prodded and his regenerative abilities grow to astonishing strength.

He can regrow whole limbs now. He found this out the hard way, when the scientists started cutting off bits and pieces of him. Whole bones have been regrown from nothing but mold, though he has to eat a lot of rotten food to make up for it. His captors never tell him who he was or what he did, not even telling him his name, and referring to him only by Subject F-001, or Series F.

Their guess as to how he got like this without showing any of the homicidal tendencies of his predecessors is a mystery to them. Perhaps it is the memory of his daughter, perhaps it is his isolation from the rest of the molded, perhaps he just has something in his DNA. Whatever the case, when he is not being hurt he is resentful and angry, but never violent, nor does he seem interested in spreading the mold further.

It’s 16 years after they took him that funding starts to run out for the project. They’ve devoted all the time to research that they can, and now they must look to utilize him in other ways.

They begin with that question, of why he is different from the rest of the molded, retaining some semblance of his humanity. They can’t take his memory of Rose, though they’ve tried, and instead start to introduce foreign samples of mold into his diet, to see if he gains any of their traits.

Did they know what was left catalogued in the E-series mold? Did they realize that every infected soul has left a mark in that strain? Did they predict...no they couldn’t have. But they should have.

Ethan Winters goes to sleep and dreams of his wife. He doesn’t remember having a wife, how could he? But he supposes this must be her, she is lying in bed with him and calling him baby. This is Rose’s mother, and she is beautiful. But she doesn’t say his name. He doesn’t know hers.

When he wakes up he sees a little girl with black hair at the foot of his bed. She giggles at him, but runs when he calls out, vanishing through the concrete walls. When he mentions this apparition, the scientists dutifully catalogue the apparent hallucinations in their notes on him, but they do nothing to help him when he begs them for knowledge.

“Where is she?” he shouts into the stark, empty air. “Where is my wife, where is my daughter? Where’s Rose?” There is no answer. Just the buzzing of fluorescent lights and the quiet beeps of machinery.

The second dream is of a kitchen. Sunlight pours through the window, and the wooden floor is grimy, but only because it hasn’t been washed since breakfast yesterday.

There’s an old man at the table. His wife brings a meal to the table, and whatever it is smells delicious. Their son, it must be their son, sits off to the side, scrolling nonchalantly through his phone. Their daughter is gathering silverware.

They are the picture of an idyllic, loving family. They smile at him and ask him if he’d like anything more to eat, gently chiding him. He’s so thin, shouldn’t he have just one more helping? So he dutifully finishes off another, before declaring he is done. The old man turns to him.

“You’ve got to go back soon. When you do you’ve got to remember.” Remember what? He only remembers Rose, he doesn’t even know who these people are. They aren’t his family, he knows that, but in a warped and twisted way they also are. The edges of his vision are black with mold as they all beg him to remember, to break free, to be himself again. Zoe is the last to speak.

“I know you remember us. We live on in you, everyone does. We’re all counting on you, kid.” He feels like he’s too old to be called a kid by this girl, but maybe this girl is older than she looks. Maybe he’s younger than he thought.

The little girl is back. She doesn’t run this time, just stares at him. It seems she is waiting for a question, and it’s only as he realizes this that he knows what to ask. “Who are you?” he asks. “Who am I?”

She laughs at this, bright and sharp as glass. “I’m your daughter, of course! And you’re my daddy.”

Rose? Is this little girl Rose? But no, she isn’t. He’s not sure how he knows but he does. This girl isn’t his daughter, except she is, isn’t she? They’re connected. A family in reverse. He didn’t make her, not like he made Rose, but she didn’t make him either. He’s too new for that. How can he be younger than his daughter?

“Evelyn.”

She smiles at the recognition in his eyes. There’s fear there, but also familiarity. This is at least someone he knows. If she is his daughter, then he must be her father. That’s how it works isn’t it? All at once he feels like a part of his identity is locked into place. If he is a father then he has to protect his daughters, both of them. He must find Rose, and his wife.

She fades away before he passes out again. He dreams of pain, in his hand, in his legs. He dreams of terror and aching phantom memories. There’s a woman, tall and beautiful, with hands like long knives, her daughters all over him, many-legged. There’s a doll, there are so many dolls, and there’s a woman in mourning. A creature of water and filth confronts him, spewing out acid that burns in his mind. He talks to a man that moves metal without touching it. The man tells him to remember, tells him not to give up.

“You were always so stubborn. Don’t lose that. You’ll get those bastards yet.”

There’s a woman, and she has Rose. He kills her, and as she crumbles she whispers that she is finally with her daughter. She whispers to him that they are family, that they are both related and the same. He takes Rose from where she cries amongst the stones, and feels his hands fall apart.

Evelyn is a good daughter. When he is awake, he tells stories, about his dreams, about her mother. Evelyn tells him things too.

“You and mom tried to kill me, but I never knew why. I had a long time to think though, and I think I might’ve been a bad girl.”

For what it’s worth, he is sorry, but Evelyn shakes her head. “It was for the best, after all. You weren’t really my dad then.”

He doesn’t know what he is. The scientists call him series F, but he doesn’t know what that means. Evelyn used to be called series E. She says maybe his name starts with an F, but he knows that it doesn’t.

He’s different from Evelyn, but not so different that he is distant from her. Evelyn says that she tried to give him a gift, something she gave to lots of people. She gave it to his wife too, but she never gave anything to him.

“You have a gift too,” she says, “but it didn’t come from me. You made it all on your own. I came from this place, from these scientists, but you made yourself. It’s like you grew from nothing.”

Evelyn always wants to have more family, always wants to give more of her gift. She asks if Ethan is the same, and he realizes that he has never tried to give his gift to someone else. He doesn’t know if he wants to. He already has all the family he could ask for.

He dreams of his wife. Her name is Mia. He knows that now. His name is Ethan, and her name is Mia and they are family.

Scientists have been recording his conversations, and they’re growing concerned. Ethan spends so much time talking to his “daughter” Evelyn. They have realized by now that the E strain mold in his diet must have contained some trace of Evelyn’s consciousness, possibly along with others. They’ve stopped exposing him to it but it seems the damage is done. He asks for Mia and Rose at every waking moment that he does not spend talking to Evelyn.

They took a risk. They took far too many risks. Something happens one day, when a woman comes in to monitor his physical state. He was supposed to be sleeping, but the drugs wore off sooner than expected. He saw the woman through the door, and he begged her, to let him out, to bring him to his family. She ignored him. He pounded against the glass and she just rolled her eyes and took more notes.

Something snapped. No, not snapped. It twisted and warped and grew. It blossomed.

If this woman wasn’t going to let him see his family, then he would make more family. He would make her see his side, and once they were family she would have to help him. That’s what family does. His breathing slowed, and he closed his eyes. With every ounce of longing and loneliness he reached—

Agony.

#resident evil #re8 ethan winters #re8 #re8 coda #aftermath of the village #ethan winters #mia winters #rosemary winters #Evelyn resident evil #tw mold

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shig-a-shig-ah · 4 years ago

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GOOD CLEAN FUN

» pairing: chisaki kai x fem!reader

» cw: noncon, somnophilia, oral sex, medical kink, needles (brief mention) 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: Quirkless AU! This was written for the BNHA Degeneracy 9 to 5 Server collab.

» wc: 5k

» ao3 mirror

Dentistry is a disgusting profession. It makes Chisaki's skin crawl, the poor care people take of themselves, and he frequently regrets being pushed into this family business of staring down filthy gullets all day, though he takes sadistic pleasure in refusing to be gentle with the worst of his patients. Why should he be, when they obviously have such disregard for their own health and hygiene? No, in those cases he takes great satisfaction in ripping the rot out by the root with nothing but pliers and his own brute strength.

Some days, though...some days there are patients like you, who make it all worth while. Patients who are clean.

You make yourself such an easy mark too, though Kai had expected as much after Kurono so slyly told him that he'd probably want to take care of the new patient in room two personally. Hari wasn't wrong; you're trembling when Kai enters the exam room, staring wide-eyed at the tray of neatly-arranged stainless steel instruments next to the chair in which you're reclining, fingertips gripping at the armrests. You're chewing at your lip too, as though your nerves weren't already apparent enough, those perfectly white, straight teeth digging into your plump lower lip in a way that's practically obscene. Even without a closer look Chisaki can tell what good care you take of that cute little mouth, and it's enough to send his cock twitching.

He takes a seat on the stool next to you as he introduces himself, careful to keep the excitement from his voice and to squint his eyes just right so that you'll know he's smiling even behind the surgical mask he wears, the one that both protects him from those much filthier than you and keeps you from seeing just how cold that grin really is. Your own smile is much more obviously forced, but he likes that you try - it's endearing that you're working hard to be brave even when you look close to tears with anxiety. Of course, he also likes that you're scared, likes that extra little bit of power over you, and that it will make all the easier for him to take advantage, because he's already decided he has to have you.

It's impossible for you to remember how or why this dentophobia started. You can only remember being dragged kicking and screaming to the dentist as a young child, your mother scolding you for refusing to behave. As you got older you managed a little more self-control, but while you can force yourself into the chair, you can do nothing to stop the way you shake and your heart races. It's only made worse by the obvious annoyance you face when practitioners have to deal with you; you know they think you're stupid or immature for this reaction you can't control.

The man before you, however, is smiling sympathetically, gold-flecked eyes crinkling with concern in a way you appreciate. He's handsome even with half his face covered, all bright eyes and perfect dark hair, and your cheeks heat up when he asks if you're nervous. You force out a meek nod, and he chuckles softly.

"No need to be self-conscious. It's a common fear," he says. "But we do offer sedation, if that's something you're interested in. It can help with the nerves."

Your brow furrows slightly. It's not an option you've been offered before, hadn't even realized it was a possibility. "Sedation? Like, put me under?"

"No," he says, chuckling softly again as he turns to the monitor by the chair and starts scrolling through what you assume is your file. "Nothing as severe as that, at least not for a routine cleaning. Just a little nitrous oxide to help take the edge off."

That you have heard of, but always thought it was only used for more intense procedures. "That's laughing gas, right?"

"That's the colloquial name for it, yes. It'll numb you some and help you relax. Although it might make you a little giggly, as the name implies. Some of my patients even enjoy it." Your face heats up again when his intense gaze lingers on you, not just with embarrassment this time, and a small titter escapes you.

Chisaki can't believe his luck with you, if he's being honest. You're exactly his type, and as he expected your dental records are flawless - never so much as a cavity. He's confident too that you'll accept what he's offering with as anxious as you are, and your reaction to his presence. He's not surprised by that; Kai knows the effect he has on people when he tries. Probably he doesn't even need to go through the great lengths he does to get people like you into a compromising position, but he enjoys the process. It's easier this way, with access to medical records so he knows what he's touching, and an army of sedatives to ensure he's perfectly in control of these encounters.

You only deliberate for a moment before nodding and giving him the answer he knew you would. "Okay, I guess I can try it."

The smile he gives you this time is actually genuine as excitement blooms in his gut. "I think you'll find it really helps," he says, daring to rest one hand on your forearm briefly. Even through the thin latex of his gloves, he can feel that your skin is soft, and he feels another pang of anticipation. Then he stands up. "I have to supervise the sedation, so I'll take care of your cleaning and exam personally. I'll be right back and then we can get started."

Your chest is still tight with anxiety as he situates you, arranging a strange mask over your nostrils and instructing you to breath deeply through your nose, but once you catch the scent of that slightly sweet gas being pumped into your lungs, the effects are almost immediate. The tension in your chest abates, your whole body going light and tingly, and suddenly you can't remember what you were ever so afraid of. When Chisaki tells you to open wide, you don't even hesitate, doing so immediately and sticking your tongue out slightly, making an exaggerated 'ahhhhh' sound and then giggling a little, though you couldn't say why.

"I can see it's working already," Chisaki says. He's unable to keep the breathiness out of his tone this time, but he trusts you're too distracted to notice. The way you'd opened so obediently, and the sight of your little pink tongue poking out lewdly has his cock hardening already, and he's only barely begun. He can't stop himself from reaching out, pushing that wet muscle back into your mouth with one finger, letting it linger on your tongue a moment longer than necessary to feel the heat of it before pulling away, but you only giggle at the slightly inappropriate act.

Despite his straining erection begging for relief, Chisaki still has a job to do, and he works with well-practiced efficiency as he goes through the process of cleaning your teeth. The anticipation is as much a part of this as anything else, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the buildup. He's not a masochist by any means, but these little self-denials are gratifying, only serve to make the end result that much sweeter. Still, he can't help but find himself occasionally distracted by the way you laugh every time he gives you an instruction to open wider, or tilt your head, noticing the way your chest bounces slightly beneath your tight top, and how you lie with your legs slightly spread, so inviting.

Normally he waits until he can render patients like you truly helpless before he touches them, recommending elaborate procedures that they don't realize are entirely unnecessary, but then again most patients don't request or accept sedation for such routine procedures as this. He reaches over to the tank of nitrous oxide, increasing the dose slightly and watching as you slump a little more in the chair, and then he reaches out to trail one gloved hand up your thigh and over your clothed center.

You've barely felt anything this whole time, aware of him working at your teeth but not really registering it, too overwhelmed by the way your whole body feels pleasantly tingly and numb, and it's only after he's ceased fussing over your mouth that you start to notice another sensation, a building tension between your thighs that makes you squirm, a small whine escaping you. Your eyes, closed to defend against the bright overhead light, flutter open, but you can't see him hovering over you anymore.

"We're almost finished," Chisaki says calmly when you whimper again as that slight pressure continues to build. "I just need to enter some notes in your file, and then finish the actual exam."

From out of your line of sight he can see the way you're frowning, your cheeks puffing up slightly with discomfort and arousal, obviously confused. He presses his fingers more firmly against your clothed cunt, palming himself through his pants with his other hand. It's bolder than he'd usually be, but for once he's struggling with restraint, just can't bring himself to wait until he's found some excuse to render you more wholly unconscious in his chair.

"I just...I feel a little funny," you whimper, and then giggle again.

"That's normal," he says, continuing to massage your sex, noticing the way your hips twitch when he strokes over just the right spot. "Some people feel numbness, or a little pressure. As long as nothing hurts, there's nothing to worry about."

You nod, letting your eyes fall closed again. You can't quite help your thighs from twitching; it's a strange feeling, the knot tightening deep in your stomach even as you feel so numb and tingly, and when it intensifies further you feel a stab of shame as you realize exactly what's happening, that you're going to cum even as you try to hold yourself back.

Kai knows it's risky, that all you'd have to do is turn your head and open your eyes to see his straining arousal, but he can't stop himself from working his pants open as quietly as possible and stroking himself properly as he watches the struggle on your face, the way you bite at your lip and obviously try to ignore the sensation, apparently ready to believe this is some spontaneous reaction to your drugged-up state and not his fingers working over you.

Despite the fact that you try to resist the sensation, the tingling in your body intensifies around your clit until your legs are shaking, the walls of your cunt fluttering around nothing and a mortifying whine escaping you. Through your giddiness, however, the humiliation is short-lived, nearly forgotten the moment you find yourself giggling at your own orgasm.

The sight of you quivering as you cum, entirely unaware of his hands on you, only further erodes Kai's patience. "I just need to take one last quick look," he says, and then without waiting for your response he's releasing his cock momentarily, using gloved fingers from both hands to pry your mouth wide again. You squirm slightly when he forces those fingers deep in your mouth, but he removes one hand just as quickly, returning those spit-soaked fingers to his throbbing shaft and fisting himself more urgently. If you can hear the faint wet sounds the action brings, he trusts that you won't question them.

Fuck, and he's close already, the sight of your pink tongue lolling against his fingers only sending the coil in his gut tightening further, and he shoves his fingers a little deeper towards the back of your throat, feeling the muscles there spasm as you gag at the invasion.

"I'm sorry if this is a bit unpleasant," he says shortly, too caught up in the way you look with his fingers probing your mouth to maintain that congenial tone. Even through the gloves he can feel the heat and wetness of your mouth, and it sends shivers down his spine. "This should only take a minute. You have a small mouth - it's difficult to see with your tongue in the way."

He presses his fingers further, not sure why he's explaining himself when you're so obviously unbothered. You're only nodding, spit running down the side of your chin as you salivate around his fingers. On most anyone else he would find the sight nauseating, but seeing your innocent face so debased only spurs him closer to his release. He squeezes his length more tightly, letting the spit-slicked palm of his gloved hand rub over his tip with every stroke, the fingers of his other hand continuing to invade his throat while you simply lay there and take it, and when you finally let out a moan of real distress at the feel of his fingers in the back of your throat, it's enough to send him over the edge, his cock spasming and hot spurts of cum shooting into his gloved hand.

The moment his cock stops twitching he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, stripping off his fouled gloves and tucking himself back into his pant before you can so much as open your eyes. When he turns back to you again, you're staring at the ceiling, grinning slightly with shiny, wet lips.

It takes a few minutes for your head to clear once he removes the mask from your face, and by then you only have the vaguest sense that anything about the experience was strange, and even then it was still vastly more pleasant than any of your prior dental experiences, albeit embarrassing in a slightly different way than usual.

Chisaki waits for you to seem cognizant before drawing your attention to the monitor by the chair. His boldness in touching you did little to truly satisfy him, only made him more eager to fuck you properly, to feel the heat of your tongue against his cock instead of his fingers, and to bury himself in that cunt that responded so sweetly to his touch.

"Your teeth are mostly in good shape," Chisaki says. "But I'm afraid you do have one small cavity. Here, see?" He points at one of your x-rays on the screen, a perfectly healthy tooth but he's confident you won't notice that, that you don't know what to look for, and sure enough you're only nodding, eyes wide. It's adorable, that fearful look on your face. He almost wishes there were a way for you to keep that expression when he has his way with you. "It's only a small one. But I'd recommend a stronger sedative for it, if your nerves are that much of a problem."

"Stronger?"

"It requires an IV," he explains, "and you wouldn't be able to drive yourself home afterwards. You'll still be conscious, technically, but you won't be aware of much."

The idea of having your tooth drilled into already has you quaking, the last traces of your buzz gone, and you agree at once. "Okay. I guess I can ask my roommate to drive me." She probably won't mind; you two do each other favors fairly regularly.

Kai's glad to hear you don't mention a boyfriend. It wouldn't matter in the end, if you had one or not, but the idea of some other man's hands on you still sends a jealous, possessive stab through him. He prefers to believe that he's the only who's touched you, that there aren't others out there tainting you with their filth.

"Great," he says, giving you another one of those reassuring smiles. "Let's get you scheduled."

***

It's a matter of days before you're back again, Kurono having conveniently found a 'cancellation' in the schedule to slot you in. He knows all about Kai's proclivities of course; they've worked together for years, well before Chisaki took over Overhaul Dentistry from his adopted father, and they've known each other even longer. Hari's stayed to watch Kai's little indiscretions once or twice, though he's more prone to lurking outside the door to listen shamelessly, knowing full well that Chisaki has no interest in sharing and would never permit him to touch what he considers his.

Chisaki is practically shaking with impatience by the time you arrive, has to take a few deep breaths to steady his trembling hands before placing the IV and pumping you full of Propofol. He's not sure he's ever been this excited about a patient, but this time around the eagerness has been killing him. He's always considered his libido healthy but not excessive, but he's stroked himself off more times in the last few days that he usually would over the course of a month, waiting for this.

You blink slowly, counting backwards until your words trail off and your eyes fall closed, and then Kai stands up, taking in the sight of you limp before him. You wore a dress today, a summery little thing that buttons from top to bottom, almost as though you'd known what you were coming here for.

He's already hard, his erection straining against the constricting fabric of his pants, but he ignores it for now and focuses on undoing those buttons, savoring each additional glimpse of skin. Your underwear is simple, white cotton panties with a hint of lace around the edges, and a matching bra. He likes them, simple and clean, just like you.

One gloved hand lifts to cup your breasts, kneading that soft flesh and then finding the bud of one nipple and rolling it between his fingers, sending it hardening. He watches your face as he does so - you're not entirely unconscious, but you won't react much, and you certainly won't remember this. Your brow is furrowing just slightly under the attention, and when he moves to toy with your other nipple he hears the faint sigh you let out, takes it as encouragement to shove that garment out of the way and reveal your pert breasts, licking his lips at the sight of the slightly darker skin of your nipples, and the way they've puckered under his attentions so invitingly. He bends and takes one in his mouth, laving his tongue over that stiff peak, biting down lightly.

A little whine escapes you this time, and the sound sends spike of heat through his cock. He knew you'd be responsive to him after the last time, but you're already exceeding his expectations. He tips his head slightly, staring at your mouth, those slightly parted lips.

He's never felt compelled to kiss anyone, all too aware of the filth present in even the cleanest of mouths, but as he stares at your lips he's surprised by the urge to do so. And he knows the risks are minimal, spent more than one of the last several evenings reading through your medical records, giving them a much more thorough evaluation than the release form you'd signed probably warranted. But he couldn't help himself, and now he knows that you take good care of the rest of yourself just like you do your mouth.

He leans forward curiously, encouraged when your lips press just a little back into his, even as your eyes stay closed. He lets his tongue snake out to trace over your mouth, probing between those lips, and you let another soft whine, though your tongue doesn't respond to his. That's okay; it's more enjoyable that he'd have expected and he deepens it anyway, relishing your taste, minty and sweet - obviously you'd prepared yourself for him. He grasps one of your hands and brings it to rub against his cock, panting as he ruts into your palm.

When he finally breaks the kiss, he's equally parts disgusted and aroused by the thin strand of saliva that connects your mouths, staring at it in fascination until it breaks.

That uncharacteristic impatience rears its head again, and Chisaki fumbles with his pants, letting his cock spring forth. He wraps your hand around it briefly, savoring the feel of your small, soft hand caressing his length, and then he moves on just as quickly. It only takes the flick of a switch to lower the chair down so that you're at waist level, and then he's tilting your head towards him, pressing the tip of his cock against those spit-slicked lips. You surprise him by poking that pink tongue out just a little, and for a minute he simple brushes the head of his glans back and forth against it, relishing the soft brush of your wet tongue, and the pleasant jolt it sends through him.

"You're a little tease, aren't you?" he whispers. Then, he pushes forward into the hot cavern of your mouth, swearing under his breath at the feel of you. You gag reflexively when he bumps against the back of your throat, but he only pulls back briefly and surges forward again, one gloved hand coming to rest in your hair gently, holding you in place as he fucks your mouth.

It's not tight without you actively sucking, but it's hot and wet, and the velvety texture of your tongue against him is more than enough. Despite trying to be gentle at first, he finds himself thrusting more roughly as his excitement grows at the sight of his length disappearing between your sweet lips, stroking your hair when you gag harder.

"Shh, now," he scolds to your unresponsive body. "Be good and take it."

It's almost as though you're listening - your head tilts back slightly to accept more of him, your throat contracting around him, and before he can help himself Kai's hips are bucking, his balls tightening and his cock contracting as his load spills down your throat. When he pulls away he can still see the last of his seed coating your tongue, and he spreads it around with his gloved fingers, entranced by the sight.

He adjusts his clothes a bit, not done with you just yet, and then circles around towards you feet. His gloved hands wander up along your thighs, squeezing at that soft flesh, and then tug you down towards him - mindful of the IV still buried in your arm - until your legs dangling off the edge of the chair. He spreads them a little, running one finger over your clothed slit. There's a damp spot at the center of your panties, and his eyes fix on it with great satisfaction.

"You really are eager, hmm?" he murmurs, letting the pad of his thumb hone in on your clit, the outline of that puffy bead visible through the damp cotton. You let out the faintest of whimpers, your hips tilting into his touch slightly, and Kai lets out a shuddering breath before bending forward and burying his face between your thighs, letting his lips move lightly over your covered cunt, catching your clit between his lips to tease your barely-conscious form, earning another soft whimper. His cock is swelling again already at those little sounds, and the scent of you.

Forcing himself to pull away, he works your panties down over your hips and off completely with eager fingers, his eyes fixing on your bare cunt. Your positive to response to his touches is all the more visible now, glistening strands of wetness coating your folds. He uses his thumbs to spread you open, circling your clit with two fingers as he stares at your entrance and letting out a throaty groan when he can see your hole clenching around nothing.

The sight of your perfect cunt so greedy for his cock is entrancing, and he repeats the motion. You're not the first person he's done this with and you certainly won't be the last, but oh, you just might be his favorite, so eager for him. He'd known you were special after that first encounter, but your response to him now is better than he could have imagined a few days ago.

He slides two fingers into you, scissoring them gently to ready you for his cock. He can hear the way your faint breathing has sped up, the skin across your chest darkening slightly as you grow flushed from his efforts, and when he removes his fingers they're coated in your slick. He stares at them curiously, tempted again by new desires, and then slides them into his mouth, savoring the taste of you, sweet and quite unlike anything else.

The throbbing in his cock is growing unbearable, and though there's a part of him that wants to draw this out, wants to savor it, there's even larger part that's desperate to feel that tight hole clenching around him. He shifts you again slightly, bringing your hips to rest at the end of the chair, the contours of the leg rest making your back arch nicely, those perfect tits even more on display, and he takes one in hand as he aligns himself near your entrance, pinching at your nipple hard enough to make you whine.

There are condoms in the pocket of his sterile white lab coat; he's normally vigilant with the protective measures, loathe to expose himself to any unnecessary risks, both hygienically and in terms of leaving evidence behind, but he's tempted to forgo that now. The notes from your last yearly doctor's visit stated you're not sexually active, and he thinks it must be true, that an innocent thing like you is too sweet to lie. Of course, because of that you're not on birth control either, but even that doesn't bother him like it should; it excites him even, the thought of his seed taking root and the surprise that would bring.

He runs his bare cock over your damp slit experimentally, groaning at the unadulterated sensation, and that's enough to convince him to abandon his usual precautions. Kai thrusts forward into your wet heat, letting out a strangled moan. Your cunt is so tight, so hot around his length, and god, it's so much better when he can feel it all, the intense wetness of your cunt creaming around him and every tiny ridge of your velvety walls. The way you whimper when he forces himself into you makes him wonder if perhaps he didn't prepare you quite enough - your walls are fluttering around his cock, obviously struggling to accommodate him, but it's not until he's nestled deep inside, the head of his cock kissing your cervix, that he pauses to let you adjust.

You squirm a little - small, feeble movements - and Kai relishes each slight shift of your body, watching your lips twitch. It's obvious you're trying to speak, but in your drugged up state all that spills forth is barely audible nonsense, tiny whines with a pleading undertone. He reaches forward to stroke your hair from your face. "You're so needy," he scolds, "but don't worry, I'll take care of you."

With that, he pulls out until just the head of his cock is still trapped in your cunt, and then drives himself forward roughly. Your limp body bounces back at the force of his thrust, your tits jiggling slightly with each of his movements, a sight he adores. He lets his fingers circle your clit again, can feel the way your cunt immediately clamps down around him in response, as though you're trying to draw him even deeper, and he gladly obliges you, slamming himself as deep as possible every time. You whimper more loudly than you have yet, and he can just make out your eyes trying vainly to flutter open, never quite succeeding.

"You take me so well," he pants, the feel of your slick walls gripping his cock so tightly has his balls tightening again, and he slows a little, trying to prolong the inevitable, not ready to be done with your sweet pussy just yet. He leans forward clumsily latch his mouth around one of those erect nipples, sucking and nibbling, noting the response brings, you throaty noises coming more quickly, the slight twitches of your hips growing more violent.

"So well," he murmurs again. No one's been this responsive before; he's lucky, honestly, if he can ever coax his patients to orgasm, but your cunt is flooded, obviously ready to cum for him, and it's enough that he loses the last of his restraint, rolling his hips furiously, railing against your cervix with every thrust in a way that's sure to leave you aching once you're fully aware again, but he can't bring himself to care. He wants to feel your release, feel you gripping his cock more tightly if such a thing is possible, and wants to fill you up with his seed.

"Are you going to be good and cum for me?" he asks breathily, and after another minute your body answers his question, your cunt clamping down, a quiet, high-pitched whine issuing from your throat as you hole constricts. Another few stuttering thrusts and his own cock is spasming, pleasant throbs radiating through his core as he drives into you one last time and cums, swearing at the almost unbearable tightness of your cunt around him.

For a moment he remains buried there, relishing the last throes of your orgasms and the way you're still occasionally pulsing around him. When he pulls out, he frowns at the distasteful mess his cum makes as it leaks out of your gaping hole, but it's accompanied by a shiver of satisfaction at the evidence of how he's claimed you for himself. Still, he moves on almost immediately to cleaning up, slipping on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves and tucking himself back into his pants before digging out a handful of papery dental bibs and using them to clean away the mess he's left between your thighs. Of course, there's nothing he can do about the evidence he's left deep inside, but even that he still finds titillating, the thought of his cum dripping out of you even after you've left, of your cute, confused face as you try to understand.

You barely stir as he goes about this process, only occasionally shifting slightly or mumbling a little, and by the time he's replaced your clothes you're lying still, the tiniest frown is on your lips. It's almost as though you know your time together is coming to an end, and you don't want to go. Chisaki glances from you to the needle in your arm, and the still half-full bag of Propofol suspended from the IV stand. Now that he thinks about it, he supposes there's no real reason to rush you out of there.

"Hari," he calls out, and he's unsurprised when the door to the exam room opens almost immediately, knows how Kurono likes to listen. The other man looks at him questioningly, gaze flicking between Kai and your sedated form reclining in the chair.

"Yes, Kai?" he asks, raising on pale eyebrow.

Chisaki smiles behind his mask. "Cancel the rest of my appointments for the day."

#chisaki x reader #chisaki kai x reader #chisaki x you #bnha fanfic #chisaki kai #cw: noncon #tw: noncon

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