#but instead she nursed her wound's and helped her escape when she felt safe to

[ahalal-uralma]

Ever After

I don’t care how many Cinderella adaptations they keep making like candy, this remains among my top five favorite ones they’ve ever made.❤️

[fairy-verse]

Do you have any facts about fairy Cross??? Please and thank you :)

He’s afraid of snowmen. He doesn’t understand why the Big Folk makes those figures out of the snow, but they unsettle him; deeply.

He shared his first kiss with Epic and thought it felt oddly… tickly. The same happened when he finally kissed Dream and he’s come to enjoy the sensation. It makes his chest feel all warm and fuzzy.

He once got so badly tangled in some of the hanging roots within Error’s grand mountain hall, that he was thoroughly stuck until someone came and helped him get loose. He was relentlessly bullied for it for months; all in good humour, though.

He’s got a very good voice for humming lullabies.

His hands are quite rough from working on the forge, but he’s got meticulously good attention to detailed work and as such can work steadily and carefully. Aka, his hands, and fingers are perfect for trailing and petting someone’s face whenever he feels lovely dovely.

Despite his tough upbringing he wants faerlings of his own.

He’s skilled at foraging and preparing food for a tough winter, plus he’s learned the craft of making his own woollen and cotton clothes, so he doesn’t have to trade that much.

Dude is strong.

There are specks of purple in his wings that only shimmer in the sun and moonlight. They’re barely visible unless you have some kind of light shining on them.

He’s the most comfortable in his own body when it goes from autumn to winter, and spring to summer. Besides those two small windows, he’s either a little too warm, or a little too cold. It’s extremely frustrating, but he’s learned to live with it.

He doesn’t talk to his father anymore, but sometimes he’ll find himself slightly more tucked in on particularly cold nights when the winds have snuck inside Error’s Mountain halls. He’s not sure who does it since their scent doesn’t seem to linger within his lantern…

He has an abysmal hatred for trolls.

He’s easily bashful when it comes to receiving intimacy but has an easy time being the one to give it away, almost to an oblivious level. Don’t make him aware of it, though. He might explode from embarrassment unless he’s reassured that it’s greatly appreciated.

The base of his wings is extremely ticklish, more so than for regular fairies, so he prefers to wash that area himself instead of having help from others.

His love language is to give physical touch and do acts of service. He’d love to receive words of affirmation.

He befriended an elderly human woman after she helped him escape from a fairy trap that wounded him badly. She nursed him back to health and didn’t hesitate to let him leave once he felt better. He regularly visits her during the winter to make sure she’s healthy and safe from the cold, and sometimes he’ll stay to listen to some of her stories. He’s very fond of her.

[softliebgott]

— my heart in human form

about: “could you write a george luz request where the reader is easy’s female medic who is the epitome of the quote “you take care of everyone but who takes care of you?” and george doesn’t realize that he does take care of her in his own way that when she tells him such, they finally confess to the feelings they’ve been harboring since toccoa? i hope this made sense but either way i just wanted to compliment your stellar writing ❤️” — anon

warnings: fem!reader, grisly war wound + blood, a man with a penny and a crush

word count: 1196

hageneau, france

your nasal cavity stung from the metallic smell of blood. a man was rushed in, missing his leg above the knee. what remained looked like a poorly chopped tree stump. the human body was so easily damaged. water and chemicals was all it was; hardly more to it than a jellyfish drying on sand.

the soldier’s lips were no more than a purple scar below his nose. his blood eagerly escaped, soaking through the bandages and creeping between your fingers.

you reached for the soldier’s hand and squeezed. your knuckles bleached white, having to hold on tightly from how slippery your skin was with blood. i will help you, you thought. i will get you to your family.

history had its eyes on these men; men of hardy glass sharpened by their descent into war. they had little chance to be soft. their purpose was greater than their pain. as a nurse, you wanted to alleviate their pain, and not just with morphine.

the surgeon repeated your name. you hadn’t heard him the first time. the soldier lost too much blood. he was brought in too late. it stole the heat from your body. you didn’t realize the hand you held was already cold. his blood, sticky as syrup, welded your hands together. as you peeled away, you realized after this touch you would know him years from now; especially in the dark of your dreams.

you left the tent, wishing it was february’s cold numbing you instead of your own shock. death would always treat you the same; ripping off a petal from the rose of your heart. no matter how softly it beat, death could hear it. without your rose’s petals, you were tired from the pain, but you always put it aside for any soldier in need of care. but what about yourself? where was that same care?

you looked down at your hands. the cold air dried the blood, and movement of your fingers felt as stiff as a corpse’s. your bloodied uniform made you stand out, but no one minded the sight except for you. vision blurry, you rubbed your hands against your abdomen, desperate to be rid of the blood. instead you gathered more from your apron.

“y/n?”

when seeing george, you wiped the tears away. you didn’t notice how you smeared the blood on your face like grisly cam cream.

as george approached, the lump in your throat hardened. you always felt safe around him. he was a minute of quiet in a howling world. “hey, hey,” he murmured, gently bringing your hands from your face. “let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” his eyes were softer than a day’s first light.

you nodded, hazy from emotion.

in a home gutted by mortars, you sat across from george as he cleaned your hands with warm water. he took his time, gingerly rubbing away the blood with his calloused fingers. he didn’t look at you, but you looked at him. dirt smudged his skin as if he were an artist creating with charcoal, and his disheveled hair hung in strands over his forehead. even a dirty flower was still charming.

you noticed bruising on one of his thumbs. it was a common injury from getting them caught in the loading mechanism of the m1 garand. you lightly touched his thumb and asked, “does it hurt?”

george smiled. “you’re worried about this little thing?”

“i always worry for you and the boys.”

“ah, some guys get more fucked than a catholic bunny than me. but me? i’m just trying to look after my best girl.” his touch turned slow and tender as if he was handling porcelain.

you relaxed. his touch was the morphine you needed. “how do i thank you for always taking care of me?” you asked softly.

“by taking care of yourself.” he used his bruised thumb to wipe away the dried blood on your cheek, and impulsively grazed the edge of your mouth. it made your heart hiccup in surprise, and you held each other’s gaze. his simple action reminded you and him of all of the words you wanted to say to each other since toccoa. they all collected inside of your hearts like pearls. you wanted to open your mouth and let them all fall out.

“can you do that?” george asked, eyes shining. “not for me, but for yourself?”

you nodded, smiling.

“good ‘cause, uh…i’d like to smile with you for the rest of my life.” with you, intimacy always colored his voice. even hello sounded like i love you, but he wasn’t sure if you had deciphered it yet. “you’re all i can think about.” he didn’t realize he spoke his thoughts.

his words paralyzed you. even though they mimicked how you felt, you never thought he’d say them despite your hopes. now that he did, a response evaded you, and he waited with anxious eyes. you wanted to tell him everything as if he were your own personal journal. your lips parted, but your name was called from outside. you were needed back in the tent. when you were called for again, you drew your eyebrows together. “oh, george. i don’t know what to do with it.”

“with what?”

“with all this love i have for you. i want to speak in poems for how i feel for you, but i never have the time. i hope a simple word like love is enough.”

“aw, y/n.” he held your hands. “i don’t need a lot of fancy words. love is just right. it’s just like money. simple, but it pays for everything. just knowing you feel the same makes me the wealthiest man in the world.”

you went lax with absolute relief, but when your name was called once more it pained your chest. “oh, i need to go but please, please will you wait for me?”

he smiled. “i’ve waited for a few years. i can wait a few more minutes.”

you squeezed his hands, stood up, and began to leave. hearing his quick footsteps behind you, you didn’t have time to react as he said, “i can’t wait for this, though”, and pulled you snug against him like the right puzzle piece. you were chilled by the innocence of his kiss; something so forbidden in this time of war that even hell would understand.

you surrendered to him. cradling his face in your hands, you smeared blood on his face as if painting him in a red watercolor. you were aghast at your own passion, but reckless to satisfy it. his scruff scratched your palms, but you didn’t care. you wanted to experience all of him. tangled together, both of you looked like the romance captured in movie posters.

parting from george, your lips were fuzzy and numb. your body went lax like a weak flower stem, and you relied on him to hold you steady to which he gladly obliged. with you finally in his arms, he felt as though you were sunlight bleeding through his fingertips. it was very rare and beautiful to hold you.

“i’ll be waiting,” he said. “i’ll always wait for you.”

@general-taylor @mgdln97 @gottapenny @morgan108 @thegermansarebad @snafus-peckuh @wexhappyxfew @scarecrowmax @ineffablewants @junojelli @inglourious-imagines @sunflowerchuck @alienoresimagines @fandomscenariosforyou @ray--person @noneofurbusinez @tvserie-s-world @keoghans @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @mrseasycompany @mrsalwayswrite @meteora-fc @order-of-river-phoenix @thoughpoppiesblow @50svibes @alejodi0nysus @now-im-a-belieber @mads-weasley

[high-functioning-lokipath]

SH - Sherlock x Depressed!Reader - With a Little Help from My Friends - Words: 2,793

IMPORTANT A/N - PLEASE READ: As stated in the title, this story contains discussions of depression. There is mention of suicidal thought and self-harm. I personally don't think it's too intense in it's descriptions HOWEVER!!! If this will trigger you, for your own health and safety please do not read. My messages are always open if you'd like to talk. I wrote this partially based on my own feelings so I can understand to at least a degree. You're amazing and I love you all. As far as this story goes, just remember: it has a happy, very fluffy ending but it doesn't start that way. I hope you enjoy it, feel free to leave a comment!

Brief Backstory: Reader is friends with John and Sherlock. She is a nurse who works with John. The three met shortly after Sherlock came back. Sherlock and Reader have crushes on each other but won't admit to it. I think the story explains everything else.

"Y/N, I'm going to be honest," John said, putting his hand on your shoulder comfortingly. "I may have PTSD but I cannot fully put myself in your shoes. My depression is different than yours." You had called your best friend, John Watson, in a mild panic. You had been feeling depressed for some time, as he knew, but that day had been especially bad. There was no particular reason but your depression had gotten so intense that you knew you needed help to get past this particular wave. John invited you over to 221B, assuring you that his flatmate would be out for the next couple of hours. "As a doctor, I am going to prescribe you some medication. Lowest dose possible and only because I want to help you get some immediate relief but I know you do not want them to become permanent. Let's work on finding another solution for you, ok?"

"I don't know, John," you replied. You'd asked John to be your Doctor since you didn't go to one regularly and he didn't mind your irregular checkups. "I've tried just about everything. The only outlet that seems to help is writing and even then," you trailed off, trying not to cry again. "This feeling just won't go away and I don't even know why it's there in the first place. I just want it to stop."

"I think you should talk to Sherlock."

"What?" You squeaked. "Why in the world would I talk to Sherlock?"

"I can't tell you why, Y/N. As both your Doctor and Sherlock's, I have to respect certain amounts of patient confidentiality. However, as your friend, I think you should talk to him."

"I don't know."

"Trust me," He replied. Smirking slightly, he added, "Doctor's orders."

"Ok, John," you chuckled. He smiled and hugged you. "Thanks."

"Now how about we go and fill this prescription and then maybe get some ice cream?"

"Well, honestly," you sighed. "The ice cream sounds great but I didn't sleep well last night. I was actually wondering if I could just take a nap here for a bit. I sleep better here sometimes." You blushed but John nodded understandingly.

"Of course," He replied. "I'll run down to the drugstore and fill this for you. Meanwhile you get some rest. I'll let Sherlock know you're here just in case he ends up getting back before I do. Will you be ok by yourself?"

"Yeah," You smiled. "This is a safe space for me. I'll go grab a blanket. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it. Just remember, talk to him."

"I'll try."

About 15 minutes later, Sherlock arrived back at the flat. He'd gotten John's texts.

John: If you get home in the next 45 minutes, be quiet. Y/N is over and she's taking a nap. I have to run out for something.

Sherlock: Is everything ok? - SH

John: She said she had a bad night.

Sherlock: She must have had a reason to come over in the first place though. - SH

John: She's going to need to tell you that herself. Don't ask. Do you understand me? Let her tell you. Be nice, ok?

Sherlock: When am I not nice to Y/N? - SH

John: Ok, that is true. You like her too much to be rude to her. If you could just hold back your deductions for one second I will say this: you two have more in common than you think.

He hurried home, not to wake you up of course, but because he wanted to see you. If there was something seriously wrong, he wanted to try and brace himself for it first. He couldn't help the smile playing at the corner of his lips when he thought of you. You two were good friends, that much was obvious to everyone. But Sherlock could see the potential for something more. He liked you a lot. You were just as smart, sassy, and sarcastic as he was. But you also could be extremely kind and caring to others and especially to him. He still didn't quite understand why you cared for him so but he was grateful. Before he could dwell on that too much longer, he arrived at 221B.

He quietly slipped inside and smiled at what he saw. You were curled up on the couch, sleeping like a baby. Apparently, though, you'd kicked off the blanket you had grabbed. Instead of picking up the blanket, he decided to take off his long coat and carefully lay that over you. You quickly cuddled into the warm fabric, unconsciously taking a deep breath, inhaling his unique signature left behind on the coat. Satisfied with what he'd done, he took off his suit jacket and went to the kitchen to prepare some tea for when you woke up. He knew you had a favorite tea and, unless John moved it or drank it all, there still would be some in the cupboard.

You woke to the smell of your favorite tea and a hushed exclamation from the kitchen. Opening your eyes slowly you saw Sherlock in at the counter trying to set up a tray with the teapot and cups. Recognizing your surroundings a bit more, you realized what was on top of you. Sherlock was just about to bring out the tray but you decided to pretend you were still asleep. The chances of fooling the Detective were low, but you wanted to try.

"There," He whispered to himself, setting the tray on the coffee table. You could hear him settling down on his chair, likely getting into his 'palace pose' as you called it. For a moment you were happy. You had actually gotten some quality sleep, you were currently cuddled up in Sherlock's famous coat and Sherlock had even made you tea. But that feeling quickly faded. Tears threatened to spill out of your still closed eyes as self-deprecating thoughts filled your mind.

'John probably told him to make me tea. He probably covered me with his coat so I wasn't as much of a distraction. He doesn't want me here. He never does. Why does he even tolerate my presence? He probably wishes we'd never met,' You thought. Your mind was going a million miles an hour and gaining. Without your notice, the tears began rolling down your cheeks and quiet sobs escaped your lips.

"Y/N?" Sherlock whispered. You're eyes shot open. You hadn't heard him get up. Now he was kneeling right next to you, one hand hovering over your arm. "Are you ok?"

"Oh, Sherlock!" You cried. "I-I wish I knew."

"C'mere," he said, motioning for you to sit up. Once you did so, he pulled you into a tight hug.

"What's this for?"

"You always give me and John a hug when you see us. You haven't done so for the past 5 days. I-" he paused briefly before lowering his voice and continuing. "I missed it."

"Oh." You weren't quite sure how to reply to that. You leaned into his embrace, letting yourself get lost in the moment.

"Y/N? Is there something I can do to help?"

"How much did John tell you?" You asked. You wouldn't have been mad exactly if John had told Sherlock to talk to you, but you wanted to think Sherlock was reaching out on his own.

"He told me you had a bad night."

"That's all?" You asked, surprised. You pulled away slightly and stared into his eyes. Sherlock nodded, frowning slightly as he tried to deduce you.

"Why are you afraid to talk to me?" You turned away, embarrassed and unsure what to say. "Be honest."

"I don't want you to make fun of me. I have-" You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves and preparing to just jump right in. "I have been extremely depressed lately and I didn't want to hear another speech about how all I need to do is exercise and eat right and stop thinking about sad things. Well you know what? I can't stop it! I can't help it if I feel like a useless pile of trash that should be thrown in the bin and burned." By the time you finished your little tirade, you'd gotten up and started pacing the floor. Then you turned and faced Sherlock. His expression was neutral but there was an obvious sadness in his eyes, one you didn't expect to see. It wasn't of pity. If you had seen that you also would have given up on the conversation. No, it was almost an understanding, an empathy. His eyes were actually glistening with tears.

"Have you ever felt like," he paused, voice unsteady. "Like giving up?" He whispered, unable to hold eye contact. You nodded silently. He got up slowly and walked towards you. At first, you thought he would hug you again but then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Uh, Sherlock?"

"Just wait a moment. I want to show you something." He carefully shrugged off the purple shirt that you, admittedly, loved so much and tossed it on the chair. "Only one person knows about this. You will be the second. You remember I told you about Moriarty's network?"

"Yes, the day we met. I asked you about your work, a simple question. And I got an answer that lasted 3 hours." Sherlock chuckled dryly.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Oh, no. Please don't apologise. I-" You sighed, rubbing your forehead. "I tend to make jokes when I'm nervous."

"I know." He smiled at you with, yet again, a completely unreadable expression. "You remember though." You nodded, opting to stay silent as he explained. "Well, those 2 years dismantling his network weren't easy. Not physically and certainly not emotionally. As a result of the different missions, I received many wounds on my body in various locations. I was," He paused, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "I was depressed, guilt-stricken and suicidal. I figured I had hurt my friends enough. If they thought I was dead maybe I should just go on with it."

"What changed your mind?"

"I didn't want to do it on a mission. I wanted to see home again one more time. So to temporarily relieve the pain I," He sighed. Well, I wouldn't let my wounds heal. I'd pick at them. Mycroft finally convinced me to come back officially because he needed my help. I never told him about this. I think he knows but we don't discuss it." He looked down, obviously embarrassed and feeling more emotionally naked than physically. "You can look," he said. It was as if he'd read your mind. You were trying to be respectful and not stare but you realized that's what he wanted to show you. You had, on occasion, seen him shirtless before but you had never realized how bad some of the scars were.

"Sherlock, I-I don't know what to say. I-" You were completely shocked. Not offended. But actually comforted that he understood you. "Thank you," You finally said.

"Actually I wanted to thank you. I didn't just show you this to prove that I understand your feelings." You looked at him confused. "The day we met. You were leaving work, correct?" You nodded.

"It had been my first day there. John had been happy with my work and requested that I stay assigned to his office permanently. John had already finished up and headed home but there was some paperwork I had to finish so I was leaving about an hour late. Come to think of it, John said he had plans with you that evening. Why were you there?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you. I met you less than a month after I came back. I had still been quite depressed so I was still picking at my injuries. That day had been a bad day for me. So I cancelled my plans with John and I decided to go back to where I started this whole mess and finish it."

"Wait, are you telling me that-"

"You saved my life." Sherlock took one of your hands in his own and held it tightly. "I had memorized the work schedules of most everyone there and knew how to slip in unnoticed."

"But you didn't factor in me."

"Correct. When I ran into you, quite literally in fact, as I was entering the building, I was surprised. Not just by your presence but by what I deduced about you. You intrigued me. I had to find out more about you so I invited you to have a cup of coffee with me."

"Which turned into dinner." Sherlock nodded. "And since you were so intrigued by me, you forgot all about that."

"In a manner of speaking. You weren't a cure-all, mind you. You helped, though, by giving me a new mystery to investigate: you. That night, when I got home, I told John everything. He helped me too and when I mentioned you he couldn't stop singing your praises. He is very proud of you and your work you know."

"Yeah, I guess so," You replied, a little embarrassed. "Thank you, Sherlock. I'm sorry that you went through all that, but, I'm glad I have someone who understands. And I'm glad you're here to help me."

"Me too, Y/N. Me too," He replied.

"Can I, um, can I have another hug?" You asked, blushing and smiling. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"If you must," He sighed, holding his arms out. Any other day, you would have thought he genuinely didn't want personal contact. But today you realized he was simply teasing. You wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned your head on his chest. You felt him relax as he leaned forward a little to cocoon you in his arms. "I care about you, Y/N. I don't care about many people but you mean so much to me. I-" You looked up at him and pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him.

"You don't have to say it, Sherlock. I know." He smiled and looked somewhat relieved. You knew he wasn't good with feelings and that was fine with you. "I love you too."

"I wanted to be the first one to say that," He pouted. You chuckled softly and booped his nose.

"You already have." He smiled and kissed your forehead lightly.

"I know this won't fix everything right away. I know you'll still have bad days. But I wanted you to know you could come to me too."

"I know. Thank you again, Sherlock." At that moment, John walked in with a bag from the store.

"Oh, hello!" He chirped, happy to see you hadn't gotten into a yelling match. Then he noticed Sherlock's shirt, or rather, lack thereof. "So, uh," He stuttered, unsure of what to say. "What should I do with this?"

"First of all, thank you, John, for giving me the guts to talk to him about this. And second, I think I'll give it a try. You know, to try and prevent a really bad day when you guys aren't available or if talking still isn't enough. But for today I think I'll be alright," You said, turning to John with a smile.

"Well, I'm glad. So did you just talk about that or did he finally tell you that he's had the biggest schoolboy crush on you from the moment he met you?"

"John!" Sherlock yelled. You laughed loudly.

"Not in those words exactly, John," You replied. "Don't worry," You added, turning to Sherlock and ruffling his curls. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Good. Now if you don't mind, I need your input on this case."

"Me?" You asked, quite surprised.

"Yes," He said as if it was obvious. "You're a woman after all!"

"And that is important because?"

"The killer was a woman obviously but I can't understand why she would do it!" The two of you went off into your own little world, completely ignoring John as he cooked dinner.

John: Ok, mates, get your tuxs out. Won't be long now.

Greg: He finally proposed? 😀

John: Not yet, give it a week.

Mycroft: John, you forget I monitor his spending habits.

John: And?

Mycroft: He's had a ring purchased for some time now.

Greg: 3 days tops.💍

Mycroft: I would estimate about 3 days as well, Detective Inspector.

Greg: We're in a Group Text. Talking about our friend like a bunch of teenage girls at a slumber party. I think you can call me Greg.

Mycroft: If I must.

John: So, girls, will you help me make the plans?

Mycroft: Of course. He is blood after all.

Greg: Count me in! Wouldn't miss it! 🕵️👰

Sherlock BBC Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@ladylulu143

@gaitwae

@for-hearthand-home

[vannahfanfics]

Safe

Word Count: 2180

Fluff, Romance, Humor, Flirting

Summary:  It had been a long time since Kaina had felt safe. But she was finally beginning to feel so, at least with Toshinori around.

Hello, everyone! Here is my story for the @ladynagantbigbang! This is my first try at some LadyMight, so I hope you all enjoy the newest rarepair. :) Also be sure to check out my partner @sparrowwings-trash-backyard​‘s cute art! This is Vannah, over and out!

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. 

Kaina had been in the hospital too long. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor had become like a lullaby to her, easing her into the comfortable twilight of half-sleep far too easily. Despite the glaring white light of the fluorescents that the nurse had not yet turned off burning against her closed eyes, Kaina found herself drifting into drowsiness with little trouble. She’d convinced the nurse to open the window at least a little—after such an extended stay with still such grievous wounds, it was unlikely that Kaina would make it far in an attempted escape, but they still worried. The cool night wind fluttered the white curtains, gentle whip-whip-whips that were quiet in the background of the repetitive trills of the machine hooked to Kaina’s finger. 

Kaina’s head lolled on her shoulder to bury further into the soft, downy pillow. Just as her eyes were fluttering closed again, the sliding door to her room rattled and slowly opened. 

All Might.

Toshinori smiled apologetically when she opened her eyes, and he murmured, “Sorry. Did I wake you?” 

“No,” she reassured him. She boosted herself up onto her elbows, trying to wiggle her way up to lean against the headboard, but she only succeeded in sending white-hot pain searing through her nerves. Her face twisted into an agonized grimace, prompting Toshinori to rush to her side. 

“Please, let me help you.” His touch was gentle on her elbow and the small of her back. With movements much softer than one would think of those big hands, he helped her scoot up the length of the bed so she could rest comfortably against the headboard. After slipping the pillows behind her back and head, he smiled kindly. “Better?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

He continued to give her that bashful lilt of his lips as he eased down into the chair next to her bed. The nurses had stopped moving it, considering he always moved it back when he came to visit… almost every single day. At first, she thought he had just been assigned babysitting duty. But that didn’t seem the case anymore. Instead, it felt like he was visiting because he wanted to. 

It had been over a month now, yet Kaina still couldn’t riddle him out. One would think All Might of all people would be the simplest of men… But she was finding that he was more complex than anyone she had ever known. 

Why would he want to visit her? After all she had done… 

“Lady Nagant?”

Kaina flinched at the name. She didn’t know if she wanted to be called that anymore. She was no hero… and she didn’t want to be known as a villain, either. Toshinori recognized her discomfort and narrowed his eyes. Leaning forward, he timidly asked, “I’m sorry… Is there something else you would like me to call you?” 

“Kaina,” she murmured. “Please… Call me Kaina.” 

“Kaina,” he repeated. It sounded like he was rolling it over on his tongue, appreciating the weight of it; from the tiny smile that grew on his lips, he rather liked it. He leaned back in the chair, relaxing against the back of it. “Very well. How are you feeling today, Kaina?” 

She looked around idly. She wasn’t doing much better or worse than any other day she had been in the hospital. But… 

“I’m feeling a little better now that you’re here,” she said quietly. Her feelings about heroes and hero society notwithstanding, she did enjoy his company. It was much better than laying all alone in her hospital lamenting her many, many mistakes. He was softspoken and kind… and nonjudgmental. Of all people she had ever met, Toshinori still looked at her like she was a person.

Just like him, she thought with a wry smile. It’s very obvious that Toshinori is Izuku’s mentor. He’d insisted the first time he’d come to see her, when her flesh was still black with soot from her body exploding from the inside out. 

“I’m not All Might anymore,” he’d chuckled, a lilt of sadness in his smile. “Toshinori is fine.”

It had taken her a very long time to return the favor, but apparently, he was quite pleased with the development. 

Toshinori blushed at her comment and reached around the back of his head to bashfully rub the back of his neck. It made Kaina’s lips pull into a smirk; surely All Might of all people was used to being flirted with? The image of the big, burly hero growing flustered at a woman’s demure advances made her chuckle. She didn’t mean to do it aloud, and it didn’t go unnoticed, either. 

“I’m sorry, is something funny?” Toshinori asked with a shy grin. 

“Ah, forgive me,” Kaina said with an apologetic smile. “You just seemed so flustered by what I said. I couldn’t help but laugh; it’s so endearing.” She didn’t want him to think that she was laughing at him, but the entire premise was simply too cute. She never thought that she would be thinking that All Might of all people was cute, but then again, everything about her life was topsy-turvy lately. She never thought she’d get out of Tartarus, nor did she think she would ever associate herself with hero society ever again… But here she was. 

Times were strange indeed. 

“Endearing, huh?” Toshinori continued to grin sheepishly. “Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.” 

“Really?” Kaina couldn’t help but ask. After this was the Symbol of Peace, the pinnacle of all heroes. She would have thought that women would be throwing themselves at him left and right. Even in his “skinny form,” Kaina couldn’t help but think that he was just downright charming. “You can’t be telling me that the great All Might hasn’t been flirted with at least a few times in his life.” 

“Well, I certainly have in my muscular form…” he admitted, his grin turning into a bit of a smirk. “But not so much in this one, especially since I’ve retired.” His expression then turned sad, shoulders sagging and smile fading from his angular face. “Now everyone just acts as if they pity me.” 

“There’s nothing to pity,” Kaina huffed in indignance. Just him saying that he experienced such a thing made her blood boil! She poked her lips out in a sour pout. “What, so you can’t puff up your muscles and throw buildings around anymore so they think you’re a decrepit old-timer? The nerve of some people.” 

Toshinori barked out a laugh, his head falling back and his shoulders shaking. Kaina was totally serious, but she supposed her brusque delivery could be seen as amusing. When he dropped his head back down to look at her again, she was relieved to see that the sparkle had returned to his eyes. 

“Well, I’m glad at least someone feels that way,” he said. “I may not be able to ‘throw buildings around’ anymore, but I like to think that I still have things to offer.” His expression turned a bit wistful, prompting Kaina to raise an eyebrow. 

“Oh? So you do want to find someone?” She had only been teasing, really; she definitely pinned Toshinori as one of those “married to his work” types, even if he was no longer at the forefront of the hero scene. After all, he was a full-time instructor at U.A., and she was sure that handling such a spirited protegé as Izuku Midoriya was another full-time job in itself. Honestly, she would expect romantic pursuits to be the furthest thing from Toshinori’s mind. 

“I mean, doesn’t everybody?” he shrugged, expression growing bashful again. “I’ll admit, it took a spot on the back burner when I was younger, and there wasn’t much time for it when I was an active hero… Not to mention all the risks associated with, you know, being me,” he said with a vague gesture to his person. Kaina was sure that there was much more to it than just his relationship with All for One, but she wasn’t going to pry. The man was entitled to his secrets as much as anyone else. 

“But now…?” she pressed gently. 

“But now,” Toshinori echoed with a small smile, “I’ve rearranged the priorities in my life. Sooner or later, Izuku and the others will completely take over the mantle… All Might won’t be needed any longer. But that doesn’t mean I still don’t have plenty of life left to live, nor that I want to live it out alone.” 

Kaina smiled softly at that. Indeed, Toshinori was much deserving of a nice, peaceful retirement and, even more, the ability to share it with someone who understood his struggles. 

“What about you?” Toshinori suddenly asked. Kaina looked owlishly at him. What about her? “I mean, you’re…” He made that vague gesture once more, this time at Kaina. She smirked in amusement; it was cute, how he was trying to politely imply that she was up in age so as not to offend her. “I-I mean, did you have someone before, you know…?” He trailed off again, sputtered a few things, and then hid his bright red face in his hands. “I’m sorry…” he grumbled in mortification. 

“Don’t apologize!” Kaina laughed. Toshinori peered doubtfully at her through the gaps in his fingers. “Really, it’s quite all right. I know what you mean.” She turned to look out the window, eyes growing lidded as she watched the wind play with the wispy curtains. “But there’s nothing to tell, really. I guess I’m a lot like you.” She inhaled deeply through her nose, then let it out through her mouth. “When I was young, everything came second to being the best hero I could… And then the world came crashing down around me. I wasn’t really thinking about anything aside from dismantling the corrupt hero society that the Commission had fostered.” 

Kaina then turned to give him a roguish smirk. 

“And, I’m sure you’re aware, but prison isn’t exactly the best place to pursue romance. You’re not exactly dealing with the cream of the crop.” 

Toshinori barked out another laugh and said, “No, I imagine not. I can only imagine the small talk—‘So, what are you in for? Really? Me too! What a coincidence! Surely we’re meant to be.’”

They both erupted into laughter. As the joyful cackles wracked Kaina’s frame, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since she had felt like this—uninhibited, untethered, free. Though the laughter made her sore muscles twinge in protest, Kaina made no effort to stop. It just felt so good. She didn’t have her worries or her woes; she didn’t have the crushing weight of her past mistakes weighing down on her. No, she only had this feeling, this moment of total abandon to simply enjoy being alive.

It had been far too long since Kaina had been grateful to be alive. The realization of that feeling came spilling over in the form of tears, running thick and free down her cheeks. But she didn’t try to stop those, either. It was okay to cry, she realized now, especially when you were happy. Emotions were good. They were a sign that you were human. And Kaina wanted to be human again, so so badly. 

The gentle brush of Toshinori’s thumb over her wet cheek pulled Kaina out of her sense of heady euphoria. She looked at him through her watery eyes to see him smiling kindly at her. A smile was a hero’s best asset, she’d been told long ago. A smile is the best thing to make people feel at ease, and that was what a hero was supposed to do—make people feel safe. Kaina hadn’t felt safe in a long, long time—but she did now, sitting next to this man. And this man wasn’t All Might, Symbol of Peace. 

It was Toshinori Yagi, the man who had taken the time to see her. 

“Toshinori?” she murmured. 

“Hmm?” he just hummed in response. His gaze was trained on her face, focusing on gently sweeping her tears away. Kaina reached up to place her hand over the top of his, halting his movements. She curled her fingers around his, and a smile grew on her lips as she leaned in close to him. 

“Thank you,” she said, and then she pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. She held it for just a second or two before pulling away and fluttering her lashes demurely at him. It took Toshinori a few seconds to compute what exactly had just happened—and then his face flushed the color of a tomato. 

“O-oh, you’re, erm, you’re welcome,” he stammered. His big hand twitched in hers, probably wanting to do a million things at once; he settled for softly cupping her cheek. With a soft hum, Kaina closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. His palm was rough and calloused, but she still adored the feel of it against her skin. 

For in his hands, Kaina knew she was the safest she ever could be. 

[oneshotnewbie]

I love that you do Greys as well! Could I request one where Arizona’s teenage daughter happens to be there during the shooting and gets injured while saving her mom and Arizona is hysterical but also trying to save her daughters life! You would absolutely make me the happiest 😭

A/N: I completely fucked this oneshot up because I forgot the name of the little girl that had her appendix burst and overall I hate the ending. But I hope you like it anyway. --- You wanted to come and see your mother in the hospital to surprise her with her favorite food, knew too well that she was probably so busy that she forgot to eat.

Shortly after you walked through the pediatric entrance and looked for your mother, examined every single open space and room, you finally found her in the premature ward.

You were not allowed in, you knew that, so you waited patiently in front of the huge glass wall where you could see the babies. You watched her for a while and were touched at how she handled the little newborns. She smiled and spoke to them as if they understood, as if they knew what she was saying.

After she finished the exam, she talked to the parents of the child. Only then did she notice you standing there. You started to smile and lifted the food bags in front of your face. She smiled back, said goodbye to the future parents and walked straight to the door.

The reception from her was loving and almost overwhelming, as if she had not seen you for weeks, although in reality it was only a few hours. With a bone crushing hug and a kiss on your forehead, she greeted you. „Hey mom. I brought lunch and thought we were enjoying it together?“

„Of course, I leave Karev my patients for an hour and then we can go to the common room.“

„Great. I will go ahead and unpack everything.“ You spoke cheerfully and turned in the direction of the location.

Your paths parted for an uncertainly short time. You had already put the various meals on the table in the room and sat down as you waited longingly for your mother. The uncomfortable silence was drowned out by a loud noise. You covered your ears with both hands and stood up to see what had happened outside.

But before you got to the door, it swung open and your mother came to the fore. The expression on her face looked worrying, scared and confused even as she tried to cover it up in front of you.

„Is everything okay?“ you asked immediately and stood beside her to seek some kind of comfort and protection.

„Yes. No, it is not. We have a Code Black, all stations have been cordoned off and I do not know why. I want you to stay here as long as I do not know if there is any danger or risk. Do you understand?"

You just nodded and sat down again. Arizona walked up to you at a quick pace and put her hand on the back of your neck, pushing you forward to kiss your hair before she smiled at you and disappeared out of the door.

You waited patiently for your mother to come back like she said, but after half an hour, she was still not back. Lost in your thoughts, you pondered all the possibilities that such heavy code could produce.

Missing child, someone who was wanted was hiding somewhere in this hospital, kidnappers escaped from custody.. All of this popped into your head until you heard a few shots and were startled by your thoughts.

Panic spread through you and you got up again. You were looking for a way to hide somewhere in case it really was a gunshot, but in this small room there was nothing more than a couch, a cupboard and a sink.

You looked out of the window in panic, meanwhile there were heaps of police cars surrounding the entire hospital.

"Mom," you whispered to yourself and fear spread through you. Your heart began to beat faster and tears gathered in your eyes. "Where are you?"

You gathered your courage and walked to the door that probably separated you from your mother, but also from the shooter that was now in the building.

You walked out slowly, you were pressed close to the wall so as not to walk openly in the hallways. You saw some nurses who took care of the babies, but still not the blonde-haired one.

You kept walking until you came to a room that was open. You briefly listened to the voices and tried to assign them.

"Lanie, your appendix is torn. Dr. Torres will now give you the PDA. Then you will talk and look at her so I can fix everything in your tummy, okay?" said your mother calmly and lovingly.

"Where is my mom? I want to see my mom!" cried that little girl. "Honey, mom can't be here now, but I'll be there and watch Dr. Robbins while I hold your hand and maybe sing with you?" did you hear Callie say and you walked in.

Both were shocked when they saw you, Callie not even knowing that you were here at all. "Y/N, I told you to stay in the common room! It is absolutely not safe here for you and I do not want anything happen to you!" she screamed and scared the little one even more.

You didn't answer, instead you went to Callie's side and started singing something to the little girl. Your voice and the song you chose made her smile and she tried as best she could to sing along, Callie too.

In your line of sight you noticed a dark figure standing in the doorway slowly approaching you and you looked up.

"Why do you stopped singing? Please don't stop. I am scared." said the girl softly but you were in a state of shock. Callie started to look at you before she saw in what direction you were staring at. As soon as she saw the gun, she laid herself on the girls upper body, to give her some kind of protection.

You saw the gun in his hand, but also the blood that was on his shirt. Slowly you straightened yourself and walked around Callie, which tried to stop you with one hand behind her without a chance, circling the table and standing in front of your mother.

"Go, please. We have nothing what you would want, we just have a girl here who needs help. Please leave us alone." you said softly and listened to the restless voice of your mother and the silent cries behind you. "Here, I'll give you bandages and compresses for your wound. Press this against the wound and it should stop bleeding."

With slow steps you approach the man and pressed the bandages with shaky hands in his hand, that also held the gun before you backed away.

He thanked you with a nod and his eyes showed you a little compassion, his lips forming a minimal smile before his gaze went rigid again, his eyes turned a deeper color and he pointed the gun at you.

"Are you a doctor?" he stammered and you put your hands to your head. "No, no. I am not a doctor."

"Then get out of my fucking way!" he screamed coldly and you shook your head. "No, I won't let you hurt them. Shoot me, but don't shoot my mother!"

A loud bang broke through the thick air, loud screams drowned out the echo of the gun and an incredible pain flooded your body. You slumped on the floor and gasped for air.

Everything blurred before your eyes and you could only hear whimpering, screaming and crying from your mother and some footsteps that diminished. You felt an increasing warmth that took you and it was now just a matter of hope for you. Hope someone comes and saves you. 

The air in your lungs got thinner and you could not breathe. You felt like a stone collapsing on your chest and it became harder to keep yourself awake. The corners of your eyes got darker before it completely consumed you.

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Escape Plan

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings and other Characters: Enzo St. John x Reader, Damon Salvatore

Requested:  Can I pretty please have an angsty Enzo fighting to protect reader?Against literally anything I just need to read Enzo being protective over me. -@hellotvshowtrash

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Charcter death, canon typical violence/blood and gore with detailed torture.A bit of episode rewritee. TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of Rape, mentions of suicidal thoughts, and dark thoughts of death.

Author’s note: I am nervous about this one guys. Just because of the details this one contains. If you thought Out of Time hurt, this one is worse. Please read this one at your own risk. Exit the fic if at any point in time something becomes too much for you. ONLY YOU CAN MANAGE YOUR TRIGGERS. PLEASE DO NOT COME AT ME LATER FOR ANYTHING AFTER READING THIS. YOU CHOSE TO READ IT, DESPITE THE WARNINGS AND THAT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. Know your limits and I wont hold it against you guys to skip this one. I’d say happy reading, but I’m not sure that will be the case with this one. 

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future fics!

Enzo sat and watched as his captor brought in another vampire into the cell next to him. For as long as Enzo had been locked away by Dr. Whitmore, he had seen plenty come in, just as he was seeing now. Not many of them survived and seeing a new face that wasn’t his beloved or even his captor’s had been refreshing.

His hand ran over his face as he watched the new comer groan after being tossed into the cell. He stopped himself from speaking, only for a moment, unsure of how to start the conversation. They were trapped there, it wasn’t going to hurt to add an acquaintance to the mix.

“Welcome.” Enzo began. He watched as the man looked over in his direction. “Dr. Whitmore never gets tired of watching us vampires heal, but he gives us one glass of blood per day, just enough to keep us alive. Pick yourself up soldier.” There was something in Enzo’s words that the man got himself up off the floor. Both of them move towards the small opening between cells. Enzo stuck his hand through the bars, offering it to the man. “My name’s Enzo.”

“Damon.” Damon said as he gave a nod of his head before looking around. “How long have you been here?”

“Ten years.” Enzo stated as he kept his eyes on Damon.

“And you haven’t tried getting out of here?” Damon questioned. He was curious as to how anyone would allow themselves to be locked in here that long without trying to fight their way out.

Enzo chuckled. “Believe me, I’ve tried several times to get out of here. But they have their ways of getting me to stay put.” He looked through the bars to see down the hall.

He had been waiting for that door to open for hours now. Some of those that worked for Whitmore  walked in there time and time again, but he was waiting for one person to come out. Even when the doors had opened up with them dragging Damon out, Enzo had hoped it had been someone else they were dragging out.

“You know someone that is in there right now.” Damon observed and Enzo nodded.

“Her name is Y/N.” His eyes never left the door. “Before I met her, I would have easily fought my way out of here and left anyone behind to save my own skin.”

“The woman that was unconscious in there.” Damon remembered seeing a woman on another table in the same room as him. While he had been screaming from the pain, she had been out through it all. Damon huffed. “How long have you known her?”

Enzo sighed at Damon’s words. He knew when Dr. Whitmore took Y/N, it was for extended periods of time. Even he was never back there that long and he hated every moment she was gone. Their experiments weren’t even close in comparison. Even now, Enzo wondered what Whitmore had planned for Y/N.

“I’ve known her for a little over fifteen years now.” Enzo nodded his head as his eyes turned back towards Damon.

“How did you two end up here?” Damon wanted to know anything he could to hopefully find a way out of there. There was no way he was just going to be used as someone’s test subject for as long as they had been. Damon didn’t have anyone holding him back like Enzo did.

“Whitmore was working at a Battlefield hospital in Europe during WWII. Y/N had been a nurse there while I was a soldier out in the very battlefield she was helping.” Enzo began.

“Let me guess,” Damon interrupted. “That’s where you met Y/N.”

Enzo chuckled, but shook his head. “No, by then I had known her for a few years. Though I wonder how things would have been if I met her at that point instead of how I met her.”

“It must have not been that bad of a first meeting if you two had been friends before being sent here.” Damon shrugged.

Enzo’s eyes moved to the door down the hall and back. “When I met Y/N it wasn’t by what one would call normal circumstances.” Enzo could clearly remember the night that he had met Y/N.

Y/N had been walking home late one night after her shift. Parts of her uniform had been stained in blood from the patients she had been helping all day. Before she left her station, many had tried giving her a ride home and even offered to walk her home. But Y/N had believed it to be unnecessary. She had only lived down the street and she was sure she’d make it home safely.

She had never been more wrong in her life. Fear flooded her senses as she heard the footsteps behind her. The sound of the shoes hitting the pavement with each step had been extremely loud in her ears with each quick step she took. With the increase in her pace, the increase in the footsteps followed.

Enzo hadn’t been far when he heard a woman’s scream. With war raging around them, he hadn’t been sure of the cause of the scream. Part of him believed he shouldn’t even be bothered by the scream. That it was becoming routine to hear them as he traveled through this part of town.

At least that was until his ears picked up on her cry for help numerous times.The desperation in her voice had Enzo running towards the sound. When he found the source, a rage filled him in a way he was sure he had never felt before.

The woman had been trying as hard as she could to fight off her attacker. But it seemed useless. And in her current state, Enzo knew he couldn't just leave her.

"This is definitely not a way to treat a lady." Enzo said as he grabbed a hold of her attacker and tossed him against the nearest wall.

The sickening crack of bone hitting brick filled the air the moment his body made contact. While something was surely broken, it hadn't stopped the man from attempting to get up. But before he fully could, Enzo was on him instantly, sinking his fangs into the man, ripping his throat out. The screams that came from the man as he died were like music to his ears.

When he turned around, he found the woman curled up in the corner of the buildings that surrounded her. Her eyes were wide as they landed on Enzo. He quickly moved to clean the blood off of his face, not wanting it there as he tried to help her from there. Fear was evident in them as he took careful steps towards her. But the whimper that left her lips caused him to stop and place his hands up.

"I'm not gonna hurt you." He promised, not making any movement towards her. "I am here to help."

He watched as her lips trembled as her eyes went from him to the body that laid on the ground not too far from him. He could see the wheels turning in her head and he couldn't blame her. Not after what she had just experienced.

"I assure you, my intentions are only to get you somewhere safe." He watched as she nodded her head slowly before he even thought to take a step towards her. Before he did, he removed his jacket quickly, to use it to help cover her in some way. "My name is Enzo."

"Y/N." She whispered as he approached her and handed her his jacket. She took it quickly and covered herself.

"Alright, Y/N." He said giving her the smallest of smiles. "Why don't we get you somewhere you feel safe and I'll help you in any way I can."

Y/N only nodded her head in an answer before Enzo easily picked her up off the ground. And just as he promised, he had taken her to where she felt the safest.

"Her attacker had been a soldier. And while she knew that, it didn't change her mind about wanting to help the wounded. I turned her not long after that night." He said as he looked over at Damon. " I had been visiting her when Dr. Whitmore realized what we were. He drugged Y/N first, using her to lure me over. Any other time I would have walked away, but I couldn't leave her behind. I had fought to get her free but I ended up in a shipping box shortly after. Before we knew it we were here."

Before Damon could even voice anything about what he just learned, the door down at the end of the hall opened once more. This time, Dr. Whitmore came in dragging an unconcious Y/N with him. He quickly opened Enzo’s cell and tossed her in before closing it after and leaving completely.

Out of instinct and routine, Enzo was by her side in seconds. She looked bruised in places that her own blood hadn’t healed just yet. While she was still out, he carefully moved her over to the otherside of the cell.

“You really do care for her.” Damon observed out loud.

“She’s the only person that refused to abandon me.” Enzo said as he sat down beside Y/N, his fingers running along her cheek. “On one of our attempts to get out of here, she was almost free, but she risked it to come back for me and it failed. That was when Whitmore started using her for his more in depth experiments.”

“And how do you propose we attempt to get out this time?” Damon asked as he sat down by the bars of the cell.

"When the opportunity presents itself." Enzo said as he looked from Y/N to Damon and back to her. This time he'd do anything to make sure Y/N made it out.

_____

4 years later.

"We've got a plan." Y/N said as she sat down next to the bars to see Damon.

Enzo had been taken by Whitmore for his daily dose of torment, leaving Y/N and Damon left to wallow in helplessness as they usually did. At least that was until an idea popped into her mind.

"What have you been cooking up in that head of yours?" Damon asked as he walked over to sit as close to her as possible with a thick wall between them.

Over the last few years, the three had become close. As close as anyone can be in this particular situation. Damon could see why Enzo loved her. He would move mountains if it meant she'd be safe.

She had grown on him and he soon began to care for her. In a way that one would care for a sibling. He befriended Enzo and Y/N through the darkness of their situation.

Damon had watched a few times where Enzo would attempt to fight Dr. Whitmore about taking Y/N. But it always ended the same way. Y/N would still be taken while Enzo got an injection full of vervain.

"The New Year's Eve party." Y/N said with a nod. "That's our best chance."

"How?" Damon asked with a raised brow. "We're usually drugged up for those things."

"Enzo and I talked about it while you were gone." She began. "We think you should start drinking our rations. Build up your strength. By the time the party comes around, you will be able to help get us out of here."

"Why me?" He asked curiously. "While I would appreciate the increased intake of blood, why couldn't one of you two do it?"

"Come on, Damon." She shook her head slightly. "You know us. If something happened to either one of us, the other might do something stupid." That had caused both of them to chuckle. "Plus, Whitmore drains me daily. Why waste perfectly good blood when I'll be drained of my own shortly after."

Over the years, they learned that Y/N was special to Whitmore. Whatever he was doing for experimental purposes, Y/N was his go to. It was why Enzo was having a harder time recently letting Y/N be taken away.

They argued about it when they were in the cell together for long periods of time. Y/N would tell Enzo that he needed to try and stop. She hated seeing him so weak because of her. The man that had looked devilish the first time she saw him, had been replaced over time by someone else’s doing.

“You’re right.” Damon sighed as he nodded. “Plus they don't have anything against me to keep me in my place.”

“That’s the spirit.” Y/N said with a smirk pulling at her lips. “So tonight when we get our rations, you’ll also get mine or Enzo’s. That way you can sneak under the radar at some point.”

“How exactly is that supposed to happen if I get sliced and diced every few days?” Damon asked.

“That’s the thing. In order for this to work, it’s gotta be me and Enzo getting ‘sliced and diced’ the most.” She noted.

“He’s not going to like that.” Damon said, giving her a knowing look.

“Actually, it was his idea.” She shrugged her shoulders slightly. “This will work Damon. And then when we are out of here, you’ll get to see your brother.”

A small smile pulled at Damon’s lips at that. “That is something to look forward to.”

Over the course of the year, Y/N and Enzo had been taken the most for Whitmore’s experiments. Each day that they got their rations, Y/N and Enzo would alternate giving Damon theirs. There were several times that Enzo had given up his multiple times in a row because he refused to let Y/N be any weaker than she had been.

And with each day that passed, Damon grew stronger. It had gone unnoticed by Whitmore with how much time he had been spending with Y/N recently. As the time dwindled down, it was Y/N that was gone for hours to days. That was when Enzo worried the most.

Enzo paced the cell the night before the New Year’s Eve party. Y/N had been gone for two whole days by that point. Even when the lights had gone out at night, or even when the rations came in for them to be fed, she was never brought back to the cells.

“She’s never been gone this long.” Enzo noted as he continued to pace.

“Easy, Enzo.” Damon said as he watched Enzo’s feet go back and forth between the bars of the cells. “She said Whitmore had plans for her for tomorrow night. This is probably just a part of it.”

As if on cue, both of them had been able to hear her screams echo in the distance. The way she screamed seemed louder this time in comparison to others. Just hearing it had made a feeling of guilt and anger fill Enzo’s chest.

Enzo couldn't place his finger on it, but there was something different in the sound of her screams. For as many times as he’s heard them, and had them embedded into his mind, the scream he just heard was different.

This wasn’t her ‘in pain’ scream. There was a brief silence in between whatever Whitmore was doing to her before her screams started again. And that was when he heard it. At the end of it, he had easily picked up on the sobbing that followed it.

Y/N never cried anymore. Not during the torment or even after. If Enzo had calculated correctly, he hadn’t seen her cry since the first night they had been there. It was why it had sounded odd to him now. If he hadn’t been worried before, he was now.

The pain was different to Y/N. Whatever it was that Whitmore had injected into her the night before had somehow increased her pain. Every part of her felt as if it had been on fire.

As the scalpel sliced into her skin, another piercing scream passed her lips. Her hands had been clenched to her sides, her nails digging into the palm of her hand. She was sure that her fingernails were scraping into bone with how hard she’d been clenching her fist.

It wasn’t supposed to hurt this badly. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Sure the pain was real, but she could usually block most of the pain out in order to not give her captor the satisfaction of hearing her scream. But this time, it felt like every cut had been magnified by a thousand. Even the slightest pressure of a finger felt worse than it was.

The scalpel had done its job. She’d been cut open just as Whitmore had wanted before he began peeling back her skin to take a look inside her abdomen. The touch of his hand against her skin had been like taking a branding iron and placing it against her skin. No matter how many times she tried to ignore it, it was impossible.

Once he started messing with her organs, she couldn’t handle it. It felt worse than him just cutting into her skin. The weight of his hands had only fueled the fire that her nerve endings seemed to be on. And with the sudden slicing of an organ, she broke. The scream that passed her lips could have easily woke the dead.

“Please!” She begged before a sob passed her lips. While she knew the man wasn’t going to listen, Y/N had to try. “Please just let me go back to my cell.” Tears were running down the sides of her face as she looked at the man above her. But no matter what she asked of him, he hadn’t listened.

Y/N’s pleas were enough to cause Enzo to hit fist against the wall in frustration. From the moment he saved her, Enzo hated seeing her hurt in the slightest. And now, there was nothing he could do to stop her from feeling pain.

Damon knew what Y/N’s screams were doing to Enzo. The last few years, he never once saw Enzo this worried for Y/N. The woman could handle herself on many occasions but tonight it seemed worse for her. Damon could only imagine what was going through Enzo’s mind. The woman he loved was being tormented and he couldn’t even help her.

“We’ll get out of here. Just hold on to that revenge tactic a little while longer.” Damon hoped that his words would calm Enzo down in some way.

Enzo ran his hands down his face before looking over at Damon. “I need you to make me a promise about tomorrow.”

“You name it.” Damon nodded.

“If by some horrible luck that tomorrow doesn’t go as planned, if you are only able to save one of us, let it be her.”

“It won’t come down to that.” Damon had every reason to believe that nothing would go wrong tomorrow. He knew there were risks, but for as many times as they went through the plan with each other, they knew they’d be able to go through with it.

“I hope it doesn’t, but if it does-”

“I’ll make sure she gets out.” Damon finished.  

Another hour passed before Y/N’s screams had stopped. Another hour before the silence became deafening to Enzo that he wished to hear some kind of sound from her. Even with Damon being stronger, he couldn’t pick up on her voice. There was just silence from the other side of the door.

It was another thirty minutes before they heard the familiar sounds of the door opening. Y/N was being dragged into the room and her whimpers could be heard from down the hall. Even as she was stopped in front of the cell, the pressure of the cell bars hitting her skin had caused a silent scream to pass her lips.

Once Y/N was tossed into the cell, Enzo moved to her side, just like he had always done once she was brought back. But the moment his hand gently pressed on her back, she screamed. It caused her to move away from him quickly, needing to be away from the pain that came with the touch.

Enzo quickly moved back, attempting to give her space as his eyes widened in confusion. He didn’t understand what it was that he had done to hurt her. By now she should have been healed in some way. But even as he looked into her eyes, he could see how much pain the simple touch had hurt her.  

“I’m sorry.” She said with trembling lips. “Whitmore did something that currently has my nerves on fire.” She shook her head. “The slightest touch hurts and I can’t-”

“Shh,” Enzo said as he moved closer to her, but being careful not to come into contact with her in any way. “There is nothing to be sorry about, love.”

She nodded her head before a sob passed her lips. “We’re going to get out of here, right? Because I can’t live like this. I can’t go through another day of being on that table, Enzo.”

Enzo’s heart broke at her words. Y/N was giving up. For as long as they had ben in there, Enzo had been able to keep Y/N from giving up. He had gave her every reason to believe that they would make it out of there alive. Yet here she was, giving up.

“I made you a promise that I would do anything to get you out of here.” He said as he kept his eyes locked on hers. “I don’t intend to go back on my word.”

A shaky breath passed Y/N’s lips as she looked over at Damon. He now had been laying on the ground with his face pressed against the bar. A look of worry on his face as he watched the two. He nodded his head the moment she looked over at him.

“We’ll get out of here tomorrow.” Damon promised.

_____

The evening had gone just as expected. Whitmore and his fellow members of Augustine had gathered for one hell of a New Year’s Eve party. The vampires were on display for all of them to see. Y/N had been in her own cage while Enzo and Damon had been across the room in one together.

Throughout the night, Y/N had been used to show off Whitmore’s work. The humans are amused by the details that Whitmore had been able to do with Y/N’s nerves. With every poke and every slice into her skin, a broken sob passed her lips. The pain of it all too much.

Every second of it, Y/N wished she was dead. That death would be so much easier. How there would be no more torture, no more pain. And by the time midnight was a few short minutes away, she hadn’t cared if the plan worked or not.

She hardly cared about the press of the bars keeping her in had been laced in vervain on them or the fact as she leaned against them that they burned her back. She didn’t even care when Whitmore had said that it was time for their annual tradition of ringing in the  New Year with Vampire Blood. None of it mattered anymore.

It wasn’t until Damon appeared in front of her and called out to her several times did things finally snap back into perspective for her. She looked around her and found the place on fire. Bodies had been tossed about. No doubt been killed by Damon in the process. The blood on his face proof of it. She quickly got up from her spot and made her way across the room to Enzo, with Damon right behind her.

As Damon went to attempt to get the door open, Y/N moved over to the side of the cage to look at Enzo. As their eyes met, a smile pulled at Enzo’s lips. He hadn’t missed the vacant look on her face moments ago. And seeing her now there was a change in her.

“You had me worried there for a moment, gorgeous.” He said, giving her a smirk.

“I know.” She said with a nod, “But I’m right here.”

“Can you two maybe flirt later?” Damon asked as he went to grab the door. The moment his hands landed on it, he hissed from the vervain.

Both Y/N and Enzo looked his way. “You’ve got to get me out of here. This whole place is going up in flames.”

“Trying!” Damon said as he looked around for anything to use. But there was nothing.

Worry filled Y/N as she walked over to Damon’s side, practically pushing him out of the way to give it a go herself. Once her hands landed on the bars, a scream passed her lips, but she held on to it, not caring about the pain, and pulled at the door.

After a moment she let go and her eyes met Enzo’s. “I’m not leaving you.” She wanted it to be clear that she wasn’t going to go anywhere without him. Even if it meant she went down with the house.

“I know.” He said with a nod before looking over at Damon for a moment. He watched as Damon nodded his head before he turned his attention back to Y/N. “And you’d do anything to make sure I’d get out of here alive. But that means I wouldn’t keep my promise to you.”

She shook her head quickly, understanding coming quickly. “No, I’m not leaving.”

Enzo reached though the bars and placed his hand on her cheek. Even as Y/N winced at the pain, she refused to move. “I’ll get out somehow. But I need you to be safe. And if that means you leaving me here, I’ll be okay with that.”

The heat of the fire had drawn near and even Damon had been worried about how much time there was left. “I’ll come back for him.” Damon said taking a step closer to Y/N.

“No,” She said moving away from Enzo’s touch to look at Damon. “You go and I’ll find a way to get him out of here.”

“This place will be burnt down to the ground by the time you manage it. You are in pain, Y/N. Let me do this.” He said hoping that would somehow change her mind.

“No.” There was finality in her voice.

“Damon.” Enzo said, almost pleading.

“Sorry, Y/N, but I’m not taking no for an answer.” Without another word, Damon moved to grab Y/N.

A scream passed her lips as he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “No!” She tried her hardest to fight against Damon’s hold but he had been stronger than her. Her head quickly shot up to Enzo. “Enzo!”

“It’s okay, love.” He said as he watched her. “I’ll get out of her. I’m keeping my promise.”

That was the last thing she heard him say before she was carried out of there. She could hear the room begin to collapse and it took everything in her to stop the scream that bubbled up in her throat, but nothing had been able to stop it once she reached outside.

Even as Damon put her down, the scream that left her lips had been mixed with a sob as she fell to her knees. The sound itself was the definition of broken. He looked between Y/N and the house for only a moment before he attempted to head back inside. But the flames had consumed so much of the house that it had been nearly impossible.

“No.” He said as he looked at the house. He ran to the back, looking for anything, but not even then. They had wasted too much time and the house had gone up. When he went back to the front, he could see Y/N begin to get up. He quickly moved to her side and was met with a hard slap to the face.

“You were supposed to help us!” She screamed at him. “You left him in there to die.”

Damon knew that there was that possibility that things would turn out this way. He tried to keep himself calm as looked back at her. “I made a promise to Enzo that I would get you out of there. You’re out now. But we both know that if I hadn’t made that promise I would have easily have walked out of there without either of you. If you want to run in there and die with him, be my guest. But I did what he asked and now I’m free to do as I please.”

Damon’s words had stunned her for a moment. Even as her body shook from the sobs that still came from her, she couldn’t believe what he said. “You’re free then. Go and do as you please. But if it hadn’t been for us starving ourselves to make this plan work, you’d still be in that cell. Remember that Salvatore. And even when you believe you have forgotten, I’ll send a messenger to remind you.”

She turned away from him then. Her mind unsure of where she’d go or what’d she do next. All she knew was the love of her life, the very person that saved her and made her life worth living, was currently being engulfed by flames that she believed to be unsurvivable. The pain that she felt from her nerve endings was nothing in comparison to the pain she currently felt in her chest.

Pain. Grief. Anger. A tornado of emotions that she didn’t know if she could control on her own. She knew she’d never recover emotionally and mentally from this. And there was only one other alternative that she could do.

So she flipped her switch and the tornado of emotions were gone.

Always and Forever Tags:

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[prettyyoungandbored]

Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Eight

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Warning: None

Taglist: dragonballluver, disgraceful-marvel-trash, barikawho (Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!)

Previous 

Demetria laid in the hospital bed, toying with the thin, white waffle blanket the nurse had given her an hour ago.

The doctors concluded she’d had a severe panic attack, stemming from the trauma caused by The Joker’s attack. They gave her some medicine to put her at ease and stitched up her arm.

Alfred sat in the chair beside her. He rode in the ambulance with her and stayed with her throughout her stay.

While his company was deeply appreciated, the disappointment of Bruce’s absence sunk into her. How could he have left her? Where was he?

Just then, Harvey rushed in hurriedly.

“Dem, oh my god,” he said taking her hand. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alive,” she sighed. “How are you? What happened to you?” 

“I’m not entirely sure. I was talking with Rachel and the next thing I knew I was dragged into some kind of safe room. Next thing I know, the cops let me out and told me what happened.” 

“How’s Rachel doing?”

“She’s fine. No injuries or anything. I don’t know how she survived falling that far without a scratch, but I guess I have Batman to thank.” His eyes shifted to Alfred, his brows furrowing. “Where the hell is Bruce?”

“That’s the million dollar question tonight,” Demetria responded.

“Was he there when you were attacked?”

She shook her head. Harvey pursed her his lip, head shaking.

“He better have gotten locked in a room or I’m gonna kill him,” 

“Harvey.”

“He should be here with you.” He eyed Alfred. “Where the hell is he?! Where was he?!”

“Enough!” Demetria spat. “First of all, you need to calm down. Second, the reason I’m ok and here is because of Alfred so don’t attack him.”

Harvey sighed and eyed Alfred. “Thank you for helping her. I’m sorry.”

“Understandable, Mr. Dent,” Alfred responded with a nod. “It’s been quite the night for all of us.”

“Go be with Rachel, ok?” Demetria said, taking Harvey’s hand. “She needs you right now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Harvey nodded and kissed the top of Demetria’s head. “Call me tomorrow.”

He left the room and Demetria turned to Alfred. “I’m sorry Alfred.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he reassured with a smile before returning to his newspaper. 

Demetria pursed her lips back. “Alfred?” 

He glanced up from his paper. “Yes, Miss Gallagher?” 

“Thank you, for being there.” Her lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “And for staying by my side.”  He gave her a small nod, smiling. “My pleasure.” 

She sat up a bit. “Are you doing ok?” 

He chuckled. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, Miss Gallagher. What happened tonight doesn’t compare to some of the other things I have witnessed.” 

Before Demetria could question what exactly Alfred had seen in his life, a female nurse with sandy blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail entered the room.

“You holding up alright?” the nurse asked, setting down the clipboard on the nightstand beside the bed.

Demetria sighed, leaning her head back on the pillow. “I’ve had better nights.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” she laughed kindly. She reached into the pocket of her scrubs and pulled out some makeup wipes from her pocket.

“We keep it for all the nurses, but I figured you could use it,” she said.

Demetria gave the nurse a kind smile as she took wipe. “Thank you. I knew I should’ve stuck with waterproof makeup.” She wiped her eyes and face before tossing it into the trash beside her. “Hopefully my face isn't as bad as it was before.” 

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful, even with smudged makeup.”

She snorted. “You’re very kind.” 

Demetria eyes then shifted tp the nurses standing around the desk area looking at her, whispering among themselves. The nurse turned to them, shooting a dirty look at them.

“They don’t mean any harm,” the nurse chuckled. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“I can appreciate that. 

“My daughter suffers from them too,” the nurse went on. “Panic attacks, I mean.”

“How old is she?”

“16. Diagnosed just two years ago.”

“It’s hard when you’re young,” Demetria acknowledged. “I was 18 when I started getting them.”

“She’s doing better at managing them. Some days are harder than others.”

Demetria hummed, remembering what the first few years of her panic attacks were like - how she spent time and money trying to find the right medicine for her, how they would come up during lectures in college and she wondered if she was going to drop dead in the middle of class. At times they reduced her to tears, consuming her mentality.  

“What’s her name?” she asked.

“Vanessa.” 

“That’s a pretty name.” 

The doctor, a male with silver hair and friendly eyes, entered, giving Demetria a warm smile. “How’s everything?”

“Alright for the most part,” she nodded. “The medicine has definitely kicked in.” 

It was then Bruce rushed into the room. “I’m so sorry, honey. One of the clown’s men locked me in the bedroom. As soon as the officers got me out and told me what happened, I booked it over here.”

He took her hand, kissing the top of her head. “Are you ok?” 

“She has stitches in her forearm,” the doctor explained. “She also suffered a pretty big panic attack so we gave her some medicine to calm her down.”

A sigh of relief escaped Bruce’s lips. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Make sure she takes it easy the next couple of days. Give us a couple minutes and we’ll get you home.” 

Demetria nodded, the doctor and nurse leaving. Bruce kissed the top of Demetria’s head.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I was grabbing stuff for us to leave and the next thing I knew-.” 

She waved her hand. “It’s fine. As long as they didn’t hurt you.” 

Her tone, while relaxed, wasn’t completely reassuring. His eyes met Alfred’s, who glared at him from the newspaper. He gave the old man a nod before returning to Demetria. “We’re going to get you home safe and sound.” 

While he meant what he said, it was easier said than done. Outside of the hospital was a swarm of photographers and reporters. Demetria held onto Bruce’s hand, keeping her head low as he led her through the roaring crowd. 

“Demetria, how are you feeling?” 

“Was The Joker telling the truth? Is there something going on between you and Harvey?” 

“Did you see the Batman come in to the party?” 

“Show us the wound!!”

Bruce helped her into the passenger side of car before going to the driver’s side. He turned to the press. “My fiancé is fine. Thanks.”

Glittering flashes of light stood before Demetria, as she tried to keep her head low. The flashes died down as the car pulled away.

The silence in the car was deafening. Bruce kept his eye on the road while Alfred sat in the back of the car. In the passenger seat, Demetria pressed her head against the window, staring at the nightlife that passed by. 

Exhaustion from the medicine and the trauma wrapped around her like a blanket. Still, in the back of her mind, something felt off about Bruce’s alibi.If he was trapped in the bedroom, wouldn’t he and Harvey have gotten out at the same time? Wouldn’t Harvey had heard him or seen him? 

Also, what did Bruce need to tell her?

==========================================

When they arrived back at the penthouse, Alfred went straight to the kitchen and grabbed the kettle. Demetria followed soon after with Bruce right behind her. 

She went into their room first, Bruce watching her grab some sweatpants and a shirt before walking back out. 

She turned to him, her eyes watering again. 

“I’m...uh...gonna stay in the guest room tonight,” she said, letting out a sniffle.

“Dem-.”

“I want to be alone, ok?”

He nodded understandingly and watched her go into the guest bedroom. The second the door was closed, he eyed Alfred. 

“I messed up,” he admitted. “I should’ve grabbed her first. I wasn’t sure how much time I had and I knew he wanted Harvey-.” 

“The issue, Master Wayne, goes beyond you not saving her first,” Alfred cut him off, turning to him. 

“What was I supposed to do, Alfred?” 

“You already know.” 

Bruce scratched the back of his head. “Rachel...after she found out, said she couldn’t be with me because of him. Suppose Demetria does the same thing.” 

“Demetria is not Rachel, Master Wayne. Demetria has put up with the playboy facade you’ve created. She risked her sanity and comfort to deal with the people you both hate tonight. She’s given up the quiet life she loved to be with you. She’s made her sacrifices. It’s time you’ve made yours.” 

================================================

Demetria curled up in bed, the medicine beginning to wear off. She clutched onto the pillow, staring out into the dark room. 

Waves of exhaustion crashed over her body, but yet she couldn’t bring herself to fall asleep.

She cursed herself for pushing Bruce away, knowing deep down she didn’t actually want to be alone. She wanted to be in his arms, to hear him reassure her that everything would be ok. 

Still, she couldn’t shake how he treated her at the party, as well as his excuse as to what happened to him at the party. As much as she desperately wanted to believe him, she couldn’t.

She got up from thr bed and made her way to her and Bruce’s room. She opened the door to find he wasn’t there. She sighed, closing the door.

He must’ve gone to the gym, she thought.

“Looking for someone?”

She turned to see Bruce sitting in the chair. He was out of his part attire, instead donning a brown polo shirt and black pants. 

“I thought you would be at the gym,” she said, taking a seat on the coffee table that faced him.

“Took the night off.”

“You looked like your dressed to be somewhere.” 

He flashed a tiny smile. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

She wiped her sweatpants with the palm of her hands, exhaling. Bruce straightened his posture, sensing she was fighting herself to speak up.

She bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes stinging as tears began to fill her eyes. “Tonight was just...”

She let out a defeated chuckle, shrugging. “I don’t know where to begin. I don’t. There are a million different things that I want to say but...” 

Bruce waited on bated breath, his heart sinking at the site of her crumbling down in each second that passed. Still, he was patient. 

Her eyes finally met his. “I felt like an animal in a cage for people to stare at. Like I had no purpose other than to be talked down to or ridiculed. And the one person I needed the most....” She exhaled. “I really needed you there.” 

He leaned in toward her. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry.” 

He took her hand in his. “There’s something I need to show you. Go grab a jacket.” 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“I’ll explain in the car.” His thumb grazed her chin. “I need you to trust me.” 

His pleading tone managed to win her over somehow. She excused herself to grab a jacket from their room. 

As Bruce waited, he could feel his heart race. The ambiguity of what would happen with their relationship after he would tell her broke him down. 

Demetria returned wearing her green utility jacket over her shirt and sweatpants and her paid of white Keds.

“Let’s go,” he told her, grabbing her hand. 

They went into the elevator down into the garage. The silence between them was deafening, both lost in their own thoughts. When the door opened, Demetria followed Bruce into his dark grey Lamborghini Murciélago LP640. 

The second the car left the garage, Bruce broke the silence. 

“Do you remember I told you I spent time traveling the world for a few years?” he spoke up. Demetria nodded. “Before I traveled, I tried to kill the man who killed the my parents. An assassin who worked for a mobster named Carmine Falcone beat me to it. So I visited Falcone who told me real power comes from being feared. So, I decided to spend some time studying the criminal underworld. I trained in combat under this group, the League of Shadows. I later found out they had plans to destroy Gotham, so I burnt down their temple.” 

Demetria stared at Bruce, wide-eyed and mouth gaped open. Although she knew of the trauma and grief Bruce had carried from witnessing his parent’s murder, never in a million years did she think he was capable of murdering the guy. It was one thing to wish death on the guy who killed you parents, but to go out and kill him was a whole other thing. 

She wasn’t sure how to respond, let alone process it, and judging by the deer-in-the headlights expression on her face, Bruce could tell. 

“I came back to Gotham because I felt like the city needed protection,” he continued. 

He pulled the car into an abandoned lot with a broken down warehouse bunker. He stopped the car and despite her hesitation, Demetria got out and followed Bruce. 

Her silence terrified him, but he knew what he had to do. He opened the door, letting her in first before closing it. 

Demetria’s stomach went weak, anticipation running through her. She followed Bruce into the dimly lit hallway before he stopped her. 

“Stay here,” he told her. 

Suddenly, the floor began to lower down into an underground room. Demetria’s heart rate picked up as she looked down. 

 The next thing she knew, she was in a brightly lit, spacious room with two, black military-esque Lamborghinis. 

“What the fuck is this?” she said, eyeing the whole room. 

This was it. No turning back. 

“Demetria...I’m Batman.” 

She whipped her head to Bruce, her mouth hung open. Her blood ran cold, her entire being knocked out by three words. 

“You...you’re....you...” Her words failed her. 

He motioned for her to follow him. He grabbed a remote from off the desk and pointed it at the wall across from him. A section on of the floor rose, revealing a glass case where sure enough, hanging perfectly inside was Batman’s costume. 

Demetria eyes went back and fourth between the costume and Bruce, trying to make sense of what was happening. Bruce watched her, waiting for her to say something, anything. As far as he was concerned, he was watching what would be the end of their relationship. 

“I....I don’t...I...I...” She shook her head. “I don’t know...what...what the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck? You’re Batman? You? Bruce Wayne?” 

She stepped back. “How the hell am I supposed to believe this? How do I know that’s not a just a really good replica of his costume?” 

“You told me on the rooftop that it was scary to have people take photos of you and that you feel like an animal in a zoo enclosure.”

She nodded her head, pressing her fingers to her temple. “Oh my fucking god.” 

“I wanted so many times to tell you,” he said, taking a step forward. “I promised myself to keep you away from Batman because I didn’t want you to get mixed up in it.” 

“But the balcony...”

“I didn’t want you out alone at night, even if it was on my balcony.” 

Then it hit her. The party. 

“If the suits in here, how did you have it for the party?” she asked. 

“I keep a spare in a private room.” 

She threw her hands. “How the fuck do you have so many private rooms? I know it’s a penthouse, but come on!”  

She started pacing back and fourth. “So instead of training for extreme hiking or whatever, you’ve been doing this?” 

“That’s correct.” 

She ran her hand through her hair. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, first you tell me you tried to kill the guy who killed your parents and then you tell me you’re Batman.” She threw her hands up. “I feel like....I mean...when the hell were you going to tell me any of this? Before or after the wedding?” 

He shoved his hands in his pant pockets. “ I was going to tell you when I was done.” 

“What do you mean when you were done?”

“Done with Batman. Gotham doesn’t need me anymore. It has Harvey.” 

Her eyes went wide. “That’s why you threw him the fundraiser.”

“He’s what this city needs and what it deserves.” 

Then it dawned on her. Her speech from earlier. “You’re one of the reasons Gotham has a brighter future.”

“You were upset with my speech,” she figured out. “That’s why you went outside.” 

He shook his head. “I wasn’t upset, it’s just that I’ve been at this for so long, Demetria. While I’m ready to give up Batman, on the other hand it’s easier said than done.” 

“Bruce, I said he was one of the reasons, not the reason.” She took a step toward him. “Don’t get me wrong, what Harvey’s doing is great, but it’s nothing compared to what you’ve done. Batman is the reason this city’s getting better.” 

“But he’s also the reason you got attacked,” he pointed out. “I went into our room to grab some stuff so we could leave and I saw on the security camera that The Joker was coming. I knew he was after Harvey so I rescued him first. By the time I came back for you, it was too late. When I came back as Batman, he’d already gotten to you.” He shook his head. “I should’ve saved you first.”

Demetria put a hand on his arm comfortingly. “I wasn’t the target. Harvey was.”  

“But-.” 

“Bruce,” her voice was gentle, but stern. “Stop, alright? You did what was right.” 

His hands cradled her cheeks. “You’re my home, Demetria. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

Safe. The word felt damning to him now.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “If you want to leave, I understand.” 

She cocked her head back. “Bruce...” 

“It’s ok.” 

“Bruce, I’m not going anywhere,” she told him, a light chuckle in her voice. “I mean, yeah, I feel like I’ve been thrown off, but none of this changes the fact that I’m completely, stupidly in love with you.”

A small, amused smile formed on his lips. “Stupidly?”

She rolled her eyes at her own word being said back to her. “Stupidly.”

His hands fell down to her waist. “I’m stupidly in love with you too.”

They leaned in, their lips pressing together in a perfect synchronization. Both melted into each other’s touch, Bruce pulling her closer to him.

When she pulled her lips back, she ran her hands through his dark hair.

“Promise me no more secrets, ok? No more hiding from me.” She paused, realizing her own hypocrisy. “That goes for me too, ok? I need to stop hiding my panic attack and anxieties and other shit from you.”

“No more hiding” Bruce repeated in agreement. He cradled her cheek with his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” 

“I’m sorry too.” She ran her hands through her hair. “We used to be so much better at communicating each other. What the hell happened?” 

“We got caught up in other things and forgot what mattered.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s just something we’ll have to work on being better at.” 

She threw her arms around his neck, when her eyes lit up. “Oh, and one more thing. The next time you decide to throw a party with those people and abandon it, take me with you.”

“How about no more parties with them, period?” he countered playfully.

“That is the sexiest thing you’ve said to me.��

He chuckled. “You’re joking me.” 

She shook her head patting his chest when it hit her. “Before I forget, there’s something else I need to tell you. You remember The Joker’s video from today? I know that location.”

“I know,” he said, shoving his hands in his pant pockets. “I found the letter in your drawer.”

“Oh?” She inquired, crossing her arms against her chest. “What were you doing in there?”

“I was packing us a bag and wanted to make sure I packed your anxiety medications. When I saw it wasn’t in the cabinet, despite having told you to put it in there, I grabbed it from the nightstand drawer.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Fair enough, I guess. Did it at least help?”

“I went to check it out after Rachel and I’s fall. Nothing was there except some traces of dried blood.”

“Could it have been that guy’s?”

“It’s possible.” 

He opened a desk drawer, revealing a piece of the brick with dried blood on it. “I was going to check it out tomorrow morning.” 

“Mind if I join you?” 

His hands met her hips. “I would love that.” 

She gave him a quick kiss, when the corners of her mouth curved mischievously. “Can I drive the batcar home?”

“No.”

“Can I sit in it?”

“Maybe.”

“Can I sit on your lap while we both sit in it?”

“It’s not big enough.”

Her mouth hung open. “Bruce!”

“I meant it’s not big enough for two people.”

“Hmmm, sure.” She pat his chest. “C’mon, let’s go home.” 

She went to walk away when he grabbed her hand and pulled it back, bringing her face to his as his lips crashed onto hers. Both of them were too lost to realize their bodies had found themselves on the floor. 

Needless to say, they didn’t make it home. 

[thetaoofzoe]

FIC: Syverson the Protector Pt III

*   Syverson The Protector - Part I (pairing Syverson x YOU)

*   Syverson the Protector - Part II (pairing Syverson x YOU)

Summary: You are an embedded journalist and on a mission, everything goes wrong. He promised to protect you but can you save him?

Rating for this part: Budding romance, Fluff, wound related gore/blood (mild), war related violence. Must be read in order, no part can stand alone.

Word count: 3121

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

It was sauna-hot in that cramped filthy cab. Sweat beaded on your cheeks and upper lip and leaked down into the corners of your mouth. You lashed your tongue around your lips and immediately regretted it as the salty liquid tasted foul, like bile and petrol, and swallowing it wasn’t an option you were willing to take. You worked your water-starved tongue around inside your cheeks, only managing to gather a pitiful amount of saliva, which you spat out through the open window. Disgusted, you swiped your mouth, then your face with your sleeve, but no amount of wiping with equally dirty hands or clothes helped.

Suddenly the truck’s front tire crunched into a rocky pit and in an unfocused panic, you whipped the wheel, sending the truck skidding to one side. With teeth clenched, both feet punching down on the brakes and hands death gripping the hot leather, you struggled with the careening truck. Minutes ticked by as you wrestled it under control. Stopping the truck, you sat shaken and gulping for air, as kicked-up sand and dust plumed in through the window.

The potholes. The road was littered with them and no amount of defensive driving and steering wheel calisthenics could stop the pick-up truck from striking a deep hole. However, you knew that if you kept on driving as recklessly as you were,  it was going to end badly and you couldn’t afford to wreck the truck.

‘Shit… focus. Keep it together,’ you muttered, panting and wiping your face again.

You laid swollen, blood crusted hands on the wheel, and slid an appraising glance at the man slumped bonelessly against the passenger door.  He was a mess, eyes showing their whites, skin grey beneath the grime, and stewed cherry red blood had soaked through the scarf you’d used to help staunch the flow of the pulsing cavernous wound in his gut.

Shouldn’t have moved him, you thought morosely.

Shouldn’t have moved him!

Should have left him where he was!

If you had left him, he might not be unconscious in a truck, piloted by an unstable driver, where he could no longer apply pressure to his own inevitably fatal wound. He was going to bleed out in the cab of that little pickup because he was beyond your ineffectual ability to help him.

You reached out and pushed on the blood sodden scarf, desperate to keep the pressure on his wound, but you couldn’t do that and drive at the same time. Putting the truck in park, you climbed across the bench seat to get closer to where he lay sprawled limply against the door.

His breath was fast and shallow and high in his chest. His eyes flickered slightly, opened, then closed again and you stared down at him, your hope for him waking up, rapidly dissolving. An iron fist squeezed around your heart. He was giving up and you were going to lose him.

You knelt astride his thigh with the heavy wet scarf in your hands and knew you had no other alternative but to wring it out, which you did in the footwell of the passenger seat. You were revolted when the hot smell of it hit your nose so you held your breath, doubled the scarf again, and stuffed it beneath his shirt. You clipped his flack vest closed over it to accomplish the work that his hands should have been doing, though you weren’t sure how much pressure was being applied now. But,  however much it was, it was better than nothing.

Trembling, you climbed back behind the wheel and wiped your sweaty face with your sleeve. Dizziness washed over you and your gorge rose threateningly in your throat. You had been so focused on tending to the Captain that you had been ignoring your own injuries.

'Not now,’ you begged, swallowing hard. 'Not now, please, let me get him to safety first.’

You jammed the truck back into gear and pressed down on the pedal. The engine stalled and tears of frustration and helplessness stung your dry eyes.

Please. Please. Just, please help me. Help me!

You jerked the gear shift out and then back into the sticky slot and with the engine screaming in agony and protest, the truck shuddered onward. You looked down at the dusty fuel gauge. The truck was nearly on empty and black thoughts of despair seeped into your consciousness. If you didn’t find any help before the truck died in the vast plains of nowhere, you would have to stay with Syverson and make him as comfortable as you could until he died. And then you’d have to brave the miserable road alone with no food, or water, and only his gun to ensure your survival. At least until the ammo ran out.

The bleak determination of your future instantly unnerved you and you increased the truck’s speed. There was a hill up ahead.

Was the truck was going to make it?

It struggled with the incline but managed to crest the top of the hill, and just as it did, you noticed something in the distance.

Behind a row of concertina wire wrapped wooden sawhorses, big trucks stretched across the road. Uniformed men with guns at the ready came to attention at the sight of your little battered pick-up truck. Highly aware of the weapons being pointed at you now, you slowly, carefully, drove up to the blockade. Nervousness quickened your pulse as a man, with one hand upraised, stepped out. He lazily waved you forward but his actions and body language communicated to you that you should proceed with caution.

You got a look at the man’s sandy brown and black splotched uniform.

Americans!

You stopped the truck and hastily jumped out, hands raised high in the air, yelling, 'Help! Help me, please. I have Captain Syverson with me and he’s wounded! Please help!’

The other men around the blockade suddenly came to attention and began to approach.

'Hold on there!’ shouted the man. 'Stop where you are. You have who now?’

The uniformed man tipped back his helmet a little and slightly lifted the muzzle of his AR-15 in silent warning. You froze to your spot and pointing to the truck you repeated your plea.

'Captain Syverson! We were… s-supply run. I– I’m.. we were… we were…’

You swayed on your feet as the edges of your vision blurred then closed in like an oily black wave. The ground rushed up to meet you when you collapsed and you dimly heard the jumbled voices of the men approaching you. And then, there was nothing.

***

Throbbing bursts of fuzzy-edged splotches pulsed red, yellow and black against the backs of your eyelids.

You could hear the drone of an engine and you opened your eyes.

You were back in that tightly cramped jeep again, listening to your heart thundering in your chest as you stared directly at the man across from you.

Syverson was saying something, shouting it even, but you heard nothing but the drone and the banging of blood gushing in your veins. You held your hands out to him, to grab onto him, but in a blinding flash of light, he was gone and the jeep exploded into bits around you.

You felt yourself burning, flesh searing, and crisping in the fire, and you opened your mouth to scream, only to be finally consumed and reduced to ashes.

Your brain startled awake from the smothering dream but instead of shooting upright to confirm that you were safe, your body only jerked sluggishly, still mired in your medicated pool of awareness.

The bitter scent of disinfectant prickled your nose and you wriggled it in an attempt to scratch the itch. Someone was speaking softly off to your left and you heard the squeak of plastic wheels rolling over a thin plastic floor.

You tried to clear your throat, but nothing but a dry scratching rasp escaped you. You flexed your toes first and then your fingers. They were tightly wrapped, stiff, and a little unresponsive. But they didn’t hurt, so that was either a good thing or a bad thing.

You continued your bodily inspection to make sure that all of your limbs were still intact. Fortunately, they were and you snaked your tongue out to explore your tender chapped lips.

I could really use a lip balm right now, you thought and a giggle that threatened to turn hysterical bubbled up in your throat. You fought it back.

Someone stood over you and a cool rough hand touched your bare arm on that tiny patch of sunburned flesh between where the sleeve of your hospital gown ended and the bandages began.

'You’re awake.’

You turned your head in the direction of the voice. It was a woman and although she sounded tired,  her voice was low and gentle.

It took a moment for you to manage to get your tongue and throat to work.

'Oh… everything aches,’ you husked. 'Where am I?’

She recited some complicated name of the military hospital and you just nodded because you caught the word 'hospital’ and that was enough to satisfy you.

'How… how long have I been here?’

'About a week now.’

You finally cracked open your eyes and looked down at one arm and then the other one. They both were swaddled, the bride of Frankenstein-style, and lifting your left arm you felt a sharp tugging pain. Someone had placed an IV drip into the back of your hand and with your eyes, you followed the clear tubing back to the metal IV stand and then looked down at the web of coloured wires that tethered you to the bleating machine by the bed.

Your head started to hurt, so you relaxed again and closed your eyes.

'A week,’ you repeated quietly. 'Ok, that’s good.’

And then you remembered the horror of the desert. You remembered the blood and the pain and the man you’d tried to save.

Your eyes snapped open.

'Captain Syverson. Is he… is he all right?’

'Who?’ she asked, her eyes fixed to the machine.

'Syverson. I came in with him. I came in with an officer, right? Is he ok?’

The nurse picked up a tablet from her cart and typed something on the screen with her fingertip.

'Syverson,’ She said, reading from the screen. 'A Syverson is here, yes. He should still be recovering from surgery.’

'Is there only one here?’ you asked. 'Only one, Syverson?’

'Look like it,’ she answered, assuring you that the Syverson who was recovering from surgery was /your/ Syverson and not some random stranger with the same name.

You nodded and continued to nod as you put your bandaged right hand to your face. You nodded until you started to cry. And then you cried with great gulping sobs, turning your face into the thin pillow to catch your heavy, relieved tears.

'Did you not hear me?’ asked the nurse, sounding worried, misunderstanding the reason behind your tears. 'I said that he was ok. He’s out of surgery.’

'I heard you,’ you blubbered helplessly.

'You’re ok,’ the nurse said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 'He’s ok, you’re safe now.’

Yes, yes you thought. Safe.

You wiped your face with the tissue she gave you and sniffled noisily.

After a long moment, you spoke.

'Can I… can I see him?’

You looked up at her and saw her eyes sweep the length of your body.

'I don’t think you’re going to be in the position to walk for a little while.’

She glanced at the foot of your bed again and in response, you sluggishly wiggled your tender, swollen toes.

But you were insistent. You had been through so much and being able to lay eyes on him would go a long way to comfort you.

'Surely, there’s a wheelchair around here. Someone can …’

'When you’re both strong enough,’ she interrupted.

Another pat on your shoulder and she withdrew.

You stared after her. What could you do but accept it?

You curled down beneath the thin blanket and turned your head to the window across the room. There was another bed over there, but it was empty save for the neatly folded bed linens and pillows at its foot. You stared at the sharp creases in the white sheets and let your mind wander, remembering the first time the captain took your hand in his.

You were exhausted after a long plane trip and an even longer (and more uncomfortable) truck ride to the base camp.

The afternoon was sweltering and the scent of diesel from the still running heavy truck convoy that had transported you and your colleague to the camp lingered thick in the air. One of the soldiers had ushered you and your colleague to the one of the buildings where you were to wait to meet the man in charge. The only thing you really knew about ‘the man in charge’ was his name and rank, nothing else. 

However, when you finally saw him, something within you came alive as you hadn’t seen a man of  Captain Syverson’s calibre in quite a long time.

He was tall and broad and carried himself with an air of quiet confidence and menace. His thick beard and buzzed head did not diminish the impression of raw power, they only elevated it to the point where your heart picked up speed when he emerged from the shadows inside the building, descended the concrete stairs, and walked towards you.

His hand was hot and he had enough manners not to pulverise your hand in his grip. So many men thoughtlessly tried to exert their dominance over you through a painful, bone grinding handshake that you had taken to yelling out in pain whenever someone tried to rearrange your knuckles. You had been prepared to do it again when you slipped your hand into the captain’s grip. But his gentleness surprised you.

During the time you spent with him, he continued to surprise you with his husky Texan drawl, his extensive knowledge of every board game that had ever been invented, and his penchant for not using cup handles. No matter how hot the cup was, he would always grab it around the body and hold it with his palm as he drank his morning coffee.

Having already earned the respect of his team, he was a man who had nothing to prove. He had your respect as well, and, maybe a little more, for he was also a man who was easy love.

You drifted to sleep again with thoughts of Syverson’s strong arms around you and the sound of his voice whispering in your ear.

'I’ll protect you. I promise.’

**

Days drifted by and you recovered without incident. You ate and slept and read and mentally mapped out the article you were going to write once you regained the use of your hands. You planned to make a hero out of Syverson because he deserved that much. And you were going to memorialize your colleague for being the best journalist he could be while giving everything he could in the line of duty.

But that day, you were still weak and even sitting and thinking and staring at the window, sapped your energy. So you slipped down in bed and took a late afternoon nap.

When you woke and opened your eyes, what you saw made you gasp and struggle to push yourself upright. Over the bed loomed the happy face of a bear-shaped balloon that held a heart exclaiming, 'Get Well Soon!’

You whipped a look round the room. Every surface, even the previously  empty bed across the room was practically covered with stuffed animals, vases of brightly coloured flower bouquets, and other little sundry items that were only found in the corners of hospital gift shoppes.

The sound of the food cart being wheeled into the room caught your attention. The attendee smiled and lifted off a covered tray and set it on the table next to your bed. He turned to leave and your nurse approached your bed.

'Did I.. sleepwalk into another room?’ you asked, feeling a little panicked. 'This ahh, wasn’t here when I went to sleep.’

With your bandaged hand, you made a jerky gesture to the gifts, and your nurse smiled a little like she knew something you didn’t.

'You have an admirer.’

Your eyes rose to her face and she held up a small white envelope that had an obvious bulge in the bottom.

'And this,’ she said handing it to you and when you cupped your swaddled hands, she dropped it into your palms.

You turned it over and the only writing was your name scrawled across the front. The envelope was sealed but with your hands all buttoned up the way they were you held the envelope back up to the nurse.

'Could you umm… please?’

The nurse opened the envelope and wriggled out the small piece of cardstock from inside. She gave it to you.

You read the note aloud, 'I owe you this, at least.’

The note was signed with an unfamiliar name.

'Henry.’

Then as if on cue, the nurse held the upended envelope, and when you lifted your cupped hand, she dumped the contents onto your palm.

It was a small tube of lip balm.

You looked exasperated at both the note and the lip balm and abruptly a memory clanged into place. You remembered the story behind the lip balm but the name, the name perplexed you.

'Henry?’ you asked the nurse and she frowned a little as a curious smile played around her lips.

'Henry,’ she said as if the answer should have obvious to you.

You stared at her, puzzled. When you didn’t say anything, she added, 'Syverson? Isn’t he your–’

'His name is Henry?!’ you exclaimed and put a hand to your forehead. 'Why can’t I… why don’t I remember that?’

'You’re still recovering from your trauma. Your memory will come back soon, don’t worry.’

The nurse wheeled the table that held your dinner within your reach. You put the envelope and the lip balm on the table. You nodded and when she turned to leave you, you picked up the note again.

'Um, Barb?’ you called.

The nurse turned and returned to the bedside.

'Can I send him a note?’

'Sure, that’s ok, I guess.’

You gave her his note and with a sheepish smile, you held up both your bandaged mitten hands.

'Help?’

She chuckled indulgently, took the note,  and pulled a pen from her top pocket.

'Thanks,’ you grinned and after a moment of thought dictated, 'Dear Henry. Thank you for the gifts. I… love them. However, you also owe me some mints as well.’

You grinned to yourself.

'Could you um, put a little smiley face as well?’

The nurse nodded and when she was done, she turned the card around so that you could approve her handiwork.

'Mints?’ she asked, tucking the note and the pen back into her pocket.

'He’ll ummm,’ you giggled feeling a rise of happiness in your chest. 'Don’t worry, he’ll understand.’

Continued in Part IV.

Please like/comment/reblog/follow for more and as always, thanks for your support.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Maybe a soulmate au of your choice with a gender-neutral reader? Whatever you pick is bound to be cool!

Combining two requests this anons and @sephiralorange! Soulmate au! Sharing wounds

*GRAPHIC CONTENT! TALK OF BLOOD AND BONE*

=

Since you were little, your parents had been worried for you, even with the utmost care and sheltering, you somehow ended up with bruises all over you, sometimes even huge lacerations on your back, as if someone had taken a blade and slashed it down.

They were relieved each time when you would move along as if they didn’t exist, no pain, no aches, nothing, that was how they knew they were your soulmates wounds.

So instead, they worried about your soulmate, taking the best care of you to help heal the wounds on his side, as the faster you heal, the faster they did.

Once you realized why your parents always looked at you with such pain in their eyes, you took it upon yourself to keep yourself out of danger. You knew if you ever got injured they wouldn’t feel it but you couldn’t bear it if they did.

At 10 years old you watched as blood poured from your wrist, dripping down onto your carpet and staining it. Your skin peeled apart, the white of your bone showing, you almost threw up.

What were they doing?! You grabbed your towels, pressing them to your painless wound, wishing for whoever was hurting them to stop.

Soon, it stopped; a slight slice in the corner of the gaping wound telling you someone had ripped the weapon away from whoever was hurting them.

You let out a shuddering sigh, grabbing the medical kit from beside you and beginning to disinfect and wrap your arm, making a mental note to thank your parents for having you take those medical care classes for the extreme soulmate.

Your mother had screamed in horror as she looked at your wrist when she came home from work. She picked you up out of bed and had rushed you to the hospital; the doctor who took you in was confused in how you weren’t screaming in pain before realizing it was a soulmate wound.

They fixed you up and sent you home with some antibiotics and sterilized bandages, requesting you to come in once a week to change bandages and to look over the wound.

Once you were old enough to know about the isle of the lost across the sea, you knew.

Your soulmate was on the isle, what was happening to you would have been stopped years ago in Auradon.

You hoped one day your soulmate would be safe one day, but the reappearing bruises and cuts scared you, and if they stopped, you feared for the other option in your mind.

=

When Ben's proclamation for the new generation of children born from the villains came around, you jumped at the chance to support it, advocating for the VKs to come to Auradon to live their lives in a safe environment.

Your parents, knowing that their child’s soulmate was an isle child, they eagerly funded the program, helping buy the extra food they needed, any medical expenses, or rooming during the season breaks.

You had never been prouder of them.

But still, none of the recent four vks matched your scars, specifically the one on your left wrist; it had taken a long time to heal, leaving a heavy scar deep in your wrist.

You sighed, looking around the locker area, Mal and Evie chatting with each other as they switched their books out, Carlos and Ben waiting for them by the rails.

Tomorrow there would finally be another round of VKs.

One of which was Mal’s “arch-enemy” Uma, the daughter of the sea witch Ursula.

Honestly, she sounded cool, enough to want to seek her out and attempt to be her friend, but with Mal’s stories (most of which you took with a grain of salt) she seemed to be unapproachable.

But you always made it a point to wait until you met someone and got to know them before believing someone else’s stories about them.

“Look there’s scarry~” a group of nasty, privileged teens walked by you, taunting at your visible scars and bruises. “It’s a wonder that their soulmates even still alive!”

“I think that even they’ll be disgusted by them!” they snickered with their friend, squealing as you turned around and “accidentally” smacked their shoulder.

You grinned, making them pale slightly “what’s wrong~?” you purred, sneakily flipping your switchblade in your freehand “scared of lil’ ol me~ ‘scarry~’?” you took a step towards them, making them squeal and run off.

You rolled your eyes and closed your switchblade, pocketing it before turning back to your locker, stashing your history books before grabbing your nursing elective books.

“you ready for tomorrow (y/n)?” Evie asked as she passed you, stopping to lean on the rails to wait for you.

“as ever” you cheered, closing your locker and turning to Evie, a thought came to your mind. “hey uh, do you think….that maybe….THEY are in the next round?”

“they who?” Evie asked, tilting her head. You lifted up your wrist, shaking it around a bit, Evie’s eyes widened “oh! Um…I don’t know, I don’t remember anyone on the isle with a wrist injury?”

You sighed, shaking your head, letting your arm drop to your leg. “alright then, more of the waiting game I suppose, see you guys later”

“see ya (y/n)!”

Mal waiting till you were out of earshot before turning to Evie with a smirk “Harry has a wrist injury”

“he does!” Evie gasped, rummaging through her memory “but I don’t-“

“oh, right you weren’t…….around” Mal winced, remembering Evie's banishment from the main isle “um, harry tried to cut off his hand when he was 10, ya know, to get his hook?”

“That’s awful!.....oh…..oh!” Evie gasped, clapping her hands “Harry is-!”

“-Harry is (y/n)s soulmate~ also, remember when we went to the beach? (y/n) had scars all over their back, they looked exactly like-“

“-a hook ran down their back. Oh my” Evie sighed, her shoulders dropping “poor (y/n), thank goodness she didn’t feel any pain from it, I think even I could hear Harry's screams from my mom’s castle.”

“They were horrific, even my mother ordered him to stop, according to her they were “annoying” Mal curled her lip in disgust in thinking of her mother’s lack of sympathy.

“Shoot we have to get to class!” Evie jumped at the bell, grabbing Mal’s hand and pulling her down the halls to class.

=

Harry had not grown up with bruises or scars other than his own, no cuts, no scrape of the knee, nothing.

It was the one thing his dad was proud of him for,

“Nothing to be distracted by my boy! no true love to ruin your plans!”

But….one day, when Harry woke up with a large bruise on his jaw that wasn’t there when he went to sleep, and couldn’t recall getting hit in the jaw, nor did it hurt when he poked it,

He realized he had a soulmate.

All his wounds healed faster than they should’ve as well, his wrist healing within the month, the scars on his back never becoming infected.

His soulmate was looking out for him, taking care of “his” wounds on their side to help him.

He realized he loved his soulmate before he’d even met them.

They had to be from Auradon, no kid on the isle would be able to care for themselves this way.

So the day he got the letter to go to Auradon, he couldn’t wait until the limo came to pick him up.

Maybe he would finally meet them!

As he stepped out of the limo, his breath escaped him.

There, waiting by the doors, was the most gorgeous person he had ever seen. They looked to have soft (s/c) skin, (hair type/hair color) hair that reached their (where ever ur hair ends), very faint scars littered across them, Harry’s eyes drifted down, gasping as he spotted a bandage around their left wrist.

He looked from his own bandaged wrist to theirs, now he didn’t know if he was jumping to conclusions, but the feeling he got from just looking at them told him that he was looking at his soulmate for the first time.

he felt Gil shove his shoulder a bit, moving him forward a bit, he took his eyes off his soulmate and started to walk with his friends and following Ben and Mal around the dorms.

=

The new group had been settling in for a month now, you had tried to talk to Harry but he had been….shy? to say the least, he wouldn’t speak and couldn’t keep eye contact with you.

But whenever you walked away, you sneaked a look back at the tiro to see Harry hit his head against the table they were sitting at.

You snorted as you thought back to it, the pirate was quite handsome, what luck would it be if he was your soulmate huh?

He didn’t seem to be interested though, always off Standish and silent. What you didn’t know was that he ranted to Uma and Gil about you, constantly gushing about your eyes, saying they were brighter than the neverland stars.

Or about how your smile just made him feel things that he just couldn’t explain.

Uma and Gil were very close to just punching him in the jaw right in front of you to get him to stop rambling to them.

Your train of thought was interrupted as someone tapped the edge of your book, you looked up, smiling as you looked into Evie’s blueish brown eyes. “hi” you whispered, avoiding the chance of getting the library mad.

“hi~” she whisper-sang back, sitting down next to you and setting her bag on the library table. “whatcha studying?”

“history stuff” you hummed, flipping through another page “for the test tomorrow”

“ah, I for-“ Evie trailed off, staring at your face intensely “whats-(y/n) your jaw!”

You put down your book and touched your jaw, feeling nothing but gathering heat. “is it bruising?”

“yeah! Oh, there's, your shoulder too!” the librarian shushed you, stopping as she got a good look at your bruising body.

“oh shit” you muttered, pulling up your shirt to see multiple fist-shaped welts forming around your body. “they’re getting into a fight-“

Evie’s phone went off, and she picked it up, eyes widening “Harry’s getting cornered, lockers, come on!” she grabbed your wrist, tugging you out of the library and towards the lockers.

You pulled your wrist out of her grip and ran faster toward the lockers, skidding to a stop as you turned the corner. You gasped.

There against the lockers was Harry, being held down by two tourney jocks and Tyler, the asshole who had been obsessed with you since middle school.

“they’re mine, you filthy pirate!” Tyler spit in Harry's face, punching him in the jaw again.

“they-“ Harry spit a mouthful of blood on Tyler's shoes, looking back at the seething boy with a bloody grin “-they aren’t even yer soulmate yeh jackass”

Tyler screamed in rage and socked harry in the face again, slamming his head against the locker “shut the fuck up you asshole!”

“(y/n) your face” Evie whispered, you took out your phone and quickly opened the camera, in the same places Harry was getting hit, was forming welts and bruises on your face.

“that’s it” you snarled, swiftly taking off your jacket and tossing your phone at Evie, bolting towards Tyler and Harry “TYLER BACK THE FUCK OFF MY SOULMATE YOU JACKASS!”

Tyler perked up, eyes widening in horror as your fist flew at his face. You hit him with a hard right hook, breaking him away from Harry and blood spurting from his nose.

“ah-“ you grabbed his shirt and pushed him back towards the rails, hitting him in the jewels and tripping him over the rials, sending him to the ground below.

You turned, glaring sharply at the two leftover jocks holding Harry down, they looked from Harry to you and released him, backing away with their hands up before bolting off somewhere.

You looked around at the forming crowd, letting out a single snapping word “GO!” the Auradon kids scrambled off, leaving you, Evie, an arriving Uma, and an almost unconscious Harry.

You sighed and ran towards Harry, kneeling next to him and cupping his face gently. “harry, can you hear me?”

He shook his head a bit and shifted his striking blue eyes to you, he gave a small painful grin. “alright then” you huffed, giving him a soft smile “you’re an idiot Harry Hook, Uma!” she stepped next to you, kneeling next to you, giving harry a look “can you help him?”

“I can….but im thinking he needs to learn a lesson of not ranting to me about you” she huffed, giving Harry a shit-eating grin.

Harry groaned and flipped her off, Uma chuckled and waved her hand, the bruises on you and Harry disappearing. “there, now yall get officially acquainted and ill take evie somewhere so she doesn’t disturb you with her squealing” she stood and walked over to evie, dragging the grinning Evie away by the arm.

You sighed and took Harry's hand, pulling him out of his sitting position to stand with you “so why don’t we go get to know each other hm?” you grinned as Harry chuckled and held out his arm.

You wrapped your hands around his arm and let him lead you off to where ever.  

What a way to “meet” your soulmate huh?.....saving him from getting his ass kicked.

-end-

 permtaglist

@queer-cosette @lunanight2012

@daughter-of-the-stars11 @musicarose

@random-thoughts-003 @amorathegamingkitsune

@rintheemolion @verboetoperee 

 @remembered-license

[theultimatefanficwriter]

Gunham scenario. Nagito does some crazy bs to see how much Gundham loves you (already dating) and randomly tries to kill you in the dining hall, but Gundham protects you and ends up getting the stab wound instead. Nagito says something about hope about your love. So Gundham is on bed rest, but you have to watch over him and his Devas. His Devas a so sweet with you and help you take care of Gundham.

Oh HELL YEAH, ANGST! I freaking LOVE angst with a side of comfort! This prompt is awesome, thank you!

The Darkside of Hope-Gundham Tanaka x Reader

You awoke to Monokuma’s morning announcement still feeling exhausted. Teruteru’s trial yesterday had completely worn you out.

“Good morning, my love.”

A tired voice gained your attention, and you turned your head to see Gundham Tanaka, your boyfriend of about a year laying beside you. You smiled softly at him and kissed his forehead. “Good morning, Gundham.”

“Are you still feeling unwell from the ordeal of last night?” He questioned you as he sat up, his hair ruffled from his night’s sleep and not in it’s usual style. You giggled to yourself at that. You always thought he looked adorable with it down, and even cuter when he just woke up.

You nodded to his question. “The whole thing with Teruteru was so...sad. He wanted to help us and Nagito....” Gundham pulled you into his chest, and you smiled gratefully at him as you continued. “And...and he just wanted to know if his mom and diner were alright. It’s all just so...terrible.”

“I know my dearest Fallen Angel.” The breeder said softly. “Nothing of our situation is fair in the slightest.” He gently tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “But at least we have each other, yes?”

You nodded happily. “Yeah. I don’t know how I could handle this if I didn’t have you.”

“I understand. I, too, feel that way.” Gundham smiled gently and kissed your lips. “Thankfully we are not alone, nor will we ever be.”

You smiled warmly at that, before reluctantly pulling away. “We should probably make our way to the restaurant.” You said, standing from the bed.

Your lover sighed as he followed suit. “Yes, you are right. It would do no good to worry the mortals with our absence.”

You nodded. “Thank you for letting me stay in your cottage, Gundham.” You thanked him. “I really didn’t feel like being alone.”

“It is of no problem, my dark queen.” Gundham assured you with a smile. “I will do whatever I can to comfort you and keep you safe.”

Your chest fluttered when he said that. “You’re so sweet, my lord.” You replied, giggling softly when you saw him blush lightly. “I’m heading to my cottage to get ready. I’ll see you soon.” With a final goodbye, you left his room.

“Ah, so you were with Gundham.”

You jumped at the unexpected voice. You turned to see Nagito standing before you. You felt a wave of unease as you remembered his performance in the trial the previous night. “Y-yes, I was.” You confirmed. “Is that a problem?”

Nagito quickly shook his head, holding his hands up. “Oh, no no no! It’s not a problem at all! Quite the opposite in fact! I think it’s wonderful you and Gundham have each other to rely on. You’re quite fortunate to know each other prior to coming here.”

You furrowed you brow, not quite sure what Nagito was getting at. “Yeah...We were both really excited when we realized we were both accepted into Hope’s Peak.”

“And now you have each other to rely on for your hope!” The lucky student hugged himself, and the crazed look in his eyes returned. “How lucky.”

You began slowly walking past him. “Right...” You muttered, deciding to ignore him. But what he said next stopped you in your tracks.

“But...how can you be sure of his love for you?”

You blinked, and slowly turned back to look at him. “...What?”

Nagito gave you a crazed grin that sent a chill down your spine. “How can you be so sure your hope aligns with his? Perhaps his love for you is overpowered by his want for escape, and he is simply using it as a cover?”

Your eyes widened, and you took a step away from Nagito. “Wh...what?! No! Gundham would never do something like that! He loves me! I know he does!”

“But are you certain?” The boy asked, taking a step towards you. You took another one back, feeling a pang of fear in your chest. “Maybe after realizing the situation we are in, he began making his own plans. Maybe he has plans to kill you, using your relationship as an alibi.”

You clenched your fists and shook your head. “No! I said he wouldn’t do that!” You snapped, glaring at the white haired student. “You don’t know anything about Gundham! He would never hurt me!”

Nagito nodded. “You’re probably right. The Ultimate Y/T would know much more than trash like me, especially about her own boyfriend.” He walked past you, only stopping briefly to speak some final words. “Though, perhaps you should still keep what I said in mind.” And with that, he walked towards the hotel.

You watched him leave, and for a moment you took his words to heart, worry filling you. You quickly pushed all of that to the side. Gundham would never hurt you, let alone kill you. Nagito is just trying to manipulate you like he had Teruteru. With an annoyed sigh, you walked into your cottage to get ready.

~~~

You walked up the steps to the restaurant and immediately noticed Gundham sitting at a table off to the side. You also saw Nagito sitting alone in the corner. You met his gaze for a moment before walking over to your boyfriend and sitting across from him.

You smiled when he saw you. “Ah! There you are, my queen of darkness!” He greeted you, taking your hand in his. “You are looking radiant as always.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Gundham, I look the same I always do.”

The breeder gave a small smirk. “And thus you always shine with the radiance of an angel.” He frowned slightly. “However I can tell worry taints your features. What is it that plagues you, my love?”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting over to where Nagito was seated. You noticed he wasn’t there anymore, and though that worried you, you ultimately didn’t pay it much mind. “It...it isn’t anything, Gundham.” You told him, attempting to give him a reassuring smile. “I just had a...run in with Nagito.”

Gundham narrowed his eyes. “What did that vermin say to you?” He growled lowly. “Did he attempt to control your mind as he had the chef?”

“I...I think so?” You answered before shaking your head and giving Gundham a soft smile. “But don’t worry. Really. I’m fine.”

Your boyfriend looked unsure, but he sighed. “If you insist, I shall drop it.” He said.

You smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Gundham.” You whispered. As you pulled away, you noticed something from the corner of your eye. You turned, and saw Nagito approach.

Gundham noticed too and glared at the lucky student. “And what business do you have with us?” He demanded.

“I know scum such as myself has no business interacting with either of you.” Nagito began. His eyes looked over at you, and you began feeling uneasy. “But something has been bothering me. I must check exactly how strong your hopes are.”

“What in the Nine Hells are you-”

Gundham didn’t get to finish his sentence before Nagito lunged. He held a knife as he ran straight at you. Your eyes widened, and you froze, unable to move. You saw some others in the room noticed, but were too far away to act.

Gundham, however, acted quickly, dashing in front of you right before Nagito made contact with you. Your lover let out a pained grunt and took a knee as a fleshy impact sound was heard.

“Gundham!” You exclaimed worriedly, rushing over in front of him as Nekomaru and Akane restrained Nagito.

“Ah, so I was wrong! Gundham’s love for you is his hope!” The crazed boy laughed as he was dragged away from you and Gundham. “It’s so strong he would risk himself! How beautiful!”

“S-shut up!” You called back to him as you knelt in front of Gundham. The knife stuck out of his stomach, and blood was staining his shirt. “M-Mikan! Mikan please come here! Hurry”

“C-coming!” The nurse exclaimed, rushing over to you and nearly tripping as she did so.

“I-I am fine, m-my fallen angel.” Gundham tried to assure you, though his pained expression did little to make you feel better. “It w-will take more than this to t-take down Gundham T-Tanaka!”

“S-shut up, Gundham.” You muttered, tears forming in your eyes. “Don’t be so proud right now. You have a fucking knife in you!”

“And I w-would take a thousand more if it meant you would remain safe.” Your boyfriend said firmly. “I will never allow you to be harmed, n-no matter what shall become of me.”

The tears began to fall. “Y-you can be such an idiot sometimes.” You murmured, clinging to his jacket. “You can’t just go and do something stupid like that! I don’t want you getting hurt either!”

“U-um, I-I’m so s-sorry to interrupt...” Mikan spoke up. “B-but Gundham n-needs to lie down. C-can someone h-help me take him t-to his cottage?”

“I can do that.” Hajime offered, stepping forward. He placed a hand on Gundham’s shoulder. “Can you walk, Gundham?”

~~~

It was some time later, and you sat in Gundham’s cottage. Mikan had done all she could and had ordered Gundham to bed rest. You told everyone you’d keep an eye on him. Currently he was asleep.

You just watched him as he slept, tears still staining your cheeks. You knew it wasn’t your fault. It was Nagito’s. He had tried to stab you unprovoked. But still...you couldn’t help but feel awful. Like it should have been you who got hurt.

You heard soft squeaking, and you looked over to see the Dark Devas on the ground looking up at you. You smiled softly and leaned down, placing your hands down for them to climb on. When they did you lifted them up to eye level. “Hey, little ones.” You said to them. “Gundham’s out of it right now. But....but he’ll be...”

You bit your lip. You wanted to reassure them he would be fine. Mikan had told you he’d be fine. But...but you were still scared. What if you lost him? You weren’t sure if you could go on. You couldn’t trust anyone else here.

You were broken out of your thoughts by the Devas nuzzling your cheek. You smiled softly down at them and pet them gently. “Thank you, little ones.” You said quietly. “Gundham has trained you extremely well.” You looked over to your boyfriend’s bed. “You’re all worried about him too, aren’t you?” You asked, then slowly stood, carrying the hamsters over. You lowered your hands and allowed them to crawl onto it. They carefully made their way over to Gundham and nuzzled him, Jum-P burrowing himself in the breeder’s scarf and quickly falling asleep,

You smiled softly as you watched your boyfriend and his beloved hamsters rest. You looked down at his middle and winced. The bandage around his stomach was already nearly completely soaked through with blood. You would have to change it when he woke up.

You clenched your fists as you thought about Nagito. Kazuichi had stopped by and informed you the crazed boy had been tied and thrown into the old building, so there was no chance of him hurting someone else. That helped you relax, but you were still overwhelmingly angry at him. He had done this to Gundham just to prove he really loved you? That wasn’t even any of his business! And what was that hope bullshit he kept going on about?

“Ngh...M-my love?”

Your gaze shot over to Gundham’s face at the soft mumblings, and you saw him blinking open his eyes. The breeder began attempting to pull himself up, and you ran over to his side to help him. After you got him into a sitting position, you smiled softly at him. “How did you sleep, Gundham? Do you feel alright?” You asked him.

“I slept quite well knowing I had you looking over me, my angel.” Your boyfriend replied, returning your smile. “As for how I am feeling...” He frowned and looked down at his stomach. “I must admit, I have felt better. This stinging reminds me of when I was bitten by a dreaded viper.”

You sighed. “I’m sure. I’m so sorry, Gundham. I wish there was more I could do to stop the pain.”

The breeder frowned and reached a hand up, cupping your face. “Cease that at once, my love. You have done all you can to heal me, and I owe you my life. This is not your fault, so do not apologize. Understood?”

You smiled softly and nodded. “Alright. If you say so, Gundham. I understand.”

He chuckled lightly and pulled your face down to kiss you. When he pulled away, he looked down to the Devas that were nuzzling his face happily. “Were my subordinates well behaved and helpful?” He asked you, scratching Cham-P behind his ear.

You giggled and nodded. “Yes, they were.” You told him. “They kept me calm when I was worried about you. And they kept you company while you slept.”

Gundham looked down to Jum-P still slumbering in his scarf and chuckled. “I can see that. Well, I am glad they assisted you, my queen.”

You smiled down at the little critters. “They were very helpful.” You looked away from them and over to Gundham’s wound, and your smile fell. “...I need to change your bandage.”

Your boyfriend followed your gaze and scowled. “It would appear so.” He muttered, then let out a sigh. “Very well. Let us get it over with.”

You nodded, and after getting the supplies left by Mikan, you began to tend to Gundham’s wound, cleaning the cut and reapplying the bandage.

You heard Gundham hiss softly as you did, letting out a quiet curse. “I will banish that pathetic worm to hell.” He growled through his teeth as he clenched the bed sheets.

“I’m sorry, Gundham.” You apologized. “I’m doing all I can to make it not hurt.”

“Not for that reason.” He corrected you. “I do not care if I am inflicted with pain. What he is going to be destroyed for is his attempt to make this your fate.” He looked into your eyes. “I am used to feeling pain. I do not wish for you to ever have to be hurt, my queen.”

You couldn’t help but smile softly at that. You couldn’t believe you doubted for even a second that Gundham loved you. You leaned over and placed a light kiss on his cheek as you finished wrapping the new bandages around his wound. “Well I don’t want you being hurt either, my dark dumbass, so let’s try to protect each other without taking a bullet, alright?” You giggled.

Gundham chuckled in response. “Very well, my fallen angel. If you insist.” He gently caressed your face and pulled you closer so he could kiss you lovingly, the both of you closing you eyes as you enjoyed the kiss.

When you pulled apart from the kiss, you smiled at him. “You should get more rest, my king.” You told him. “I’ll be right here while you do. And I don’t plan on ever leaving.”

~~~

Hope that was what you had in mind! I like this prompt. Making Nagito the bad guy is fun, even if I do love the guy lol

[otherworldly-healer]

Challenge Part 2 [The Sage Family Reunion] [~2770 Words]

The group ventured into the forest, the fog becoming ever more dense as they walked forward. This was the direction that Raine had been told the couple was spotted. Still, it had been a few days since that had been reported around town. They could be anywhere in the Mistwood by now. Their only hope was to shout out into the trees, looking for wanderers. Every now and again they would see a creature made of mist and skeletal remains far off in the distance, watching, almost as if it was waiting for the perfect time to strike. The group had fought off some weaker mist creatures already, about the size of a common raccoon. They were easy enough to scare away with their weapons alone, as well as some of the Monster Warding potions that Raine had brought along. She knew there were more coming though. It was only a matter of time.

After two hours of walking, the group had traveled southbound. Someone finally called out in the distance. The professor and her companions walked in the direction of the voices. Raine knew immediately that it was them. Even after so many years, she remembered the sound clear as day. Once her memories returned to her at the Otherworldly Gate she was sure that she would never forget that sound again. Her father reassuring her everything would be alright as long as they were together. Her mother gently chiding her when she asked for too much, or complained that they could not just find a new, safer place to live. Both of them calling her name to gather her belongings so they could continue walking alone through the wilderness.

When the Sages were finally in their sights, Virginia had been sitting on the ground nursing a bandaged cut on her arm, and Kloitz was kneeling down beside her, tensely looking around to make sure that no monsters were lurking about. He looked tired, as if he had been awake for days. Thinking back on it now, that’s how she ultimately remembered her father in his last months. He was run ragged, always making plans for their next escape, and always on watch for the family’s safety. As much as he tried to hide his worry at that time, a child could always tell when secrets were being kept from them.

Raine frowned, turning back to Lloyd and the others calmly, she asked each of them if they could hang back for a moment so that she might speak to them alone. This was something she had been needing to do for a long time. As fate would have it in her own world she would never get that opportunity…but perhaps here the Stars had actually granted her something of a gift. What Raine had been searching her whole life for—answers.

After two years past meeting with her mother, Raine had already stitched closed some wounds in her heart. She knew where she came from now. Genis told her himself that she was nothing like her mother--a fear that tugged at her ever since her memories had returned. Even through all the hardships they had gone through: homelessness, hunger, the distrust of humans, and finally finding a home of their own, her brother still looked up to Raine. While she still couldn’t forgive her parents for abandoning her and heart felt heavy seeing them together once again, she was not shedding any tears immediately upon seeing them. The night before she had braced herself for this meeting. She hardened her heart once again. Raine remembered that day in Exire, where she couldn’t control her emotions and all she could do was cry and scream, so bitter, angry, and heartbroken at the sight of her mother. But now it was different.

Today, the half elf felt melancholy and pity for her parents. Here were two people that tried so desperately to do the best that they could for their children, doomed in every timeline to a tragic end. They never got to live their happily ever after, growing old together in peace. Instead, they traded everything to make sure that their kids didn’t end up as slaves. Now that she had taken a step back to think about it…their choice was completely selfless. There were still holes missing in the story, and perhaps they could grant her some clarity. After reading her mother’s diary, the woman could no longer feel the fury she once did.

Kloitz rose to his feet as his daughter approached. His eyes studied his daughter a look of shock and denial first crossing his features. He looked between Raine and Virginia, voice caught in his throat, and when he finally spoke, there were tears in his eyes. This was the greatest gift Kloitz would be given in life— the knowledge that his daughter would grow up and the world would not completely break her. There was a light on the other side of the darkness. “Raine…is that you? You’re…you’re all grown up. You look just like your mother.”

Those words still stung to hear. Raine did not want to look in the mirror and see Virginia, but she had to admit that both of the siblings had taken after her appearance much more than their father’s. Raine tried to hold it together, giving Kloitz a shaky smile as he rushed over to wrap his arms around her. As soon as he did, Raine couldn’t help but shed a few tears of her own. Even though she had prepared herself for this moment, it still wasn’t easy to keep herself collected. “Yes, father…It’s me. Genis is here with me too, safe and sound. He’s twelve now. He likes playing with kendamas just like mother always did. He even got accepted into the best school in the country.” Raine pulls out her phone and navigates over to her photos, bringing up a picture of both siblings taken at an ice cream stand here in the city.

Kloitz was overwhelmed, and Virginia rose to place her hand on her daughter’s back to look. Raine winced, attempting to hide a scowl, ultimately feeling guilty for her hesitance towards her mother’s touch. Right. She had spent the last two years—more than that now in Spirale—coming to terms with her anger. If there was anyone she should be angry at, it was the Imperial Research Academy. They were ultimately the cause of this family’s destruction. It would take even more time for Raine to accept that, but for the moment she could at least try to set aside her feelings. They didn’t have much time here. It was dangerous. She would have to get to the point.

“And you? What have you been doing in all this time?” Virginia asked.

“I am...a teacher. Just a teacher in a small village.” The full truth was too fantastical. She really didn’t see herself how the world did, anyway, and so she kept it to herself. But to her parents, Raine didn’t need to be a hero. They knew just how much she loved to learn and explore. The Sages immediately knew that her daughter was on a path that she chose herself, and in a profession she always would have wanted.

“We’ve been granted a little bit of time to talk, but when you last saw me I was only eleven. I bet you both want to get back to Tethe’alla, don’t you? …What was the last thing both of you remember?” Her parents looked at each other cautiously and then back to Raine.

“We were on the boat... It was storming on the sea. You had just gone overboard and we pulled you out. You were so shaken, and the boat was headed for safer waters. We were on our way to—huh, where was it again, honey?” Her father wore a nervous smile. Kloitz was trying his best to be positive, like he always had.

“Altamira.” Virginia piped up. Raine hung her head, still being held between both of her parents. They couldn’t even be honest with her now.

“Heh…right. Except we weren’t.” Raine’s expression soured. “Genis and I never got to see Altamira. You asked the ship captain to make a detour. We ended up at the Otherworldly Gate. Genis and I were sent through alone. Mother told me to hold him, and then sent us to go ‘play’ in the ruins. You knew it would take us to Sylvarant…except we never made it there together.” Kloitz and Virginia looked to the group behind her, as if asking silently whether it was alright to be having this conversation here and now. It’s not like she would ever get the chance again.

“Don’t mind them. They know about all of this… Mostly.” The half elf said sternly. Her mother shrank, seeing how severe her daughter had become over the years. She was no longer acting like the child she knew—mischievous and sneaky, joyful and always reassuring her mother that they would be alright, just like she was mimicking Kloitz. No…the world had changed her. In the end, Kloitz and Virginia could not protect her from hardship and suffering.

“Raine…we wouldn’t have done that if we thought there was any other way.” Virginia began crying, her head helplessly falling in her hands. “We got passage onto that ship in a hurry. It wasn’t even a passenger ship. The Research Academy found us in the forest and we were all so tired of running, even you. We could see it in your eyes, even if you wouldn’t tell us. You kept asking us if we would ever find a safe place and it broke our hearts. We wanted you to know a life where you didn’t have to run anymore. The full moon would line up with right when we got there, so we figured that there wouldn’t have been another opportunity we could find to see you to safety! We were going to go together!” Her mother exclaimed, hiccuping.

“Then…what happened?” Raine looked out into the distant fog, picking through her memories of that night. She remembered Virginia in front of her, just out of reach. But where was Kloitz at that time? Had he even made it onto the island? No… he was back on the ship. The Otherworldly Gate only activated for a moment on the full moon. So, if he hadn’t been with them to catch the portal… Kloitz would have been left alone in Tethe’alla. If Raine had Genis, at least none of the family would be truly alone. So…that’s what happened. Virginia didn’t want Kloitz to be left behind. He was her entire world. Raine gritted her teeth. She knew deep down she needed the answer to this question, as it had been nagging at her ever since she went to Welgaia. “D-do you ever regret having us? If we were never born, you would not have been chased by the Research Academy. You could have found another home. Father wouldn’t have had to—he…”

Raine could not finish the sentence. If the last thing that they remembered was the boat, they wouldn’t know that Kloitz would die. She wouldn’t ruin their last remaining month together by telling them of their fate. They could only be positive for so long without breaking down. When you’re a child most think that your parents are your heroes—infallible and always knowing what is best. What she learned from being something of a parent herself was that nobody really knew what was best. The truth was…Kloitz and Virginia had really thought this was their only choice. They were not all-powerful or omniscient. They were just…people. Afraid and full of uncompromising love. They were victims of fate just like the siblings were, and when Raine finally realized that…maybe she already had forgiven her parents. Raine stared at her boots. Deep down she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from them. Before she could see the look in her parents’ eyes, Kloitz brought her into a tight hug again. This time Virginia would join them in the embrace and Raine would not be able to to contain herself, shaking before crying into her father’s coat.

“Sweetie, we love you and your brother more than anything. It’s the world that’s wrong to hate you for your being born to us. We wouldn’t do a single thing different in our lives. Having you gave our lives meaning. You completed us by making us a family…and we’re so proud that it seems like you’ve found people that you care for as well, and who care for you in return.” Kloitz smiled widely, looking back at her team. He was sad to think that she would ever consider herself a burden to them, but he also understood that starting from birth, that is all that a half-elf is told from humans and elves. They’re scorned and ostracized and live in danger of being used as tools. Virginia took some tissues she had hoarded in her pocket and passed them around between the three Sages assuring Raine that she felt the same as her father did. “I wish we had more time to catch up, honey. But your mother and I have to make sure that you two make it to Sylvarant on time.”

At his last comment, Raine would only smile at him dismally. She didn’t want to tell her parents how much they struggled to survive on Sylvarant. It wouldn’t change what had happened in the past. Her life so far had already been set in stone, and no amount of wishing would change her life’s path. She heard what she needed to hear. They were loved. They did their best for their kids, even if there were any other options—for better or worse those actions when she was eleven turned her into who she was today. And finally…finally, she could see her mother as she remembered her. She recognized her daughter. She was still her mother, not the mother of some straw doll left behind in the girl’s belongings. After a couple of minutes Raine had been able to compose herself to a point where she could stand tall once again. She clears her throat.

“Now it’s my turn to protect you. With the help of my friends here.” She would introduce them all, being vague on how they each met. It was too much to go over, especially when there were monsters crawling about. “So…I imagine since you’re here in the Mistwood, this is where the Stars directed you to go?”

Kloitz bent down to the ground where they had originally been sitting. He pointed to a line that he had drawn in the dirt, and Raine leaned down to inspect it. This felt just like when she was a kid. They would often make games out of discerning animal tracks or identifying different herbs and plants. Now the stakes felt higher, but…maybe they always had been after all.

“If we walk past this line, these skeleton monsters made of mist will come after us, but behind this point we seem to be safe. It reminds me of Gaoracchia. Those monsters are how your mother got all scratched up there. Well-sort of. Someone fell down when one of them appeared and got scratched up by a rock. Then a hero swooped in to save the day.” Virginia huffed at her husband and placed her hands on her hips, not appreciating the playful critique of her reaction to almost being killed. Raine noted that her father had been wearing some leather armor underneath his jacket, and he had a sword at his hip, though knowing the Stars he had not been granted a very useful one. At least he knew how to protect himself. “We were told to go past the boundary of the forest. If you successfully brought us there, they would allow us to go back to our time.” Virginia clarified.

The half elf turned back towards her companions, feeling somewhat renewed and ready to take on the monsters. They were relying on her now. That’s right—she’d grown strong, reliable, and against all odds, capable of helping to save two entire worlds. Not bad for a girl who only ever dreamed of being a small town teacher! Raine dug her staff into the ground proudly, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Alright everyone. That’s enough of that. Gather round. I’ve got a plan.”

[waitimcomingtoo]

(1/2) hii thank you for being so nice about the questions i had a few days ago! i was wondering if you could write a fic where peter and the reader are best friends and he often comes to her for help after getting hurt on patrol but instead of being super soft and sweet about it she always gets upset with him. not like yelling or anything but shes always like “dude youre literally bleeding all over my carpet” and “omg seriously peter? again? for someone with a peter tingle you get hurt so much”

Patches

Pairing: Best friend!Peter Parker x Reader

Masterlist

Requests are CLOSED

These days, Peter Parker felt more like your patient than your best friend.

Even before he became Spider-Man, Peter would come to you for healing, whether it be emotional or physical. You were his shrink, his nurse, and his best friends all in one. You had every title you possible could. All but one, the one that mattered the most.

Girlfriend.

Of course, you still loved and cared for Peter, and you were happy to help him when he needed it. But these endless nights spent patching him up were making you grow weary. He didn’t seem to realize that his Spider-Man duties kept you up just as much as it kept him up. You’d grown accustomed to the constant exhaustion and ever present bags under your eyes. And don’t be mistaken, Peter was thankful. At least, in the beginning he was. He too had grown accustomed. He knew he always had a place to go when he needed help. It was second nature for him to go to you. And you couldn’t blame him. You’d let him come to you time after time, never turning him away.

“Why are you still up?” He’d ask as he found your half asleep over your chemistry text book for the third time that week.

“I’m always up this late.” You said through a yawn as gathered your first aid kit. Not a complete lie. You were always up this late. But not because you were studying or doing school work, which is what you told Peter. It was because you couldn’t go to sleep until you knew he was home safe, even if you wanted too. Your concern for him kept you up late into the night, every single night. This was the nightly dance you did, and it was bringing you to your knees. You gave him everything. All your time, energy, and attention. And yet, he was still blind to your feelings. You were tired of the platonic cuddles in your bed after you patched him up, and tired of the empty feelings behind them. His soft “thank you”s while you dressed his wounds weren’t assuaging you anymore. You wanted to walk down the hallway, holding the hand you bandaged up. You wanted to link your arm through his bruised one. You wanted to kiss his busted lips, when they weren’t busted of course. And most of all, you wanted to come on his adventures with him. Peter always told you stories of the bad guys he caught as you patched him up. In return, you’d scold him for being reckless as he rolled his eyes. You were never actually angry. You were jealous. Jealous he gave the bad men of Queens more attention than he gave you. You just wanted to be apart of his world. You wanted to swing around the city in his arms. You didn’t want to be his nurse anymore, you wanted to be his everything. If he had all of you, why couldn’t you have all of him?

On one night in particular, the sharp sound of Peters knocking woke you up just as you finally managed to doze off. You woke up with a start and snapped your head towards the window. Peter sat on your fire escape with a black eye, a bloody nose, and a pained smile. He gave you a tired wave and you sighed. You stomped over to the window and flung it open.

“What?” You grouched.

“Woah.” Peter laughed lightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You blinked and shook your head. “Sorry. Come in. And don’t get blood on my window.”

“Doctors orders.” Peter quipped.

“Right.” You said absentmindedly. He was quick to notice your indifference and gave you a strange look.

You scrambled to get the first aid kit, trying to calm yourself down so you wouldn’t snap at Peter any further. But he was making that very very difficult. You came back into your room to find him sitting on your bed, head to the ceiling with a tissue pressed tightly against his nose. In his wake, small drops of blood left a trail from your window to your bed.

“Dude, you’re literally bleeding all over my carpet.” You told him, nodding towards the blood. He looked and it and gave you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry.” He said sincerely, and you sighed.

“It’s fine. Just keep your head back.” You instructed. He knew what to do.

“Y/n, I have to tell you something.” Peter spoke up as you got to work on his more obvious wounds. You stood between his legs as he sat in your bed, just inches from each other’s faces. All he had to do was lean up, as if he ever would.

“Yes, Peter?” You asked, looking into his starry eyes. He had a serious look on his face, making your heart flutter. Could this finally be it? Peter gave you a lopsided smile, and your heart pounded in anticipation.

“Could you re-wrap my hand? It’s a little too tight.” He said, making your heart fall. You felt stupid for even thinking something would happen.

“Sure.” You grumbled, snatching the gauze off the bed. Peter immediately put his hand over yours to stop you.

“I’m kidding. That’s not what I wanted to say.” Peter said again, when he noticed your angry mood. He’d do anything to make you smile.

“Go on.” You said lowly, not wanting to get your hopes up again.

“I wanted to say thank you, for everything. All the bandaids, and ointment, and gauze. All of it. I’m really grateful to have you on my team, even if I don’t always show it. I love you.” Peter told you, making your forgive him almost immediately. You gave him a warm smile.

“I love you too.” You answered.

“Hold still.” Peter asked. You obliged.

Ever so slowly, Peter leaned in. His hand came up to cup your cheek and your breath hitched in your throat. Just before your lips could touch, Peter grimaced and rubbed his thumb on your eyes.

“Sorry. You had the biggest eye booger.” He laughed as he flicked it off his finger.

You let out a breath of disappointment and retreated back to your spot. He wasn’t trying to kiss you. He was never trying to kiss you. You felt hot tears of embarrassment sting your eyes at his actions, and suddenly desperately wanted to be alone.

“Is that it?” You asked sharply, referring to his wounds. You just wanting him to leave. Peter could tell you were in a bad mood, and wondered if he’d done something to cause it.

“There’s something else, but it’s small.” Peter said in a strange way.

“What is it?” You asked cautiously.

“I got hacked.” Peter said bluntly.

“What?” You asked. “Like your computer?”

“No, not that kind of hacked.” Peter shook his head.

“What other kind of hacked is there?” You wondered, getting frustrated with him again.

“Like, with a machete.” Peter said finally.

“With a what now?” You deadpanned.

Peter pressed the spider on his chest and his suit immediately pooled around his waist. Your cheeks burned at the sight as he struggled to unstick his arm from the inside of his sleeve. When he got it out, you saw a deep gash in his forearm, the deepest you’d ever seen. You lightly touched the wound with one hand, the other hand flying over your mouth in shock.

“Who,” your voice cracked so you cleared your throat, “who did this to you?” You immediately got to work stitching it up as he explained himself.

“Some guy.” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t get a look at his face. I wasn’t watching his hands, and he threw it at me.”

“Why didn’t you dodge it?” You asked angrily, making Peter furrow his brows.

“I didn’t see it.” He said as he drew his arm away from you when he began to tug too hard on the stitches.

“How did you not see a machete flying at you?” You practically yelled. “For someone with a ‘Peter Tingle’, you sure do get hurt a lot.”

“Ow. That hurts coming from you.” Peter said with hurt evident in his voice. You don’t care at that point. He could do with some damage.

“Oh, do you want a bandaid? You’ve never been shy about coming to me for one before.” You snapped in bitter sarcasm, folding your arms and turning away from Peter. Peter stood up abruptly, knowing something was definitely wrong now.

“I’m sorry, are you mad at me?” Peter asked, matching your anger. “Did I do something wrong.”

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you never do anything at all.” You yelled at him, referring to him not kissing you again and again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter asked, equal parts annoyance and confusion.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” You held up your hands in defense.

“Why are so angry with me?” Peter asked defensively. He wasn’t expected to be met with harsh words and your sharp tone. He’d come to you for comfort.

“I’m not angry.” You snapped, wanting to clear that up right away. “It’s the opposite. Do you have any idea how relived I am when you come knocking at my window for help?”

“No.” Peters said, dumbfounded. “Why?”

“Because it means you’re alive.” You said, feeling tears threaten to spill over your eyelids if you didn’t get a handle on your emotions soon. Peter was surprise led by your answer, and stood there silently. Your eyes softened at the sight of him not knowing what to say.

“I’m not mad about the blood stains, or the mess, or even the late nights.” You said gently. “I’m mad that I can only protect you from infections and scars, and not the evil men out on the streets. I’m mad that no matter how many bad guys you take down, there’s always more. I’m mad that the safety of New York has become the responsibility of a 16 year old boy, whose been through enough as it is and deserves a normal life. I’m mad that my best friend fights crime every night and I never know if he’s gonna make it back. And I’m mad that I never know if the last time I saw you was the last time I’ll ever see you.” You picked up passion and anger as you rattled off your feelings, the ones you’d bottled up for so long. Peter listened to you carefully, seeing you in a new light. He could see you were upset, and felt regretful for causing it. You rubbed your arms and held yourself, turning away from Peter so he wouldn’t see you cry.

“Y/n.” Peter said softly, reaching for you. You pulled away.

“Forget it, Peter.” You muttered.

“I can’t make it right if you don’t talk to me, Y/n.” Peter said solemnly. Of course he’d take the high road, only angering you further. You whipped around to look at him.

“Fine. You want to talk? You want to know what I’ve been keeping in?” You asked him, getting closer with every word until you were in his face.

“Yes.” He laughed sadly. He was desperate to know.

“Do you know what time I’d go to bed every night if I wasn’t busy waiting up for you? Early. Really, really early because I’m exhausted day after day. I had to learn to love the taste of coffee just so I could keep myself awake for you. I had to teach myself how I do sutures and how to properly disinfect a stab wound for you. And every single night, I have to worry myself sick, desperately hoping you make it back alive to knock on my window. Everything I do, every decision, action, and choice I make is for you.” You pointed a finger at him every time you said “you.”

“I don’t ask you to do any of that.” Peter said quietly.

“Exactly! You don’t ask me to, but I do it. And I won’t ever stop. Helping you has become a permanent facet of my personality, and now I’m stuck with it.” You turned away again and held yourself in your arms. Peter was angry now.

“I didn’t realize I was such a burden.” Peter said bitterly.

“But it’s not a burden!” You cried. “That’s what I’m trying to say, Peter. You’re not a burden to me. You can come to me with your cuts and I will give you patches. I will give you everything, until I have nothing left. I’ll just give and give and give, and it’s leaving me empty.”

“So you’re mad at me because you care too much about me?” Peter retaliated. You sighed and looked at the ceiling. He wasn’t getting it, and you were in too deep to back out now.

“No.” You whined.

“Then what are you mad about?” Peter said desperately. He put his hands on your shoulders and made you look at him, silently pleading for you to tell him what was wrong.

“I just told you.” You said weakly.

“Well I don’t get it.” Peter said in defeat.

“Of course you don’t. You never do and you never will.” Your sadness turned to anger again and you broke away from Peter.

“Then explain it to me.” Peter shouted. Your froze. He never raised his voice at you. Before you could stop it, you felt everything erupting out of you at once.

“How am I supposed to explain to my best friend that I’m in love with him?” You yelled, causing all anger in Peter to dissipate. “I’ve been in love with you for years, and you can’t see it. Why can’t you see that?” Your voice cracked at the end and you adverted your eyes.

“You’re what?” Peter said, barely above a whisper. He was frozen where he stood, carful not to upset you further.

“Don’t make me say it again.” You pleaded through your tears of embarrassment.

“You don’t have to.” Peter breathed.

Before you knew what was happening, Peters lips were on yours. He held your face gently, despite his super strength. Peter kissed you firmly, but not to forceful as to where you couldn’t pull away. It was just right. He felt just right. You smiled to yourself, thinking how this was a rare night when he didn’t have a busted lip. When Peter pulled away, he had an apologetic look in his eyes.

“If I had known, I would’ve done that the day you fell for me.”, Peter said sincerely, causing a smile to tug at your lips, “because I promise you, I loved you first.”

“You love me?” You whispered.

“Y/n, I’m on Mr. Starks billion dollar insurance plan, and yet I come to a high school girl with Scooby doo bandaids every night for treatment. I don’t do it because you’re a convenient place to stop to get patched up. I do it because I can’t go to sleep at night without seeing your perfect face. I love the nights I get to sleep in your bed, and “accidentally” cuddle you in my sleep. I love watching you bite your lip as you concentrate on sewing me up. And I love you. All of you.” Peter confessed. You broke out into a full smile and wrapped your arms around his neck. He happily hugged you back and held you tightly. “Even when you’re yelling at me for getting hacked up by a machete which is completely out of my control.” He said into your ear, making you pull away.

“You have a fifth sense! You should be able to dodge a machete.” You protested, genuinely invested in the topic.

“I have a sixth sense, darling, and it’s harder than you think.” Peter defended his tingle.

“But-“ You began but Peter held a finger to your lips.

“Ah ah ah.” He said softly, drawing you closer and pressing another kiss to your lips. He was an awkward and clumsy kisser, but it was everything you ever imagined. “I’m not about to spend our first night as a couple fighting about whether or not I should be able to dodge machetes.”

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona @sunrise-shawn @meghan-8520xx @writing-for-hours-on-end @lavender-writer @captainmandeestudent17 @whatareyouhidingpeter

[lotornomiko]

The Broken Hearted Comfort One (Not safe for work)

Decided to do some improving on the existing chapters...some tweaking in an attempt to make them flow and read better. I don't believe I ever posted the first versions here either....if I can get the cuts to work, I will be posting them all to my tumblr as I go over them...(Couldn't get the post editor to do a cut for 16 no matter what I tried yesterday...)

Hook Belle coupling, once Upon A Time fanfic...

It begins with a look, just that of two pairs of eyes chancing a meeting from across the bar. Neither one of them means to do it, but it happens all the same. Grieving blue meets a gaze equally full of such similar a sorrow, sparking a reaction in the two.

The woman is the first to look away, to glance down at the mug she's nursing. Hook stares at her a moment longer, then turns away with the startled realization that he KNOWS her. He might not know her name, or where she is from, but he knows where she spends her nights. Or at least part of them, Hook acknowledging that she's always been at the tavern long before he has arrived, and is probably still there long after he leaves. And always, she just sits at the bar, nursing that one drink, with the same despondent look in her eyes.

It's a look he knows well, Hook having seen it gaze back in full in his own mirror’s glass. It's one that has been reflected there since the day that his Milah had died, his love a woman who had been savagely murdered by her own coward of a husband. On that day, with her brutal passing, a part of Hook had died as well, his heart all but torn from his chest the way that Milah's had been.

His sole remaining hand tightens on his own mug, Hook staring off at nothing with those memories sparking vivid in his head. He doesn't realize that his grief shows all the more, or the fact that the woman is looking at him once again. Staring at him with an open mouthed recognition, a kind of sorrow eyed sympathy shown his way. She can't possibly know what he's been through, but she does acknowledge it as a twin to her own grief.

The woman quickly looks away, when she realizes he has noticed. Hook can't help but stare at her, wondering what--WHO had put such a similar look of pain in her eyes. His own sympathetic gaze is cast on her, knowing her for what she is. A woman whose heart has been thoroughly broken, just as Hook's has been.

It didn't matter the circumstances of her situation. He wasn't looking to make a friend. Wasn't looking for anything except a minute or two of relief, the kind of peace drinks alone could not grant him. And yet he kept turning back to her, studying her, noticing things beyond the sad blue of her eyes.

Like her hair, which was a rich chestnut brown color, full of long curls that were draped and gathered over the front of one shoulder. She wore a pretty blue dress, with plenty of white frills and gold lace. She had a shapely figure, and a beyond lovely face. She was beautiful, even in her torment, Hook wondering why anyone would ever want to hurt her and tear the smile off of her face.

But he wasn't going to ask, wasn't going to even think of the potential reasons for her hurt. Because if he did, he'd want to kill someone, want to hunt down the monster who had made this beautiful woman hurt so badly. And that was something he couldn't devote time or energy to, Hook having a mission, a single minded purpose, existing all on the desire to avenge his murdered and broken heart, that of his Milah.

He thinks of her raven black hair then, of ivory pale skin, and those piercing eyes that had seemed to always see past his swagger, to the man Hook was---had once been inside. Milah had always able to make him feel things, exciting and new, revealing unexpected facets of Hook, she still affected him now. But it was all dark in his head now, his eyes a blue dulled with his own monumental pain and sadness.

Coins abruptly clattered on the bar's countertop, Hook leaving his drink unfinished. He wouldn't even look again at the woman in blue, stalking towards a side exit of the tavern. It had started raining outside, a cold spray heavy enough to send the townspeople all fleeing indoors. Hook lingered undecided for one moment more, then stepped out into the rain. Someone follows behind him, and Hook wonders just who can be that foolish. Especially when they then follow him into an alley, Hook turning, grabbing at an arm, then hearing a woman gasp. Hook might have gasped too, staring shocked for one moment, at the woman from the bar. Then reason comes back to him, Hook gripping her arm tighter, forcing a pained sound out of her.

"Why did you follow me?!" He demands, his harsh sounding voice making her flinch for one moment longer, before she gathers up her courage.

"I wanted to ask....wanted to know if it will get better."

He doesn't have to ask her what she means by that, not when they match each other so perfectly in the pain that they feel. Nor can he give her an answer, any hope, Hook just shrugging back.

The woman seems to deflate before him, as though what little hope she had been clinging to, has now extinguished completely. And still she is beautiful, even as the rain soaks her tired form down, and plasters her hair and her clothing against her.

She doesn't seem at all fearful that she is alone in an alley with a stranger. Has she gone stupid from the pain, or does she simply not care what could happen to her? But he well knows the answer already, Hook too having long having abandoned caring if he lived or he died, simply existing instead.

"This is no way to live." Hook mutters out loud, and the woman nods. But what choice do they have, when caught in the grip of their own private heart breaks.

"I just want it to stop." The woman confesses. Is she starting to cry? But with the storm on her cheeks, he can't tell tears from actual rain drops. "I just want the pain to go away, to feel something other than this heart break."

It is then that Hook realizes he is still gripping her arm, and that she's not even attempting to get away. In fact she moves towards him when he pulls, her head tilting back just enough to keep on looking him in the face.

He's not the one she should be looking to for comfort. He can't even fix his own heart, let alone that of any other. Not with the pain still so fresh, so new. With th wound that Milah's death has dealt him, keeping on festering inside him, hollowing out his heart so that he can feel nothing of love and hope and happiness.

The grief that is so relentless inside of him, goes blessedly quiet the instant his mouth covers hers. It's not a true peace that he has attained, the kiss unable to keep his sorrow away for forever. But it will do the job for at least a few minutes, Hook realizing he wants to lose himself in this woman. And from the eager way that she is attempting to kiss him back, he realizes that she feels the same way.

The kiss isn't anything like the ones he had shared with MIlah. This woman is more an inexperienced girl, than that of a practiced seductress. She doesn't at all know what she is doing, but what she lacks in expertise, she makes up for in enthusiasm. Kissing with the same raw need, and desperation that Hook feels, both wanting to know something other than the pain. Hook can only marvel at what a fool the person who had broken her heart must have been, this woman eager for kisses, for just even a little affection. It's downright criminal for one to have ignored her, to have refused lips as sweet as hers. It makes him want to teach her, to show her what it felt like to kiss and be kissed back.

She makes a soft, startled sound, but doesn't outright hesitate when his tongue twines with hers. He makes his own groan of sound, deeply gratified when she laves her tongue back, the woman learning the play of it, and seeming to enjoy it.

Hook enjoys it too, his hand letting go of her arm, to catch instead at her hair. Gripping it and her steady, then losing his own focus when her hands touch on his sides. It's over his coat, and probably means nothing more than an attempt to keep her balance, and yet the mere idea of this woman touching him any where, makes him wild. Completely frenzied, Hook walking her back, to pin her against the alleyway's thick brick wall.

Kissing her harder, then pulling back, his forehead then lightly resting against hers. Water pours off the both of them, the two staring into each other's eyes. Both of them are panting, their heavy breaths echoing oddly amid the rain. Hook stares and sees not just confusion, but a lost, helpless look, the same one that he is surely wearing. They both want peace, they both might want someone to share the pain, but most of all they both want this moment, the woman issuing out a breathy plea.

"Don't stop."

He couldn't, not even if she had begged him to do otherwise. He needed her, needed the comfort she could provide. Hook didn't care that this was insane, that this didn't solve anything, for him or for her. He just wanted, and as a pirate, he was used to taking that which he desired.

It wouldn't be anything like she deserved. He couldn't, wouldn't show her the care a woman such as this needed, couldn't allow himself to make this moment into something more than it was. He was not some hero in a story, and she was not his happily ever after. Hook didn't even believe there was a chance for him, no longer daring to wish for more, to want for anything more than revenge and a quick death after.

This time when he kissed her, it was almost angry but Hook didn't know who that feeling was for. Himself or for her, or for the things that could not be, the future they could not give each other.

His tongue harsh, his lips bruising, Hook kissed her as though he would devour the woman whole. She tried to match his pace, to match the near violent intensity he displayed, mewling sounds escaping out her throat. Her hands clutched at his coat, the woman feeling so small while she trembled against him, but ever so soft and so pliant.

Knowing she had to be freezing from the rain, he STILL sliced through the laces of her dress' corseted back with the hook that had taken the place of his severed hand. The dress didn't immediately fall down to her hips, too rain soaked to do anything but cling to curves he was sure were perfect. Hook nearly groaned with impatience, wanting her bared to the waist, but not wanting to take the time to tug and pull down that skin tight bodice.

It proved more than worth the effort, Hook rewarded with a sight that was glorious. Round, full breasts, with small but rosy looking nipples, the rain water leaving slick trails all along her freezing skin. He hadn't even needed to touch her, the chill making those nipples stand out. Greedy, he tasted one, his open mouth enveloping it fully. The woman seemed to jerk back in surprise, a hitch to her breath a moment before she arched her back and pressed her breast more firmly against his lips. And then she was moaning, Hook's mouth teasing, making the woman shiver and shake against him.

Her hands went to his hair, holding, encouraging him. His hand went under her dress, kneading the inside of her thigh for just a moment. And then he was pressing his knee against her, forcing her legs to part and straddle around him. She mewled, and tugged on his hair, forcing him up from her breasts so that they could share a kiss once more.

Tongues seeming to duel against one another, Hook's hand dropped to the front of his pants, fingers more clumsy than they should ever be. Somehow, without the aid of his hook, he got the leather open, his cock springing free and erect, and touching against her. She shifted to see, and that was when he tore off the voluminous amount of fabric that served as her under garments, Hook hauling the woman onto him.

She cried out, her nails digging into him in retaliation for the hurt he had just done her. There was the pained glimmer of tears in her eyes, the woman looking almost betrayed. Hook wondered if that was the same look she had given the man who had broken her heart, but quickly shrugged free of all thought, not wanting to give in to anything like guilt for having hurt her.

Keeping her pinned against the wall, Hook began to move. Not caring about her, about anything but the moment, and the fact that it was now silent in his head. Revenge, Rumplestiltskin, even Milah was forgotten, Hook completely in the moment, his lean but powerful hips working. Forcing his way into the deepest part of the young woman pinned before him, feeling every inch of her passage work to expand and give way, and still remaining ever so gloriously tight.

He cried out, not recognizing his own voice. Not aware of anything except the all consuming lust that had pitched through him, Hook feeling frenzied and feverish. Needing to come, and not wanting the moment to end, his hips bucking wildly, with little art or expertise, Hook bit down on the crook of the woman's shoulder. She cried out too, but he couldn't make out the words, his tongue laving over the bite mark he had left her. His good hand lay flat against the wall besides her, Hook ruthlessly driving himself into her, relying on the bricks to hold against their combined weight.

Her nails were drawing blood, the woman's breasts bouncing with each thrust of his. He could feel a wetness that didn't have anything to do with the rain or her maiden's blood, the woman's body at last fully accepting him, though its attempt at preparations had been woefully delayed. Hook knew he should have helped her, should have eased her into her first sexual experience better. For that matter he shouldn't have taken her in some side alley, should have given her the bed and comforts a virgin would have required. A dozen more should of came to mind, and were quickly dismissed, Hook knowing it too late to change anything, even the fact that he was about to come, and she was not.

His cock actually jerked inside her, his climax erupting harder than he could ever previously remember. He actually thought he saw stars, so dazed was he by the orgasm, just continuing to standi there while going flaccid inside her. Both of them were breathing heavy, Hook resting his head on her shoulder. And as his breath began to even out, the memories began to come back. First trickling in, then becoming a full out flood, Hook remembering it all, Milah, Rumplestiltskin, the horrific murder of his loved one, the need for revenge. And besides it, was the memory of the woman he had just had sex with, Hook not daring to look at her face, not wanting her betrayed expression to add to his future torments.

Not looking at her, he pulled out, and then set her down none too gently on her feet. He'd go to take a step away from her, and she'd sway, Hook spinning to catch her in his arms. It was an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability, Hook feeling bad for what he had done, for how he had treated her. He'd feel worse after she recovered, her delicate hand then slapping hard across his face.

"Beast!" The woman proclaimed, hurriedly pulling up her dress a moment before she took shaky flight off into the night. Hook didn't try to stop her, fought even the desire to turn and watch her run away. His cheek belzard with hurt, the woman having struck him hard enough to leave a mark of her own. He deserved worst, his shaking hand touching first his cheek, and then his lips where the taste of her still lingered.

The encounter had been a mistake, he was sure of it. One he wouldn't be repeating. With her, with any woman, Hook deciding this was the last time he'd be unfaithful to Milah's memory. It didn't matter that it seemed an unreasonable promise, Hook hating himself in the moment. Swearing off sex, off drinking, and off beautiful strangers who wore pretty dresses. Especially ones whose eyes were as hurt as his.

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

To Be Continued.....

8/24/2021 Updated and Tweaked a fair bit to try and make it flow better without outright overhauling and rewriting the entire story from scratch. Will try to tweak the other chapters as well!

Michelle

[honsoolie]

don’t rush | 01

pairing: Yoongi/reader 

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, eventual smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings (for this chapter only): y/n has awful stage fright/performance anxiety, alcohol is mentioned, swearing, sexual references

words: 6.6k 

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi's face isn't screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you'd have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: I’ve been reading fanfics for years and finally bit the bullet! I’m currently working on the other chapters and will have them up soon... and I promise there will be significantly more action in them ;) This is also crossposted to ao3, so you can check it out there too! 

You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Even the back of his head is enticing as you stare at him in the middle of your Beethoven lecture. You struggle to focus to take notes on Beethoven’s genius deviations from sonata form, as Yoongi leans back and stretches his arms above his head. You wish you could see him from the front, see what his expression looks like when he’s not telling you to get the fuck out of his practice room. Instead, you settle for watching him bounce his leg up and down, now hunched over his notes.

Fuck, it’s been a long time since you’ve felt that uneasiness in the pit of your stomach. The butterflies start to bubble up every time you see him, even in passing. You’ve never been able to escape his presence on campus, seeing him everywhere but never actually speaking.

Any time you’ve seen him on campus, he’s always with Taehyung - Taehyung being the other violinist in the tiny music department. You see them often on campus, walking together between the cafe and the music building. You see Yoongi when he’s alone in the cafe, nursing a coffee and brooding over some orchestral score, or in passing when you’re run-walking between classes to reserve your favorite practice room before anyone else can. And since both of you are music majors in the same year, you’ve shared a majority of the music classes that you’ve taken up until now.

You wonder if he can see the longing written all over your face when you see him in classes, but he never spares you more than a second glance. If that. The most likely scenario is that he doesn’t know you even exist.

Whenever you see him though, all you can do is bite down the nervousness and replay the last (and also first) time that you spoke to him. The hard look in his eye, the way that he slammed the door in your face.

The first time that you talked to Min Yoongi, you could barely look him in the eye. And it’s not because he’s maddeningly gorgeous and even more intimidating. Well, a little bit.

The lack of eye contact had more to do with the fact the headache that had been plaguing you was starting to threaten your ability to stand up straight. Even through your blurry vision and the disapproving pout on his face, he was still so. Fucking. Hot. How was any of this fair?

The exchange you shared with Yoongi was just another incident in the long string of unfortunate mishappenings that one Tuesday morning.

That morning, you weren’t sure if it was your alarm or your throbbing head that woke you up. If the alarm was bothering your roommate, she didn’t stir from her side of the room. You had tried to will yourself awake, making out patterns in the ceiling tile, vision blurring.

You remembered weighing your options, like you did every single morning. You could drag your ass out of bed, and pick up some coffee before rushing to reserve your favorite practice room in the music building. You could take the time to run through some drills for your lesson this week, a little extra practice to escape the scrutiny of your violin teacher.

Or, you could go back to sleep for another couple of hours and just tell your teacher that you’re sick. You groan, knowing what the answer is supposed to be.

The air was cold when you pushed the covers off your body. Even in the dead middle of a long and difficult winter, your university was still too cheap to enable the central heating in your building. You didn’t need to look outside to know that it had been snowing, your room awash in a white glow that you were all too familiar with. Your roommate was still sound asleep, and you had felt the fleeting spark of jealousy at how peaceful she had looked. You still tiptoed around the room trying to get dressed quickly. You just knew you didn’t get enough sleep last night when it started to feel like you were fighting gravity just trying to put pants on. Everything moved in slow motion, shifting like sand.

When you finally started walking, no, trudging , to the music building, you were disappointed to learn that you were right and that it had been snowing. The wind bit at the soft skin underneath your collar, seeping through the fabric of your jeans. The arrival of your every breath was announced by a plume of white vapor. You fucking hate the cold.

Call it intuition, but you could already tell from the start that today wasn’t going to be a good day. The coffee that you had ordered did nothing to soothe the cold that was beginning to ache from the inside out. It left a waxy taste in your mouth when you knocked back some ibuprofen. As you continued the trek to the music building, coffee kept dribbling out from under the lid and into the sleeve of your jacket. Several times you slipped on the melting ice, only catching yourself at the last moment.

Your hands were numb through and through by the time you got inside, struggling to open the locker that kept your violin safe. Shivering and clutching your violin case in your stiff hands, you made your way inside the hall. The inside of the music building of your university was hardly any refuge compared to the conditions outside. You braced yourself, knowing the ordeal you were inevitably going to go through tuning your violin.

Your violin was a fickle mistress. Be it cold, warm, humid, too humid, not humid enough, or even just bad vibes, your violin would go out of tune. The winter weather had not been easy on your instrument, going sharp at even the drop of a hat.

At that early in the morning, you had (foolishly) hoped your favorite practice room was unoccupied. Well, it’s everyone’s favorite practice room. It’s the only one that isn’t completely gross inside, but it’s really just the better of two evils. It has the newest piano of all the other ones in the building, and also the only room without a draft in it, so you won’t go completely flat after twenty minutes of practice.

With your case in one hand and a coffee in the other, there wasn’t a whole lot of grip you can use to open the door to the practice room. You settled for forcing the crook of your elbow into the doorknob and leveraging your body weight against the door. It took a couple tries, when but you got it open, it wasn’t the empty silence you were expecting.

In the dim light of the doorway, all you saw was the shadow of someone hunched over the piano pressed up against the wall, facing away from you. He was so immersed in his playing that he hadn’t noticed you at first. His sheet music was laid out before him in a neat row, and even from your distance you saw the meticulous markings over the music. It looked like a scene out of a movie, the way it took over his whole body, the way he moved over the keys. You saw it in the way that he moved with the phrases, dipping and swelling. He looked like he had always been there, and he’ll always be there.

The figure stopped playing, back still turned to you. He turned around, looking you in the eye.

Of course. Of all the music students to interrupt, it just had to be Yoongi. Fuck, you hate walking in on people practicing. It’s already like competing in the Hunger Games trying to find a suitable practice room. And half the time the rooms stink of dampness or dining hall food or the tears of the hopeless, so imagine adding salt to the wound by interrupting a practice session.

Your genius first reaction was to jump out of the doorway and let the door slam shut, startled.

Even now, sitting two rows behind him in lecture, weeks later, you still cringe at what you had done. You grip your pen a little tighter, trying to keep up with the rest of the class. But you still can’t help yourself from reliving the memory.

~

You had stood outside, frozen in shame.

Before you had the chance to flee, one Min Yoongi appeared at the door. His face was twisted not into a grimace, but it definitely wasn’t a smile, either.

“What do you want,” He huffed out, “I was in the middle of something.”

“Sorry, I-I thought this room was empty.” The words get caught in your throat. You mentally kicked yourself for starting to blush.

“It’s not.” He gestured at his backpack on the ground, various method books littered at his feet. You two stared back at each other, at an impasse.

You remember his tired sigh. “Do you need anything else?” You couldn’t read anything in his expression, taken aback at how curt he had been.

“Uh, no.” You tightened your grip on the handle of your case, and felt the warmth of the coffee seeping into your palm. At that point, there wasn’t a lot left tethering you right now. The heartbeat in your head was beginning to become tangible.

“Okay then. I’m sure there are other practice rooms you can use.” He shut the door, returning to whatever he was practicing, leaving you in stunned silence. If Yoongi was playing right now, you couldn’t hear it.

So there you were, standing in the hall of the music building in the early morning, two hours left until your lesson. Coffee was still dripping down your sleeve, Min Yoongi just slammed a door in your face, and your head feels like it’s going to fucking explode.

Damn you, you had thought to yourself, cursing him through the door. Damn you and your arrogance, and your trendy wire-rimmed glasses, and your long delicate fingers. You stormed off (more like stumbled, given the state of your head) to the adjacent practice room, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Okay, maybe you were being a little overdramatic. He didn’t exactly slam the door in your face. And you didn’t knock. If you didn’t know any better, you would have assumed that he was just being cold. But you’ve been the person in the practice room and you’ve never been thrilled to find that someone had walked in on you after fighting tooth and nail for a practice room.

In a way, it was also about power. You walked in on him in a compromised position, like he was in a state of undress. Well, he kind of was. In your own experience you hate to have anyone hear what you haven’t chosen to show, anything you haven’t perfected to show the outside world. You hate being walked in on, but maybe it’s just you.

Maybe Yoongi was pissed that you had heard him working on a piece that he was struggling with. Maybe he hated your guts. Maybe he was so overwhelmed by your powerful sexual presence that he had no choice but to close the door in your face. You would ponder his intentions more, but class was over. You’d have to wait until Friday to see him again.

~

Johann Sebastian Bach is not a bad person. He’s never done you wrong. In fact, you have never even met him. He’s dead, for god’s sake.

But it really does feel something like vengeance from beyond the grave when it’s two a.m. in the morning, slogging through his music and feeling your shoulder burn under the weight of your violin and the unending pressure of never feeling good enough for anybody.

It’s not like you’re playing Bach’s music for your own selfish enjoyment. His piece, the one you’ve been working on, is your one way ticket to a spot in the annual Bach Festival next month. The festival is the pride and joy of the music program, pulling in big performers and big crowds. Any classical musician has a soft spot for Bach, even just a little. Even you do too, but it wouldn’t be fair to say that right now. Not after you’ve spent the better part of an hour trying not to rip your hair out over the same section. Even without the music of the festival, it’s always a good excuse for the performing music majors to get together afterward and get trashy drunk.

Last year at the afterparty, Taehyung had drunkenly told you that he was jealous of your vibrato while Yoongi stood by, watching in abject embarrassment. Even then, Yoongi didn’t offer you any words.

And it’s not like you are playing in the Bach festival out of your own free will. After some gentle coercion (read: the cold, hard eyes of the music department head, Dr. Yang, boring into the depths of your puny musician soul) you found yourself with a whole new piece to add to this semester’s repertoire and only a month to bring it some musical justice and to commit it to memory.

Don’t ever let Dr. Yang ever hear this, but you’ve never liked this partita this much anyway. Fighting the cold dead ghost of J.S. Bach and his charming partitas is the last thing that you want to do every evening when you really could just be doing anything else.

It’s most definitely not like you’re any stranger to performing and you really want this opportunity, truly. But blending into the gentle melody of the rest of your string quartet or the roar of the orchestra is worlds away from being alone on stage. There’s a comfort in the safety that comes from numbers. It’s easy enough to play for your teacher. The space that the both of you exist in is just right: you see her once a week, and she’s paid to deliver you with honest criticism. It’s straightforward, a mutual agreement.

But performing is different. It’s easy enough to be vulnerable like that in front of someone that just wants you to do better. Someone that you pay to make you get better. Someone that’s been doing it for the better part of their life and will understand the craft better than you ever will. But an open concert hall with anyone? That’s too much.

You’ve tried everything short of hard drugs to remedy the stage fright. Deep breathing exercises, imagining everyone before you is naked (which really, really makes it worse), carbo-loading. At this point, your body rejects performing. The fear is all-consuming and overwhelming. And the worst part is you know it’s all in your head.

What could you possibly be afraid of? You know you’ve paid your dues, prepared months in advance for these performances and yet your head swims, your heart plays pinball in your insides, your hands tremble at the prospect. There is still something profoundly vulnerable about stepping out on stage alone, the click of your heels echoing through the concert hall, a prelude of what’s to come. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise knowing that every eye in the room is trained on you.

You really don’t have a choice in the matter. Your role in the Bach festival was long decided before you ever stepped foot on campus this semester. The music department has been planning this since the beginning of the academic year, and it’s not surprising that your name might have come up during the meetings that decided who would be on the program.

Even so, these kinds of late nights are not new.

The pressure of this semester took you off guard. The coursework is more than you’re used to, stretched too thin between violin lessons, quartet rehearsals, orchestra rehearsals. Neverending rehearsals.  And then there’s the matter of your actual classes. You cringe at the thought of the philosophy paper due next week, the calculus problem set (which, by the way, why the hell did your advisor make you take this class?) due two days from now, the growing number of readings that you always mean to do. (But never do until the night before the midterm.)

After running through the same sections over and over with little progress, maybe, you decide, it’s time for a little break. Eyes bleary, you stifle a yawn as you place your violin back into its case. You gently sweep the rosin off the strings and the varnished exterior with a soft cloth, with the kind of love that a mother has for a newborn baby. You elect to leave your backpack and violin case in the practice room, promising yourself to come back and work on it some more before you leave for the night.

The only thought on your mind is the comfort of the broken-in couch that lives in the hallway of the second floor of the music building. It’s been there longer than you have, longer than anyone at this school has been. The couch is shaped like a lopsided smile, creaking underneath your weight when you lay down on it.

This is the only relief you’re going to get today, aside from when you finally go back to your dorm room to sleep. Just a couple minutes out here to rest, and you should be able to go inside and maybe run through the piece a couple more times.

When you finally relax, your joints ache and the pricking pain comes back to your fingertips. Blood wells up in the calluses on your left hand, but it’s nothing new. Maybe you have been overworking yourself a little, but all of that pales in comparison to the deadlines looming over your head for the next couple months. A couple sleepless nights mulling over pieces in the practice room are likely necessary to be able to meet your goals. Well, it's been more than a couple sleepless nights, actually. The past three weeks were all spent here. Anyone in the music building in the evening, any evening, could hear the warble of your violin if they strained their ears enough.

The couch feels too much like the lumpy mattress sitting in your dorm room. Better, actually. A couple minutes of quiet contemplation pass, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. Your eyelids keep closing not of your own volition, and it’s becoming more and more difficult to open them each time. You drift off into a restless sleep, murky dreams shadowed by all the work that you have cut out for you for the rest of this week.

~

“Hey, hey, y/n.” Something, or someone, rouses you from your sleep. A gentle hand on your shoulder, a soft voice in the distance. You’re too stunned and groggy to do much of anything than bring a hand to cover the lights overhead.

Min Yoongi stands before you, coffee in hand. He’s making that face that he’s always making, lips drawn in a tight line and brow furrowed in what looks a lot like disdain.

Before you get the chance to say anything, memories of the last time you spoke flood you.

“It is y/n, right? Your name is y/n?” You realize your compromised position, prone and folded up on the sagging couch.

“Um, yeah.” You sit up, running a hand through your hair, trying not to make your embarrassment apparent. He doesn’t say anything else, just looking at you, evaluating your mess of a person.

“Sorry,” you say, sounding sheepish despite yourself. You can only hope that you weren’t sleeping with your mouth open.

“Sorry for what? The only thing you’re doing wrong is sleeping on that damned couch. Do you know how many people have fucked on that thing?”

You stutter, lost for words. Laughter comes out at the seams. It’s the second time that you’ve spoken to him and that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth, but what else would you expect? Most of your interactions with him to date involve you trying not stare in the middle of your species counterpoint lecture. But who cares about writing perfectly structured harmony when you can stare at his perfectly structured hands?

It’s unfair how good he looks right now, at the witching hour on a weeknight. The aloof, barely present, I-could-totally-be-anywhere-else thing works for him. It works for you, at least.

But none of it matters now, both of you are talking now. It’s past midnight in the creaky music building, anything can happen.

“It’s Yoongi, right?” You question, the grogginess leaving and something else settling in. It’s all for show. Of course you know his name.

He nods in affirmation.

“Why did you have to wake me up in the first place? You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s getting late, you know. I didn’t want you to wake up and realize you’ve been locked inside the music building.” Min Yoongi adjusts his glasses, genuine concern in his eyes when he continues, “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

You relax a little, softening at the edges, leaning more into the sinking couch and away from his imposing gaze. The butterflies return again, and your mind blanks thinking of a response to his concern. You must be really fucked if simple eye contact reduces you to a dysfunctional mess.

“I-I’m fine, just working on this stupid piece. And I can say the same for you. Why are you here so late?” You stutter over your words. Get yourself together. This is your chance to finally talk to him. Just don’t fuck it up now.  

Yoongi bristles where he stands. “Same as you. Why else would I be in the practice rooms so late?” He returns your knowing smile.

“I mean, it’s a college campus. They’re private, soundproof practice rooms. He was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it any more obvious?” Your eyes crinkle at the corners when you smile up at him.

“You’re overestimating me.” He chuckles low and it goes straight to the pit of your stomach.

“Are you playing at the Bach festival?” Yoongi says, moving to sit down next to you, The couch sinks ever lower under his weight. Yoongi was right: people really are fucking on the couch after hours.

“Hoping to, at least. This partita will be the end of me.” You put your head in your hands, groaning. The memory of your previous practice session returns, reminded of all the hours left that you’ll spend chipping away at all the notes. It feels like a weight has returned to your shoulders. Even the thrill of getting to talk to Yoongi isn’t enough to distract you from all the stress of the Bach festival.

“I’m sure it’s fine. You’re here all time, hogging the nice practice rooms. You can’t be practicing this much and have it sound bad.”

“That’s because you’ve never heard me play,” you jab. This conversation isn’t going anywhere, maybe you read it all wrong.

“Well,” he quips, “Maybe you should let me hear you.” When he meets your eye again, there’s something else in his expression.

You weigh your options. This might be one of the only times that you ever speak to Min Yoongi again for the rest of the semester.

Pros: You get to talk to him for longer than three seconds. You get a second, outside opinion from someone who doesn’t play violin.

Cons: You have to actually show him what you’ve been working on.

“If you’re up for it, maybe you could hear me now. I could really use a second opinion on this piece before my lesson next week.” Ugh, fuck it.

You can feel it bubbling up now, the same anxiety in the pit of your stomach. You’ve felt it in the sweltering heat of the backstage behind a velvet curtain, and now you’re feeling it in the stagnant air of the second floor of the music building. But if it gives you a chance to talk to Min Yoongi, you might as well take it.

You watch him consider your words. A silence falls between you both, widening into a maw. Were you too forward? Maybe this was all a mistake. You’ve offered something that he doesn’t want, and this is all going to fall apart, and he’s going to think you’re weird for propositioning him.

You can see it now, two days from now when you see him in your Beethoven lecture. He’ll avoid your gaze as you walk into the classroom, and he’ll have forgotten your name by next semester.

Before you can berate yourself further, Yoongi smiles. He looks surprised, like you’re doing him a favor. “You’d really let me hear you play?”

Relief colors your smile.

“Of course. The best pianist in the whole department, all to myself?” Flattery makes Min Yoongi blush, you discover.

“It’s nice to have someone finally admit it,” Yoongi trails off. “So, are you going to let me hear you play? Sitting on this couch is nice, but you know what this couch is really for.”

“Ha, ha. Sure.” Both of you shuffle to your practice room, Yoongi holding the door open for you. When you brush past him, you can smell the lingering coffee on his breath and whatever laundry detergent he’s using. It’s dizzying.

You begin to take your things out of your case, taking extra care to rosin your bow even though you did it earlier. You take the extra time to wipe the varnished wood of your violin, sweeping at rosin marks that aren’t there just to stretch the time out more.

“So,” you begin, “What were you working on in the other room?”

“I was actually just working on some drills, nothing in particular.” In the meantime, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano bench and it looks like he’s always been there. Like he belongs there, just like that morning in the practice rooms.

Yoongi can tell that you love what you do in the careful, practiced way that you open your case and delicately tighten your bow. He’s never seen you in your element before, not like this, not in this proximity. Yoongi straightens himself in his chair when he realizes that his eyes have trailed from your shoulder rest to your ass.

“Hm, yeah. I should work more on technique practice too… I’ve just been working on repertoire lately. To be honest, I don’t run through my scales as often as I should.”

“You know, it might sound familiar to you. The etude I was working on, I mean. It was the one I was working on when you so rudely barged in on me that one time.” He says, all arrogance. Smugness all over his smile. You hate him for it.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry about that!” You cringe at the memory, “I can’t believe you remember that.” Your efforts at setting up your shoulder rest are twice renewed.

“Of course I do. How can I forget something like that?” Yoongi crosses his arms, leaning back. “Now you’re just making it even.”

You’re too flustered to tell if he’s genuinely flirting, but whatever it is, it does nothing to calm your nervousness.

“Um, before I start, I should probably tell you that it’s kind of rough. Like, I started on it recently, and I’m still not that happy with it…” You trail off, looking unsure. Your violin begins to droop from where it’s resting on your shoulder. The pit of your stomach feels light again, but it’s not arousal or attraction this time, just the same stage fright that’s tormenting you since forever. Yoongi is worried you’ll give into it, put your violin back in the case and pretend this never happened.

“Hey, I really don’t know that much about violin and I don’t even know what your piece is. I just want to hear you play,” Yoongi’s soft tone surprises you. He pauses, slowly meeting your eye, “Please?”

You would do anything to hear that again. To see and hear Min Yoongi sitting before you with those asking eyes, saying please just one more time. Maybe it’s the late hour or lingering delirium from your fevered sleep, but you get the feeling that he doesn’t usually show that to just anyone.

You pretend to consider his words, but you were bought the second that he asked you “please.” You drag out the act as long as you can muster.

He’s still looking at you, asking with his eyes.

“Hmm, okay,” You dig your toe through some invisible spot on the carpet, now too shy to meet his gaze. You move your sheet music on the stand, not that you need to, realizing that your hands are trembling. Performance anxiety bubbles up within you, shaking your heart and hands the same. You tamp it down.

“I’ll show you. But it’s only for you, okay?” This is a low risk situation, he doesn’t know what it sounds like, and if it all goes to shit, just skip sections, you tell yourself, stilling the frantic breath in your lungs. You shut your eyes, blinking, placing your hand in the correct position and the bow resting lightly on the string. One more deep breath and you start to count off in your head, reeling up to play. It’s okay. It’s fine, everything is going to be okay. You ignore his gaze, on you and only you. There’s nothing else to look at but you, anyway. There is only the soundproof padding and the panel mirror mounted to the wall, the piano that sits pressed up against the wall in this cramped up room. You work your way through the scale patterns and the rolled chords that Bach laid out centuries ago, easy going so far. You shut your eyes again.

Yoongi can tell that you’re nervous. Really nervous. He can see the tension in the way you stand, in the way that you tremble when you lift your bow. It doesn’t sit right with him that his simple presence in the practice room unnerves you so much. But it’s not like he’s completely unaware of what he does to you. Yoongi remembers that morning in the practice rooms, vividly. He remembers your doe-eyed expression, silently begging for forgiveness. He also remembers all those furtive glances you take in lecture together, like you didn’t think he’d notice. He thinks it’s cute. Endearing, almost.  

It’s unfair how nervous you seem when he knows how good you are. God knows there have been enough hazy Saturday nights when he’s tipsy, Taehyung’s tipsy, everyone’s tipsy - and Taehyung is complaining about the cute violinist girl with impeccable vibrato and is always hogging the best practice room.

He can see you starting to relax, the passion alight in your eyes, so awake and alive even in the dead of night. You sway on your feet, like this is somewhere glamorous and not a dingy fluorescent practice room. He blushes when the tempo picks up, something else in your expression now, and he notices how dexterous your hands are. What’s even more attractive is the way you seem so removed from everything. He watches the way that the world around you fades away. It’s just you and your music, nothing else that matters in the world.

How could he have ever strained his ears for your muffled playing outside the practice rooms, if this was what was inside?

It’s easier to focus on the sound when you’re not looking at him looking at you. The muscle memory comes back and your mind goes elsewhere, anywhere away from Min Yoongi. You can only hope you’re not pulling an ugly smile, and that your shoulder rest isn’t giving you a double chin. You try to put your focus on the right amount of vibrato, your bow control, the dynamics. Like always, the music sucks you up and pulls you in (even if it is an overplayed Bach partita), pausing only briefly to turn the page on your music. It’s not until the thirty-second note runs until you begin to stutter. Your fingers trip over themselves as you struggle to play them on tempo and that’s when you stop, finally meeting Yoongi’s eyes for the first time after.

“And that’s about as far as I got. I’ll spare you from what the rest sounds like so far. I’d rather show you what I have on tempo first.” You are breathless, but so is Yoongi, but he’d never tell you that. His eyes are dilated, lips parted, cheeks pink. But at this distance you don’t notice, too self-conscious about your performance to focus on anything else. Yoongi hasn’t said anything, just looking at you intently, looking lost in thought. The silence is heavy.

“So… what did you think?” You look less confident than before, more wry and unsure of yourself.

“It was, wow, they weren’t wrong. You sound really good. You are really good.” Yoongi rubs his hands up and down his thighs, hands clammy. He rambles on, “That was great. Thank you, thank you, um, for showing me.”

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little, just to clear the suddenly serious atmosphere. “Who is they?”

“Well, everyone thinks that you’re an amazing violinist. Taehyung has said a lot about you, and some of my other friends have too.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that I had a reputation.” You take the shoulder rest off your violin and put it back into its rightful place, the tiredness settling in deeper into your bones. It’s truly late now.

“Of course you have a reputation, have you heard yourself?” Yoongi sounds incredulous.

“I mean, I thought I was just okay,” You nervously run a hand through your hair. You wipe your violin down again, just to give your hands something to do. You shut the book on the music stand and stow it away in your case.

“You’re more than okay. It sucks to see you doubt yourself. I hope that’s okay for me to say.” Yoongi follows the movement of your hands as you close the clasps on your case, everything packed away. Is it really time to go already?

“I haven’t met a single musician that doesn’t feel that way about their own playing.” You sit next to him on the piano bench. The conversation is more heavy than you would like, too late at night to be introspective, and you just want to get that disappointed expression off his face.

“But yeah, it sucks.”

Yoongi sucks his lower lip between his teeth, sucking in breath. There is mirth in his eyes. “Well, I never get nervous about playing.” He places his hands on the keyboard, taking a sharp breath again. “You’ve probably heard it before, but the trick is to pretend like you know exactly what you’re doing. You just really have to believe in it. And that everyone in the room is naked.” You don’t notice the way that his eyes travel down your body when he says “naked.”

He makes a big show of playing Chopsticks, but he can’t hide his laughter. Neither can you. By the time he’s finished, you are collapsed over the keys, doubled over in laughter. Yoongi stands from the bench and takes a bow. If you weren’t still so nervous, you might have noticed the flush on his cheeks, creeping down into his collar.

“Thank you, thank you.” He pouts. “Where’s my applause?”

You clap your hands for him, greatly exaggerating the motion. “Bravo, bravo,” wiping fake tears from your eyes.

When the laughter fades away, and your heart has calmed down, the silence settles in again. You want to flee, worried that you’ll end up saying the wrong thing. You get up from the bench, stretching your legs a little, not missing how tired your body is. You pick up your case.

Yoongi can’t hide the disappointed expression on his face. “Oh, are you leaving?” He checks the time on his wristwatch. “It is pretty late after all…”

You check the time as well, shocked at the hour. You must have slept longer than you thought, or maybe spending time with Yoongi flew by. “I should be getting back to the dorm, I have early classes tomorrow.”

“Do you live on campus?” Yoongi gets up as well, putting his hands in his pockets, “I could walk you back, it’s not really safe to be walking alone at this hour…”

“Yeah, I live on campus.” You sling your backpack over your shoulder and hug your case to your chest. At this proximity, Yoongi seems a lot taller than you had previously thought. “And that would be really nice. Do you live on campus? I don’t want to make you walk too far.”

“I live in an apartment close to campus, walking distance. It’s really not too much.” Both of you head for the door, exiting the music building into the harsh winter chill. You hug your case a little closer to you, shivering in your thin sweatshirt.

The walk back to your dorm is shorter than you would like, and you are back before you know it. Yoongi distracts you from the bitter chill with his voice on the way back, regaling you with tales of how he discovered what Taehyung was doing with Jungkook, the resident bassoonist, on the couch that you were sleeping on just hours ago.

“Ugh, gross. I’ll never be able to look at the couch the same.” You wrinkle your face in disgust.

You turn around to face him at the staircase in front of your dorm. “So, um, thanks for walking me back.”

You really don’t know what to say to him, so you settle for, “That was fun.”

So that’s all there was. It’d be a lie to say that you weren’t a little disappointed that you couldn’t talk to him more, turn this into something more. But you got what you wanted, didn’t you? You got to talk to him for longer than three seconds, and now the night is over. It seems like he’s forgotten your previous practice room blunder. You turn around again, key in hand. You wonder what else you might have been able to say to him, if maybe you were just a bit braver.

“Bye,” you say, but it comes out as a tired whisper.

“Wait.” His hand closes over the slope of your shoulder, so gentle and featherlight, but your tired body stumbles back anyway.

“Could I-could I maybe… get your number? You should… you should let me return the favor sometime. You can hear me play, if you want to.” When you turn around again, the same pleading, asking expression is back. You follow the movement that his hand makes when he runs his hand through his hair, settling on the nape of his neck. He looks unsure. Like before, you would give anything to see that expression on his face again.

“Silly goose, I’ve already heard you play,” You play coy, but both you and Yoongi can see through it.

“Ha. Ha. I mean really, you should hear me play something a little more difficult. You should see what these hands can really do.” He waggles his fingers, and there’s relief in his eyes when he hears your answering laugh.

“That sounds good. Sure, you can have my number.” Yoongi hands you his phone and you type your number in.

“Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

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[johnny-and-dora]

i’ll make the world safe and sound for you

jake has some important things to tell mac. (post 7x13)

read on ao3 -

Jake’s spent a lot of nights at the hospital over the years.

Eight years old, nursing a broken arm after Gina dared him to jump off the fire escape (she was the first to sign his cast). Drowsy on pain meds in Florida, recovering from a gunshot wound and a cruel six-month separation from his girlfriend. Most overnight visits have been an occupational hazard, a consequence of throwing himself headfirst into action without a second thought.

Jake doesn’t think he’d recognise that person now, the one who put being the hero and solving the case before anything else. He’s better off for it, knowing now that there is something so much better than flaming out in a blaze of spectacular glory.

Knowing the family he has found in the Nine-Nine. Knowing the life he’s built with Amy. And most recently, knowing the life he’ll be sharing with his newborn son. A whole other kind of spectacular.

This may be far from the first time he’s spent a night at the hospital, but never has he had a night like this one. Never has Jake felt this content, this overwhelmingly whole in his life. Never has his world shifted like this, changed forever at the piercing sound of his son’s first cries. Changed forever yet again the first time he held Mac in his arms.

Deep down he knows he should be resting, knows the adrenaline will wear off soon and that he’ll be pretty much useless for all of tomorrow. He knows that Amy would chide him if she wasn’t fast asleep beside him, something he’s very grateful for – she deserves all the rest she can get.

(She deserves a medal of valour, at least, for giving birth to the world’s most important baby in the precinct with no pain relief. He’ll see if Holt can pull a few strings.)

But Jake can’t bring himself to sleep just yet, knowing that his son is finally here and right beside him. He’s completely mesmerised by this kid, already addicted to marvelling at his chubby little cheeks and adorable round button nose.

Mac clearly can’t bring himself to sleep either, wiggling his little legs inside the blanket he’s swaddled in, and Jake’s heart trips, sparking a huge ridiculous grin. His tiny adorable little face scrunches a little in a way Jake instinctively knows means trouble, so he quickly shifts into Dad Mode.

“Hey there, buddy. It’s okay.” Slowly, he lifts Mac out of the bassinet and holds him close to his chest, bouncing a little awkwardly, but it seems to do the trick as his whimpers subside into the occasional peaceful snuffle. Jake breathes a sigh of relief, content that he’s officially eight hours into fatherhood and he hasn’t managed to screw anything major up yet. Mac seems more comfortable in his arms and it makes his heart swell with a pride he’s barely known before.

“Today’s been kind of a crazy day, huh? Think you’re gonna have to get used to those. Your mom and I tend to have a lot of them.” He glances at Amy, who is thankfully still completely conked out next to him, and the warmth in his chest envelops and encircles everything else. This family of his is magic.

“It’s okay though because we’re always going to come home to you. We love you so much.” His voice cracks a little as he cradles him gently, gently, because he’s holding his entire world, heart and in his hands, and that’s a lot to deal with at two in the morning.

“Y’know, I don’t think we’ve actually been properly introduced,” Jake says, exhaling a breathless little laugh at his own joke as he shakes Mac’s hand. “Hi, Mac. I’m your dad.”

He’s a dad now, and he’s going to be one for the rest of his life. He marvels at that as he gazes at his son, trying to memorise every adorable detail of his face. “Your mom let me choose your name – I hope you think it’s cool, because you were named after the coolest action hero of all time. I can’t wait to watch Die Hard with you, even though you’re gonna be way too little for it for a long while.”

It’s crazy how much time Jake’s already spent thinking about what Mac might be like when he’s older. His son has such a full exciting life ahead of him, and he’s just excited to be able to share all of his favourite things with him, like New York pizza and Star Wars and the best cop movie of all time.

“It’s okay, we’re gonna do lots of things in the meantime. Like play video games and build Legos and watch the Turtles and just hang out like we’re doing right now. And I’m always going to be there for you. Always. You’ll probably have to go to your mom for important life things and help with homework and stuff, because she’s super smart and I’m kind of a mess, but I’ll try my best.”

Mac gurgles a little at that, and it only just occurs to Jake that this conversation is more for him than it is for his son.

“You have absolutely no idea what I’m saying because you are a baby, and I respect that. But you are so loved, Mac. And I’m gonna tell you that and show you that every single day.”

He’s startled out of the moment by the sound of a phone camera shutter as Amy looks tearfully at them both. “Sorry, sorry. You guys are just too cute.”

“Make sure you get our good side.” Jake mumbles, pride washing over him as she laughs. He’ll never stop wanting to make Amy laugh. He absentmindedly hopes he’ll be able to make his son laugh, too.

Amy blearily snaps a few more photos and checks the time before shifting closer to them both, and he’s breathless again – she really is glowing in all her post-childbirth glory, though she’s always at least a bit glowy to him anyway.

It’s totally surreal, feeling his wife nestle into his shoulder as they both happily look at their son. It’s something he’s imagined for so long, yet infinitely more perfect now that it’s actually reality.

Jake yawns, and Amy briefly tears her eyes away from Mac to glance at him. “Have you been up all night? You should really try and sleep, Jake.”

“You need it more. And besides, I kinda can’t take my eyes off him. He’s perfect, Ames.”

“I know. He really is.” Her voice warbles with emotion and Jake knows what they’re both thinking – he was worth the wait, a million times over.

He carefully passes Mac over to Amy. After a revolving carousel of visitors earlier, it’s been a while since it was just the three of them, and an overwhelming sense of peace just washes over him watching his wife coo over their son.

His fears and doubts about fatherhood have not completely vanished – he’s still scared of making mistakes, of the responsibility he now has to the tiny amazing wonderful human currently cradled in his wife’s arms.

But all of the fear is muted now, pastel and pale in the early hours of the morning. It’s muted by the rise and fall of his son’s tiny chest. By the love alight in Amy’s eyes. By the way Holt had rested a hand on his shoulder and told him how proud he was. By his mom’s face as she’d held her grandson for the first time.

Mac’s penchant for a dramatic entrance doesn’t surprise him. What does is how much he already feels like a father, like he was made to protect this kid and will do absolutely anything to keep him and Amy safe. It’s not a feeling he’d be able to put into words after a restful eight hours of sleep, let alone now when he’s borderline delirious with joy.

So instead he presses a light kiss to the soft cotton hat on his forehead, delighting in the way Mac scrunches his nose exactly like Amy does. He’s never gonna get enough of this kid. And he’s certain, now more than ever, that this is the kind of precious love that only grows and grows.