a ward for injured british soldiers was established in the drawing room of the crowley mansion, fulfilling katya's heartfelt wish. the once elegant space was now transformed into a place of care and healing. lydia and naztja, having set aside their differences, worked tirelessly in the ward.
naztja found herself deeply engrossed in the profession she had learned from her talented mother. every day brought new challenges and opportunities to make a difference in the lives of those brave men fighting for their country. she admired lydia's dedication and skill, and the bond between them grew stronger as they worked side by side, saving lives and providing comfort to the wounded.
katya enjoyed watching her loved ones work on their passions. it also helped having them around, too - they brought more much needed joy to the cold halls of the large mansion. for once in her life, katya felt a profound sense of purpose and fulfillment.
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"a.m."
Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader
Summary: Early morning scenes, small nightmare.
Author's note: HOLY CRAP it's been a while! I haven't written anything in almost a YEAR. I'm glad that I've finally got a lil kick of writing back in me :) This is something small I wrote back in May just to get the gears working again.
"a.m."
You can hear his breathing to your left.
Morning is just peeking through– a soft gloom enveloping your room. You’re not sure what time he got in, or how he got in this time.
“Why do you even have a key?” you ask when he unlocks the balcony window.
“In case you’re not home to unlock it for me.” He smiles big and wide, stripping the weapons aside.
It’s become a running joke to you both on how he decides to enter your apartment.
Your eyes shoot open. There’s a mountain of pillows surrounding you, warm blankets on top of you. The room is dimly lit from streetlights. You're almost sure it hasn't been a full 8 hours and yet—- your body is telling you to wake up.
You turn towards him. You almost never get to see this side of him. His breathing, slow and rhythmic. He looks so much younger when he’s relaxed. He takes over most of the bed. Arms curled above him, he’s wrapped most of the top blanket around him.
The scar below his left eye is raised, his lips are puckered out. A soft moan escapes his lips, then his body twitches. You’re on high alert.
Nightmares aren’t new. The first couple of nights that he decided to stay over your apartment, you were woken up by whimpers and sudden movements. You would sometimes catch them before he woke up and carefully soothe him back to sleep– rubbing his cheek, placing kisses along his face. Whispering careful “i love you’s” and “you’re alright i’m here now”
By morning, it was like nothing happened at all.
For him, though he may never admit it, it was nice to experience vulnerability. The constant battle he has to get a full night's rest. A plague that encases him at night.
You move closer, placing your hand on his cheek, tracing the scar with your thumb. You place a kiss on his forehead between his brows, then over the scar on his cheek.
“You’re alright, you’re okay” you murmur.
An exhale —
his face contorts a bit, brows furrow, then an inhale through his nose.
A hand cups your elbow, rubbing side to side. He’s fighting sleep. His eyes try to peel open.
“What time is it?” His voice, low and groggy.
“It’s too early, almost 5 am” You kiss him, apologizing.
He groans —not even an hour of sleep.
“Were you having a nightmare?”
“No, I got in around 4…” He adjusts himself, the bed springs, a yawn escapes. Deflecting the question.
Sleep carefully disintegrates from his eyes. He inhales, and his eyes blink open. He can make your face out in the darkness, the gloom behind you haloing.
His body, heavy with fatigue, he pushes it aside to get closer to you, wrapping himself around you.
Warmth, vanilla, home, love.
“I used the front door today…” he mentions. He's a little proud of himself.
You giggle, adjusting yourself under his chin. His hand pulls you closer, rubbing warmth to your back. His legs warm around you.
“Wasn’t it so much easier?”
He scoffs, remembering how ridiculous it felt to walk in with his helmet. He had to disable the cameras in the entrance then double check for anyone in the hallway to not scare them off.
“Everyone was asleep… thankfully. I just couldn’t help but think someone would see me, then see me use a key to enter an apartment.”
You smile at how silly it sounds. The Red Hood having an apartment to come home to.
“It’s much better than entering through a balcony window.” you whisper.
He hums, “Entering through a balcony never gave me nightmares.”
Tracing circles on his back, you lull him back to sleep, waiting for his breathing to even out. You whisper more love into his ear, hoping it reaches his subconscious.
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