#i think part of what made me figure it out is the closing suture

[dravidious]

So far, Under the Knife 2 feels like a massive improvement over UtK1, mainly by how good it feels to chase high ranks. Not only does it make it easy to jump right back into the level you just finished to get a better score, it also tells you what special bonuses are in each level instead of it just being a seemingly-random mystery score (it only tells you when you actually get them, but still better that UtK1).

But also, I was getting such high ranks so easily that I decided to go back to UtK1 to see if it was harder or if I just got more skilled, and it turns out that UtK1's rank thresholds are just kind of awful. The reason I was getting C-ranks on everything is because there's a pretty small gap between C-rank and S-rank. Missing just one special bonus can turn an S-rank run into a C-rank, so you'll pretty much always get a C-rank unless you're really good.

UtK2 is far more reasonable with handing out B- and A-ranks, so rather than C-rank meaning "you did less than excellent" it means "you did bad". So when I'm going through the game getting As and Bs, and then on one level I get a C? I'm so much more motivated to say "screw that" and try again.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Seven Years (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader) (Horses and Zebras 3/4)

Author’s Note: So I wanted to post this earlier in the month, but my phone just decided it wasn't having it anymore and stopped working, and that old phone was where I had a lot of WIPs, and it's just taken me a bit to find the energy to move it from one phone to another and then edit it, but, it's here! This one is angsty, so strap on your sad pants. Enjoy! :)

Summary: It's been seven years since Matt Murdock broke your heart, and it's taken seven years to push all of the feelings for him away. So when he comes to your apartment out of the blue, it tears those wounds right open again--not to mention the huge secret he brings with him.

Warnings: Angst (seven years of bottle up emotion, hurt, tears, emotional conflict/fighting/shouting, sobbing, two broken hearts breaking) canon typical violence (Matt getting seriously beat up in the black suit and passing out on Reader's floor), sweet delicious tension, swearing

Other Characters: OFC

Word Count: 2,955

You tighten the grip on your bat as you carefully walk from your bedroom down the hall to your main living space. You don’t see anyone, and part of you only thinks you were dreaming of it, but the distinct sound of labored breathing confirms that your was right. 

Someone’s in your apartment. 

Rounding the corner around your sofa, you see a masked man dressed in all black on your floor. As you raise your bat, ready to swing down on him, he speaks to you. 

“Wait!” he pants, feebly holding up a bloody hand in surrender. “It’s me. It’s Matt.”

Matt . . . Columbia Matt? 

He grunts and groans as he pulls off his black mask, revealing a face that you worked day after day to forget about. You are beyond confused, but you drop your bat, using all your strength and adrenaline to pick him up and place him on the couch. Once he’s settled, you rush over to where you keep your first aid kit, immediately cutting his shirt open and working to take care of him. 

“How did this happen?” you breathe after a long while of concentrated work.

“It’s a long story,” he grunts, his face twisting in pain. 

You swallow hard, nervous as you think of my next question. “H-How did you find me?”

“That might be a bit of a longer story.”

“Matt.”

“Just . . . I’ll tell you. I swear. But maybe not while you have a needle in your hand.”

Your lips pull into a tight line as you start to suture a large wound, feeling as if he’s just dodging the question. Doing the best you can to keep down all of the old hurt feelings from college, you finish patching him up and cleaning him. 

“Rest here for a while,” you say as you take off your gloves and tie off the bag of supplies waste. “I’ll be back in a few hours to changes some of the bandages.”

“(Y/N), wait,” he starts, but you don’t do as he asks, throwing the bag into your kitchen trash before you rush into your room. Once your door is closed, you start to cry quietly, running your fingers through your hair as you try and figure everything out. Why is he here? What’s going on? Why . . . Why did you help him without a second thought? You’re a doctor, that’s why! But that’s not the whole story, you know that. You helped him so readily because he’s Matt. He’s Matt, for God’s sake. No one ever made you feel like how he did back in college. He was kind, compassionate, warm . . . and a two-timer. But is it two-timing if you weren’t even just a couple but more of a hookup?

“What the fuck?” you whisper, whimpering slightly before you collapse on your bed, tears starting to stream down your cheeks. 

As you lie in bed, your mind racing a million miles a minute, something urges you to wipe your eyes dry and sit up, moving back to the living room when you hear him grunt in pain. 

“You’re pulling at your stitches,” you say quietly, but it’s clear you’ve been crying. “Lie back down so I can change out the gauze.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“Please.”

He swallows, his eyes blinking fast to fight tears as he does what you ask. Carefully, you pull the paper tape back, using clean gauze and cotton balls to soak up the blood seeping through his wounds. He air is charged with seven years of things unsaid and unresolved feelings, but neither of you dare speak it into existence. 

“The stubble is a nice look,” you say quietly as you prepare a needle and some sutures to help reinforce what he’s pulled. “There was something endearing about the smooth baby face, though.”

A small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “You’re still using that hand lotion. That special one with the mastic in it your aunt sends you from Greece.”

You’re shocked that he remembers that, but you’re even more taken aback that he can smell it on your skin— you put a little of it on your hands early this morning before your shift today.

“Y-Yeah,” you swallow, doing your best to push down the bubble of emotion ready to burst in your chest. “So . . . Is this a recent hobby of yours? Dressing in black with a mask and getting brutally beat up?”

“(Y/N), you wouldn’t understand.”

“Sure,” you scoff. “What’s another secret, right?”

“Huh?”

You finish tying up his wounds as his brow scrunches.

“Is this . . . This that why you ended things?” he asks quietly. “You thought I was lying to you about something?”

“That’s not a simple question to ask, Matt.”

“But I deserve to know. There were two people in that relationship.”

“I left when there were still two, yeah. It was almost three.”

“What?” he asks with furrowed brows. “Were . . . Were you—?”

“No, Matt, not that,” you say softly, discarding your supplies as you sit down and lean froward, your elbows on your knees whalebone of your thumbs gently strokes the back of your other hand. “There was a girl, she had a really unique rich name . . .”

“Elektra?” Of course he knows. But as soon as the name leaves his lips, his demeanor changes. “What did she do to you?”

“Nothing,” you lie. “I saw the end coming, and I left before I could get burned.”

“You left and you never told me why. Maybe you didn’t get burned, but I did.”

“No, Matt, you didn’t. You didn’t notice. Yes, I completely cut you out, and yes, I stopped talking to you. I didn’t stop talking to Foggy. I heard how you were out gallivanting everywhere with her, throwing everything away for her and the thrill of it. You didn’t miss me for a damn second after I left because I was just a way for you to get an A. You couldn’t have cared less, and I sat and suffered the biggest heartbreak of my life.”

The silence is so thick it could be cut with a butcher’s knife. But you’re not prepared for how fragile Matt sounds when he speaks next. 

“You . . . You talked to Foggy?” he cracks.

“I did.”

“Do you still talk to him?”

“S-Sometimes,” you stutter, and you sound just ask broken as he does. “We get coffee now and then.”

You watch as tears glisten in his eyes. “What happened?” he begs softly. “Please, what happened?”

“I told you—.”

“That was a lie, (Y/N). I know it was. Something happened.”

You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. “That night, after we slept together, I woke up in the middle of the night. I was so happy, Matt. I was over the moon. Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye, and it was a bright red thong with a note from Elektra for your ‘next adventure’. It was dated two days before we were together.”

Matt’s tongue peaks out over his lips as he works to processes everything you’ve told him. “If . . . if she wrote a note . . .”

“It was in braille, Matt.”

“You . . . You can read braille?”

“We spent so much time together, I learned it for you. You were important to me, Matt, I wanted to be able to be able to share that with you.”

“(Y/N) . . . “

“Please, Matt—.”

“Elektra wasn’t in the picture while we were together. I promise you. After you left, after I couldn’t get in touch with you, that’s when I met Elektra. That’s when that part of my life started.”

“Then how did those panties and note get in your room?”

“I don’t know. But I swear on my life, my law firm, and my vigilante secret that I didn’t know her while we were together and I don’t know how those got into my room.” He takes one of your hands and places it directly over his heart. “I swear. I could never lie to you.”

“But it didn’t take long for you to start seeing her after we—after I left,” you say pulling your hand back. “How can you say you cared about me that much if you went right into her arms?”

His face contorts in pain. “I was heartbroken! I didn’t know what to do! You switched sections of health law, you wouldn’t answer my calls, I couldn’t find you! I thought something awful happened to you! I thought . . .” He starts to cry in frustration. “I was lost, and Elektra was at least something to focus on, because I had an awful feeling in my stomach that I’d never see you again!”

Hurt and rage mix in you as you listen to his words, how he tries to explain it—how he tries to justify it. “You could have tried to find me! You knew where I lived! Hell, you found me tonight, didn’t you? If you could do it tonight, you could’ve done it then! You could have tried to explain things! You would have fought for me if you actually cared about me!”

The silence is deafening, and you shatter as Matt’s face falls with your last sentence. “Sit here and rest,” you say quietly, your tone far different than what it was seconds ago. “Please, don’t move. I’ll be back in a few hours to change the dressing. I don’t want you pulling at more of your stitches. Anymore than you already have, at least.”

Before you can move away, Matt takes your hand in his. Every last function in your body freezes as you stare down at your hand, completely wrapped in his. It’s warm and comforting, and even with the calloused and scars on his hands, they’re so incredibly soft. His face is fragile and vulnerable as he tilts his head toward you. 

“This isn’t . . . I-I have a boyfriend,” you breathe as you pull from his touch. “I have a boyfriend.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“I have a boyfriend,” you repeat, but it doesn’t sound like you're trying to tell him a fact. It’s like you’re repeating it to yourself to remind you that you’re seeing someone so you don’t do anything with Matt. 

“Do you feel about him how you did about me?”

“That’s not a fair question.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Matt—.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“No what? You won’t answer, or you don’t feel that same?”

“I could never feel the same about anyone like I did for you.” You finally pull your hand from his as you wipe away the hot tears that fall from your lashes. “You were the love of my life, and I was a notch in your belt.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel.”

“No—you’re saying I didn’t love you. I loved you more than anything.”

“So you loved me so much you waited seven years to get this all out?”

“(Y/N), I told you, I didn’t know what to do when you weren’t with me in the morning. And then after . . . I didn’t know how to go about it all, and the more time passed, the more it felt like I couldn’t do anything. Stop trying to put this just on me.”

“I’m not trying to, I’m trying to figure this out. Words and actions don’t match up. You’re telling me you were broken and lost when you couldn’t find me. Four days later, Foggy tells me you and him crash a party and then you start doing God knows what with Elektra. I could see you on campus, how you acted with each other. How she looked at you and how you leaned into her. There was affection and tenderness and passion—things that I wanted to have with you. I felt every last strand of my soul shatter when I saw you because every time I did, it told me that I wasn’t enough. That there was someone better suited for you than me. Matt, you have to understand where I’m coming with this.”

He closes his eyes and dips his head. “I do. I . . . I wish I could do it all over. But . . . (Y/N), it’s all so complicated. I want you in my life, and I’ve wanted that since the day we met, but I know the reality. My life—even then—if I kept you in it, you would be hurt far worse than a broken heart. I mean, you saw how I came through your window.”

Your throat is thick as you swallow. “So even then, even in Columbia . . .?”

“No. But my past . . . My past followed me to Columbia. I didn’t know it then, but it’s why Elektra came into the picture. It’s why I’m Daredevil now. If you had been with me for any of that—for a second of that, (Y/N)—you would’ve gotten hurt, I’m sure of it. And if you got hurt . . .” It’s his turn to wipe away tears. “I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt.”

“But what if you had told me?”

“It’s not that simple, and I know you know that.”

“I don’t mean a casual sentence drop in a conversation, Matt, I mean an actual discussion where we get to talk everything out, and where you can explain things.”

“Even if I had done that—.”

“I swear if you say it’s more complicated that that, I will slap you.”

His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a sigh. “I’ve already told you, though. I’d expose you to the possibility of getting hurt if we did that.”

“How would that be different than what we’re doing right now, Matt?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but his jaw just hangs, unable to form a sentence because he knows you’re right. He lets out a breath, his eyes blinking rapidly as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. 

“I can count on one hand the things in this world that are most precious to me,” he starts softly, holding up the hand on his good arm. “Foggy, helping others, my faith, and you. If I did something to jeopardize any of those in any way . . . I’d be questioning who I am as a person.” He grunts in pain as he sits up, his labored breathing evidence of his determination to get it all out, and for once in his life be vulnerable to someone that matters to him. “I thought that when you left, maybe it was good, you know? That you could see my red flags before . . . Fuck, I don’t know. And then when I started doing this . . .  one night, I just remember thinking over and over, ‘I’m so glad (Y/N) can’t see me like this now. It would kill her.’ Not just my bruises and cuts and scars, but what I became—what I am. Part of myself disappeared after you left. The happiness, the light . . . it started to disappear when I woke up without you in my arms one morning, and I’ve never been able to find it since.”

“Matt,” you breathe.

“I want to find it again. I want to find that happiness I had with you in college. But I can’t find it without you. Being here talking with you, I know that, now. I need you. Don’t go,” he say softly as your noses rest together, your lips extremely close together. “Please don’t go.”

As your brain misfires with his words spinning in your head, his touch intoxicating your senses, he squeezes your hand and pulls you close, pressing a deep, tender, urgent kiss to your lips. He’s begging you not to go, silently pleading for you to change your mind about whatever you’re thinking of that doesn’t involve him. 

“I can’t loose you again,” he says against your lips. “Please. I can’t survive that again.”

“Matt . . . This isn’t the right time.”

“It’ll never be the right time. But there’s a reason that I got hurt near you home. There’s a reason why you helped when you could’ve turned me away. There’s a reason that we’re still talking. Please, please don’t go. Stay with me. Let’s . . . Let’s figure this out. Please.”

“You said that you can’t survive loosing me again. But I gain survive getting hurt like that again.”

“I won’t. I swear I’ll never hurt you like that, I’ll never let you get hurt like that again. I just need you.”

It breaks your heart how the tears stain his face, his eyes even puffier from the drops he refuses to let fall, telling you that you hold the last glimmer of hope he has. 

“I . . . I—,” you start when your phone begins to ring. Glancing over, you see your phone light up with your boyfriend’s name on the screen. Pulling your hand from Matt’s, you go into the kitchen and pick up.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey, baby,” he says, his words laced with exhaustion. “ER is short staffed.”

“What else is new?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “I’m not getting out of here for a long while. I’ll probably be leaving the ER when you walk into the lobby in the morning, in all honesty. But I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” you hum. “Remember to try and take a rest if there’s a lull.”

“Always looking out for me. Get some rest yourself, babe. I’ll see you.”

“Night, Chris.”

When you turn around, you see that your couch vacant, Matt absolutely no where to be found. Feeling your lip quiver uncontrollably, you drop your phone and fall to your knees, absolutely blubbering, your heart shattering to pieces just like it did all those years ago. Only this time, you’re the one who is left behind.

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[sofasoap]

Love at first sight - 6

Pairing: Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra x F!reader ( aka Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Finally letting your feelings known. Part I, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4,Part 5,Epilogue

Warning: Mature rating. inaccuracies to medical and military related. discussion of injury. A/N: Thanks to @kaplerrr and @okayyadriana helping me with Spanish words :) if there are any mistakes. Please blame me not them.

“masterlist” 

“Doc.. Doc… Doctor MacTavish. MINI.”

Your hand trembled slightly, mid suturing, as your surgical assistant called out to you. Breaking you out from your intense concentration.

“I’ll finish up.”

“But..”

“You've done enough.”  You need rest. The unspoken words conveyed through the stern look. 

Before you can reply, he already nudges you gently to the side with his hip, not even giving you a chance to refuse. Passing him the instrument and after giving them final instructions, you left the theatre as the scout nurse shoos you out. 

Tearing off your cap and gown and throwing them into the bin, You stumble towards the sink. Looking up into the mirror as you splash some water onto your face, red rim eyes, dark eye bags and not to mention hair in disarray. Gez I really look shit. 

Giving yourself a good slap on the face, your mind finally gets a moment to pause and try to process through what has been happening in the last twenty four hours. Not even minutes arriving at the base you were shoved onto helo and straight into medevac mission. 

“SERGEANT MAJOR RODOLFO PARRA,YOU BETTER KEEP THOSE DAMN ASS EYES OPEN FOR ME OR ELSE!”

The panic you felt, it burns a hole in your heart. You have nearly lost all your hope as his vitals dropped and stopped responding to any stimuli. But you are Mini. The fierce and hot headed Doctor that is famous for never giving up on their patient. The Lady Fortuna. 

And today, you won again. Luck and fortune was on your side again.

What would you do if you didn’t?

Cursing yourself in your mind for that negative thought as you walked out of the theatre, you saw a figure immediately standing up from the bench from the corner of your eyes.

“Colonel.”

“What is the situation?” Cutting straight to the chase. You don’t blame him, this is his second in command and closest friend’s life on the line here. 

“We managed to stabilise him. Now it’s just waiting for him to wake up in recovery and hope for the best.” You roll your shoulders as you give him the postoperative rundowns. Eyeing Alejandro, you notice he didn’t come out of the mission unscathed himself. 

Grabbing his arm , you made a noise of disapproval, “You are injured as well, Colonel,  have you had someone look at you yet?”

“I am fine.” Alejandro waved off your concern lightly and frowned as he looked at your wearied form. “You look worse than me. You haven’t stopped the minute you got dropped off. Worry about yourself first.” You drop your shoulders and make a face. “Why is everyone trying to push me to rest?” “Because everyone knows you too well.” Pressing your shoulder, insisting you to take a seat. “Stay here.” he walked off after making sure you were not going anyway. 

Closing your eyes as you lean back in the uncomfortable hard plastic bench, exhaustion catching up to you all of sudden. Maybe you really should start doing what you preach, before you collapse and become a burden to others.

A gentle tap on your shoulder brought you back from your mind wondering. Alejandro standing there with two cups of coffee and crackers.

“Not quite sure how you take your coffee. I added a bit of sugar and milk into it.”

“Thank you Colonel.” Quietly thanking him, you only realise that you haven’t had any food or drink for the whole day. No wonder you were on the edge of collapsing. But then there were more pressing matters to think about, injuries to attend to, life to save. Especially someone you cared about so much, slipping away from your grasp. 

“He misses you a lot.”  Alejandro quietly mentioned it after a moment of silence. 

“I know.” Taking a sip of the coffee, contemplating if you should ask the question. You feel like you know the answer, you just want to be sure.

“Colonel.” 

“Hmm?”

“What did Rudy say before he fell unconscious?” picking on the edge of the plastic cup, "not my Spanish is the greatest.. But I think I …”

“I think it’s a question you should ask him directly when he wakes up." Gently cutting you off, “I can only tell you, never have I seen my brother so lost before. Nothing ever phases him, not even in the most dangerous situation. That is why he is my second in command. The one I trust to keep an eye on my back.”  Turning his head and looking at you with slight sadness in his eyes, “Thank you for saving his life, Mini.” 

Draining the rest of the coffee, and throwing the cup into the bin. “Come. I’ll take you back to the base.”

Clenching onto the cup tight, nearly spilling the content out, “No. I .. I want to wait for him to wake up.” I want to be the first person he sees when he opens his eyes. 

“You need rest.”

“I can sleep on the chair. I can sleep anywhere.” Pressing your lips tight, stubbornly refuse Alejandro’s offer. 

Shaking his head, Alejandro sighed. “They were right about you again. You sure are stubborn as they described.” Pointing to the little bag on the ground that you haven’t noticed before, “Sergeant Soap dropped off the bag for you before. I’ll ask the staff here to see if there is an On-call Staff room or bed for you to rest in.” 

Face heating up with slight embarrassment, you quietly thank him before he grasps your shoulder and turns towards the nurse station. 

Now it’s a waiting game.

Rudy slowly opened his eyes. White ceiling. Definitely not back at the base. He closes his eyes again as the intense pounding of headache and bright light hits him. Definitely still alive. From the amount of pain he is feeling all over. Unless he is in hell where this is probably a form of torture. For punishing people who have taken too many people’s lives. Innocent or guilty.

Hearing light snoring coming close to the edge of the bed, slowly and with difficulties he turns his head to check out the source of the sound. 

Well , maybe he is in heaven. Otherwise what would be the logical explanation that you are here with him. It must be part of the hallucination he was experiencing. He reaches his hand out, wanting to touch you, making sure you are real. 

You slowly stirred as his hand gently caresses your hair. Your head shoots up as soon as you register what is happening, gasping for air with realisation that he has woken up. 

“You ..are.. real.” Rudy blinked slowly, voice husky and coarse from lack of use. “You are here with me, mi amor…mi vida…”

Tears flooding over the edge of your eyes, you were overwhelmed by emotion and relief, months of pent up feeling, stress, regrets burst through the damn, flowing out from you all in one go. 

“Aquí estoy mi amor….I am so sorry.. So sorry….” You couldn’t stop your sobbing and hiccup as you grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. Feeling his pulse, his warmth, him being alive.

“Why are you even apologising?There is nothing to apologise for.” he whispered as he returned your squeeze.

“I nearly lost you. If I didn’t get there in time.. If I didn’t manage to pull through that surgery.. If… “ you rambled on as you beat yourself with guilt, “I left you, and I nearly made the decision of not coming back, I would have lost the chance of telling you that I… I…. “ Taking in a deep breath as you look into his eyes, now with determination. You have to let him know. “That I miss you, I love you. I love you so much. I would never, ever, love anyone else like how I love you for the rest of my life.”

Rudy’s eyes widen with your bold confession. His heart aches as he takes in your features. Sadness and fatigue, how long have you been sitting by his bedside, waiting for him to wake up? 

Forgetting his own injury, he tries to push himself to sit up, wanting to get closer to you, to pull you into his embrace, to comfort you, to soothe your worries. He winced in pain as he felt a pull around his abs. You look down at his torso in alarm, a slight bit of blood starts oozing out from the site. 

“Stay down Rudy, you're going to tear out all your stitches and start bleeding again if you move too much!” you chided as you gently pushed him back down, immediately switching to doctor mode. “I didn’t spend hours and hours in the theatre trying to close your wound and to have you bleeding to death in this bed!” 

“Please don’t leave me. Please my love… I just can’t bear the thought of you leaving me again.” He tenses up as you stood up and about to walk out of the room, the irrational fear flooding him, scaring you were going to disappear on him again. 

“I am not going anywhere.. I promise. Now rest..” You push the slightly overgrown fringe away from his forehead, leaning down to give him a soft kiss on the lip. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”Your heart clenched at his desperate tone, “I need to go grab a nurse and some equipment,” pointing to his stomach, “and get that cleaned up.” 

With that reassurance and another kiss, this time you let your lip linger a bit longer over his,  Rudy closes his eyes again. He knows next time he opens them, you will still be with him. 

He can finally relax. 

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[branches-in-a-flood]

I'm having a mildly depressive episode, so it seems like a good time to reflect on the two songs that speak to my soul; Fall For Me and Euclid.

TW for mental health, suicide reference, and unpleasantness

This band showed up in my life at the absolute perfect time. Which is to say, I'm not sure I was going to survive this year due to chronic depression and mental illness. I am not saying this lightly. My profession has a very high suicide rate, and I have struggled with depression for two decades. This year got very bleak, and then I stumbled upon this band that so specifically speaks to so many of the battles I had also been fighting. That plainly addresses depression, wanting to leave this plane of existence, and self harm.

And the very first time I heard Euclid I had to turn it off. I made it maybe through the first verse before I was crying so hard I couldn't even hear it. Because I felt every single word of what Vessel was singing. It was so personal for me. To highlight the lyrics that really live in my bones:

If my fate is a bad collision

And if my mind is an open highway

These two lines were the killer, upon reflection. To me, they perfectly sum up long-term mental illness. My fate is a bad collision. I know what my end is going to be, and it's going to be violent. My mind is an open highway. My mind will be the setting and the cause. There's acceptance to it, though. I know my mind works against me. I've known it for years and we're mundane enemies at this point, as common as my daily commute. But one day it will be my end. I still, months after hearing it for the first time, think about this analogy a lot.

Give me the twilight two-way vision

Give me one last ride on a sunset sky lane

Let me have one last good period of time. Please. Let me be happy. Let me spend time with my partners, with my friends and let them see me happy before the inevitable end.

Call me when you get the chance

I can feel the walls around me closing in

Obviously. I've never been good at reaching out. I was dying for someone to talk with me. To help me figure out what I could do about this suffocating feeling of being trapped. The voice effect on these lines makes them feel like they're a voicemail to me. It feels like reaching out, asking for help but not reaching anyone. Leaving a message to please call back, please help, being alone is dangerous. And no one does. (I also remember several friends I've lost to suicide. Did they feel the same way? What if they had tried to reach me? Did they ever call and not reach me, but decide to not leave a message?)

Just running forward, a life like wires

As I see the past on an empty ceiling

I play along with the life signs anyway

But hope to god you don't know this feeling

This passage still makes my chest ache. A life like wires. It's not life anymore, it's existence. The organic parts, the feelings, the softness, they're gone. It's a mechanical existence. I play along with the life signs anyway, but hope to god you don't know this feeling. But I do. It's getting a little better, but largely? Just pretending to be alive, going through the motions until this bout of depression passes. Because it will. (It will undoubtedly come back again, but maybe we can get a few good years before that. Then it circles back to my fate being a bad collision. Fuck, this song hits me so hard.)

I could talk about Euclid for hours, especially with the different lenses I've used to examine and experience it. This is only the explanation of my personal connection.

Fall For Me didn't connect with me quite as much until I saw the music video as well. For the most part, Fall For Me reads as a song about unrequited love, which isn't something that tends to resonate with me that hard. But there were a few lines that I was really struck by, before the text from the video.

And though echoing futures are the buckling sutures

That hold shut the wounds of the past

Far from the first Sleep Token song to reference self harm, but the buckling sutures felt so familiar as a metaphor. You've taken the steps, but the trauma of the past is still a threat. The work you've put in may or may not be enough to hold. I could also write a several page essay on my feelings about the way Vessel addresses self harm. I have my own 20+ years of experience with it. Which is truly stunning to admit to and think about; some coping mechanisms are incredibly difficult to fully give up.

My insecurities surround me like lions in the den

And I feel like I'm losing touch with what I am again

The second line made me pause the song during my first listen. I tend to lose myself in things. School, a manipulative relationship, my previous career, the depression and overwork of this year. Each one has taken part of my personality away, and I don't think I've been myself in years. I don't remember what I was. I do think this will be incorporated into my next tattoo as a reminder.

As for the music video, the truth is, I want, to want, to live and so do you broke me. Again, I saw it at the exact time I needed to. It feels corny to say that the message was what I needed to see - I maintain that the band did not save my life, I did that myself, but they made me interested in living again - but I don't think I recognized how far I had gone until I saw those words.

And then Vessel, that little fucking gremlin man, had the nerve to put so for now let me serve as a living drama of your pain. If we are to be submerged then let us be submerged together on the screen as he disappeared into the goddamn ocean. Like that wasn't exactly how I felt about their music.

I feel like this got away from me, and I don't think many people will read it. But I do like screaming into the void.

Eep Token friends, I'm super curious about something. What is that one Sleep Token song that you have an inexplicable connection to? I don't necessarily mean your absolute favourite, or the one you think it's their best.

I mean that one song that feels like yours. That one that moves you in ways you can't really comprehend. The one that feels like it was made for you specifically.

For me it's Drag Me Under. It's not my actual favourite, but it's the one I feel like it's mine. Can't exactly put my finger why, but yeah.

[pinheadsboyfriend]

a perverse enamourment [chapter 4] — pinhead / self insert [ao3 link]

"You're joking. You really don't know what a zombie is?"

It's clearly not the first time Elliot had been asked a question similar to this, evident in the tired sigh that parses through his lips, and the way his shoulders slump downward.

"I think you'll find that I don't know what plenty of things are, Doctor. And yes, while you can continue to prod at the points of my ignorance, I'm also equally available to be enlightened, should you be so kind as to inform me."

Crawford raises their eyebrows, and the corners of their mouth tweak upward. They’d noticed that Spencer's exasperation had begun to amuse them — almost in an endearing way. The way his lips pressed together and how his eyebrows tensed; the expressiveness was a reminder that Elliot was just another man. An occasionally condescending and contentious man, no doubt, but a man nonetheless.

"You have a phone, don't you? You know you can just look things up."

Elliot gives them a sideways look. "I'd rather not. Books still exist for a reason. Personally, I preferred when phones were exclusively tethered to walls. Half the time, the thing doesn't even function properly. Not everything needs to be so … multi-purposed."

He pulls the device from his pocket, and clicks the button on the side to demonstrate how the display failed to illuminate with an air of casual triumph, satisfied to have made his point. Crawford reaches a hand over to his phone, still in his hand, and presses a different button on the other side, the screen flickering to life in reply.

"And I figure you also preferred when carriages were drawn by horses. The evolution of technology is a lovely thing, Mister Spencer. Just wait until you find out about the lightbulb. Truly revolutionary stuff."

Elliot huffs, and promptly shoves the phone back into his coat, not bothering to turn it off. The unrelenting light from the screen lit up the inside of his pocket.

"Remind me how old you think me to be, again?"

Crawford stifles a laugh, and makes a show of looking the other up and down.

"Old enough to have seen dinosaurs in person, maybe." They pat the space on the couch next to them. "Sit with me, let's watch something. — Enlighten you, if you will. It’s not like you’ll be walking home anytime soon. ‘Least not without floating downhill."

They shuffle their feet up from the floor, bringing their legs close to their body with the remote gripped in their hand.

Elliot stiffens. While true, he had been in Crawford's flat a number of times before, it was usually a pitstop for a change of clothes, and once, where he got a bullet hole sutured. Part of him - most of him wants to deny the offer, and return to his own lodgings, though it had little more to offer than a mattress on the floor, and a pile of books he'd already read through twice. He'd only come in for a glass of water and some shelter from the torrential rain, after all.

"Alright." His mouth makes the decision for him, and he awkwardly settles upon the cushion. Crawford seems very comfortable, and it felt almost … wrong, to bear witness to them being anything but vigilant to the point of paranoia. "I'm not sure I know enough French to adequately understand their programmes, though."

They snort at that, continuing to flick through what was presumably a list of movies and shows.

"Me neither. And even if I did, I sure as shit wouldn't be watching French television."

Crawford laughs quietly at their own jibe, eyes still locked on the vast selection.

“What I had in mind, was a little more relevant.” The last three words are each punctuated by the press of a button, until the words “Night of the Living Dead”, were distinct on the screen.

“You know Frankenstein, right? I’m pretty sure that was your time.”

“Mary Shelley?” Elliot says, appreciating the feeling of finally being familiar with something. “Of course.”

“Great. This is kind of like that - but not really. A zombie is like,” And Crawford pauses, biting the inside of their lip, trying to find the right words. “A zombie is like if the monster from the book was a lot more stupid, and ate people. And crawled out of graves.”

“That doesn’t sound anything like Frankenstein.” Elliot criticizes.

“Excuse me for trying to give you something to relate to.”

Somewhere in between the banter, Crawford had begun the movie.

“See?” They said, pointing with a splayed hand toward the screen. “It’s in black and white. Feeling right at home, yet?”

“I don’t remember films having sound, and I certainly don’t recall watching them in my own home, so no, not particularly.”

“Jesus.” Crawford crosses their arms and tucks their feet closer toward them. The view of the outside is obscured by heavy rain, and any silence is filled with the sound of water hitting metal rafters. “Everyone’s a critic.”

—

The film is watched without much issue. A fact here, a comment there — Elliot only notices how comfortable he had gotten when he was making a snide, though lighthearted remark about the authenticity of some scenes. He’d sunk into the couch, and Crawford had become rather close to him in proximity. The movie was too laughable (yet captivating) to think much about it, though.

“You’re funny.” Crawford says, recovering from a small laugh incurred by his offhanded comment. “No one ever told me that.”

“And what did they tell you?”

“Nothing in particular. You just don’t seem like the sort of person who would be.”

“Should I apologize?” Elliot sarcastically questions.

“No, no -” Crawford lightly shakes their head with a small grin. “It’s just a nice surprise.”

“Oh,” Elliot says, pausing. The rain is still coming down hard, draining out the dialogue of the actors. “Glad to keep you alert, then.”

The rest of the film proceeds without incident, the two of them realizing that they might actually delight in each other’s company. This realization seems to reach both of them at the same time, and the atmosphere is suitably affected.

—

The film ends, and the ending credits roll.

“Well,” Crawford starts, shuffling to get comfortable on the couch cushion. “What did you think? Do you feel educated, now?”

Elliot gives a curt, closed-mouth laugh. “Sure. In a way, I suppose.” He checks his wristwatch. “It was decent entertainment. Better suited for someone else, though, I imagine.”

“Glad you could at least tolerate it. It isn't one of my favourites either.”

In the room, the comfort they had cultivated between each other over the past few months seemed to have evaporated. Neither of them say anything, and neither of them seem to want to.

“It seems like the rain has passed, for the most part.” Elliot interrupts, the silence almost shattering upon contact with his voice.

Crawford turns their head to look out the window and is for some reason, disappointed, to see that he was right.

“Yeah, yeah - looks like it.”

Another silence settles between them, but no longer is there torrential rain to fill uncomfortable gaps.

Elliot places his hands on his thighs, and rises from the couch, smoothing down his shirt.

“I’d best be off, then. Thank you for having me, Crawford.”

“Wasn’t a problem at all.” Crawford nods, getting up as well. Their legs were numb and cramped, and they felt weirdly dejected. “This was nice. I’ll walk you to the door.”

There’s something weighty in the air as the both of them silently trudge toward the exit. Crawford unbolts the door, and swings it open, motioning for Elliot to leave. He takes one step out of the apartment before the voice behind him asks for his pause.

“Hey,” Crawford says, an index tapping at the rim of the door. “Modernization isn’t all bad, you know?”

Elliot looks like he wants to respond, but is quickly interrupted.

“The museums in the area had some nice renovations done. The Louvre had some stuff added to it in the 80’s. A big pyramid, right in the middle.”

“A pyramid?” Elliot echoes curiously, trying to follow along.

“Not a huge pyramid - but that’s not particularly important. They have an interesting exhibit on display right now. “Making Sacred Images”, I think it’s called. Dramatic paintings, Christian themed. I don’t have any personal ties to the faith, but I’ve always appreciated the aesthetic.”

Crawford inhales deeply through their nose.

“I’m getting off track. I just wanted to ask if you would be interested in potentially accompanying me, if your schedule isn’t too overwhelming. I figure you and your historical insight can bring some unique commentary I’d like to hear.”

With a minute tilt of his head and a couple of blinks, Elliot thinks for a moment.

“Why not. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been able to look at any of the works of the Old Masters.”

“Cool, great.” Crawford measures their tone very carefully, intent on sounding very casual. “Well, I’ll be seeing you. Get home safe, Elliot.”

They close the door, but stay near it, listening to his footsteps as Elliot went down the stairs and finally, out the door.

Crawford breathes a sigh of relief, and something in their stomach flitters. Their face is warm.

The scent of his cigarettes still faintly lingered in the air. As much as they loved the smell of rain, they couldn't bring themselves to open a window.

[fairyofthestar]

exile

word count: 0.8k

genre: angst, ex lover!taehyun

requested by: @ifwtyun

i can see you standing, honey with his arms around your body laughin', but the joke's not funny at all

the pain that ached in taehyun's chest felt like the first time your knife went straight right through him. he thought that he had stitched up his wounded heart, but seeing you in the middle of the clueless crowd made him realize that his sutures weren't strong enough to hold the pieces of flesh together.

not seeing you for a few months made him think that it was possible for him to move on. that he had moved on, but as his wandering eyes settled on your all too familiar figure, everything that he thought he knew instantly went out of the window.

he was in denial of it, but he still bled at the thought—and now at the sight—of you in the embrace of someone who wasn't him.

and it took you five whole minutes to pack us up and leave me with it holdin' all this love out here in the hall

you knew that he was here. your friend informed you that taehyun was also invited to the new year's eve party and reassured you that you could sit the party out if you wanted to.

"why should i? we broke up months ago. besides, i'm dating someone now. all of that shouldn't matter anymore," you said, trying to convince them and maybe yourself as well. you didn't harbor feelings for taehyun anymore, but your heart still held bitterness over how the break up went.

to say that things didn't end well between the both of you was an understatement. it was as if during that moment, the both of you were in a contest to see who could knock down the other more without showing any remorse.

things didn't get physical (and you thank god for that), but the emotional wounds that were left from that break up were something that might take a while to heal. the worst part of it was that even if they did heal, the scars would always be there, reminding you of the good and the ugly and you wanted nothing but to forget them both.

you resorted to ignoring him during the whole party and giving your attention towards the person you should be focusing on.

i think i've seen this film before and i didn't like the ending you're not my homeland anymore so what am i defending now?

it was hard for taehyun to see you laughing as if nothing happened. it might have been months since you two split, but you already finding someone else felt too fast for him and that dug deeper in a personal wound of his that would never be healed. was it that easy for him to be replaced? was he that bad of a boyfriend?

to anyone else that might find themselves glancing at him, it would seem like taehyun was just watching another couple in boredom. he was a master at masking his true emotions. no one would ever know that his eyes held mixed emotions of hurt, anger, and knowing. no one would know that he was clenching his jaw and was close to physically shaking in rage over the sight in front of him.

he knew you too well to know the little things that would express emotions you wouldn't say out loud. as he watched how you caressed the arm of your current lover; jealousy, hurt, and anger grew in his heart even more. he wanted to rip you away from that person and redo everything so that he was the only one receiving those specific touches of yours. he wanted to feel your gentle caresses that meant you were slowly getting in the mood and he wanted to be the only person to see you like that.

on the other hand, he knew you too well to know that there would be a repeat of events. if he looked at the picture while ignoring his feelings, he could see why you chose that person. he could see a bit of himself in him. he had only been observing the two of you for no longer than an hour, but he knew that he was watching a film that felt familiar to him.

it was as if he was watching his and yours' relationship through the eyes of someone else.

you were my town now i'm in exile, seein' you out i think i've seen this film before

through the haze of five different emotions in his eyes, there lies a certain glint that knew that this wouldn't end well for you and your current lover, especially if you still hadn't change your trait of being easily bored of something and expecting the other person to know it even when you had not shown any signs (although you believed that you did)—the reason why you two broke up.

as bad as it might sound, he was curious to see how it would unfold. you were out of his life and he was out of yours, but he wanted to see how this film would end, and maybe then his heart would start healing on its own.

☆ taglist: @nyangjjunie @ifwtyun

☆ if you want to be in my taglist, please tell me in my asks or message me !!

[goldenkirstein]

there's no place I'd rather be

or alternatively, you fall in love with jean despite knowing the precarious situation

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

anonymous requested: Hello, long time reader here and glad that you open your request! Can I request a Jean x F! Reader. Reader is a Marleyan nurse who arrived with Yelena, tho she has no hate towards Eldian and feels unfair the stigmatism eldian suffers in Marley. She isnt involved in any plans just do her work. She slowly falls in love with Jean, but has to keep their relationship as she is « the ennemy ». They got secretly engaged before the rumbling. Canonverse, Fluff, slight, love. Thank you in advance ❤️❤️❤️

pairing: jean x fem! reader

wc: 2.1k+

tags: fluff, some angst, manga spoilers, female reader, language, mentions of food and injuries.

a/n: dashes denote timskips

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“Not so tightly, I said firmly, not to cut off my circulation.” You giggled as the man released his grip on your wrist. He looked down, ears tinted red with embarrassment.

“Sorry, got distracted.” Hazel eyes met yours, and a soft chuckle left his mouth.

You were no stranger to the commanding officer; although a great soldier, he was not immune from the occasional bar fight, which often led him to knock at your door with a pleading look and a couple of cuts and bruises that needed your attention.

Over the months, the fights got less frequent, but Jean continued to visit you, leading to the formation of an unlikely friendship. Sometimes, he would come with lunch in hand, knowing how busy you got taking care of the sick and wounded. Other times, like today, he would join you on his days off, helping you complete menial tasks around the clinic.

“You are a terrible student, Kirstein; you know that?” You stood up from the cot and began to place the gauze and antiseptic liquid in the cabinet situated above.

“Maybe you’re just a terrible teacher.” He looked up at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. You whipped your head back to roll your eyes at the man before returning to the task at hand.

“I’d be careful with the choice of words; I don’t see any other nurse here who lets you follow them around like a lost puppy dog.” Closing the cabinet, you stripped the cot of the sheets, bunching them in your hands. Jean’s eyes followed your precise movements before he took the sheets out of your hand and placed them in the laundry hamper at the end of the bed.

“A puppy dog? Seriously? After helping you out at this lonesome clinic, that’s what I’m reduced to?” He placed a hand over his chest, feigning being shot.

You gave him a deadpan look before moving on to the next bed. The tall man remained in your periphery as you continued to work. The silent treatment clearly worked as a sigh left his lips. You glanced up, mouth already open to quip at him in playful annoyance, but found him running his hands through his hair— a nervous tick. You had picked up on it after cleaning his cuts when missions went wrong.

“So, next lesson, I was thinking, maybe you could teach me how to suture a wound?”

This was what he was nervous about?

“You can barely take my pulse without squeezin’ the pulp out of me; you think I’m going to trust you-”

“Okay, how about a date then.”

You blinked your eyes at him, a confused expression painting your face. There were too many complications, you thought. Sure he was attractive and kind, not to mention thoughtful, and his touch would set your skin ablaze, but he was ranked high in the military; would his superiors be okay with this?

There was no denying you did have feelings for him — a tiny part of you was squealing like a schoolgirl; you desperately wanted to lean into that part, but there could be consequences if you accepted.

Worrisome thoughts circled your mind, and you barely heard your name being called out by the man in front of you. Shaking your head to clear your mind, your focus returned to Jean, his eyebrows raised as he waited with bated breath for your response.

It’s just one date.

It could mean nothing.

There’s no harm in saying yes.

“Um, it’s fine if you don’t-” Jean’s voice was hesitant and quiet, but he was quickly cut off when you let out a laugh.

“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just-you know what? Yeah, Kirstein, I’ll go on a date with you.” His demeanour changed, and you giggled at the awkwardness. “Now, I have a pile of patient files that need sorting. Think you’re up for the job?” You bit your lip as you watched the man quickly nod and follow behind your footsteps.

—

“Seriously? I mean, I don’t see it; guess puberty did you wonders, Jean.” You took a bite of the strawberry shortcake, eyes fluttering shut as the flavours filled your mouth.

“Right? I guess I was kind of a dick back then, but I swear they only just stopped calling me that.” Jean smiled as he looked over at you, enjoying the dessert. He hopelessly wanted to kiss you there and then, but he decided against it — too early for that.

“Do you miss it? Your training years?” Taking a napkin, you wiped at the corner of your mouth. The smile on Jean’s face faded away as he looked over the meadow, the setting sun casting a brilliant glow over his features. The change in his expression filled you with instant regret; you opened your mouth to utter out an apology for your carelessness but were cut off by Jean’s voice replacing the sudden silence that had taken over between the two of you.

“Yes? No? Sometimes, it feels like a different lifetime; none of us could have anticipated this. We were so young.” He paused for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing, “Sometimes I wish we could have stayed like that for a little longer — I could have cherished it better.” His voice turned into a whisper near the end. You stayed silent before he turned back, flashing a smile at you that made your heartbeat quicken.

“Enough about me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about Marley. Tell me about it.” Jean’s eyes flickered between yours and the different slices of cake laid out on the picnic blanket. Taking a fork, he bit into the decadent cheesecake and let out a moan.

“You really want to hear about Marley? I thought you’d be sick of hearing about the place, Mr. Commanding Officer.” You giggled while he tried to grumble out a response, the food still in his mouth.

“I could never get tired of hearing about you, doll. Now, c’mon tell me.” His expression softened when he looked at you.

“Don’t do that.” You swallowed thickly, the pet name ringing in your ears.

“Do what?” He wiped the crumbs around his mouth with the back of his hand, making you raise your eyebrows and suppress a laugh. He tilted his head and looked at you with a confused expression.

“Say stuff that makes me feel like I got the wind knocked out of my lungs.” You turned your face, attempting to conceal the embarrassment that had taken over your features. Shutting your eyes, you waited for him to laugh at you, but he never did. Hesitantly you turned to face him and found him staring at you, his hazel eyes sparkling.

“You want to know what my diagnosis for that is?” He leaned in, his face inches away from yours. You struggled to meet his gaze.

“What?” It came out breathy; Jean’s eyes flickered down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

“I think you like me. Wanna know what I recommend as treatment?” He smiled when you quickly nodded at his words, the conversation you were having wiped from your mind.

The distance between the two of you closed in; his lips moulded to yours as he captured them in a tender kiss. The taste of the sweet cheesecake was still present on his lips, and you wrapped his hand around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Jean smiled against your lips before pulling away.

“Guess my lessons finally paid off, Kirstein.” A slight blush tinted Jean’s cheeks at your comment, and he grasped your free hand with his own, bringing it to his lips, peppering your knuckles with soft kisses.

—

“Are you listening?”

The Commander’s voice made you sit up straight; you offered a quick apology to them before glancing over at Jean, who was shifting in his seat.

The tension was palpable in the room as the Commander continued to explain the fragility of the situation at hand. With Eren abandoning the scouts, intense scrutiny was placed on the Commander and the Marleyan volunteers — the latter of which included you.

You stared at your hands which rested in your lap, gaze focused downward to avoid the venomous looks that were being thrown in your direction. However, it wasn’t anger that filled your chest but rather a certain heaviness. You couldn’t blame them. Centuries of mistrust and hatred fueled this. They had every right to doubt your intentions, despite them being in no way harmful or deceitful in nature.

Gathering enough courage to lift your head, you locked eyes with Jean, and your heart sank deeper into a pool of anguish.

You were a fool.

A fool for thinking that the world would spare you from the inevitable heartbreak that faced you both.

You hoped that Jean wouldn’t be able to see through the front you were putting up, trying your best to remain neutral, not to worry him during such an important meeting. He ran his fingers through his hair, eyes shifting back to Commander Hange. You knew that if you were worrying about the current predicament, there was no doubt that he probably was as well.

Shifting your focus back on your lap, you ran your thumb over your bare ring finger to soothe yourself for the remainder of the meeting.

Welcoming the cool breeze as you stepped out of the imposing building, you allowed your shoulders to relax. The momentary relief was short-lived, however, as two soldiers trailed behind your footsteps. They were getting closer and closer until you turned around and saw a familiar figure dismiss them.

Jean approached you; although his expression was stiff and stoic, his eyes still held the same tenderness for you as they did years prior. Before accompanying you through the gates and on to the stone-laden path towards your clinic, he gave you a curt nod.

You knew better than to reach out and grasp his hand, interlock your fingers together, despite the ever-growing itch you had to seek comfort in his touch.

Sparing a few glances in his direction, you saw his jaw was clenched — the meeting still heavy on his mind.

Rounding the corner, the steps leading to the clinic came into view; it was secluded enough for both of you to drop the act. You walked over and sat on the steps and watched as Jean sat next to you.

A tired sigh tumbled from his lips, hair falling in front of his face, obstructing you from seeing his pained expression. You reached over and brushed it past his ear, pressing a kiss onto his shoulder before resting your forehead against it.

The both of you sat in silence before Jean took hold of your left hand, thumb brushing over the same spot you were moments prior.

“You know, I was worried you only said yes out of pity for me. I thought you only saw me as some poor Eldian-” Raising your head from Jean’s shoulder, you watched with concern in your eyes.

“Jean, you know I don’t care about that stuff.”

“I know that, doll. I just, just, couldn’t believe you would want to marry me.” His eyes remained focused on your hand until you released it from his grasp. You moved it to his face, turning it to make him face you.

Grazing over his cheekbones, you gave him a soft smile, “I still want to. Marry you that is. Ring or not, the end of the fucking world or not, I’m still going to marry you.” Letting out a chuckle, you pressed your forehead against his.

He turned his head to kiss your palm, voice coming out as a whisper, “I can’t make any promises, and I know you’re scared, but know that I love you more than anything, darling.”

—

Smoothing your hands over your attire, for the umpteenth time doing so, you walked over to join Armin and the others from the ship’s bow.

You instantly smiled when you felt a warm hand on the small of your back, head turning to look at your husband.

“You could have spent a smidge more time fixing your hair, don’t you think so?” Jean shook his head and let out a laugh.

“Gotta look the best for my wife.” He shot you a wink, making you roll your eyes at him despite the action making your mind foggy — even now, he still managed to make you feel like a schoolgirl with a silly little crush.

You pushed into his side, hand snaking up his back as you approached your friends.

“Nervous?”

“You know it.” He removed himself from your side to lean into the railing, but he grabbed onto your hand and pulled you closer to his body.

Jean brought your hand to his lips before he placed a gentle kiss over the cool metal that wrapped around your finger. He flashed you a grin, “but I’m glad I have you here with me.”

a/n: this took me a long time to finish, so I apologize for it taking so long !! I hope you enjoyed it !!

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[resusheart]

After surgery (part one)

I got a message on my phone. My patient wasn´t doing very well after open heart surgery. The people in the ICU had to keep pushing vasopressors to help her keep her blood pressure up (barely), She had been extubated in the morning because it appeared that she was strong enough to breath by herself. The ventilator settings had been set to C-pap and she had handled it just fine, so, after a while, the doctor had stopped sedation to take the tube out. She was aware enough to understand the instructions: “cough, cough”, and when she did, the endotracheal tube was pulled out of carefully, after the fixation balloon had been deflated. They immediately switched to a reservoir mask, to give her 100% oxygen, and she seemed fine.

But that was early this morning, now, she was struggling to breathe. I had to leave my house on a Saturday evening to go check on her. So much for having a nice weekend resting and watching movies!

I parked in the “doctors only” zone of the hospital. I went into the ICU just in time to hear the oxygen desaturation alarm go off in cubicle number three. It was her. I walked a little faster and entered the space. She was struggling visibly, in spite of having the mask on, her saturation level was low, her eyes were wide and looking nowhere, her mouth was open as she gasped for air that she couldn’t breathe no matter how hard she tried. I approached her bed, and spoke to her. I moved the bed controls to place her in an upright position thinking maybe that would help, but her blood pressure dropped as soon as I raised her, so I had to move her headrest back to a 30° angle. I then ordered an X-Ray of her chest. It showed her lungs had too much fluid in them, she was drowning from the inside out.

I asked the nurses to prepare her for a left side chest tube insertion. Because of the surgery, she already had three tubes coming out of the lower part of the chest area, and the very recent scar of the heart surgery I had performed on her a couple of days before lay bare right in the middle of her chest, all along the sternum. The wound, sutured carefully, her generous breasts quivering on both sides of it while she struggled to get enough air inside her lungs.

In the few moments they took to sterilize the area I talked to her: “I know it’s heard, I know you are trying, stay calm, we are going to insert a chest tube, It’s a painful procedure, I’m not going to lie, but I need to do this sweetheart, OK? We are doing everything we can to help you.” She looked at me with her big, blue eyes, blinked slowly and moved her head slightly letting me know she understood.

I then turned my attention to her chest, it was ready for the procedure. They had splashed betadyne and made sure the whole area was clean and sterile, then the resident had injected a very generous amount of anesthetic between the ribs where I planned on inserting the tube. I washed my hands and put two pairs of gloves on, another disposable sterile gown on top of the one I already had and asked for the scalpel. I made a deep cut between the ribs, and then placed my finger inside to feel around and find the path I would use to insert the tube, then, a nurse placed the large bore tube in my hand and I inserted it deep into her chest, when it crossed over the ribs, inside the chest, the patient winced, and moved a bit, I am sure she would´ve screamed and jumped if she had had the strength, I continued to thrust the tube inside her chest, looking for a spot where it would finally drain the fluid that filled her lungs. There! I felt a kind of “pop” and the liquid began to drain. The small beads of sweat that covered her breasts and forehead shone with the strong overhead lights and covered all of her pale skin with a special glow. I fixated the tube in place and asked a nurse to stay at my patient’s side all the time. I was hoping this would make thing better, but honestly, I wasn’t too optimistic about it. I stroked her hair when I was finished and told her to be patient. She looked at me with fear and trust in her eyes. She was hopeful that this would make her feel better, I had serious doubts, but it was our best shot at the moment.

I went to the doctor’s lounge to rest and drink some coffee. I was trying to figure out what was going on. The surgery had gone well, her heart valves had been successfully replaced for artificial ones that worked well. All seemed fine at the time, but she was too weak and I felt more trouble looming in the near future. This patient was special. She appeared healthy, a middle aged woman who took good care of herself, practiced sports, she had natural breasts that were still round and full. I knew I wasn’t supposed to look at her like that, that I was a professional, but I couldn’t help it when touching her body, her soft skin when I placed the stethoscope on her chest and feel something inside me stir. Studying to be a heart surgeon had kept me from having a good social life and therefore, having a family. The hospital was my life, my world, and now, as an attending surgeon I finally had time to see things other than books and this woman had caught my eye the moment I had seen her laying in a stretcher in the ER a few weeks before. But she was my patient now, I had just added a new, big scar all the way down her chest hoping to save her life.

I had closed my eyes for just a few minutes when I was called urgently to the ICU. It was her again….

[writteninsunshine]

He’s Going The Distance - Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters - SFWish

Title: He’s Going The Distance

Author: Reno

Fandom: Resident Evil 7: Biohazard

Setting: Medbay, Post-Dulvey Incident

Pairing: Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters

Characters: Chris Redfield, Ethan Winters, Random Nurse

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: M

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1386

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Part of the For All These Times series, Whump Bingo Fill #2

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Pre-Slash, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociating, Blood, Deep Wounds, Trans Male Character, Trans!Ethan Winters, Possible OOC for Chris, Medical Equipment, Medical Treatment, Stitches, Sutures, I.V.s, Pain Meds

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Summary: Was Ethan truly so used to pain that he didn't notice that?

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Twitter!

More whump fic bingo! I’m really enjoying these, they’re too much fun to write. Oops, I like to punish Ethan even if he doesn’t deserve it. He’s so whumpable. I hope you guys are enjoying this, I know I sure am. This one is for my editor, Gryph, who is the best editor I could ever ask for. MAJOR shout out to her!

Resident Evil Fic Masterlist

Ethan Whump Bingo Fic Masterlist

He’s Going The Distance

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There was an old thought resurfacing as Chris looked at Ethan. A man who could live through anything was what S.T.A.R.S. had wanted, Ethan would have been welcomed into the fold. The man was a machine when it came to surviving anything. Despite this, he seemed too oblivious to notice when something was wrong with him. All the healing fluid in the world couldn’t help the man with how much constant pain wracked his body. It was almost impossible to discern one pang of pain from the rest. That hand was a nasty wound, the staples not quite sanitary when they’d been secured into his skin.

But that wasn’t what he’d noticed just now.

“Ethan,” He began, his voice soft and wary as if speaking too loudly might shatter the other man. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” His voice sounded exhausted, hoarse, and so soft Chris barely heard him.

Tugging him closer for inspection, he unbuttoned Ethan’s shirt and pulled it away like a pair of curtains. Yanking up the undershirt he wore, Chris paused a moment to stare. Unable to help how his fingers splayed over the other’s stomach, eyes taking in the thick scars beneath his pecs. His thoughts turned away from the injury for a second, he only stopped when he reached the center of Ethan’s chest. He took in the soft peach fuzz there with a quirk of his lips he wasn’t in control of. Finally, his fingers fell over the thick gash leaking over Ethan’s pale skin, and the touch made Ethan recoil some. 

“Don’t,” Chris warned, eyes narrowing a little as he reached around, pulling Ethan close again by his waist, a hand on his middle back, “You’re hurt. I’ll fix you right up.” 

Leaving Ethan for a moment, he returned with a basin of warm water and a few washcloths. Where he’d gotten them from, Ethan didn’t know, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Dragging one wet cloth over the blood, he cleaned Ethan up despite his hisses and gasps of pain. What was the best option was going to hurt, so Chris started by applying a local anesthetic gel to the area around the wound. He must have found it when he brought the rest of his supplies, Ethan figured. He winced, flinching when Chris’s hands got too close to the weeping injury, but he sucked in a deep breath and bit the thin skin on the inside of his lip. It was all he could do to keep himself from making any more noise.

“I’m going to have to give you stitches.” Honestly, Chris was worried that Ethan was going to start leaking organs. It was deep, and he could almost touch the other’s rib bones. Ethan had really taken a beating, and it was hard to fathom how he hadn’t noticed this. Then again, he was in shock after everything that had happened, after all of the mental and physical trauma he had taken. Maybe it wasn’t such a strange occurrence. 

After all, he was a civilian. He hadn’t been meant to find these kinds of things. If he had stayed away, he would have been blissfully unaware, but there might have been a worse problem on Chris’ hands by the time they arrived at the scene.

“Okay.” Letting out the breath he’d been holding, Ethan nodded just slightly to save him from aggravating his pounding headache, “Just… Do it quickly. I don’t feel good.” Swaying, he felt his knees begin to buckle, and Chris caught him in a tight embrace. This wasn’t going to work with Ethan standing, anyway.

Hefting him up bridal style, Chris carried Ethan like he weighed nothing. Sitting him down on a nearby gurney, he removed his shirts and set them aside. They were stained, torn to hell, and bloody. He’d have to get him a change of clothes. Helping ease him to lay down so that his right side was facing out, he ran a hand over the other’s chest in a hope to help calm him. Maybe it wasn’t entirely innocent, but he was trying to stay focused here.

“This might hurt, but I promise I’ll be quick.” All Chris got in return was a soft murmur he couldn’t hear, let alone understand. If nothing else, Chris was efficient, and Ethan looked like he was going to faint. That might help him do this without Ethan bellyaching the whole time. Stepping away, Chris grabbed a first aid kit, opening it up and setting it beside Ethan on the cot. Digging out a needle, some antiseptic, and surgical thread, he worked the thread through the eye of the needle and set to work.

The laceration was likely already infected, if not by something typical, then by the mold Ethan had been exposed to. With a little sigh, Chris poured some of the liquid over it, making sure to use gauze to get it inside. The forceps he had grabbed entering it made Ethan grunt, but he was too tired to try and fight it. Chris diligently worked on cleaning him up, wiping at more blood before grabbing the sterilized needle. He wiped it down again with a clean antiseptic wipe before starting with the initial stick. Ethan didn’t seem to notice this, due to the numbing gel, and Chris was glad for it.

With the easy glide of the needle and his skillful hands, he made quick work of the stitches, hoping not to bother Ethan too much. Once they were tight, he cut the cord and cleaned up the wound once more, wiping away the gel with a few medical towelettes, before drying the area. To make sure it would stay clean, he rubbed another cloth damp with warm water on the site before running more of the wipes over it. A dry rag then worked over the glistening flesh, and he didn’t stop until he had patted him dry.

“Ethan, I need you to sit up. I have to wrap this.” Chris spoke, breaking the silence in the room they were in. Unfortunately, it seemed that Ethan had fallen asleep, or maybe passed out, so he had no choice but to gently shake him awake. “Ethan, you have to sit up.”

Ethan nodded absently, slowly pushing himself up with the other’s aid. Bracing himself on his shaking arms, he let Chris wrap him up with gauze from his stomach to his shoulders, surprised by his gentle hands. Once Ethan was bandaged up, he was allowed to lay back once more, and Chris didn’t think about his next action. Kissing Ethan’s forehead gently, he petted a hand over the skin and the other’s sweat-damp hair.

“You should be alright, now. I’ll keep an eye on this.” Voice quiet, he smiled slightly, hoping to keep him at ease. It didn’t seem like Ethan was going to panic, though, too worn down to do much but flutter his eyelashes. “Sleep, now. I’ll get you some pain killers when you wake up.” God knew he’d need them. Moving the gurney around so that he could be more comfortable and closer to the setup for the I.V., Chris sighed in relief. Already asleep, or so he hoped.

Settling in a nearby chair, Chris pulled out his phone. He’d be stuck here for a while, for sure. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, he’d been set to guard Ethan while his tests were being done.

Ethan didn’t wake for what felt like hours, and when he did it was with a groan of pain. Chris was quick to give him water and a shot of morphine that he was instructed to administer through the I.V. that a nurse had given Ethan. At the very least, he was going to be taken care of.

“Thanks.” Ethan managed, his voice cracking halfway through. 

“You need care.” That much was obvious. Chris combed a hand through the other’s blond locks once more. “If that means I have to do it, then so be it.” There was an odd fondness he felt for Ethan in this moment, watching him nod, his eyes glassy and distant. “You’ll be okay.”

With any luck, he’d bounce back from this. He’d been through hell already, what was another ordeal to save him?

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AN: There we go! It’s not super shippy but I’ll still tag it, just in case. Also, this probably makes more pain for the start of The Village, but that’s okay. I might write something about it when I’ve seen more of the game. I got it preordered for my birthday but it’s at my friend’s house until I can see her again. I’ve been watching it, however, so I’ll get there eventually. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Prompt: Ethan Doesn’t Realize He’s Injured

[wicked-mind]

Remember Me: Chapter Three

Summary: Y/N and Bucky were the unlikely match when it came to love, but they were inseparable since they met. After a fight, Y/N left to be a trauma surgeon in the military and returns without her memories. How will Bucky remind Y/N how she is the fire in his bones? Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Mentions of drugging and sexual assault. Small bit of violence.

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*gifs not mine

Chapter Three - Hunger

Bucky had been awake most of the night watching Y/N sleep soundly on his lap but eventually his tiredness took over and he fell asleep himself. When he opened his eyes to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, he immediately looked down to see Y/N not there anymore. There was a small bubble of panic as he got up quickly, walking to the kitchen to see Peggy with a mug of coffee. Without a word, she pointed to the front door with a smile to let him know where Y/N was. Bucky gave a soft smile of thankfulness before making his way to the front door, opening it as his eyes fell on Y/N’s back as she sat on the porch steps. He froze in that moment, listening her hum the tune to their song. Was she remembering bits and pieces? He slowly moved to sit next to to her.

Y/N stopped humming when she noticed Bucky sit by her, looking at him quickly. She had a banana on her lap with a cut through it and was practicing sutures on it with tweezers in her hands that held the needle and thread, “Good morning, sleepy head.” She said with a smile towards him before returning her focus on her practice sutures, “You ever wake up with a song in your head that feels like it’s your favorite song but can’t remember it? Because I cannot get this song out of my head and I can’t look it up because I don’t know the words, just the tune.”

Bucky smiled over at her, watching as she threaded the needle through the peel of the banana and suture the peel back together with black thread, “Everyday darlin’,” He told her. Their song had been stuck in his head on repeat since the night they found it. It was one of his favorite memories. Y/N had snuck out with him and they went to a field on his dirt bike. He had brought a blanket so they could watch the stars together while the little radio he had played music. He kissed her for the first time to the song Hunger by Ross Copperman. It had been stuck in his head from that moment on, like a theme song to their relationship, “Is the banana going to make it?”

Y/N giggled a little bit, “I think so. I’m a very good surgeon.” She told him as she tied a knot onto the last suture and put the tweezers down in her lap as well, “There. He should live a long life of 24 hours before he turns to mush.” She looked back at him, running her eyes along his facial features. She had never seen a smile so sincere that she could remember, “I’m practicing so eventually I can go back to work at the hospital. From what Steve says, I have a very good reputation there as their old trauma surgeon and they’d be happy to have me back. Plus I still have all my memories when it comes to medicine and surgical procedures which should help.”

“That’s great.” Bucky told her, happy that she was still pursuing the thing she had dreamed about since she graduated. Y/N was still her, even without her memories. He couldn’t help but wish the things she remembered were him and the love they had between them. It was an epic love and Bucky wanted that back, “I should probably head home and change into some clean clothes. I’ll be back later to replace the fan in your room so you can sleep soundly.”

Y/N looked at him, observing him as he spoke. She could see something in his eyes that didn’t want to leave. Or maybe it was that he didn’t want to leave her. She bit her lip, “I was actually thinking, since we were so close before, maybe seeing your place would bring back some memories. Plus Peggy already said they didn’t have anything for breakfast.” She smiled at him, “Do you have breakfast supplies? I can cook while you change and stuff.”

Bucky grinned at her idea, it was just what he wanted. Her to come home with him, “Sounds like a plan, doll.” He told her, knowing he had supplies for her favorite food already. He had gone to the store as soon as he heard she was coming home, buying all her favorite things to eat in case she remembered him and came back home, “You think you remember how to make blueberry pancakes?”

Y/N scrunched her nose as if trying to think of the steps on how to cook, “Nope.” She said with a large pucker of her lips on the sound of the ‘p,’ “But I’m a surgeon. I can figure out how to make pancakes… probably.” She said with a small laugh before licking her lips and staring at him, “Does this mean you’re taking me home on your motorcycle?”

Bucky stood and smiled down at her, “Oh no, I still think you need some more time after I found you walking down the street in the middle of the night. I just live a street down, we can walk it isn’t far.” As much as he would like to take her home on his bike, he didn’t want to rush things with her and knew Steve wouldn’t be too keen on the idea.

Y/N nodded, a little sad she wasn’t going to be able to remember the feeling Bucky had told her about when she rode with him but was happy to adventure out of the four walls of Steve’s home. She stood by him for a moment before opening the door and telling Peggy she was going with Bucky and she was alright before turning back to the dark haired man, “Lead the way, Bucky.” She told him with a smile and a wave of her hand, following as he walked, “I’m curious, tell me more about this girl you loved.”

Bucky looked at her as he walked down the sidewalk beside her, “Love.” He corrected, “I still love her and I always will.” He stared at her for a moment as if waiting for her to say it back before connoting, “We were a very unlikely match, total opposites. I already told you she was smart, I have no idea how she fell in love with me. I was a mess, always getting in fights and causing trouble. When she came into my life, she was like the little angel that appeared on my shoulder that helped me choose the right path to go down.” He smiled at the memories, “But she always told me I was the one that made her feel truly alive, like the world was brighter and made sense. She calmed my wild soul and I brought out the wild in her’s.” He had rambled on the whole time they walked, not being able to stop himself until they were in his driveway, “Home, sweet, home.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Bucky talk about the woman he loved. It was obvious he was still completely and undeniably in love with her. She looked at the house, taking in its features when they stopped, “It’s a pretty house.” She complimented before following him inside. She watched Bucky hurry and pick up a shoe box on the coffee table, taking it into what she assumed was his bedroom. Curiosity sparked in her as it seemed like Bucky didn’t want her to see it and that made her want to know more but wouldn’t pry. She went to the kitchen, “Okay… Pancakes..” She said to herself as she closed her eyes tightly trying to remember the ingredients. When she opened them, Bucky was already pulling out all the ingredients with a smile on his lips, “Thank you. I’ll try not the screw it up.”

Bucky watched her scan over the ingredients and when he saw she didn’t remember where to start, he pulled out a notebook. Y/N always wrote down the recipes she loved. It helped Bucky cook a few meals for her when she got home from working at the hospital, “Here’s the recipe. You got this.” He encouraged, “I’m going to take a quick shower. Try not to burn the house down.” He said as he started walking out of the kitchen and down a hallway towards the bathroom.

Y/N watched him go before scanning her eyes over the recipe. She tilted her head as she recognized it as her own hand writing. She bit her lip lost in thought for a moment, trying to put puzzle pieces together. She finally snapped out of it and looked at the ingredients nodding to herself, “Alright, Y/N. You know how to do a double lung transplant. You can make blueberry pancakes.” She encouraged herself. She wondered around the kitchen, finding pans and utensils to help and started the mission of making breakfast.

Bucky came out to find Y/N flipping pancakes with extreme focus on her face as if it was a life or death situation which made him smile. He wore dark jeans with a short sleeved black shirt that showed off his tattooed left arm. He walked into the kitchen, gently taking the spatula from Y/N who looked grateful that he was taking over, “They look delicious. I’ll finish up.” He told her, adding the blueberries and flipping the pancakes.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief when Bucky took over, stepping back and hoping up onto the counter as she watched him closely, observing every move he made while he cooked. She couldn’t deny she was attracted to him, something about him drew her towards him. She ran her eyes up and down his figure, biting her lip as she took in every part of him. Y/N was very observant and when she saw the small red heart tattoos between the rest of his ink, her eyes narrowed. She recognized them as her own which made her curiosity grow. When she first woke up after having the bullet removed, the doctors had her draw shapes and write her name to make sure she still had the ability to write and those hearts looked exactly like the ones she had drawn.

Bucky turned to look at Y/N, seeing her looking at his tattoos. He wondered if it was sparking anything to remember him. He held two plates of pancakes in his hands which he set down on the table gently before pulling out the syrup and pulling out a chair for Y/N, “Breakfast is served.”

Y/N took a seat in the chair Bucky pulled out for her, “Thank you.” She said with a smile towards him, picking up the syrup and slathering enough on to cause a toothache, but she always had a sweet tooth. She licked her lips slightly at the view before digging in.

Bucky kept his promise to Y/N, replacing the fan in her bedroom with a small chandelier which made her smile when it sparkled in the light. Y/N got to know Bucky better. He was over everyday entertaining her but as much as she brought up the idea of Bucky taking her on a ride, he would deny it and his reason was that Steve wouldn’t like it. Y/N was smart and everyday she spent with Bucky and listened to him talk about the girl he once loved, the puzzle pieces slowly started to be put together in her mind. She had a feeling by the way he talked and spoke to her that she may be this mystery woman that he had broken the heart of but she wouldn’t know unless she asked. One day at dinner with Steve and Peggy, Y/N finally built up the courage to confront her brother on her thoughts, “Stevie, did Bucky and I use to date?” She said out of the blue.

Peggy and Steve both almost choked on their food at the question, sharing a look. Steve looked at Y/N trying to keep a straight face, “What.. Why would you ask that?” Y/N bit her lip, narrowing her eyes at their reaction. She was pretty sure she was given her answer by the way they choked on their food. Or she was dead wrong and they couldn’t believe her question, “Just some things I’ve noticed. He has a recipe book in my handwriting at his house and the heart tattoos look like hearts I draw.” She said, giving him a short list instead of talking about the way Bucky looks and speaks to her. The way he made her feel.

Steve opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find a good answer so looked to Peggy with pleading eyes for help.

Peggy looked at Steve then smiled gently at Y/N, “You should talk to Bucky about that, honey.” She said simply.

Y/N frowned a little at them, her eyes flickering between the two, “Why can’t you just tell me?”

They both stayed silent for a moment as if trying to think of a good answer, glancing at each other and their food trying to avoid eye contact with Y/N who was staring at them intently.

Y/N rolls her eyes and sighs, standing up, “I’m not going to break.” She told them with bitterness in her voice before walking towards the front door. She grabbed her small backpack and a jacket, pulling it over her figure and opening the front door, “Don’t report me as missing person!” She called back before exiting the home. She walked down the street, muttering words under her breath in frustration towards her brother. Why couldn’t he just answer the question? It bothered her and she wanted answers about who she was and who she was to Bucky. Y/N found herself walking into a bar, smiling slightly when she saw someone she recognized sitting at the bar from the BBQ, Sam. Y/N hoped up on the stool next to him, “Hi. Sam, right?”

Sam looked at her, holding a bottle of beer in his hands, “Y/N! Yeah, Sam.” he smiled at her. He had known her for a few years, he was one of Steve’s army friends, “Whatcha doin here?”

Y/N shrugs, “Brothers being annoying. Needed to get away for a little bit. Do you know what kind of alcohol I like?” She asks with a tilt of her head. She remembered she has drank before but couldn’t remember what she enjoyed.

“Tequila. Lots of tequila.” Sam remembered with a small laugh, “You said it got you through your surgical internship.” He waved his hand at the bartender, “Can we get a tequila shot?” To which the bartender nodded and placed it in front of Y/N with a lime.

Y/N narrows her eyes at the liquid in the shot glass in front of her with a lime resting on the top, “Okay, so lime first or second?”

Sam chuckled, picking up the lime and putting it on his napkin, “You don’t like the lime.” He reminded before watching her take the shot and her nose crinkle, “Just like old times.”

Y/N wrinkled her nose at the sting then let out a small laugh, “Yup. That is definitely something I would fall in love with.” She looked away from Sam as another man sat next to her with a smile. She didn’t recognize him but from the look on his face it seemed like he knew her from how comfortable he was to come up to her.

“Hey, pretty girl.” The short haired dark man said to her. He had a sharp jaw that matched his sharp cheek bones with some stubble for a beard, “It’s been a while.”

Y/N bit her lip at the new man, “I’m sorry… I don’t remember who you are.” She told him, “I lost my memories on deployment from an injury so you’re going to have to reintroduce yourself.” She added quickly as to not hurt his feelings.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He smiles at her before holding out his hand, “Brock Rumlow. We used to hang out, or at least you came to one of my parties when we were younger. It was fun.”

Y/N scrunched her nose in thought, “Nope, sorry don’t remember. But it’s nice to meet you again.” She smiled at him. She hadn’t noticed Sam glaring at the man and didn’t notice when he got up and walked away to make a call.

Sam stood away from as many people as he could, dialing a number on his phone and pressing it to his ear as he watched Y/N talk to Brock who was buying her another shot of tequila, “Hey, Buck. It’s Sam…. I’m at the Howlin’ Cammandos bar with Y/N…. She said her brother was being annoying and wound up here, I don’t know man. Listen, Rumlow just came over and reintroduced himself to her…. Yes, Brock Rumlow the one you and Steve told me about…. He’s buying her shot after shot… Alright, I’ll stay close to her..” He hung up the phone, shaking his head before returning to his spot beside Y/N, listening to Brock put all the moves on her while she laughed like it was the first time she had heard his cheesy pick-up lines which Sam determined was because she couldn’t remember hearing them before.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to walk through the doors, immediately grabbing Brock by his shoulder to turn him around before landing a hard punch straight to his nose. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pushing him up against the bar, “I told you to never come near her again!” He growled out at Brock before landing a punch to Brock’s cheek followed by another. He wasn’t holding back, he was putting everything he had into every punch.

Y/N jumped a little at the sight, her jaw falling open as she watched Bucky punch Brock. She looked at Sam as if it say ‘help’ and watched as Sam got up and separated the two, pushing Brock out the door telling him to get out of here. Y/N looked at Bucky once Sam had gotten rid of Brock, “What the hell, Bucky?” She said to him.

Bucky turned his angry stare to Y/N after watching Sam drag Brock out the doors, “C’mon. I’m taking you home.” He said, grabbing her hand and pulling her outside. Sam was standing out there, watching as Brock’s car pulled out onto the street before heading back inside with a nod towards Bucky. Bucky kept pulling Y/N towards his motorcycle, passing her a helmet, “Put it on.”

Y/N held the helmet in her hands for a moment before setting it down on the seat of his Harley, “No. Not until you tell me what that was all about.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at her stubbornness, picking up the helmet again and holding it out to her, “Put it on, Y/N. I’m taking you home.” He said again in a more stern voice.

Y/N folded her arms instead of taking the helmet, frowning at him. She was already irritated at Steve and now she felt like she was being babysat by Bucky, “Talk or I walk.”

Bucky stared at her, knowing that look. She was stubborn and she would walk away from him if he didn’t spill what he knew, “Fine, Y/N. When you were eighteen you went to a party at Brock’s house because we got in a fight. You thought he slipped something in your drink and called me right away. I got there just in time to find his hands all over you in his bedroom while you were passed out but it hadn’t gone any further than him copping a feel. I told him if he ever came near you again, I’d kill him.” He sighs, “Now you’re back with no memories and he would’ve taken advantage of that. He’s not a good person, Y/N.”

Y/N looked suddenly saddened as Bucky spoke, her lips parting a little in shock. That was something she rather not remember and was partly grateful she wouldn’t have that memory living inside her brain. She looked down, “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” She apologized. She sighed deeply before dropping her hands to her sides, “I asked Steve something tonight and he wouldn’t answer me. Peggy said I should talk to you about it.”

Bucky’s couldn’t help but frown as Y/N looked sad, that was something he didn’t want her to remember. It was an awful memory for both of them and Bucky had never felt such rage when he saw Brock’s hands all over her. He had beaten Brock to a pulp, almost unrecognizable and he would’ve again tonight if Sam wasn’t there to stop him, “What is it, doll?” He asks in a gentle tone, knowing whatever she had asked Steve was bothering her.

Y/N ran her tongue along her lips for a moment, not daring to look at Bucky. She wanted to know and she felt like she already knew the answer from all the hints Bucky had given her. Half of her didn’t want to ask but the tequila was giving her courage and the need to know was overwhelming, “Am I the girl you talk about? The one you still love?”

[aressss1]

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 5

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 5

< Prev Chapter | Next Chapter >

~~~~~~

Dream felt you shift into him, his arms tightened around you to keep you steady. The two of you were almost to the mines. Spirit was running through the snow like a champ. When it was just starting to snow again, he sighed in annoyance. George and Sapnap were going to have a hell of a time getting back. He just hoped Techno wouldn’t cause too much trouble… ‘Should’ve just left him. He wanted to be alone anyway.’ Dream thought to himself rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

 He looked down at the patch job he did on your shoulder, pleased that it still was holding, even if it was bloody. You were going to need a real doctor soon, between that and your sickness, you really weren’t doing well. You were hot to the touch and it was worrying.

It had taken around two hours, but he could see the community village everyone lived in or nearby. It was surreal seeing it without life. Everyone had been evacuated underground. He even saw his old home; it was weird to think that his home wasn’t his anymore. So many memories happened behind those walls.

“Dream!” A voice called from the community mineshaft. A hooded shadowy figure waved cheerfully. Dream smiled at BadBoyHalo from behind the mask, happy to see him. Bad was carrying supplies and he was struggling to keep them in his arms when he waved to Dream. His tail swishing back and forth. Dream steered Spirit up to the mine. “Who’s that? And where’s George and Sapnap?” Bad’s eyes flicked from you to the surrounding area, looking for Dream’s team.

 “Bad, I’m going to need help, with her.” Dream carefully jumped down from the horse, keeping you in his arms. “The others are fine, but she is sick and injured.” Bad’s tail swish in curiosity. His eyes flicked to the bloody mess that was your shoulder. “Please tell me we have health potions.”

 “We might…” Bad looked up in thought. “But the amount of injured people we have, might have used up all the glistering melons we had… The food situation isn’t any better…” Bad looked back to Dream, as he grabbed ahold of Spirits reigns.

 “Once Phil gets here, we can start production.” Dream started pushing past Bad into the mine. It was a long way down, but he had been through these mines many times. He was just thankful the mine had been widened so Bad could follow with Spirit.

 “I don’t know if the doctor will help her right away…” Bad peered over Dreams shoulder at you.

 “Why’s that?” Dream asked his arms tightening around your frame.

 “He’s… not the nicest doctor around.” Bad hesitated. “He has a huge room full of patients, I think it’s wearing him thin.”

 “Is he from our village?” Dream was trying to think of who it could be.

 “No, he’s not. But he’s all we have.” Bad sighed. Dream could hear the exhaustion in Bad’s voice.

 “We will see what happens.” Dream shrugged. It didn’t take long for him to reach the end of the staircase and it led to a short hallway, with an iron door at the end of it. He could hear an immense amount of activity on the other side of the door.

 “Are you ready?” Bad asked with a tint of excitement. Dream slightly nodded his eyes trained on the door. There used to be a small room on the other side of that door. But with the amount of activity, he was hearing, he didn’t think it was that small anymore. When The iron door was just in front of him, Bad reached around and pulled the lever for Dream.

 Through the door… A man-made cavern lied in wait for them. Dream felt his eyes widen at the sight of it. People had carved out holes into the sides of the walls, working on where their houses were going to be. People on the ground floor were rebuilding shops and other buildings. The ceiling of the cavern was covered in clusters of glowstone.

 “Med bay is this way.” Bad pulled at Dreams sleeve and led him to their destination, Spirit still in hand. There were still parts being worked on in the cavern, but Dream watched the activity around him. A tree farm was being built, the huge hole was already carved out and Tubbo was seen placing around bee houses near the trees. Awesamdude was placing down grass, while showing a reluctant Tommy how to farm. None of them paid Dream any mind and they kept working on their project. Bad pointed out something ahead of them.

 “We can keep Spirit here.” Bad said cheerfully. He was pointing at a nicely half-built stable. Where other horses were being kept. Dream nodded and Bad handed the horse off to a nice enough woman manning the stables. Dream promised the horse he would be back, receiving a nudge from Spirits nose. Spirit did well in the last two days, he was proud of that horse.

“Bad… This is amazing,” Dream couldn’t stop staring. The glowstone from above shimmered and cast a nice warm glow on everything. The best part about all this though… Was it wasn’t cold. It was a little humid, but it was going to work out.

 “I don’t think anyone slept,” Bad beamed, “I’m glad you like it, because this is going to be our new home! Might as well make the best of it.” It wasn’t long, before Bad stopped in front of a blank cave wall with nothing but a wooden door leading into it. “This is it. I hope he helps your friend out quickly. I gotta go find Skeppy.” Bad, with his arms still full of supplies, gave Dream a half wave before he walked back the way they had come.

 Dream had kicked at the door, trying to simulate a knocking sound. A few seconds had gone by and a woman had answered the door. It was Nihachu. She had looked tired. She hadn’t got a wink of sleep it seemed. Her eyes scanned over you and she brought her hand up to her mouth.

 “Oh no!” She held the door open for Dream to come through. The inside was just as plain as the outside and Dream bit his cheek looking at the long line of other patients. Niki followed his gaze, and she had anticipated what he was going to say next. She had heard it from all the others before him, but he had to try.

 “She’s in really bad shape, Niki.” Dream stated, almost pleading.

 “It-” Niki was tripping over her words. “We have others in bad spots…” The look she gave Dream was apologetic. “It’s not my call, Dream…”

 “She’s sick and injured,” Dream swallowed dryly. “She needs medical attention now.” Niki opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off completely by a voice behind her. The owner of the voice had just walked into the room.

 “If she’s sick, leave. I will not have her contaminating my other patients and worsening their lives more.” The voice came from an older man with a rather large nose. “We run on a first come first serve basis here. You can’t just expect to jump ahead of these people.” He motioned to the people in the waiting room. Dream supposed he was right… but having a closer look at the people waiting in the room, they had only suffered minor injuries. You had a hole in your shoulder…

 “I don’t give a fuck,” Dream spat stepping toward the doctor in an almost menacing way. “This woman was stabbed, and you think a swollen ankle trumps that?” Dream motioned to someone who had a swollen ankle resting up above their heart.

 “Listen.” The doctor hissed, his eyes narrowing at Dream. “No, I do not think that a swollen ankle is more important than a stab wound… That’s preposterous. What I do think is… That she could make the people who have bad wounds worse. They do not need to get sick. We don’t have the resources for illness here.” The doctor turned away from Dream, this made Dreams blood boil. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. And that girl in her condition will die anyway. I can’t waste resources on someone who I think will die.” With that he turned to Niki. “Miss Nihachu, please escort this man out.” And with that he was gone, walking into the backroom where the groans of the wounded were.

 Niki hesitantly stepped up and Dream stepped away from her. If his mask wasn’t on, she could’ve been able to see the daggers he was glaring at her. She bit her lip and turned, walking to a bag left on the ground. She fished around it and when she found a pouch that she was looking for, she stood and handed it to Dream. Dream felt the stares of all the other people in the room boring into his back.

 “I-I’m going to have to ask you to please leave…” She didn’t want to say it, but she had to, and he knew it. Taking the pouch, he gives her one last look, wishing she had taken his side. “Dream… I wouldn’t stand for this if others didn’t need my help. Find my bakery, Its one of the spruce buildings by the entrance. The key is in there.” She whispered, pointing at the pouch. “She can use my bed in the back, and you can use what I have left in that pouch.” Niki gave him a sad look. “Good luck.” Her eyes flicked to your wound. The bloody material needed changing.

 Dream huffed, retracing his steps, his legs moving on a new sense of urgency. If the doctor could take one look at you and think you were on the brink of death… Then he had to hurry. He couldn’t bring himself to just easily give up on you or anyone else. He wanted to help lead these people and how could he lead the people if he couldn’t save even one?

 When the plain square building, that was still under construction, entered his vision, he breathed a sigh of relief. The sign from Niki’s old bakery leaning against the wall next to the heavy spruce door. At least it had walls and a roof. When he walked up to the door, he kneeled, setting you briefly onto the ground. He opened the pouch and fished out a key. The pouch seemed to be a mini first aid kit. A small vial of health potion sat in the pouch along with bandages sutures gauze, and some hydrogen peroxide. Taking the vial in hand he examined it. He didn’t think it was enough to close a wound like yours, but it could help. He quickly unlocks the bakery and promptly gets you inside.

 There was no furniture in the main room, but he remembered Niki said something about the bed in the back room, he wouldn’t bloody her bed… So, he opted to clean your wound on the floor. The inside of the bakery was bare bones, the walls didn’t have any insulation yet and the floors were still stone. ‘This would do for now.’ Dream thought to himself while carrying you to the middle of the room, a lantern hung just above his head. Lying you down on the stone floor, he lit the lantern, and carefully sat down next to your body. He inched himself closer to you and brought your head to rest on his leg. Peeling back the sloppy patchwork and cringing when some of it stuck to your skin. He took his mask off to get a good look at the wound.

 “Shit.” He hissed through his teeth. It looked as though an infection was starting to set in. Taking some of the gauze he soaks it in the hydrogen peroxide, dabbing at the skin around the wound cleaning it. The peroxide bubbled on contact. He cleaned your wound as best as he could and waited for the peroxide to dry. He then took the healing potion into his hand, uncorking the small vial. This amount would have been great for small wounds but not for some thing as big as this.

 He pours the vial of health potion into your wound, careful not to spill it. Just as expected, it only heals a tiny bit of the wound. Any progress was progress. He bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes skimming over the sutures still resting in the pouch. That was when he felt you stir below him. His eyes meet yours and he felt his breath catch in his throat. He felt a blush creep up on his cheeks, and it never occurred to him that you might wake up in the middle of him tending to you, especially at the worst part to come.

 ~~

 Your eyes fluttered open to a dark room, and you were thrown for a loop between the pain in your shoulder and the dizziness. The only thing grounding you was the persons leg your head was resting on. When you finally had focused in, your eyes met a pair of green ones. A halo of light circled around his head and you reached up, your fingers caressing his face. You were questioning if you were alive at this point. He slightly leaned his face into your touch, and you felt your heart flutter.

 “Is this real?” Your voice was hoarse, your throat ached, and your lungs burned. His hand came up and around yours, tenderly holding it.

 “Do I feel real to you?” His fingers interlaced with yours and he gave your hand a squeeze. You gave a nod pretending that you didn’t feel the blush that spread on your cheeks. Hearing him chuckle he lets go of your hand. “I’m Dream, what’s your name?”

 Your throat burned as you uttered your name to him, trying to clear your airway, “Where’s Techno?” You asked your eyes searching around the barren room for him. An irritated look crossed over Dreams features at the mention of Techno, for a split second, though you had missed the look altogether.

 “Not sure…” He said leaning down over your shoulder, “He’s on his way here, but knowing him he’s not going to stay anyway. He’s not the best person to be around anyway.” You were surprised by his words. He seemed fine to you… When you gave him a questioning look, he sighed, and he showed you his neck. You had to sit up a bit to see it fully. On the back of his neck, was a scar, just under his hairline on his neck.

 “O-Oh.” You bit your lip, you quickly set your head on his leg again, your body needed to rest and you sitting up was taking a toll on you, even if it was just for a second.

 “Techno,” Dream began, as he inspected your shoulder, “isn’t to be trusted. I nearly lost my head to him. He can’t control himself, and I would hate to see you getting hurt because you don’t know what he’s capable of.” Dream withdrew a suture. You weren’t sure that he was talking about the same man… He seemed very caring, it seemed like he had a hard time showing it sometimes. He even had his tender moments when you two had shared the bed for warmth. You had woken up many times during that night and when you would move, his arms would instinctively pull you closer even though he was asleep. Is that why he moved away from other people? Because this was what others thought of him?

 “I-,” you hesitated, “I’ll be careful, I promise.” Your eyes flicked up to Dreams again. He gave you a soft smile and brushed some hair from your face.

 “Do what you want, I won’t stop you. But if you need my help… Come find me, and I’ll be there.” He spoke the last words earnestly. You would remember that. After a few moments of silence, he changed the topic to your shoulder. “This is going to hurt… Badly.” He warned. You gave a nod and swallowed back your fear.

 “Let’s just get this over with…” You eye the suture in his hand. He gives you a nod.

 “Don’t worry… I’ll take care of you.” His words echoed in your head. The next few minutes were filled with excruciating pain.

 --

 Techno rode in the back of the caravan with Philza. Phil was on his back trying to get some sleep, his hat covering his face, and Techno let his eyes wander over the sling Phil had his arm in. He felt horrible, he had lost control… Again… And in the heat of the moment, he would have killed Philza. Guilt riddled his thoughts.

 “Mate.” Phil said, “I told you, you can’t blame yourself for this…” He sighed. “I’m just happy you’re alive.” Techno was silent. “You can’t let it eat at you, and I can feel your self-loathing from here.” He could hear the smile in Phil’s voice. Techno inwardly sighed, ‘If only it were that easy Phil…’ He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. The silence that followed rolled into minutes.

 “So…” Phil started as he peeked out from under his hat at Techno. “You found a girl?” Phil let out a laugh as Techno looked away sheepishly. “I approve, but you’re going to have to teach her how to defend herself better.” Phil joked.

 “We’re just friends, Phil.” Techno said in a huff.

 “For now,” Phil repositioned the hat back over his face again. “I still have to apologize to her.” Phil simply said, “Maybe we can work off of that.” Techno looked over at Phil with irritation. He just wanted the subject dropped.

 When there was nothing, but silence coupled together with light snores from Philza, Techno sighed and lied down himself. His eyes staring up at the fabric of the caravan. He wanted to take you to Nihachu’s bakery and find out your favorite foods. He would help you build your house. He wanted to be there as a familiar face, as a… friend.

 ‘She’ll leave, once she figures out what you are.’

 ‘She’s going to betray you.’ The voices rang clear through his mind. He was so exhausted; he couldn’t even push the voices away in his mind. He wanted to give you a chance, and he would do just that. He felt his eyes become heavy, and before he knew it, he had drifted away into the land of sleep.

[rookie-ramsey]

Across the Universe, Chapter One

Description: All the medical training in the world couldn’t prepare Ethan for a terminal brain cancer diagnosis.

Warning: Major angst and eventual character death ahead.

Preview: “Ethan? What is it?”

Ethan didn’t meet her eyes. When he spoke, she had to lean closer to hear him. “Glioblastoma multiforme.”

The weight of his words almost took her breath away. Her chest tightened as she tried to convince herself she’d heard wrong. “That’s… that’s terminal…”

He was always the first one to wake up.

Ethan awoke before his alarm, to the early rays of sun bathing the room in soft golden light. He stifled a yawn and opened his eyes. His body curled around Olivia’s, his arm draped over the curve of her waist, the same way they’d fallen asleep.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She’d been living in his apartment for over a month and each morning he still awoke in awe that he got to wake up with the woman he’d been longing for lying next to him.

Ever the heavy sleeper, she remained peacefully oblivious to his gaze fixated on her. Ethan pressed a soft kiss to the back of her head and quietly slipped out of bed. He made his way into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. As he started breakfast, he heard the alarm ringing in the bedroom.

A couple minutes later, Olivia shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and wearing Ethan’s shirt from the evening before.

“Morning,” she yawned. She hugged him from behind, squeezing his waist and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Something smells good. I assume it’s not pancakes.”

“Hilarious. I made eggs.”

“Not as good as pancakes, but it’ll do,” she teased, helping herself to a serving and taking a seat.

“I suppose it’ll have to. I don’t think pancakes will become a reality anytime soon.” Ethan reached into the cabinet and found the bottle of aspirin.

Olivia frowned when he swallowed a dose with a sip of water. “Is your head bothering you?”

“A little bit, but it’s not serious.”

Unconvinced, she watched him closely. “You wouldn’t be taking anything for it if you weren’t really uncomfortable. That’s the second headache you’ve had this week. They’ve both happened early in the morning, too.”

Ethan leaned down and kissed her. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If I were the one having headaches out of nowhere, you’d be nagging me.”

“That’s… not inaccurate,” Ethan admitted.

Olivia rolled her eyes, but dropped the argument. After breakfast, they dressed and left for work. Hand in hand, they walked into the hospital, crossing the atrium and making their way upstairs.

Ethan fought to suppress a groan when they found Bloom already waiting for them. “How can we help you?”

“I just thought I’d drop in to see how the case is going.”

“As expected. The latest test results ruled out several possible causes. We have another set of tests to run today,” Ethan explained as Baz and Tobias joined them.

“Ah. And is there a chance those can be expedited? Our patient’s willing to pay for faster results.”

Annoyed, Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “The tests take a few hours. We’re not going to sacrifice quality to save a few minutes.”

“I see. I hope this team keeps solving cases the way you have been, because we have plenty of interest!”

“Fantastic. If you don’t mind, we have work to do,” Ethan dismissed. “Now that we’ve already been sufficiently bothered, let’s discuss the next steps,” he instructed when Bloom left the office.

XXXXXX

At the end of the day, Olivia clocked out and found Ethan in his office. He had his attention buried in their patient’s test results and didn’t seem to notice her entrance.

“Ready to go?”

Ethan looked up from the patient file on his desk. Nodding, he set it aside. “Yes. I’m on the verge of going cross-eyed from paperwork.”

“Sounds like you need a distraction.”

“Are you volunteering?”

“Maybe.” She grinned and winked, earning a low chuckle in response. “Let’s get out of here.”

As Ethan stood up and reached for his jacket, he felt the dull ache from earlier returning to his temples. He winced involuntarily.

The motion didn’t go unnoticed. Olivia frowned. “Another headache?”

Ethan shrugged. “It’s from stress. I can’t help but notice they seem to strike when Bloom meddles in our work.”

She gave him a sharp look.  “It worries me. I think you need to have it checked out.”

Ethan shook his head as he slipped into his jacket. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Aren’t you the one who always says not to ignore any symptoms, because they could be part of a bigger picture?” Olivia countered, gently poking her finger into his chest.

At her adamance, Ethan smiled wistfully. “I should have known you would learn to use my own advice against me.”

“Yes, you should have. And you should get some scans. Even if the scans are completely normal, it helps us figure out what is or isn’t causing your headaches.”

Ethan arched a brow, mildly amused at the sincerity of her voice. “You sound remarkably like me.”

She smiled softly, but the determination didn’t leave her eyes. “We have state of the art MRI machines. Let me do one for you. Even if it shows up completely normal, it wouldn’t be a waste of time since we’d be able to rule out some causes.”

“I think I’ve created a monster.”

Olivia tried not to laugh. “Yes, you have. But you know I’m right."

There was no sign of her giving up, so Ethan sighed in defeat and nodded. “Fine.”

Satisfied, Olivia leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. Ethan leaned into it, deepening it for just a moment before she pulled back and flashed a teasing smile that made his heart skip.

“Let’s do your MRI now while nobody’s using the labs. Nobody would ever know. It would be our not so dirty little secret.”

Ethan rolled his eyes but followed her in the direction of the MRI labs. “Now’s as good a time as any. Might as well get it out of the way.” He followed her down the hallway and to the MRI room, empty this time of evening.

When they stepped into the lab, Olivia closed the door. “You know what to do. Take off anything with buttons or zippers, so… strip.”

Ethan stripped down to his underwear. He sat down on the MRI table and leaned back. Olivia took a seat in the observation room and turned on one of the computer monitors. Then she pressed the button to start the scans.

Seconds later, the machine started. Ethan held still as the machine whirred with noise. “Anything?”

“The image is just starting. And… there. Nice and clear. I’ll take a look and-“ When a spot of light caught her eye, Olivia froze. She leaned closer and felt her heart quicken when she saw an illuminated shape on the scan.

Her silence spoke louder than words. Ethan frowned. “What is it?”

Olivia bit her lip, a hard lump forming in her throat. “There’s… there’s a tumor. Near the back of your frontal lobe. It’s close to the base of your skull.”

Ethan fell quiet as he took in her words. He barely contained a sharp breath. “Print the scans. I want to see them.”

Olivia processed the prints and ended the MRI. Once Ethan slipped back into his clothes, she handed him the films. She met his eyes for a brief moment, but he diverted his glance before she could get a read on him.

Ethan pinned the scans to the backlight and stared at them. Sure enough, a spot illuminated. “The shape isn’t particularly distinctive.”

“You’ll need a biopsy to determine what type it is.” Olivia gingerly rested her hand on his arm and hesitated before she spoke. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I’ll schedule a biopsy and work on determining if it’s operable.”

“That’s not what I meant…”

Ethan hesitated, not taking his eyes off of the MRI films. “I know. But there’s no point in getting worked up until we have a definite answer.”

She tried to take reassurance in his words. Letting out a long breath, she focused on everything she’d learned since med school. “There’s a seventy to ninety percent chance it’s benign. Let’s get your biopsy scheduled right away so we don’t waste time.”

“Right.” Ethan nodded tightly. “I’ll find somewhere else to have it done. I don’t want the entire hospital knowing until I know exactly what’s going on.”

“Okay... “ Olivia slipped her hand into his and squeezed. After a moment, he responded, curling his fingers around her hand. She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb and looked up, her eyes locking with his. His gaze remained almost unreadable, but she could just barely detect the worry he tried to mask.

Ethan cleared his throat and removed the films from the illuminator. He slipped them into an envelope and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll make some calls in the morning.”

“Alright.” Taking his hand again, Olivia urged him out of the room. Silence fell between them as they left the hospital. Neither of them spoke until they were settled in Ethan’s car and he pulled out of the parking lot. “Are you okay?”

Ethan nodded. “Like you said, there’s a seventy to ninety percent chance that it’s operable and benign.”

Whether he was trying to convince her or himself, he didn’t know.

XXXXXX

True to his word, Ethan made some calls and arranged for a biopsy two days later. He didn’t want to get people worked up too soon, so he ruled out Edenbrook and Kenmore and scheduled the procedure at Mass General.

He took days off so rarely that he knew Naveen suspected something when he filed for a day off on Friday, but the older man didn’t push him for information.

The procedure went simply enough, the only evidence of it being the small spot on his scalp that had been shaved and sutured. Once he combed his hair over the spot, it was unnoticeable. Nobody questioned his absence and Ethan planned to keep it that way.

Four days after the biopsy, Mass General called him to retrieve his results. Ethan picked them up on his lunch break. He couldn’t bring himself to open the envelope right away. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he didn’t open the envelope until he got back to his office.

Ethan’s hand hesitated over the envelope seal. He groaned and chided himself. Waiting and worrying wouldn’t change a thing, so he sent Olivia a text before he tore open the envelope and read the paper inside.

Reacting to the message the second her phone chimed, Olivia rushed to his office. She closed the door behind her. Immediately something felt off and the color drained from her face when she took in Ethan’s absent expression.

“Ethan? What is it?”

Ethan didn’t meet her eyes. When he spoke, she had to lean closer to hear him. “Glioblastoma multiforme.”

The weight of his words almost took her breath away. Her chest tightened as she tried to convince herself she’d heard wrong. “That’s… that’s terminal…”

Time slowed to a crawl. Neither of them spoke or moved. Olivia’s head spun as she rushed to him and hugged him tight. At first, Ethan didn’t respond.  After several moments, the tension slowly eased from his body and he leaned into her.

“What else do you know?” she whispered. “Maybe it’s early enough that they can get it removed.”

Ethan shook his head almost imperceptibly. “It’s inoperable. Since it’s grown into the brain tissue, complete removal would never be possible. The only option would be a partial removal and treatments that might shrink what’s left.”

The words left his mouth just as he would have recited them to a patient. But they felt peculiar, as if they carried no meaning. Maybe some part of him didn’t think this was real, or maybe he needed time to process, he didn’t know for sure.

“Oh god…” Olivia let out a shaky sigh and took a deep breath. Determination set into her eyes. She tightened her arms around him. “We’ll get you a second opinion. You never know.”

“Anybody else is going to say the same thing.”

“You don’t know,” Olivia repeated. We can ask Harper. She knows this better than anyone in the country. Maybe she’ll know of something else you can do.”

Ethan shook his head. “No. I don’t want to tell anyone else yet.”

“Ethan…”

“I mean it,” he insisted. “Until I know what the next step is, I want this to stay between us.” Uncertainty crept into his eyes, but it vanished as soon as it began. He cupped Olivia’s cheek in his hand and urged her closer, stealing a soft kiss. Ethan leaned into it, taking some comfort in the tenderness of it.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Olivia surrendered reluctantly. She gave him one more kiss as he stood up. Before he could leave the room, she touched his hand. “Promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“You won’t shut me out. I… I know you need time to think about this. It’s… I can’t wrap my mind around it yet, so I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you. Just promise me you’ll talk to me when you’re ready.”

His features softened a little and he nodded. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Olivia waited until he left the room. Then she found the extra set of scans she’d kept, the ones she’d removed his name from. Anxiety gripped her heart as she tucked the envelope under her arm and made her way to Harper’s office.

 Next Chapter

Note: This is a re-write of my series (under the same title) that I originally wrote in 2019 and never finished. I’m deleting the original one. I have my reasons for putting Tobias on the team and keeping Harper in her original job. Stay tuned!

Tags, part 1

@princess-geek / @lapisreviewsstuff / @silverlitskies​ / @paulfwesley​ / @dr-brianna-casey-valentine​ / @junehiratas​ / @choicesstanblog​ / @trappedinfandoms​ / @justanotherrookie​ / @bellcat2010​ / @desmaranj​ / @lion-ess24​ / @nooruleman​ / @caseyvalentineramsey​ / @xee-na​ / @edith-eggs1​ / @oofchoices​ / @schnitzelbutterfingers​ / @tefigranger​ / @jlynn12273​ / @laceandlula​ / @crazy-loca-blog​ / @somegdchoices​ / @briefdreamlanddream​ / @forthebrokenheartedthings​ / @lilyvalentine​ / @parkerattano​ / @drramseysownsme​ / @misswhit12​ / @drethanfreakingramsey​ / @juneiswriting​ / @macy-ray85​ / @swimmingauthordreamerbonk​ / @myusualnerdyself​ / @siaramsey​ / @takemyopenheart​ / @queencarb​ 

[revengeisourlullaby]

Dai the Flu

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected, a bit of a daddy kink, spanking, biting, spiting, cumplay, quirk usage, choking, voyeurism, slight dumbification, degradation, lil bit of fluff at the end

a/n: this is my first time ever writing a smut. i’ve actually never really attempted creating something in the format of a fanfic. so please, if anything, lemme know what i can do better! hope you enjoy this <3

Word count: 7.5K

Dabi x female reader

You weren’t a part of the League of Villains, but you had a small involvement with them. It wasn’t the turn you wanted your life to take, but after you had a run in with Dabi, it was almost inevitable.

You were walking back to your apartment after your shift at the corner store was over. Darkness had already been cast upon the sky and the only thing surrounding you was the static from the neon signs declaring that a shop was still open. The whir of passing cars gave you a sense of comfort walking alone at such a late hour. The area of town where you lived had gone up in villain attacks and you were always on edge. It wasn’t that you couldn’t handle yourself but the last thing you wanted was to face off against someone you had no business doing so.

There was word going around about this guy who was a human cremation system and honestly it gave you goosebumps thinking about it. It was one reason you wished you had another way to get home. Just thinking about those blue flames flashing before your eyes was enough to give you nightmares and yet, the man who this quirk was attached to was something out of your dreams. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive, after seeing him on the news in passing one day while getting ready for work, his face was ingrained in your brain. Even though he bore resemblance to a modern day Frankenstein, something about him had you hooked.

You were almost a block away from your apartment complex when you passed an alleyway and heard footsteps. Curiosity taking over, you stopped in your tracks and tried to peer down the alleyway that was shrouded in darkness, a lone lamppost giving off dingy yellow light. You started to feel your stomach twist in knots as you heard the footsteps getting louder and the silhouette of this person becoming more visible. Once you saw the beginnings of this figure’s hair your heart stopped and your eyes widened in disbelief.

It’s him.

Your mind was racing and you were frozen in fear. You couldn't move your body to move, let alone let alone a word to announce for him to stay away from you. As he passed the lamppost you saw his staples shine in the dim light, making him look more daunting than usual. You shook your head to bring back to reality and attempted to make your break for your apartment. Having seen enough and being in paralyzed in your own astonishment, you wanted to get out of there as fast as you could. The universe had different plans for you though.

“Hey.”

“Fuck..” you muttered under your breath. Before your left foot could even touch the ground he stopped you dead in your tracks.

“You’ve been standing there like a lost dog watching me limp up here, least you could do is respond back.”

You turned, almost robotically and finally faced him. He had now moved up a lot closer to you and you had to crane your neck to look at him.

“Hey kid, you a mute or somethin’?” he chuckled to himself really while you were still slightly shaking in your frozen state.

“N-no.” you shook your head in embarrassment trying to get your bearings together. You didn’t want to end up like the others but also was so confused on how to approach who was in front of you

“Sorry I’m just a little shook up here. I don’t know what I was expecting by sticking my nose in this but it definitely wasn’t this.” you had finally managed to get out. Your breath heavy and hands visibly shaking.

“Well, since you stuck your nose in someone else’s business don’t you think you should help ‘em out if they need it. I think you do.” He smirked at his staples having a slight click when he moved his mouth.

“What are you suggesting here..” you trailed off. The man pointed at his torso that he was holding with his other hand in a poor attempt to stall the bleeding that was oozing out of him.

“Kinda a little cut up here sweetheart...what were you thinking about?” He smirked forcing you to turn your head away due to the unwanted heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Uh-yeah...I can help you out. I’ve got a kit at my place. Just follow me.” your voice was meek due to the sheer embarrassment you felt at the moment. As you walked out of the alleyway you felt his blue eyes burning through your back. You weren’t sure whether to start up a conversation, you couldn’t place if it was due to the fear running through your veins or fear of humiliating yourself again in front of someone you found so intimidating yet so beguiling.

Finally reaching your complex, you walked up the stairs leading into your second level apartment. Heavy footsteps trailing behind you, you grabbed your keys from your back pocket and unlocked the door to your home. As you stepped in you hit the light by the door, illuminating the main room. Turning around to shut the door, you took a deep breath to prepare yourself with the villain you just willingly brought into your home. Turning back around to face him you fully realized that you had Dabi standing in the main room of your apartment, blood pooling out into his hand and staining his white shirt.

“Come on let’s get into the bathroom and get you cleaned up.” your eyes refused to meet his and you stared at the floor while walking to your bathroom because you could once again feel the heat rising up into your face.

“You got a lot of guts to just bring a wanted villain in your place and help him out. How do you know this isn’t a ploy of mine to wrap you in my flames?” He asked while standing in the doorway of your bathroom while you were searching in the cabinet underneath the sink. Finding it, you stood up and faced him

“You would’ve done it already. You don’t peg me as the type to play with your food; plus, as you pointed out, you’ve got a situation we need to handle. Not as menacing when you’re asking for help. Even if you phrase it as an owed debt.” you turned away from him to open up your first aid kit box. Surprised at your own sudden confidence while speaking to him. Looking back up at him, you pointed toward your counter.

“Have a seat.”

He looked at you and a small smirk forming upon his lips. You furrowed your brows slightly, trying to understand the look he was giving you. You shook your head feeling that you were giving yourself away too much and grabbed the gauze out of the box.

“Can you take off your jacket and shirt for me…” your voice softening, feeling as if you were intruding somewhat. He silently obliged by taking off his top articles of clothing. As they both landed on the floor, leaving a small splotch of blood as it hit the tiles. Your breath got caught in your throat as you paused your movements, staring at his toned chest. Pulling you out of your thoughts you heard Dabi’s voice resonate through your ears.

“If you’re gonna stare like that you could at least get me some food. Or at least fix me up first.”

He smirked looking at you straight in your eyes. Your eyes widened, completely humiliated that you had been caught staring at him so shamelessly. You quickly grabbed some hydrogen peroxide from underneath your sink to wet the gauze and clean up his wounded area before you did anything else. Closing in on his torso you brought the wet gauze around his wound to wipe away any smeared and dried blood. Throwing the used one away, you grabbed another and wet it again placing it directly on his open gash. He hissed at the contact chastising you in the process.

“Hey watch it! That shit hurts”

“Look, it’s not like I want it to hurt, but if I don’t do this it will get infected. Pretty sure that's the last thing your body needs.” You looked at him with eyes narrowed. Glancing toward his scars. While you knew that comment was a little harsh, you were annoyed not only with yourself for slipping up in front him but also his attitude was starting to irritate you. 

“You’re pretty funny” he rolled his eyes and lightly chuckled at you.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the small suture kit in your first aid box. Lining yourself up with his torso you pressed the needle against his skin,

“This is probably going to hurt a bi-”

“-You look pretty good beneath me like this.” Dabi cut you off before you got the chance to give your warning about the sutures he was about to receive. Looking up at him incredulously you scoffed and continued your work. He chuckled but before he could get it out of his system you cut him off by saying he needed to stay still or he would make this process a lot longer. Both of you letting out a sigh you finally finished up the last stitch and snipped the end of the thread with a scissor. Leaving the bathroom, you went to go grab a shirt from your bedroom.

“Stay here, I need to grab something.” you added before you left the doorway. You went into your drawer looking to find one of your oversized t-shirts to give to him. Grabbing an old Slipknot shirt you went back into the bathroom to find him standing in front of the mirror looking at himself. Holding your hand out you gave him the shirt.

“I’m not sure of the state of your jacket but I can’t let you leave with a bloodied shirt. It’d really make you eyesore out there.”

Staring down at you, Dabi looked at you with something that could almost be seen as curiosity. Taking the shirt from your hands, you swore you saw a small smile creep onto his face.

“Thanks princess.”

The pet name that slipped from his lips made you fluster immediately. Your eyes widening for a moment and heart rate picking up. He obviously saw the effect it had on you because when you looked at him the smirk that adorned his face was impish. Fully knowing what he was doing to you.

Picking his jacket up off your bathroom floor, he slipped it on and looked at you to move from the doorway. Scooching to the left you let him pass by. You knew he couldn’t stay but for some reason your heart sank as you watched him go to your front door. As if he knew the wave of emotions running through you, he turned around with his hand still on the door handle,

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you’ll see me around soon enough.” and with that he turned around and walked out the door. Your back hit the wall in your hallway and you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding in. Shoving your hands into your face you rubbed them and heaved out a sigh.

“What the fuck just happened...”

With that you failed to realize the world you just opened yourself up to. The world of having Dabi actively in your life. You failed to realize that this quick interaction with a villain that stirred up such fear in others was one to stir up excitement in you.

That happened over six months ago. Over the span of these few months you ended up becoming Dabi’s personal ER doc. Not by choice either. You never knew when he was gonna spring up on you while walking home from work, at work, or even sneaking through your window waiting for you to return home. Something he called a “pleasant surprise” for you. To see him sprawled on your couch covered in filth and the occasional markings of blood.

Tonight was the start of you finally having a few days off of work. So you decided to treat yourself to some self care days. You felt you deserved it. Between dealing with the nightlife that sauntered into the corner store and constantly having to patch up Dabi, you were reaching your limit of it all. You needed a few moments to yourself to finally release all the pent up emotions that were flowing over inside of you. Unlocking the door unto your apartment, you threw your keys into the bowl on the table by your door. Propping your hands on the back of your neck you stretched and let out a moan. Sighing, you walk into your bedroom rummaging through your drawers, you grabbed a sleep shirt, some underwear, and a few candles. Walking into your bathroom you set the items on the counter. Lighting the candles, you looked in the mirror noticing your tiredness masking over your face. Feeling grimey from the day's work, you stripped yourself of your clothes and turned the shower on. You wanted to scrub any filth off first before you decided to rest in the bath.

Finishing up cleaning off your body you pulled the knob on the head of the bathtub to switch up the source of water. Grabbing your lavender scented bath salts from the floor you poured them into the stream of hot water flowing from the knob. Deciding they had dissolved enough you let your body relax into the tub, the feeling of the water instantly relaxing your muscles. There was steam filling up the bathroom adding to the relaxing aura you had already created. Closing your eyes your mind had drifted to him. That blue eyed bastard. He didn’t even know your name. It was never short of a surprise whenever he showed up and you couldn’t deny the excitement that stirred within your body when he did. 

He was intoxicating. Like a drug. You knew that he was more than a handful to be involved with but, something about him wouldn’t allow you to leave him alone. You were always ready to help him, even if seeing him in such a state worried you. You wondered what unannounced visit would be the last. You couldn’t deny how you wished there was something more than just you patching him up and him leaving with a wink. It pained you not being able to live out this fantasy of yours, but you knew it was for the best.

Opening your eyes, you let out a big sigh. Bringing yourself up from out of the tub and letting it drain, you grabbed your towel from off the toilet and dried your body off. Blowing out the candles you put on your moisturizer and sleepwear and left the bathroom sauntering back in your room. Leaving your dirty clothes on the floor in the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of your bed your mind drifted to Dabi again and a sudden urge overcame your body. Feeling heat rush to your core you scooted further back on your bed and situated yourself into a more comfortable position.

Letting your hands roam down your body you scrunched up your shirt moving to play with your nipples. Guiding one hand down to your core you began to tease your sensitive bud through your underwear. Getting antsy you pulled your underwear off and threw them somewhere on your bedroom floor. Slipping your fingers into your wet hole you began thrusting them inside you, your back arching while doing so. Squeezing harder on your hardened nipple you let out a soft moan. Increasing your speed you grazed over the spongy spot inside you causing you to let out a loud gasp and a name slipped from your lips.

“Dabi~”

Too engrossed in your own pleasure you failed to hear the window in your main room slide open. A slender leg slipped through the window and Dabi pulled himself in. He had no intentions of being patched up tonight, he just decided to make a quick stop considering he was in the area. Turning around to shut the window he heard you gasping from the other room. Curiosity and pure sadism rushing through his veins he made slow steps to your bedroom. With you having left your door open he was able to watch over you without making a sound. Crossing his arms, a smirk was cast upon his face watching your writhe in your self made pleasure. Completely intrigued by your moans he continued to watch but what he didn’t expect was the words that followed,

“Dabi! Please~”

His eyes widened for a second but they quickly narrowed, carnal desires now taking over his mind. His smirk turned into a sadistic smile and he finally opened his mouth.

“I’ve always wondered what it takes…”

His voice boomed through your room, echoing in your head like a tainted prayer. Your hand ripped from your drenched cunt embarrassed heat rushing to your face. You felt mortified.

“D-dabi...what’re you doing in here”

“Ah, c’mon princess, that’s not how you were saying it before. Say it right.” He sneered at you obviously amused by your state of utter humiliation.

“You can’t just come in here unannounced” you tried desperately to keep your composure while your slick was drying on your fingers.

“I always come in unannounced and by the looks of things...looks like you wanted me to cum in somewhere else.” His voice dropped entering a state of utter rasp. Eyes trailing down your body. He started to stalk over to you like a predator to its prey,

“Dabi, I- you weren’t supposed to see me like this ever. Please...just leave I can’t take you looking at me like this anymore.” You hid your hand underneath yourself trying to look as in control as possible, but the docile tone in your voice betrayed your words. Dabi continued his tread toward you, coming up near the edge of your bed. Pressing his hands into the mattress he leaned forward, pinning you with his eyes against the bed.

“You’re right, but right now I really enjoy what I see.” Drawing his finger up your exposed leg. He continued his verbal assault on you

“In fact, I’d like to see you under me. Squirming and crying while you beg for me to give you a break when you know you just want me to keep fucking you.” He breathed out as he crawled over your figure.

“But before we do that princess, I just realized I don’t know your name. Why don’t you tell me, hmm” As if to emphasize his question, he pressed his thumb into your clit causing you to moan out his name.

“Nah, sweetheart, that’s my name. Tell me yours” He purred against your ear, his breath hot against it.

“Y/N.” you panted out “It’s Y/N.” Unable to catch your breath you just looked up at him, frozen at what was currently happening to you.

“Y/N huh, it suits you. Although, I can’t promise you that’s the only thing I’m gonna be calling you tonight.” He leaned down pressing unusually gentle kisses into the crook of your neck. Your body filling up with goosebumps and heat rushing straight to your core. You moan arching your back, simultaneously giving him better access to your neck. Enjoying yourself a little too much, you were brought back to reality when he sank his teeth into your shoulder. Hissing you snapped your head at him ready to bark out profanities, but he beat you to it.

His two toned hand wrapped around your jaw, squishing your cheeks together and pursing your lips forward.

“Don’t even try it. I got you all figured out Y/N. You make a move and I’ve already predicted it.”

“Oh bite me.” You hissed at him.

“Careful. Princess.” Growling out his words, he sunk his teeth back into your shoulder making you let out an ungodly moan. Coming out from the crease where your shoulder and neck meet he looked into your glossed over orbs

“I believe the sting proves heart to me, and I know that you love me. So submit to me, I promise you won’t want anything else.”

“Dabi, please.” you whined against him

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you, say it one more time Y/N.” Releasing his grip from your jaw it allowed you to enunciate better even though he heard you clearly the previous time.

“Dabi, please, I wan- I need you so bad. Please Dabi don’t make me wait anymore”

“Look at you, whining like a desperate slut and all I’ve done is thumb your clit a bit. You’re pathetic. I love it.” Grabbing your jaw again he looked down at you his pupils blown wide with lust and his member poking at your sex through his pants.

“Open your mouth.”

Shamelessly, you opened your mouth, automatically sticking your tongue out for him.

“Good girl.” He curled his bottom lip back a bit gathering the spit in his mouth and he spat it into yours. You squeezed your eyes shut in shock of what just happened but you couldn’t lie to yourself. You were soaking and were begging silently for him to do it again. When your eyes opened back up they resembled that of a doe. Looking at Dabi with complete adoration. A dark chuckled stumbled from him mouth

“You liked that didn’t you, you naughty bitch.” He emphasized the last of his words with a hard slap to your thigh which jiggled from the impact. You bit your lip trying to hold back a moan to not give him the satisfaction.

“C’mon baby girl moan for me. They’re so sweet, I love ‘em. Let me hear you.” He slapped your thigh again punctuating his words. He slithered down your body and came face to face with your core. Wrapping his arms around your hips, he brought your body closer to his face, his nose brushing up against your clit. You whimpered, the unexpected contact making you grow impatient.

“God, please, please use your mouth on me, I’m begging you Dabi.” You cried out to him and he crowed at you

“Damn, I didn’t even have to ask. You’re such a slut.” He bowed his head into your core, licking a stripe from your hole up to your clit. You threw your head back indulging in the sudden pleasure he was giving you. Lapping at your clit, he looked up at you through hooded eyes. Feeling his gaze, you met his eyes and when you did he placed a small nip at your clit, following it with a hard suck. You darted your hand down to his head, threading your fingers through his stygian locks. 

Pulling at it, you felt him smile against your heat, still continuing his performance on your clit. Feeling your core twitch and the knot in your stomach tighten, your breath started to quicken and started babbling that you were about to cum. Tightening your grip on Dabi’s hair, your high washed over you spawning you to arch your back and your legs to shake from the stimulation. Panting heavily and trying to bring yourself back down you heard Dabi’s voice ring through your ears.

“Get up.” You were in such a state of overbearing lust that it took you a moment to register what Dabi had said to you. Your body finally registered his words and lifted yourself up from your spot on the bed. Standing up, you watched him roll off of his knees and sit on the edge of your bed waiting for you to finish his command.

“Y/N, don’t just stand there, come over here in front of me. You know I don’t bite hard.” He patted his lap while carefully watching your movements while you made your way toward him. Standing in between his legs you wrapped your arms around his neck, you weaved your hand in his hair pulling his head back. Looking into his alluring blue eyes, down to his lips and back up to his eyes. You two spoke an unspoken language and with that you smashed your lips upon his.

He moved himself a little further back onto your bed and pulled you down with him, forcing you to straddle his hips. The kiss was nasty and fueled by pure unuttered lust. Grinding down against him he let out a strangled moan. Your wetness leaving a trail on the outside of his pants. You clawed down Dabi’s chest and he pulled at your hair in response. With a low growl he pulled you away from him and looked straight through you.

“Get on your knees for me.”

Licking the leftover spit off from your lips you backed up and brought yourself down to your knees. Teasing with the buckle of his belt, you pulled it out of its loops antagonizing slow. Following suit with the button of his pants, you pulled them down along with his underwear. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight of his cock, having you wonder if you could fully take it down.

“Staring at it isn’t gonna do it for me princess.”

Looking up at him with doe eyes and a slight nod, you licked a stripe up from the base of his cock up to the tip, pressing a feather light kiss to the head. Lapping away at the drops of precum beading out, you swirled your tongue around his tip before gathering up spit and letting it fall down the sides of his hard cock. With one hand at the base you took him into your mouth, looking up at him through your lashes. Gagging slightly when his tip hit the back of your throat. Tears welling up in your eyes at the contact, Dabi let out a low moan, throwing his hand into your hair,

“God. You’re so good at this Y/N.”

With the sudden praise you picked up the pace feeling confidence surge through you. You incorporated your hand and bobbed your head in sync. Taking your other hand, you began to fondle his balls adding extra stimulation

“Y/N fuck. Fuck keep doing that” Dabi’s hand tightened in your hair and he began thrusting lightly into your mouth, attempting to hold onto the last bits of his composure. You hollowed out your cheeks creating a tight seal around his dick and he groaned so loud that it definitely echoed into the halls of your surrounding neighbors.

“Fuck! Y/N, I’m gonna, fuck I’m cumming- ah!” His thick ropes of cum shot in the back of your throat but before you could swallow Dabi grabbed your jaw again,

“Keep that fuckin cum in you mouth. You don’t swallow until I say you can. Now get on the bed and lie down.”

Keeping your mouth closed, you climbed up onto the bed and lied on your back, careful to not choke on the fluid residing in your mouth. Dabi stepped out of his pants and came up to place a kiss upon your lips. He reached down to the bottom of your sleep shirt and pulled it over your head. Before he came back down to your body, he discarded his shirt across your bedroom floor. He faced you again, kissing across your collarbone, trailing down the valley between your breasts and finally landing on a nipple. Suckling on it you let out an airy moan, still worried about choking on the cum you had settled in your mouth.

Dabi looked up at you and smirked, trailing his hand down the curves of your body, placing his palm flat upon your tummy he let his hand fall into your dripping sex. Rubbing small circles in your clit, he sucked harder on your nipple. You threw your head back in sheer pleasure simply forgetting about the cum in your mouth, you swallowed. One of Dabi’s fingers slipped inside your aching core and you whipped your head forward letting out a scream. This caught Dabi’s attention and immediately he was on your case.

“Oh. So my little whore doesn’t know how to follow orders does she? Such a pity I was hoping to have a little more fun with you.” Removing himself from your body he sat up on the bed. Looking at you, a domineering look took over his eyes.

“For not following directions...bend yourself over my lap baby girl. I’m gonna remind you of who’s in charge here. Now, count.” His voice dropped and your heart raced, making your blood boil all at the same time. How was he having this affect on you so easily. Your body moved on its own before you could resist his command. Laying yourself across his lap you felt your breath quicken, unsure of how these next few moments were going to turn out. Your questions were answered quickly when Dabi’s hand met your bare ass cheek. You let out a squeal surprised at the contact.

“I said, count Y/N. I don’t like repeating myself.”

“S-sorry, o-one.” you stuttered out as another slap came down on your ass.

“Two.” By the ninth slap your ass was starting to sting and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. All of a sudden you felt an unexpected heat creep up on your backside, when you turned your head you saw small embers of blue flying around. You saw Dabi���s hand raise,

“Dabi...why is your quirk activated?”

“Because princess, not only do I need to remind you who’s in charge, I need to remind you who you belong to.” With that, his hand came down with a final smack leaving his handprint branded on your ass. Letting out a scream that would make the hair stand up on anyone else, it brought a smile to Dabi’s lips. Letting him know that he had done his work properly.

“You’ll never forget me.” His voice dripping in your ear like honey. His foul words sweeten your mind and current neglected heat.

“Dabi, please I need you now.” Pulling yourself up from his lap you looked at him in the eyes, straddling his waist again.

“Move back.” you softly told him, a speck of dominance threatening to break through your tone.

“Watch the tone Y/N, remember who’s in charge here” he sighed out, but nonetheless centered himself against the headboard of your bed. You moved to the foot of the bed crawling up towards Dabi. Resting in between his legs, you gave him a teasing lick against the entirety of his length, looking up at him through your lashes while doing so. Furthering your journey up his body, you brought your legs around his hips hovering over his intimidating length. You already had the same thought before you sucked him off but taking him into your pussy had a different feeling. Setting off your nerves in the most pleasurable way imaginable. Lowering yourself you started grinding against his cock which released a groan from him.

“C’mon baby don’t tease me. I don’t think you want another punishment do you?” he cocked his head lowering his eyes as he finished his threat. A sudden wave of confidence bursting through you, you spat back at him

“I think you can handle a little teasing. I’m already yours, at least let me have a little fun.” You bat your eyes at him coming closer down to his face to insinuate a sloppy kiss. During your assault on his mouth, you reached your hand down between your legs and wrapped your hand around his cock, slowly pumping him. Receiving a small moan from him, you moved his tip to your slick opening and inched your way down until he bottomed out inside of you. Tearing his face away from yours he let out a moan that sent vibrations directly to your heat causing you to tighten around him.

“Fuck! Y/N” he panted, placing his two toned hands on the curve of your hips he helped you bounce up and down on him. Throwing your head back in pleasure you groan. He filled you up so well hitting up into your cervix with every thrust. Taking more control over your thrusts you brought yourself forward starting a heated kiss between you two. Weaving your hand into his hair you tugged at it, eliciting a groan from Dabi.

“Yeah, you like that Dabi?” You said in a tone that you would soon regret. The taunting nature that controlled your sentence, relinquished the last bit of power you had in the situation. Tightening his grip on your hips, Dabi flipped you over. The wind knocked out of you and your eyes widened as he hovered over you. His eyes a swirling mix of lust and predatory dominance.

“I let you have your fun. Now, it’s my turn.” Bringing himself down to your ear he breathed in “I’m gonna make your scream my name until you cry. I want you crying underneath me because it feels so good.” Noticing you starting to squirm beneath him in a poor attempt to feel some friction he smirked. Spitting in your face again, he ordered you, “Now, beg.”

With a hard slap to your thigh you squealed, mumbling out a small please in hopes that it would be enough for him. You were aching and were starting to lose your touch with reality.

With a dark chuckle, he spat at you

“That’s not fucking begging, do it right or I’ll leave you here a sopping mess. With only your hand to take care of you.”

“N-no please! Please, Dabi I need you. I need you so bad. I wanna cum I wanna cum with you inside me. Please, please don’t leave me here, I know I’m desperate, but please fuck me! I can't stand another momen-Ah!”

Without letting you finish your sentence Dabi plunged himself inside of you. Bottoming out you let out a moan so strangled you felt embarrassed at the sound that came out of you.

“Yeah, you’ve been waiting for this all night haven’t you. You hopeless slut. So fuckin desperate for my cock to be inside of you like this. You’re practically cumming already.”

Moaning out you arched your back in writhing pleasure, almost unable to consume what you were feeling all over. Dabi only added to your rapture by wrapping his stapled hand around your throat and bringing his other to play with your swollen bud. This extra stimulation forced you to clench and twitch around his hard cock which in turn made him pick up his pace.

“Look at you, you’re fuckin pathetic. Your pussy gets tighter as I wrap my hand around your throat. You like it when I ram into you like this?”

Lost in your pleasure you just squeaked out a moan not being able to form complete sentences.

“Fuckfuck, Yes! I love it, shit!” Slurring your words together you didn’t even feel the embarrassment that you had been all evening. You just wanted to be fucked, you needed to be absolutely ruined.

With Dabi’s quickened pace you felt the knot below your stomach form and you clenched tighter around him.

“You gonna fuckin cum, baby? Yeah, cum all over my cock Y/N.”

Dabi applied more pressure on his hand that was placed on your clit and that sent you over the edge. Your orgasm washing over you and stealing the last of your breath with a moan ripping through your cords. The pleasure that’s coursing through you caused your body to jerk forward, accidentally hitting your head against Dabi’s. With a growl coming from him and your pussy clenching around him he released inside you, feeling his hot ropes of cum paint the insides of your walls white. He dropped his head in the crook of your neck and bit down hard, almost drawing blood.

“God damn, you feel so good Y/N.” Panting out his words he flipped you over, “Bring your ass up here baby, I’m not done with you yet.”

Still trying to catch your breath, you bring yourself up on your knees arching your back to an angle that almost hurt. You felt Dabi line up with your entrance, once again teasing you. Not fully inserting himself in and playing with the shared juices dripping out of your hole.

“Daddy please don’t tease me again, I can’t handle it” you begged him. Before you could even realize what slipped from your mouth Dabi made sure to make you flustered about your current slip up.

“Daddy, huh? You wanna be my good little girl, princess?”

“Dabi, I-I I didn’t mean that I’m sorr-”

“Shh Y/N, Daddy’s gonna make you feel real good.”

With that Dabi sheathed himself inside you, the friction sending you over the edge. He set an unrelenting pace making you scream out in ecstasy.

“Shit! Dabi!”

Removing one of his hands from your side he wrapped it around the back of your neck, bringing your back up against his chest.

“Say it right baby girl, I wanna hear you scream it.”

With tears welling in your eyes from the overwhelming sense of pleasure washing over you you screamed out

“Daddy! Shit, please. Fuck me. I need you to ruin me”

Craning your neck to look at him from the side in your current position, he turned your head to face his and shoved you into a bruising kiss. The contrast of his skin setting sparks off in your brain. You had felt nothing like it and yet you never wanted to feel anything else in this moment.

“God, you feel so fuckin good clenching down on me like that. Like it when I fuck you like this?” He punctuated his words by thrusting even harder into you. Taking the hand that was around the back of your neck, he shoved your face back into the mattress of the bed moving his hand to press in the small of your back. Putting your back into a burning position. You screamed out attempting to get used to the pain you were just placed in. The sound of skin slapping echoed through the room and you knew that your moans were ringing through your apartment but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Dabi felt too good and you were lost in the euphoria of what he was doing to you.

“Ohhh, Fuck! Y/N” Dabi brought both of his hands to your ass now and was intensifying his thrusts. You were trying your best to meet his thrusts but his pace was so zealous you could barely keep up. You felt the fat of your ass rippling with each thrust and you were starting to feel yourself come to that peak again.

“Ohmygodoh~ fuck, Daddy, I’m gonna cum, please let me cum again.”

Tears were starting to fall from your eyes, the overstimulation of it all catching up to you. You didn’t mean to, but you let out a sniffle giving away your euphoric disposition. Slipping out of you and turning you on your back, Dabi plastered his hands on the side of your head, making you feel so small.

“I told you I wanted to see you cry Y/N, now why would you try and hide that from me? Your face, show me...let me know what you like.” He purred into your ear. Sending goosebumps down the entirety of your body and making your hole flutter around nothing. Lining himself back with your entrance he slowly pushed into you. Almost mocking you for being so close to your release.

“I’m gonna watch you cry while I fuck you and you’re gonna scream my name so loud that this whole complex is going to know exactly who’s making you feel this good.”

Starting at a slow pace Dabi made sure that you would feel every inch sliding in and out of you. You brought your hands to the sides of his back leaving red trails in their wake, careful to avoid his scars. Hissing at the contact Dabi moved one of your hands from his back and grabbed your leg. Bringing it up to rest on his shoulder, giving him deeper access to your soaking cavern. Tears began to fall from your eyes again from both the sheer excitement and lust of the situation you choked out stumbled words.

“Holy fuck Dabi, I’m gonna I’mgonnacum soon, oh my~ shit!”

You felt Dabi put his other hand back on your clit and began rubbing fast hard circles.

“Can’t even form a proper sentence, am I really fuckin you that good princess?”

“Yesyesyes, fuck Dabi please I’m gonna cum”

“Yeah? Yeah, c’mon, cum around my cock Y/N. Ohh, fuck!”

Letting a wanton moan rip from your throat your head dipped back into the sheets, but before you could be fully immersed in your ecstasy, Dabi grabbed the back of your neck forcing you to face him.

“Look at me when you come sweetheart, I wanna watch you fall apart before me.”

A moan turned into a scream and your final tears fell down your cheeks, wetting small sections of your hair that was sprawled out underneath you. Clenching and fluttering even harder around his cock, Dabi released another load into you, stilling inside you while he groaned out in pleasure and pride of how he ruined you.

Both of you panting and returning back to reality after living out your highs, Dabi came down to press an unusual soft kiss to your lips. It almost felt loving and after the intense scene the two of you just shared. It made you feel oddly comfortable. Dabi pulled out of you, his seed following shortly after, pooling out of your hole. Dabi laid down beside you, eyes piercing into you. Getting in your last breath you finally looked over at him, looking into his addictive blue eyes once more.

“That was hot.” He said sort of deadpan, yet his eyes showed something different.

“I think that would be an understatement. I’m still shaking...” you rolled over onto your stomach placing a hand on his chest. Drawing small shapes into his chest you continued your sentence

“...but, I’m not complaining, I could go a few more rounds with you.” Biting your lip you looked up at him. Something of a gleam of hope shining in your eyes.

“Not sure if you could handle it princess, you were crying quite a bit a moment ago.” He chuckled, a small yet sincere smile adorning his lips.

“Get up real quick for me.” You pushed yourself off of him and let him get up. He walked out of your bedroom and into the hallway. You heard the water running for a moment and then stopping. He emerged from the bathroom with a damp towel in his hands. Tossing it to you, he figured you knew what it was for. Giving him a nod, you silently thanked him and cleaned yourself up a bit. Your mind started to race and your heart plummeted, realizing this was probably just a one time thing. You watched Dabi reach for his underwear pulling them up his legs. Throwing the now used wet towel on the floor you grabbed a new sleep shirt from your drawer. Pulling it over your head you felt a deafening silence take over the room.

How did he leave so quick, you thought. Dread filling your face to turned around only to see Dabi still in your room. He was sitting on your bed, back halfway up against your headboard staring at you.

“Heh, I thought you left. It got so quiet.” You began fidgeting with your fingers feeling somewhat embarrassed again standing in front of him.

“Not you being embarrassed again after I was inside you. Besides, what kind of asshole do you take me for? Leaving without a word. I may come in without one, but you’ll always know when I’m gone, sweetheart. Come here.’’ Patting the spot on the bed next to him, you climbed in next to him sitting down. A little further away from him than necessary.

“Closer, Y/N.” A small smile fell on his lips as you finally let your embarrassment go and you cuddled into his side.

“Stay. Please.” You looked up at him, eyes glossing over out of fear of hearing rejection fall from his lips.

“I’m not going anywhere kid, not now.” Bringing his hand to rest on your head, he began to rub your temple, slowly lulling you to sleep. You didn’t know where you two were going to stand by morning, but that was a thought that could wait till then. Right now, you wanted to hold onto this moment, cherishing the memory.

[remmushound]

@brightlotusmoon Part 2 of the Bay/Rise crossover!!

The memory just kept replaying in Donatello’s mind. He tried dismissing it, but it would return and dominate his mind like a storm over the city. Running. Running, and April was in the lead— Splinter was pulling her along. Michelangelo in his shell. He did that when he got scared, it couldn’t help it. It was biological. Leonardo was there with him…

Donatello’s legs ached. His back ached, and his arms, and his stomach. Everything burned from the strain. He kept going.

Everyone was running. Everyone was ahead of him— he couldn’t keep up. He was falling behind and he was—falling! Tripping. Splinter looked back and cried out to his son, and then Leonardo looked back. But Leonardo couldn’t leave Michelangelo…

Donatello noticed the camera in his exhausted stupor. He disabled it just as quickly. His spider arms couldn’t take much more of this. He needed a break. He felt warm dripping down his arms. He kept going.

There was a weight on his back. A comforting weight that covered him like a mutant shield, hugging him from behind and securing a wall between him and the Shredder. Raphael…

Donatello felt one of his metal arms give way. It echoed painfully and the additional weight made him stop. He could feel those eyes staring at him...

Donatello told him to get off, but Raphael held those seconds steadfast. Raphael held him.

Now he held Raphael. Donatello forced himself to backtrack in his desperation for rest.

The shredder was upon them. Claws of titanium slicing through hard keratin like it was butter. The scream. The blood. The portal…

A sword made him stop a moment. A katana, pointed at him. A clear threat. He tried to call out, but found the words stopped at his throat. He tried to step out into the light…

The rift was unstable. Something was pulling them away from their desired destination. Donatello clinging to Raphael. Leonardo clinging to Michelangelo. Splinter clinging to April. Everyone trying to reach out for the others…

Instead, the light came to him in a blinding flash that made him unsteady on his feet.

Then falling. Freefalling through the sky. The hovers on his battle shell the only thing keeping him and Raphael from hitting the ground too hard.

Donatello had to say something, and he tried to make it something distinguished and peaceful. A plea for salvation. All his mind could think to say was,

“Help…”

*****

At first nobody moved. The shock was too great and the confusion strong between them. When someone did move it wasn’t at Leo’s command. Donnie moved forward on his own, grabbing one of the spiked monster’s massive arms and trying to yank him up.

“You gonna help me or what?” Donnie snapped, looking back at his brothers for help.

“Donnie, we don’t know what they are!” Leo finally broke the shock to argue.

“I know I’m not willing to let this one bleed out, so stop standing there trying to catch flies and help me!”

“Raph.” Leo shook his head and motioned for Raph to help, “Help Donnie! Mikey with me.”

Raph hurried forward and grabbed the massive mutants other side, heaving him up together and supporting the hundreds of pounds of muscle between them.

“Shit!” Donnie eyed the damage to the turtle’s carapace, “Looks like he went ten rounds with a semi!”

“He looks kinda like Raph!” Mikey said, voicing the thoughts that filled his brothers minds.

Leo, Raph, and Donnie all exchanged looks. Leo heaved the smaller turtle onto his back, still muscular and a decent weight despite the smaller size, and Mikey was there to help him.

“Let’s get these guys home and have Don patch em up.” He held up a hand when Donnie tried to speak, “We’ll talk later. Let’s go.”

*****

No one said a word on the way back. Mikey tried a few times but when no one, not even Raph, reacted to his attempts at a joke, he eventually went quiet. They hustled at Donnie’s impatient prompting, and the whole way the box turtle was muttering equations and percentages under his breath that none of his brothers could quite make out. When they came through the tunnels, Splinter was there to greet them. His watery eyes went wide and ears back when he smelled the metal of blood clinging to his sons.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s not our blood, sensei.” Leo answered.

Splinter’s eyes searched up and found the sight of the wounded young mutants supported by his sons.

“Oh my…”

“They’re really hurt, dad.” Leo shook his head.

“Here, here— lay them on their stomachs. Be careful!” Donnie guided his brothers to lay the wounded on a table after swiping everything off of it.

“I’m sorry dad, I—“ Leo tried to say.

“Don’t apologize, go!” Splinter urged, and Leo obeyed.

“They gonna be okay, Don?” Leo said as he laid the soft-skinned mutant on the table alongside the giant.

Donnie pulled his goggles down to get a better read on their vitals. “Leo, I need you to go get my mutant aid kit from my lab— the green one with a turtle on it, not the cross.”

“Okay, Don.”

“What can we do?” Raph offered.

“You can give me space.” Donnie growled, “Nothing you can do here, just try to stay quiet so I can focus…”

Donnie pulled himself onto the table, turning his attention to the struggling snapper— for that’s what he recognized the species as almost as once. He lifted the massive head in both hands, taking a quick look at the nostrils in search for blood. Then he came to the mouth and heistated.

“Actually, Raph.” Donnie called back to Raph before the turtle could get far, “Could you give me a hand here? Just— just open his mouth so I can make sure he’s not aspirating?”

“Sure.” Raph hurried over and pried the massive jaws open without a care as to losing a finger or two should the mutant wake.

“Mm. No blood.” Donnie sighed, “Help me take his gear off.”

Raph obliged Donnie’s command and helped him to remove the armor, tossing in a pile to the side. Leo hurried back with the kit Donnie needed and Donnie was quick to take it. Donnie took a flashlight from his belt and shined it into the massive blue eyes of the wounded beast, giving a grin of confidence as the eyes contracted and reacted to the light.

Donnie pulled on his rubber gloves before he started to examine the obvious source of damage.

“What could’ve caused this?” Leo asked, peeking over the bloody carapace.

Donnie hummed and hovered a finger across the cracks. “The cracks don’t follow the suture borders like any normal crack would. This wasn’t an accident, this was very deliberate. Something… some type of three-bladed weapon. Whatever it was, it got him good.”

Donnie opened the turtle care kit and pulled out a drill.

“Can it be fixed?” Leo asked.

Donnie was hesitant to give any answer other than, “We’ll see.”

*****

While he worked, Donnie made sure to keep a close eye on both the snapper and the smaller companion. A softshell, he suspected due to the face shape. His vitals were stable enough and if they did start to drop than Donnie would know. Fixing the shell without the bone sutures to guide him proved difficult, but not impossible. It just involved drilling a lot more screws in than he usually would, and a much slower, tedious process. Drilling the holes parallel to each other and connecting them with tightened wire to pull the cracks together. The more he worked, the more he realized why the slashes were as awkward as they were. Whatever had attacked him had attacked not only the shield of his carapace, but taken off a few of the many spikes that covered his shell. Two of the dorsal ridges had been taken off at their middle, and a third was slashed off completely. Several more were chipped and slashed at the top, but not enough to warrant repair— not deep enough to bleed. After near two hours of intense focus, Donnie finally backed off the snapper and started to remove his bloody gloves.

“How is he?” Leo was on Donnie in an instant, “Is he okay?”

“He’s… stable.” Donnie said, discarding his gloves safely in the bio hazard bin.

“So are we gonna talk about what the fuck is happening here?” Raph appeared just as sudden and quick as Leo.

“He was hurt.” Donnie said calmly, going to his sink and washing up to his forearms before placing fresh gloves. “Something attacked him.”

“Yeah, we understand that, but… why does he look like Raph?”

Donnie didn't have an answer to give, even if he wanted to.

“Mikey, leave him alone.” Donnie pushed past his brothers, holding his gloved hands out in front of him and avoiding contact with everything that might contaminate the rubber. Mikey had taken the opening of Donnie’s absence to jump on the table and start to poke at the subject that Donnie now turned his attention to. Donnie ushered Mikey off of the table and away from his patients. “If you wanna help, see if you can figure out how to take that shell peice off of him.”

Donnie started to give the other mutant the same mouth and nose exam he had given to the snapper. Mikey obliged Donnie’s request, if only to give him more time to be in contact with the new mutant. Mikey picked up the mutants hand and dropped it, laughing as it dropped hard.

“Dude! This guys out cold!” Mikey stood over the mutant and leaned down to stick his face in the softshell’s.

“Out of the way, Mikey.” Donnie huffed and nudged Mikey away with his shoulder.

“What? Come on dude, I’m helping— I’m helping! Hey, what’s this button do?”

“Mikey, do not—“

Mikey pressed the botton on the mutants belt, and the belt snapped undone.

“Oh.” Donnie blinked, “Guess that could’ve been worse. Might’ve helped, actually.”

“See? Told ya I was helpful!” Mikey picked the armor off of the mutants carapace and tossed it haphazardly to the side. “Yoooo! He looks like a burnt pancake!”

“Mikey!” Leo scolded, “That’s not nice!”

“Why’s his back like that?” Mikey gawked.

“Yeah. It’s more like a moldy tortilla than a shell.” Raph commented.

“Cut it out, both of you!” Leo snarled.

“Why’s he look like that?” Mikey laughed and poked the shell, “ewww! It’s all squishy! And flexible!” Mikey bended the bridge of the shell and made the unconscious mutant groan and wince.

“Stop That!” Donnie nudged Mikey away. “He’s a softshell.”

“A what?”

“A softshell. Judging by these ridges, I’d guess Apalone Spinerifa—“

“In non-geek speak, please.”

“Spiny softshell.” Donnie sighed, “Anyway, his vitals seem stable, and there’s no obvious signs of damage. I’m guessing he just exhausted himself trying to carry that snapper for god knows how long— hell, I was breaking a sweat just carrying him home, and that was with Raphael’s help!”

“But he’s gonna be okay?”

“Mm.” Donnie hummed and started to examine the fleshy parts of the mutant. “He has some minor scratching and abrasions— nothing a little rest TLC can’t fix. They’re both cold, though— I’ll need to hook up a heat lamp to try and keep their body heat from dipping too low.”

“When will they wake?” Splinter asked suddenly, the brothers parting as he approached to let him get a better view of the young mutants.

“Hard to tell— the softshell will probably be up before the snapper, so anywhere from a few hours to a day I’d say.”

“And their ages?” Splinter traced a careful paw between the two wounded creatures, his eyes soft with worry.

“Um. Can’t really get specifics, but still in their teens— no older than sixteen I’d say.”

“Just boys… younger than you four.” He took the softshell’s head in his hands to look at his features more closely.

“What should we do, father?” Leo asked, appealing to the old rat.

“Mm. Make them comfortable. They are our guests.”

“But—“ Leo went to argue.

Splinter held up a paw. “They asked for our help, and we will give it to them. For now, all we can do is wait for one or both of them to wake up…”

[capsized-heart]

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this. 

gif credit to @michonnegrimes​ 

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy. 

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child. 

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother. 

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed. 

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.   

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English. 

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland. 

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin. 

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre. 

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king. 

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to. 

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland. 

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk. 

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey. 

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates. 

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you. 

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey. 

A lick of fire coils up your throat. 

God save the king. 

**

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand. 

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling. 

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose. 

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly. 

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing. 

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other. 

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.  

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels. 

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. 

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance. 

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy. 

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear. 

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal. 

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation. 

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

**

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own. 

You see it all. After all, you are a woman. 

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror. 

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.” 

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”      

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact. 

King Henry IV.     

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly. 

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.     

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air. 

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride. 

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.  

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.  

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you. 

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light. 

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you. 

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”  

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law? 

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls. 

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile. 

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more. 

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue. 

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor. 

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.  

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light. 

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.   

“I thank you, sire.” 

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear. 

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”  

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced. 

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests. 

You leave him burning. 

**

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting. 

 The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria. 

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup. 

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans. 

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor. 

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted. 

Even if it is all a charade. 

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.      

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.  

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.   

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes. 

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs. 

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers. 

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.   

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.     

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek. 

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers. 

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic. 

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip. 

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.  

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat. 

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink. 

**

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily. 

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly. 

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time. 

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

**

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife. 

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil. 

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.  

“King Henry!”

**

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.  

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry. 

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood. 

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker. 

A ball for the boy king.   

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture. 

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm. 

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.    

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise. 

**

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.  

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk. 

You feign surprise and turn.     

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.  

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.  

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize. 

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection. 

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno. 

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear. 

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum. 

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs. 

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming. 

“I thank you, my lord.” 

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?” 

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response. 

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar. 

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

**

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you. 

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game. 

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands. 

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father. 

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.   

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce. 

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely. 

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game. 

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding. 

You are to let him touch you. 

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire. 

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself. 

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.  

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure. 

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth. 

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman. 

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

**

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows. 

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move. 

You only burn brighter.  

**

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase. 

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest. 

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil. 

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval? 

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago. 

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

**

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment. 

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.  

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns. 

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself. 

**

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return. 

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession. 

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England. 

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song. 

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together. 

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room. 

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.” 

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear. 

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.  

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.” 

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis. 

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely. 

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually. 

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening. 

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it. 

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm. 

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...” 

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss. 

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder. 

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed. 

You have the king’s word. 

**

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool. 

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.” 

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries. 

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly. 

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer. 

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.  

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming. 

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races. 

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.” 

**

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger. 

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this. 

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood. 

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

**

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill. 

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling. 

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers. 

Thou shalt not commit adultery. 

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

**

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have. 

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest. 

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl. 

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos. 

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world. 

 The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone. 

 You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world. 

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below. 

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 5 - 33

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Content warning: self-hatred, death threats, discussion of death, gun

~

“Isaac!” Sam cried hoarsely as he opened the front door.

They came barreling into his arms, burying their head against his chest and squeezing him tight. Isaac’s eyes pricked with tears as he wrapped his arms around them and pressed a kiss to the crown of their head. He released them a moment later. He could barely breathe. His blood pulsed beneath his skin, his heart pounding in his chest, every nerve throbbing.

Tomorrow.

I’m going to get him back tomorrow.

Isaac looked up at the others, all crowded into the kitchen. Finn and Ellis had their arms wrapped tightly around each other, huddled in the corner, their faces pale. Vera stood beside Tori. Her mouth was set, her gaze steady on Isaac as he walked in, tucking Sam beneath his arm. Edrissa shifted her eyes away, standing on the opposite end of the kitchen as Zachariah. Zachariah’s face was haggard. He looked like he’d aged ten years in the month and a half since he’d reached the family. Deep circles were carved under his eyes, and his hands shook at his sides. Gray stood in the middle of the others, eyes wide and focused on nothing. Isaac thought he saw the glimmer of tears as they blinked and looked up at him.

“Um… h-haven’t made the call yet?” Isaac croaked.

“No,” Gray said weakly. “Wanted to… w-wait on you.”

Isaac’s throat tightened as he glanced around at the others. Every second they waited, Gavin suffered. Every inch of Isaac’s body ached with terror, with the unending pulse of hatred that burned through him with each heartbeat: my fault. My fault. My fault.

“L-let’s get it done, then,” he rasped. He felt like he would jump out of his skin if he had to wait another moment. His hand twitched for the gun he had tucked in his waistband. Vera’s eyes caught the motion. Her mouth twisted.

Silently, Gray pulled the cell phone out of their pocket and flipped it open. They hit redial and put the phone on speaker. They held the phone out in the middle of the group. It trembled in their hand.

It rang once. Twice.

There was a muffled clatter on the other end, and a harried voice sounding slightly out of breath answered. “Hello?”

The voice was unfamiliar, but it still sent a chill down Isaac’s spine. This was the firefighter that was going to walk into the town hall tomorrow and lead Isaac to Gavin. This person was going to help save Gavin tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

The possibility of failure didn’t even cross his mind. Gavin was at the town hall; Isaac knew it with every fiber of his being. He was going to save him. The only way he was not going to have Gavin in his arms tomorrow night was if he was no longer breathing.

“H-hello, Vanya,” Gray said with a shaking voice. “The whole gang is here. You’re on speaker.”

“Good, good,” Vanya said distractedly. A shuffling sound. “Sorry, I’m trying to get somewhere where I can talk.”

“Take your time,” Gray said breathlessly.

There was the whisper of movement, the distant sound of a door closing. Vanya’s voice seemed more muffled than before. “Alright, I can talk. Let’s, uh… let’s go over things.”

“What’s the plan?” Isaac said, unable to keep silent any longer. He bit his lip and clutched Sam tighter. They leaned against him and squeezed him back.

“Well first I… I’m, um, sorry for the short notice. This was the soonest I could schedule it and I felt like you’d want to—”

“Yes,” Isaac choked. “Y-yes.”

There was a deep breath over the line. “Okay. Okay. Good. So here’s my plan, the way I have it: I’m going to go to the town hall tomorrow to do a simple fire inspection. I’ve done half the town by now, and the town hall is right in line with the pattern I’ve been taking from east to west. There’s no reason for Schiester to suspect I’m doing anything out of the ordinary.”

Isaac nodded as Vanya spoke. His skin felt like it was buzzing.

Vanya continued. “I’m not going to do a complete fire inspection, because honestly, that would be a waste of time. That building is old enough that it might not even have a fire suppression system. But it’ll probably have an alarm system. There will be a room with an alarm panel that I can check. Sometimes there will even be a premise map that’ll give a detailed map of every floor… but I doubt it.”

“If DFS has been keeping captives in the basement, I doubt he’d leave a map up,” Vera said harshly.

Isaac huffed out a breath. Come on, come on…

“Yeah. Sorry. Anyway. There will be an alarm panel that will probably give me a good idea of how many floors there are. We have to consider the fact that there might be more than one underground floor.”

Isaac’s breath rushed out of him. He hadn’t considered—

“Isaac, this is where you come in,” Vanya said.

Isaac’s body went rigid. Ice crawled into his veins. “Y-yeah?”

“I’m assuming you’re going to be the one going in after him, based on what I talked about with Gr—”

“Yes,” Isaac snapped. His arm tightened around Sam. “I’m going in.”

“Good. Okay. Well, if there are any floors that show up on a premise map or on the alarm panel that the mayor won’t let me access, I figure there’s a pretty good chance that’s where to search. So… once I get a good idea of where Gavin is being kept—”

Isaac sucked in a breath. To hear someone else say Gavin’s name, someone Isaac didn’t know and couldn’t be sure he could trust, made his skin itch.

“—I’m going to get a message out to you. A call or text, probably, so I can send details. But I’ll figure it out. If there is a premise map, I can even give you turn by turn instructions.”

“I’ll find a way in,” Isaac said darkly. “I will.”

“Okay. Well… that’s where my part ends, I guess. I can really only get you the info on whether or not he’s there.”

“He’s there,” Isaac ground out through his teeth. “He has to be there.”

There was a long pause over the line. Then, “Yeah. It would make sense.”

Gray cleared their throat. “At that point, I’ll already be there with the car for my shift like normal. I’ll help Isaac and Gavin to the car.”

Isaac met Gray’s gaze and chewed his lip. Gray’s eyes shone with tears. Their face hardened into a look of agonized determination. Isaac blinked as he realized there were dried tear tracks on their cheeks. He swallowed hard and looked again at the phone in Gray’s hand.

“I’ll be waiting in the car,” Finn said. Their voice broke. “With my, um… med kit.”

Everyone was silent for a long moment. Then Vanya said, “I’m still working on gathering supplies for making a functioning fire department with… maybe a transporting ambulance soon. What are you planning on taking? I… You’re welcome to whatever I have.”

Finn’s throat bobbed as they swallowed. “Basic trauma stuff,” they said in a monotone. “Suture kits, tourniquets, trauma dressings, ten-gages, SAM splints, then…” They counted off on their fingers. “Fentanyl, ketamine, fluids, dextrose, epi, IV and IO kit, benzos, blankets and heat packs, vital signs stuff, my, um, airway kit w-with the surgical cric kit…” They shuddered, their face going paler by the second. “I’m thinking about packing some IV antibiotics just in case… Let me think, um…” They wet their lips. “Should I pack anything else?” they said in a quavering voice.

There was the uneasy sound of Vanya clearing their throat. “Um… not anything I can think of. That was, um… a lot more than I thought you’d be packing. I… if you need all that…” They fell silent. “Um… d-do you… have a hospital in mind if he, um… needs that?”

“No hospitals,” Finn said dully. “Whatever is wrong is something that… I n-need to fix.”

Isaac raised his head to look at them. His heart sank at the look of overwhelm overshadowed by flat determination on their face.

They feel as responsible for them as I do, just… different. He felt a swell of gratitude in his chest that threatened to choke him.

“Well… alright,” Vanya said softly. “If you need a restock before you head north again… just let me know. I’ll do my best to get supplies to you.”

“Thank you,” Finn said brokenly. Their eyes filled with tears. Ellis clutched their arm and they hugged Ellis tightly.

“We can’t bring too many people,” Vera said, her eyes unfocused. “Otherwise I would… I… would go.” She nodded slowly and looked up at Isaac. “You know I—”

“I know,” he said gruffly. He shivered like a chill had just gone through him. Sweat prickled under his shirt. “That means that… I… should probably be down there already when Gray arrives.” He rubbed his wrist against his hip, barely feeling the scrape of his belt against the scars that itched there. “I’ll head back into town after this, get a ride south. I’ll make sure no one sees or follows.”

“Where will you stay?” Vera said softly.

“In a fucking tent,” Isaac snapped. “On the sidewalk. In a dumpster. I don’t care. I’ll figure it out.” Before the words were fully out, Isaac ducked his head. He looked up at Vera beneath his lashes, already shrinking with shame.

A muscle ticked in Vera’s jaw. She stood perfectly still beside Tori, looking at Isaac evenly.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac whispered. “I… I’m…”

“It’s okay,” Vera said, and Isaac raised his head again. “I’m just… trying to work out the details.”

“I would offer my place, but… we really shouldn’t risk you being seen with me,” Vanya said, sounding apologetic.

“I could ask Mathias,” Isaac said. “He might say yes.”

“We’ll figure it out as soon as we hang up with you, Vanya,” Gray said. For the first time since Isaac had left to search the north, Gray sounded… not quite hopeful, but like there was a little bit of life in their voice again. Their fingers were white where they clutched the phone. “Thank you, Vanya. Truly. I… can’t express how grateful I am for your help. How grateful we all are.”

“Y-yeah,” Isaac croaked. “Thank you.”

The others all murmured their thank yous. Even Edrissa, speaking for the first time. She still leaned away from Isaac, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Well… I’ll, um, get going. If you need anything, call me back on this number. Also, the inspection is scheduled for ten AM, so…”

“I’ll be there,” Isaac said with iron in his voice. His hand itched to hold his gun.

“Okay. Well… good, um, good luck, everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow. Or not, maybe. Either way…”

“Good luck,” Gray rasped.

“Yeah,” Vanya mumbled. “Alright… take care.”

The line went dead.

Isaac let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He rocked forward, his arm squeezing even tighter around Sam’s shoulders, his eyes burning with tears. His heart felt like it would leap from his chest.

Tomorrow. Ten AM. Tomorrow.

His hands felt numb. He swiped at the tears running down his cheeks and into his beard. He felt something shift inside him, like something was about to snap. Blood pounded in his ears.

“Something we have yet to discuss in detail,” Gray said softly, “Is that… once we… have Gavin, Schiester will most likely come after us.”

“Let him fucking come,” Isaac growled. “I’ll rip that motherfucker’s head from his fucking—”

“If we kill him,” Gray said gently, “We risk facing the anger of the entire north.”

“If we kill Schiester, then we tell the entire fucking north what he’s been doing to kids and innocent people with shit fucking luck when they come through Crayton,” Isaac spat back. Edrissa drew away from Isaac, closer to Tori’s side. Tori’s hand went to her shoulder and stroked back and forth, soothing.

Gray was silent for a moment. Then, they murmured, “We could do that anyway.”

Isaac froze mid-breath, rage crawling under his skin, solidifying into something like vicious hope. “Y-yeah?” he croaked.

Gray shrugged jerkily as they slid the phone back into their pocket. “Even if he took those pictures down, they’re probably still in his office. If I see an opportunity – Gavin is the priority, he’s the only priority, but if I get the chance – I’ll grab them. Find a way to disseminate them. Those…” Gray’s voice twisted. “Those people… Their families deserve to know what happened to them.”

“But Gavin first,” Isaac said brokenly. “I… I need to get Gavin out first.”

Ellis wet their lips and spoke. “Guys… Hate to be the guy to point this out, but he might not be—”

“He is!” Isaac cried, whirling on them. His arm loosened from around Sam’s shoulders. “He is! He… he has to be there. H-he has to be… alive.” His chest tightened with a sob. “He’s there,” he whispered through numb lips. “He has to be.”

Sam wound their arm around his waist again. Their hand brushed the gun tucked in Isaac’s waistband. They froze and looked up at him, their eyes wide. There was a hint of fear in their gaze. Isaac pushed down the feeling of guilt that rose in him and looked away.

“All the same,” Gray said, holding a placating hand out towards Isaac, “We should pack tonight, and be prepared to move. Regardless of how the plan goes.”

“It’ll work,” Isaac said fiercely.

Gray’s head fell forward. “Regardless,” they continued softly, “We should be ready to move. Finn, Ellis, if you’ll—”

“We’ve been ready to go for weeks,” Ellis said, and shifted their feet. “We never really unpacked. Let’s be honest… we knew this was going to get ugly. But once we have the idiot back…” They shrugged and stared at their shoes. “We can settle in then. Wherever it is we end up.”

Isaac’s throat was tight. “And I should get going,” he murmured. “I need to get back home, find a discreet ride south. I, um… I need to figure that out.”

Sam’s arm tightened around his waist again, and he looked down at them. They stared up at him, tears welling in their eyes. He pulled them close and crushed them to his chest.

“Isaac,” Sam whimpered against his shirt.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Isaac murmured against their hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow, with Gavin. I’ll have him tomorrow.”

Sam shuddered and clutched at him. “I… I know.”

Tears burned in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and kissed their forehead, trying to ignore the tears than ran into their hair. “Love you,” he whispered. Dread ached in his stomach at how much the words sounded like goodbye.

He swayed with them, realizing for the first time how much he’d missed this. He missed his little sibling in his arms, clutched tight. He’d barely seen them at all for the past…

The past thirty-five days.

They sniffled and pulled away. Vera was at his side, and she pulled him into a hug as well. He wound his arms around her waist and nearly lifted her off the floor with how hard he squeezed her.

“We’ll get our boy back,” Vera mumbled, her face pressed against his shoulder. “We’ll get him back.”

Isaac said nothing, only nodded. After a moment, he loosened his hold. She stepped back, and Tori took her place.

They all embraced him, one by one – Gray, Finn, Ellis, Zachariah. Even Edrissa walked up to him and stiffly stuck her hand out for him to shake. He could feel her fingers trembling. He kept his gaze down and bowed his head apologetically, only too aware of the rage that boiled inside him, just beneath the surface. When she drew back, she wiped her hand on her skirt.

When he turned to leave, Gray held out the phone. “Take this,” they said. “In case we need to contact you.”

Isaac tucked it into his pocket. “Sure thing.” His voice was hoarse. “I just need to grab some things.”

He turned and walked down the hall to the bedrooms. When he stopped in front of the room he’d shared with Gavin, his stomach dropped. He placed his hand on the doorknob. It was cool under his fingers. He drew in a deep breath and turned it, pushing the door open.

His breath caught in his chest. It was exactly the same as he’d left it, the morning he’d discovered Gavin had been taken while he slept. The bedspread was rumpled, the drawer of Gavin’s nightstand still slightly open. The curtain was drawn, but the last rays of the afternoon sun lit the purple fabric, casting the room in a strange, dim light. As he caught his breath again, he was nearly brought to his knees; he could just barely catch a hint of Gavin’s scent still in the room.

Isaac forced down his tears, forced down the way his hands shook, the way he wanted to collapse to the floor and sob his heart out. He went to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. He took only the knife that lay tucked along the side, the handle sticking out from under a pair of pants. He strapped the sheath to his belt and turned to go to the bed.

He didn’t even have to look as he reached for the knife he had tucked between the mattress and the bedframe all those weeks ago, so that when the time came to protect Gavin from the threat he’d known, somehow, was coming – he could. His fingers wrapped around it and it felt dull in his hands. Heavy. Useless.

Useless. Useless. Useless.

He shoved the thought away and straightened up.

As he walked through to the front of the house again, he looked at his family, still all gathered in the kitchen, huddling together as if for warmth. Tears moved silently down Gray’s face, now. Isaac bit down on his tongue, holding back his own.

“I’ll see you all… tomorrow,” he said, feeling the weight of the gun against his lower back.

“See you,” Vera murmured.

“I’ll call you with any updates,” Gray said, wiping their face on their shirt.

“L-love you, Isaac,” Sam said softly.

“Love you, too,” Isaac croaked. He turned to go. His hand curled around his knife as he pushed open the door and walked out into the golden afternoon sun.

Continued here

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