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miabebe · 2 months ago

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The Intruder's Eye (CSC)

Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it didn't make one want to keep an eye at all times?

Pairing - Afab!reader x Choi Seungcheol

Word count - 6K (I failed the below 5k challenge T.T)

Genre - Oof buckle up my friends. This is a halloween special so I tried not hold back - its a psycho-thriller, there's smut and a whole lot of pyscho-ness whelp Warnings under the cut!

A/n - It's the week leading up to Halloween folks! Unfortunately I'm not the biggest fan of clowns and ghosts and vampires etc, but I do love me a good dose of psychos (who I think are scarier btw) so here you goooo! You can also check out Jeonghan's and Joshua's!

Again @tusswrites and @tomodachiii - what would I do without y'all 🫂 this piece is basically all you guys!

warnings - intruder in the house, mentions of stalking, medications, deranged characters, triggering descriptions of a home intrusion, smut, homemade porn (lol), bondage (mouth and hands), blowjobs, cum eating, riding, rough sex, mentions of toys and anal, manhandling, psycho behaviour, please forgive me I can only allow myself to be this unhinged during spooky season

It was the soft pitter patter of the rain against the car window that woke you up.

Slowly fluttering your eyes open, you looked out down the dark, lonely road on the other side, at the street lights were still obscured by the downpour. It's not as torrential as it was when you stepped out of the grocery store a while ago. It was too heavy for you to even drive then so you settled in your car for a while, waiting for the rain to get less harsh. You didn't realise when you fell asleep.

Looking at the 8pm flashing on your phone screen and the way darkness had engulfed everything around, a strange panic rose in you. You weren't really afraid of staying out too late but given the things that had been happening around you recently - you didn't want to take the risk.

Turning on the engine and shifting the gears, you took a deep breath, and started driving towards home.

The street was empty for the most part - not many cars were on the road given the warnings for the incoming storm earlier that day. You didn't have a choice but to leave - you were suddenly running low on supplies, the shopping list in your hand was almost a page long. You glanced at the groceries at the backseat with a satisfied sigh - guess the newfound cardio routine was doing a good job in working up your appetite.

As you neared your house, the streets became more illuminated, much to your relief. Unlike the rest of the town, your neighbourhood was a much safer space - there were streetlights, surveillance cameras and disguised cops always patrolling the area. Most people who resided here didn't know but many of the inhabitants of these row houses were in fact people placed on witness protection. You knew because you were one of them.

One year ago, your testimony in a high profile case had led to some very bad people finding themselves behind bars. In exchange, you were promised protection, leading to your identity being morphed and your life being relocated to this locality. You were promised that nothing would happen to you here, that you would be very safe. You believed it then, but not so much now - not when you turned into your street and noticed the camera at the end of it was short circuited. Perhaps the storms over the last few days had a hand in it.

You didn’t think much of it.

But maybe you should.

Because as you grabbed your groceries and ran to the door, fishing for your keys, you realised you didn't need them. The door was not locked.

You racked your brains to remember if you had locked the door before you left or if you were in too much of a hurry to beat the incoming rain. Your memory is a little fuzzy, it has been like that for awhile, but you were too cold and aching to just get inside to give it any further thought.

You must've forgotten to lock it - what other explanation could there possibly be?

Balancing the bags in one hand, you slowly pushed the door open as you stepped in, flipping the switches with bated breath.

Everything seemed fine, nothing felt out of place. Releasing a breath you tell yourself that everything is fine - you were clearly overthinking things. Paranoia had been a part of your life ever since the proceedings of that case - you were always wary, always suspicious, always scared. Though, you shouldn't be feeling that way anymore, you had taken your medication - you should be fine.

But how were you supposed to feel fine when every small thing made the hair on your skin stand. Like the curtains in the living room being open for example. You never kept the curtains open, especially not since your new neighbour moved in a few months ago.

He called himself Choi Seungcheolwhen he knocked on the door to offer an introduction. You didn't know if that was his real name or the one the cops had given him as a part of the programme. Either way you didn't ask him lest he might ask you yours in return - you didn't need your identity compromised, not when the gang of those convicts was still actively looking for you. You had simply nodded and shut the door.

Since then, you’ve always had the curtains closed. You had to, because somehow every time you looked out, Seungcheol was by his window, watching you. If you were being honest, Seungcheol was hot as fuck and a year ago, if a man like that was interested in you, you wouldn't have let him go. But things were different now - you couldn't trust anyone anymore.

Walking up to the window, you stumbled over the dumbbell in the way as you glanced at the neighbouring house. The two of your houses were the only ones on the street that weren't covered in Halloween decorations. It made sense - you were both single and did not have to deal with whining, crying, demanding children so there was no need for this facade.

But you weren’t that lackluster, you did buy and keep some candy for the trick or treaters though you wouldn’t know if Seungcheol had done the same - he didn't seem too particularly fond of children. He never let them near the house. In fact he never let anyone into his house. You had never seen a woman or a friendly face from town or even a family member step into his place - he pretty much always kept to himself. It’s not like anyone else in this neighborhood had the luxury for such anyway.

At present, there was no sight of him or even his silhouette, with how the curtains of his house were drawn but all the lights were still on. Sighing a little in relief, you do the same, shutting the blinds. Still feeling the weight of the dumbbell against your foot, you pushed it out of the way, wondering how it had displaced itself from the rest of the workout equipment in the first place. You hadn’t even used those in a while now.

Still lost in thought, you walked into the kitchen and as you turned the lights on, a shiver ran down your spine.

Something was off, something did not seem right.

At first glance everything seemed fine, but looking again carefully–nothing seemed right. The apron wasn't in its usual place by the spice rack, you don’t recall leaving out a glass of water on the counter, or leaving a packet of corn chips open. You never leave things out when you leave, you always put them away.

But things like this had been happening ever since you started your medication. You were more forgetful, and that was inconvenient but without your daily dosage it was like a fight between your nerves and caution - anything that moved invoked fear in you, every small sound made you shiver. There was no choice but to take those pills everyday. It was the only think keeping you sane.

Shaking your head, you organized everything back in place again. Everything was fine. You had taken an extra dosage right before you left the house, you were just a little fazed from all the chemicals. Surely it was just your imagination, it wasn't like anyone could have entered the house in your absence….right?

But there was a half eaten bowl of cereal in the sink and you… you were lactose intolerant, you didn't drink milk - that couldn't be yours. Hands shaking, you took a step back.

Someone was in this house.

Quickly opening the drawer, you grabbed a knife, gripping the handle hard and tight. The only question was, were they still in the house?

Wiping the sweat off your face, you took a small careful step out of the kitchen.

It was quiet, deadly quiet, there was not a sound to be heard, but the hum of the electrical appliances and the soft patter of the rain outside. Then you heard it, ears sharp and sensitive to the sound of water dripping. Slowly you moved towards the washroom, holding your weapon out, breath shaking.

When you cautiously pushed the door open you noticed the floor was wet, water leaking from the shower head, drop after drop. You've never had this problem before, did you have a plumbing issue?

Stepping in, you tried to fix the faucet with your free hand. But no matter how many times you adjusted the hardware, water continued to drip, rendering you unsuccessful in your attempts. It felt like a really strong hand had broken the tap which was silly because you were definitely careful with how you handled your things? Neither could have broken this nor clearly, could you fix it. Annoyed by your failure and the thought of calling maintenance, you stepped out of the shower, catching sight of yourself in the mirror.

There was a strange tiredness etched all over your features, hiding a stranger something behind it. Your eyes had sunken further into their sockets, thin wisps of hair framing your face - You’ve definitely had better days and was… was that a knife in your hand?

You glanced at it quizzically. Why did you step into the shower with a knife?

Softly smacking your head at your silliness, you walked back into the living room, leaving the tap for another day. Half yawning with tiredness were ready to retire for the night when your eyes fell on the grocery bags still waiting for you on the table - you had forgotten about it. Groaning at the thought of having to put everything away, you set the knife on the dining table and grabbed your purchases instead, taking them into the pantry. Perhaps it was because you were too deeply immersed in your organisation, but your otherwise sharp ears missed the rustling of the leaves outside, crunching under someone’s footsteps.

Going through the grocery checklist scribbled in horrible handwriting to make sure you had gotten everything, you swiftly began putting them all in their place. The pastas in the jars, the fruits in the baskets, the sauces in the tray. The heaviest thing you bought was perhaps those huge jars of protein powder. You weren't really sure why you decided to buy it - sure your doctor said you were too weak and needed to exercise to build strength but you didn't need to buy all of the products the Internet recommended to you.

Telling yourself you'll find use for it later, you pushed them onto the shelves and turned to the meat instead, throwing them into the fridge. You didn't really know how to cook meat too well but you wanted to try. Seungcheol had once grilled some meat in his backyard and came over to offer you a few bites. When you tried to take it from him at the door, he pulled his hand back and cocked his head.

“Are you not going to invite me inside?”

He was always trying to make a move on you like that. You knew what he wanted, you knew what he had his eyes on but the answer was, no. You could take the deliciously cooked meat from him but couldn't let him into the house. It was too soon to trust him.

But Seungcheol was relentless.

It was evident with how he was the only one in town who turned up at the video store where you worked. And he came everyday. Normal people didn't borrow a new movie everyday, right? Clearly he was flirting with you. Or at least he was trying to. You only ever behaved professionally with him . Except sometimes, when he asked for movie recommendations of a very specific genre. You didn't really know many serial killer documentaries or crime podcasts to suggest, so you would simply ask a colleague to take over. Over the days, you watched him consume every last bit of thrillers available in the store and distantly wondered if he had a life outside of this consumption.

Perhaps not. Seungcheol seemed a bit odd like that.

He talked to everyone in town but didn't really seem to have any friends. He wasn't home for days together sometimes - you didn't really know the nature of his job so you couldn't tell why his absence was so frequent. He always drove that tiny pickup truck of his with some weird boxes and bags hidden under big blue plastic sheets in the trunk. .

The whole deal about him was just not right. You knew something about him was not right. Even though he was incredibly pleasant on the eye, you had to be wary of him.

You had to be wary of everything. .

But maybe you weren't always as alert as you should be. Because it was only as you were putting away the last of the snacks that you heard that sound - the thumping.

It seemed like it was coming from outside…. Or was it upstairs? It felt like it was coming from right above, like the sound of someone's feet.

And just like that,, you remembered the intruder again - the one who might still be in your home.

Quickly you rushed to grab the knife from the table once more and held it out in defense. Whoever came to the house was most definitely still here, you could feel it in your bones.

As you slowly made your way towards the stairs, trying to maintain a soft footfall to avoid the creaking of the stairs, another sound took you aback.

No, not your racing heart - The doorbell.

Turning sharply, you glanced at the door with wide eyes. Who could it possibly be? At this late hour?

The ringing only became more persistent, morphing into knocks while you inched towards the door, grip on the knife tightening.

As you slowly pressed down the handle and slightly opened the door, you were met with cheerful voices, much to your relief.

“Happy Halloween!”

Before you was a tiny ghost, a pirate, a couple of princesses and a buzz lightyear, all half your height, looking at you surprised.

“Ms. L/n!”

“Hey kiddos.”

“Where's Mr. Choi?” The pirate pouted. “We thought we could finally get him to be nice to us, hand us some treats.”

“Aw.” You pinched his cheek with your free hand. The one that was not hiding the knife behind the door. “Mr. Choi isn't in town sadly.”

The little kid looked at you quizzically. “Then what are you doing in his house?”

Oh.

You blinked at him while he looked up at you expectantly.

Then your lips split into a sweet, saccharine smile.

“He asked me to look after it while he was gone.”

“When will Mr. Choi be back?”

You glanced at the inquisitive little ghost, fiddling with the knife in your hand.

Please, please don't make me use this.

“Do you want an answer or candy?” You cocked your head cheekily. “I'm only giving out one.”

“Candy!” They screamed as you laughed and reached for the packet you had just bought, ripping it open with the knife.

They watched excitedly as you dropped handfuls of chocolate into their little baskets and plastic pumpkins. With a scream of “Ms. L/N is the best!” they scurried away to their next target of the night. And so did you, tossing the knife onto the table once again.

You clutched your head and released a low hiss of irritation at the dull throb.Those stupid medicines were really getting to your head now, you were forgetting too many important things. Thank fuck for the children, otherwise you would have never remembered what really had to be done.

Locking the door behind you, you quickly made your way up the stairs. There was no need to head softly - the stairs had a tendency to creak in your house, not in Seungcheol’s.

The thumping from earlier was more pronounced now as your senses slowly cleared up, much like how the light flooded from underneath the bedroom door. The soft thumps are getting louder and louder as you neared it. With a twist of the knob and swing of the door, you tilt your head with a smile.

Light flooded from underneath the bedroom door, the soft thumping sound getting louder and louder as you neared it. Opening it wide, you cocked your head with a smile.

There he was.

Sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, Seungcheol was looking gorgeous as ever. He was dressed in just his grey sweatpants, the thick muscles of his shoulders and pecs bared before you. His biceps too were popping on either side thanks to the fact that his hands were tied at the back of the chair. Oh and his mouth was gagged shut, his words turning into muffled whimpers as he looked at you wide eyed, halting the stomping of his feet.

“I know, I know, I'm sorry.” You raised your hands apologetically. “I meant to be back soon but you know how I am, forgetful little me. I'm sorry baby.” You neared him, walking around his chair, bending to whisper in his ear. “But I see you're having your fun.”

Your eyes flickered from the tent in his pants to the laptop you left on for his entertainment, right in the line of his vision. You see yourself on the screen, dressed in the hottest lingerie you owned, looking right in the camera with the vibrator held just where you needed him and only one name spilling from your mouth - Seungcheol.

This wasn't the video you played from him before you left for the grocery store - perhaps they were auto playing, lucky him. You had hours of such footage of yourself - in all kinds of positions, with every possible toy, in role play costumes, in every possible color of lingerie, you had an unmatchable variety. The only thing common among all of them was his name. Choi Seungcheol.

Could you be blamed? The man was unbelievably attractive. It wasn't like you didn't try to avoid him, to repel all that magnetism. You were well aware of your nature - it hadn't been long since you had gotten a chance to start afresh and you didn't want to spiral again. You really really didn't.

But Seungcheol was persistent. He wouldn't stop flirting with you at any given chance, he kept trying to invite himself home, he was consistently intrusive. You kept him at bay for the longest time, at least until the day you had to return the box he had left with you, the one in which he gave you the grilled meat.

You didn't expect him to open the door with his shirt off, slick with sweat, flushed and half panting. When you caught sight of the dumbbells behind him, could tell he was working out but somehow you couldn't help but think this was probably how he looked when he fucked and god did that make your mouth water.

That day he shouldn't have invited you in. Then you wouldn't have found your resolve crumbling so weakly. You wouldn't have found yourself under him being pounded like there was no tomorrow. You wouldn't have crossed the line like this.

What started that day set off a cascade of events. Sleeping with Seungcheol became quite a regular act - there was no part of you that he had left unexplored, untouched. He was in every crevice, every cell, you were entirely consumed by him. When you were at work, all you could think about was how well he fucked you the day before. When you were on the way home, all you could think about was how well he was going fuck you today. Even after you reached, you always made it a point to immediately wash up, wear your nicest underwear and knock on his door. You always did it at his house.

He did try to come to your place a couple of times but you consistently steered the two of you back to his house somehow. It was one thing to let him cum in you but to come into your house? You couldn’t have that happening, he’d ask too many questions - why do you never use the garage Y/n? Why was it always locked Y/n? Why did you have a ridiculous number of gardening tools in your house when you don’t even grow any plants Y/n? You knew the questions wouldn't seize and the answers weren’t good for him. They weren't good for anyone who's heard them all these years.

Another reason you didn't want him home was because you didn't want to ruin the surprise.

Now, Seungcheol was a self-sufficient man. He was happy with himself, his life, his home, his solitude. It was evident all he was looking for in you was a good fuck - afterall, he would never ask you to stay the night or to be his girlfriend even though you'd been seeing each other for months. You were okay with that….. for now. The two of you were still exploring, still understanding each other's bodies and limits. You didn't mind him taking his time, you needed your time as well.

You see, Seungcheol loved his home. He loved every piece of furniture, every bowl, every mat - he was incredibly fond of his space, taking all the time and effort in the world to curate it. You, on the other hand, didn't really care much for your house. As long as it could fulfill basic needs and keep you safe, you were good - it wasn't like you stayed for long in one place anyways. But your heart knew that you wanted to stay with Seungcheol for the rest of your life. There was something dark about him too that told you he belonged with you the way you belonged to him. You wanted him to feel like he belonged to you too, you wanted him to feel at home with you. You wanted to be his home.

That's why you took months together to design and turn your house into an identical replica of Seungcheol’s.

And when you say replica you mean down to the T. Everything was the same. You made sure it was the same. All those times he was away for days together thanks to his job, you found yourself slipping into his house taking detailed notes of every object, every piece. You would only see, not touch or take anything away. Come on, you were no thief, thieves are bad people..

After that you had spent all your time online or going from store to store, finding originals and duplicates of his belongings. Given that he loved to have really exclusive pieces in his house they were not easy to procure but with a little sweet talk, a little threatening and a little unspeakable things, you had somehow managed to bring them all home. To the home you were making for him.

Earlier this week, you had gotten hold of the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle - a childhood photo of Seungcheol's family, framed and hung on the wall. It was the hardest thing to get your hands on. His estranged sister would not leave her house for long enough - it took a major occupational accident at her husband's construction site to finally get her moving.

With everything finally in place today, just as the sun began to set, you went over to Seungcheol's house to bring him over at last, to show him what you had done for him. Seeing how his front door was unlocked you stepped in, curiously looking around for him. But that feeling evaporated the moment you heard that sound - the sound of a woman moaning.

It felt like the ground under your feet had slipped. Perhaps that was why you grabbed the baseball bat leaning against the wall, to give your shaking hands something to hold on to as you made your way to his bedroom…. He didn't even bother to shut the door.

There he was, sitting on the bed with his laptop open before him, frantically getting himself off to the video of some pizza delivery girl getting her “payment”.

Porn. He was watching porn.

The moment his eyes fell on you by the door, he quickly tucked his length into his sweats and jumped off the bed, looking at you like you were crazy. Oh no Choi Seungcheol. He didn't just do that. He shouldn't have. Maybe then you wouldn't have swung the bat and knocked him out cold. Maybe he wouldn't have found himself in the middle of the room all tied up when he came around.

You just couldn't understand him. What was the need for him to look at other women or even think of one when you were right there? Was he bored of you? Were you not enough? You did everything you could to keep him - every depraved fantasy, every humiliating act, every time he was rough to bruise you for days together, you took it all, you begged for more. Then why was he doing this?

When he finally opened his eyes, he didn't answer your questions, he was simply screaming to set free. Well of course the only thing you could do was to shut his mouth in some way and with him unable to speak, you had to find other ways to get answers. You needed to find out if Seungcheol was just not attracted to you anymore.

That's why you brought out your video collection, little films you had taken of yourself back when you were still pushing him away, all while wondering what it was like to get fucked by him. His mouth may say whatever but anatomy couldn't lie right? There was something else that could stand up and answer you.

You had meant to stay and watch, afterall, you were proud of the quality of your content but the flashes of thunder outside told you that perhaps it was wiser for you to go to the store first. You knew whatever was going to transpire wouldn't be over any time soon, you had to stock up before the storm locked you in. Besides, it was Halloween night, all the cute little kids would be coming around for candy, you didn't want to miss out on that.

You didn't and thanks to them, you didn't succumb to your forgetfulness and miss out on this either.

“There there.” You cooed, removing his gag and he coughed, unable to regain his ability to speak just yet. You waited for him to come around, walking back to sit on the edge of the bed as he looked at you meekly.

“Water.” He whispered, voice just a little horse.

You raised your eyebrow. How did he manage to sound so sexy all the time?

“Thirsty are we?” You smiled. “I thought my gift might have helped.”

“Y/n please.” He groaned. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

Oh. He thinks it's a joke. A little Halloween scare perhaps. A prank gone overboard. Oh he has no idea.

“I think it's me who you take for a joke.” You glanced down at his raging boner. “Or not, considering how excited you are.”

You got up, leaning over him, hand gripping the back of his chair.

“I'll help you.” You licked your lips. “Either I'll untie you, take my little collection and get out of here. Or I'll help with your not so little predicament with any and every hole I have…. Pick your poison.”

Seungcheol looked at you wide eyed. His breath was shaking, lips were quivering and a hundred and one things seemed to be running behind those pretty eyes.

Slowly gulping, his Adams apple moving with a bob, he shut his eyes.

“It's unbearable.” He mumbled. “It's just…. Please help me.”

And you knew exactly what he wanted you to do.

Sliding off the bed, you got on your knees, crawling up to him, slotting yourself between his legs. Seungcheol’s eyes flew open when your hands found his thigh, a soft sigh tumbling out of his mouth. He loved to fuck your mouth. He loved how eager to please you always were, always trying to take in more of him, always trying to do better. God he loved it.

He watched as you pulled his sweats down the best you could and wrapped your tiny hand around his dick. He was raging hard, the tip flushed in an angry red, precum smeared all over. You were lucky he was in your control now. If he were allowed to have his way, he might just break you.

Stroking him agonisingly slowly, you inched closer to place a small kiss on his tip, the softest interaction that had ever happened between the two of you. Before Seungcheol could even relish that moment you wrapped your lips around his length and took him all the way in. Fucking hell. Seungcheol thought he was going to pass out with how intensely you were blowing him. He wished you'd untie his hands. He'd go anything to just push your head down his dick and feel himself in your throat. That was a sureshot at making him come, these shallow and fast bobs of your head were only aggravating him.

Maybe that's what you wanted. Because the moment he let out his tell tale groan, letting you know he was close, you pulled away with a pop and wrapped your hand around his cock instead. Before he could complain about losing the warmth of your mouth you began stroking him fast thanks to the wetness of your spit and before you knew it, he felt himself reaching that high, meaningless words leaving his mouth. With a few more jerks, he came all over himself in spurts, ropes of white coating his abdomen.

As he tried to battle his feelings of relief after finding a much needed release, disappointment for not coming in your mouth, and slight fear, not understanding what the hell was going on, you slowly let him go, wiping your hand on his sweats. Looking straight into his eyes, you leaned forward, gathering the cum all over his skin with your tongue and showing it to him before you swallowed it. Fuck, Seungcheol felt the blood rushing down there again. He was far from done tonight.

Getting up you looked at him questioningly though you were well aware of the answer.

“Do you need more?”

Unable to do anything else, he nodded slowly, whispering please.

Smirking, you quickly stripped yourself out of your clothes. You would have made a show out of it, tease him slowly but you were equally desperate to fuck him so you quickly abandoned that idea. Throwing your garments somewhere, you clambered onto his lap, aligning yourself over his dick. You didn't need any prep or lube, you were practically dripping from just blowing him.

Slowly sinking onto his length you threw your head back, finally feeling full. Seungcheol moaned too, burying his face between your boobs as you bottomed out, your grip like a vice. Holding onto his shoulders you began fucking yourself on his length, snapping your hips relentlessly. You could tell the feeling was too much for Seungcheol too as he bit on the soft skin of your breasts. It stung painfully but you let him - you always let him do whatever he wanted to you anyways.

“Tired?” He looked up at you with a triumphant smirk as your pace began to falter thanks to the not so comfortable position of your legs. “Are you finally going to ask me for help?”

You shook your head. You didn't want him to have the upper hand anymore.

“Don't be stubborn, doll. You know it's better when I have my hands on you.” He ran his tongue along your breast, relishing the sweet and salty taste of you. “Untie my hands and we can make this better y/n. I know how much you love my fingers up your ass, and how much you like the grip on my hands all over you and how much you want me . Come on baby, untie me.”

You didn't want to, you really didn't want to but a part of you knew he was right. He could make you feel so good.

Reaching over you pulled on the knot holding his hands together and in a flash his hands gripped the bottom on your thighs and with the sheer strength of his that you loved, he got up, lifting you along with him. Immediately pinning you to the wall, he began thrusting into you, drawing out the most exquisite moans from you as he hit the spot again and again and again. When unable to hold it anymore, you came around him, he tossed you onto the bed, pounding into you mercilessly, making you cum around him one more time before he painted your ass and back with his own release. Even then the night was far from over.

After that he fucked you almost till dawn, pushing you to the limit as he made you cum so many times, you couldn't even keep count anymore. All you knew was that every bit of your body was screaming and creaming in pleasure - it was confirmed, you had to have Seungcheol for life, you had to do whatever it took to keep this insane man forever. You didn't know how but you could think about that later. For now, as day break approached, the two of you passed out in his bed.

Seungcheol looked at you under the afternoon sun streaming into his room. You were fast asleep - he tried waking you up a couple of times but you just would not budge. Finally giving up he resorted to just staring at you.

Last night was…. better than Seungcheol’s wildest dreams. He always knew he was a bit of a freak, but he didn't think he'd find someone to match it in this quiet town he had been reluctant to relocate to. Even when he first met you, he thought you'd be one sweet love making session at most but you took him completely by surprise. You were as wild as he was - you were down for anything he asked, you never said no and most importantly, you enjoyed it all. Seungcheol thought he had hit the jackpot with you.

But yesterday was most definitely not normal. At that time he was thinking with his dick because all the blood in his body was clearly there but as he looked back at what happened, nothing about it was right. You had knocked him out, tied and gagged him up before you left him. You had hours of footage of you pleasuring yourself to the thought of him…

Seungcheol had noticed the dates. It was way before the two of you had begun your little arrangement and he didn't know what to think about that. There were tiny sirens going off in his head telling him to run as fast as he could but Seungcheol couldn't stop staring at you. You were ridiculously beautiful and he just had the best sex of his life last night.

When you whined softly and turned over in your sleep, Seungcheol finally rolled off the bed and dressed himself. Finding your scattered clothes on the floor he gathered them, looking at them with a frown. He couldn't have you wear these again and his clothes were far too big for your tiny frame. Maybe it was time to start making room in his closet for a few of your clothes.

Knowing how tired you must be given last night's events, he silently fished out the keys from the pocket of your pants and decided to bring you a fresh pair from your house.

He shouldn't have gone over. He never should have stepped into your house. Maybe then the tiny sirens in his head wouldn't have become a full blown ringing.

If he had never discovered the truth of your house, if he wasn’t staring at an exact replica of his space, maybe he would've never come to terms that last night was indeed extremely abnormal.

You were not normal.

Something was very very wrong with you, the dozens of medications on the dining table were a testament of that. Seungcheol knew he had to go. He had to leave you and that house and this town. He needed to run away from this madness.

But when he turned to leave, he felt his heart stop just for a second.

There you were, right at the door, dressed in yesterday's clothes, looking at him expressionlessly. Your eyes ran over his face as he felt the hair on his skin stand.

He had to go, he had to get the hell out of here.

“Oh baby.”

You cocked your head at him, leaning against the frame with a small smile.

This was an expression you had never seen on Seungcheol's face before - a mix of shock and fear and repulsion. You could tell he wanted to run. You knew he would end things now, you knew it was over but alas, it was too late to let him go.

You couldn't let him go.

Taking a step ahead, you slowly closed the door behind you, inching closer to him, yesterday’s knife stashed safely in the back pocket of your pants.

“Do you want to see what's in my garage?”

A/n - As usual, comments and reblogs are much appreciated - I'd love to hear your thoughts, it really helps :) You can also read Jeonghan's and Joshua's :)

466 notes · View notes

ichorai · 2 years ago

Text

sorry ; daryl dixon.

track three of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; daryl dixon x doctor!reader (gender neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; you were on your knees, and daryl was too. he wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

words ; 7.9k

themes ; heavy angst, mild action, doctor au

warnings / includes ; death and violence, negan at his worst, vulgar language, guns/weapons, descriptions of injury/blood, mentions of maggie's pregnancy, negan goes on long ass monologues, poor rick is going Through it, the walking dead s6-7 spoilers (fic starts right at the season six finale), mild sexual dialogue from negan

main masterlist.

Maggie hummed with discontent when you pressed a cold, damp cloth to her forehead. There was a pallid color to her skin, and her temperature was beginning to rise, despite her violent shivers beneath the blanket. The inconsistent, rocking motions of the RV weren’t doing her any favors, either.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Hilltop real soon,” you said, feeling mildly guilty that you couldn’t help her more, despite being a doctor yourself. Alexandria was completely out of medical supplies and this was urgent—if Maggie didn’t get help soon… you’d never be able to forgive yourself if something bad were to happen to her or the baby. “Hang on for me, okay?”

The brunette slanted her lips in a tired smile, eyelids heavy.

Rick knelt down beside you, speaking in a low, comforting tone. “We’re gonna get there. Once we get the medicine from Hilltop, Y/N will fix you right up.”

A small sigh fell from her pale, trembling lips. A thin film of tears warbled over her eyes. She was terrified.

“Oh, Maggie,” you murmured, gently pulling away the short strands of hair sticking to her face.

“How do you know?” muttered your friend, gaze trained on the ex-cop.

“Everything we’ve done… we've done it together. We got here together and we’re still here. Things have happened, but it’s always worked out for us, ‘cause it’s always been all of us. That’s how I know. As long as it’s all of us helpin’ you, we can do it.”

A hot tear meandered down Maggie’s cheek. You nodded gratefully at Rick—he’d always had a way with words that you’d never really gotten a grasp of.

The next hour passed by slowly. You switched between cooling her head, and helping her drink some water, sometimes just holding her hand and telling her that everything was going to be fine. To take her mind off the pain, she’d asked you to tell her about how you and Daryl met, all those years ago long before the dead began to walk.

“I’m glad Daryl’s not here right now, because he always tells the story differently than I do. Well, how I remember it, he and his dick brother used to come to a small convenience store near their trailer park. That’s where I worked. I was around… nineteen at the time? Almost twenty. I was just working a couple jobs on the side to pay off my growing student debt. Daryl was twenty-three, almost twenty-four. Merle tried to cozy up to me—and I didn’t have any of that. I told him to fuck right off. And later that night, just as I was to close up, Daryl came by and apologized on his brother’s behalf. He was real sweet, so I—”

“What the bitch?” barked Abraham from the driver’s seat, effectively cutting your story short and rolling the RV to a grueling halt.

“What?” asked Rick, standing up to look out the window. You followed suit, eyes widening upon the sight.

More than half a dozen Saviors blocking the road with three of their cars—and all of them holding large guns. A lump formed in your throat, and you cast your worried gaze to Rick.

“We goin’ through?” asked Abraham, jaw set.

Rick gnashed his jaw together in thought. “No,” he said. “We’ll talk to them. C’mon. Y/N, you stay here, watch over Maggie.”

Teeth worrying into your bottom lip, you nodded, stepping to the side to let the rest of them file out of the RV, their own loaded guns at the ready.

From inside, you couldn’t hear what the Saviors were saying, but from the smug expression of the one in the center with a hideous pornstache, you knew it couldn’t be anything pleasant for your group.

Three minutes later, they came back in, all looking a bit disgruntled. Rick, most of all.

“What’s going on?” you asked Carl, placing a hand on his forearm.

The young man that you were so fond of grimaced, shaking his head and lowering his voice to a whisper so that Maggie couldn’t overhear. “They won’t let us through. Want half our stuff.”

Your breath hitched. At this rate, you didn’t know how long Maggie could last without the proper care and medicine. And Alexandria was running low on supplies as it is—taking away half of everything would put the community in a pretty dire situation.

“Alright, thanks kid,” you told him, trying your absolute best not to cry from frustration, your nose burning with the effort.

The truck began to pull further away from the Saviors, until they were only but little dots against the horizon.

“Logrun Road’s a straight shot,” said Eugene, repeatedly tapping his finger against the map spread out across the RV’s pull-out table.

Next to you, Sasha shook her head. “We want visibility.”

You pursed your lips, craning your neck to scan the small, faded texts of the map. “Can we go down Shelton?”

Eugene hummed in agreement, drawling out in his thick Southern accent, “Golf course, country clubs, sloping terrain—no bum rush from the bogeymen. We’d see ‘em from a good piece. It is a longer trip by a third but we’d get the scenic safety of clear-cut dingles and glens.”

Both you and Sasha stared at him blankly.

“You’re being serious, right?” asked Sasha.

“As coronary thrombosis,” replied the man across from you, stony-faced. Besides, Eugene was never one to joke around.

Sasha rounded her gaze to you expectantly, waiting for you to explain in normal terms. “He’s serious,” you said. “It’s a longer route, but it’ll be well-sheltered and hopefully keep us hidden from the Saviors. I’ll try to keep Maggie steady until then.”

The two nodded at you, and you pushed away from the table, heading further back into the RV where Maggie and Rick were. She was pale and clammy, but still had enough energy to talk to you, so you took that as a good sign.

Not even ten minutes later, while you were taking measurements of her blood pressure and body temperature, the vehicle came to another rumbling halt.

“Bitch nuts,” cursed Abraham, loudly for both you and Rick to hear.

The Saviors were blocking the road. Again.

You could feel panic seize about your chest, constricting your lungs. The situation wasn’t looking good for Maggie, not one bit—but you couldn’t give up hope. Not now, when she needed you the most. You blew out a shaky breath, absentmindedly wishing Daryl was here with you to give you some comfort of mind.

“We making our stand?” asked Sasha, staring out of the window, where more than a dozen saviors were lined up.

Carl, ever the fiery one, spat out, “Yeah. We end this.”

The blue of his father’s eyes flashed dangerously. “No. Not now. It’s too dangerous for Maggie. They’ve been waiting—they’re ready. We ain’t. With one of us behind the wheel, and Y/N with Maggie, that’d be five on sixteen. We’re gonna play it our way. How we want it.”

Reluctant, Carl nodded.

Slowly, the RV started backing away. Three successive, warning gunshots were fired into the air. You could feel a sick, twisted rage curl up within your stomach.

If Maggie died on your watch—her blood would be on the hands of the Saviors.

You fumbled for another map pinned up on the cork board, eyes roaming over the roads, desperate for another available route. Could they possibly have you surrounded? No—the woods were vast, and the roads were winding—there were so many paths left to take to Hilltop. The Saviors simply wouldn’t have the numbers to stop you.

Wouldn’t they?

The RV came to another stop. This time, there were no Saviors blocking the road, but instead, a line of chained-up walkers. Not wanting to risk damaging the RV by driving through them, the rest of the group filed out to check if the coast was clear. You told Maggie you’d be right back, before hopping out of the RV, lingering by the doorway to narrow your gaze at the restrained walkers.

“That’s Michonne’s,” breathed out Carl, his single eye widening. A lock of her hair was stapled against the center walker’s forehead.

Horror, as black as tar itself, seeped into your chest when you glanced over to the next snarling form, just to see two of Daryl’s arrows embedded into its decaying stomach. Daryl always retrieved his arrows. Which meant… something had happened to him.

“That’s Daryl’s,” you said, loud enough for Rick to hear. “Oh, no, Rick… they did this on purpose. They knew we were coming this way—!”

Just as Rick was about to cleave his axe into the walker’s skull, ricocheting gunfire crackled into the ground, making the dried leaves flutter up with the sudden force, plumes of dust and smoke flying with each bullet.

“Get back to the RV! Go!” yelled Rick. You scrambled up the steps and ran to a concerned Maggie, trembling as you carefully hovered over her, in case any bullets pierced through the walls and accidentally hit her. Carl and Sasha began shooting blindly into the woods, having not a clue where all the shots were coming from. Rick surged forward and thrust his axe down onto one of the walker’s rotting arms, effectively leaving a gap open for the RV to drive through.

The rest of the group rushed inside, and Abraham practically threw himself into the driver’s seat to get the RV moving.

The shots died away after a few minutes. With shallow, inconsistent breaths, you slid off of Maggie, slumping down beside her. She croaked out a question, but it fell upon deaf ears, ringing with static and white noise. A warm tear fell from your burning eyes, and you quickly brushed it away with the back of your palm.

Something happened to Daryl. And it was killing you that you couldn’t help him. That you didn’t even know where he was.

You looked out the window through a watery film of tears, watching the yellow-green fields pass by in a blur. A quick glance at the lowering sun told you that the group was going to lose daylight soon enough, as well.

A strange, creaking noise was coming from below the RV.

“What’s that sound?” said Sasha, worried.

“Undercarriage could’ve caught a bullet,” replied Eugene. “Could be transmission. Could be nothing.”

Agitated, Rick growled out, “They were firing at our feet. They blocked the road, but they weren’t trying to stop us.”

“They want us in this direction,” you murmured, making his wild gaze swivel to you. You gestured to the map. “Rick, they know we’re coming. They know we wanna go North.”

“Meadows would take us East a piece,” said Eugene, “but we can get back on track on Mayhew.”

It would take too long, you thought. Maggie doesn’t have the strength to carry on anymore.

Shaking her head, Sasha said, “We’re down to a third of a tank—we could top off at the next stop, but it’s risky. We can’t have any refills after that.”

A low moan fell from Maggie’s pale lips as a wave of pain washed over her, moving in and out of a hazy unconsciousness. You were quick to check her temperature, blanching at the fact that she was nearly scalding to the touch. You quickly placed the damp cloth to her skin again, trying your best to keep her temperature down.

“Rick, she’s burning up,” you told him, voice thick with worry.

It was then that the RV came to another stop.

This time, there were more saviors—around three dozen, maybe even four.

“Go back,” said Rick, eyes wide and stress evidently painted across his strained features.

Abraham squared his jaw. “We have nowhere to go back to.”

With a shaky breath, you stroked Maggie’s head, your heart shattering into millions of pieces. “I’m sorry, Maggie,” you said, a sob bubbling in your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry—I wish I could do something, I’m sorry.”

Disoriented and not having heard a word of your apologetic babbling, Maggie croaked out, “Are we there yet?”

More tears slipped down your cheeks. Rick was by your side, placing one hand on your shoulder and the other on Maggie’s arm. You stifled your sobs with your palm, and Rick replied in your stead.

“Yeah, Maggie. We’re—we’re getting there.”

The woman’s eyelids fluttered lethargically. “Were there… I heard shots.”

Rick’s expression softened. “Yeah, the Saviors—they’re gone now. We’re gonna get you there.”

A ghost of a smile tilted the corner of Maggie’s lips up. “I know.”

“You’ll be okay,” you told her, sniffling. “The baby’s going to be okay. This isn’t the end.”

“There’s more,” agreed Rick. “There’s gonna be more, I promise.”

A beat of silence.

“I believe in you, Rick,” she hoarsely said. Maggie’s gaze slowly moved from Rick to you. “In both of you.”

Maggie was asleep again. You made sure to give her plenty of water and what was left of the antibiotics you had saved—but that was the very last bit of supply you had. There was little else you could do for her other than getting her to Hilltop for the proper medicine and treatment she needed.

“So what’s the play?” asked Abraham. “They’ve cut us off every turn we made.”

“She needs medicine,” said Rick, desperation lacing each word. “She’ll die without it.”

“We only have two plausible routes North from here. They’ve cornered us,” Sasha whispered, gaze trained on the map.

Hopelessness laid uneasy on all of your shoulders.

“They’re probably waiting for us right now,” said Aaron.

Eugene gritted his teeth. “So, they’re ahead of us. Heck, probably even behind us. But they’re not waiting on us, per se—they’re waitin’ on this rust bucket. They don’t know the moment-to-moment occupancy of said rust bucket. And the sun sets soon.”

“We need to leave now if we want Maggie to make it to Hilltop,” you said, voice trembling with a myriad of guilt, anger, and frustration. “We carry Maggie, and we go on foot. Through the woods. They can’t block us there.”

Eugene took the RV in hopes of tricking the Saviors. Everybody else in the group set off into the woods, taking turns carrying Maggie on the makeshift stretcher, bundled under two layers of blankets. The sun had long set, and the whispering winds were cold this time of year.

“Just let me walk it,” she rasped, voice scratchy and throat dry.

“No,” you were quick to reply. “You’re in no condition to walk right now, Maggie. It’s only a few more miles. Just rest up a bit more, okay?”

Though she didn’t look happy, Maggie didn’t protest any further, letting her tired eyes slip shut once more.

After a couple more minutes, Aaron stepped in to carry one end of the stretcher for you, telling you that you also needed to rest your arms for a second. With a grateful nod, you reluctantly let go, falling into stride with Carl.

“Are you okay?” the young man asked, his hand brushing yours, his nonverbal way of saying that he was here for you if you needed him. “I’m sure Daryl and Michonne are fine. They’re fighters. Maggie’s going to be fine, too.”

You sent him a fond, but tired smile. “Yeah, I hope so, kiddo,” you told him, cuffing his shoulder affectionately. The thought of Daryl out there, probably worried sick for you as well, made your stomach twist into knots. “I really hope so.”

It was at that moment, a shrill whistle sounded out from the darkness of the forest. The group halted in their tracks. One by one, more whistles were added to the ear-splitting melody. It sounded like there were dozens, if not a hundred voices surrounding you.

“Go!” yelled Rick. “Go!”

The rest of you broke out in a sprint, and you grabbed Carl’s hand, winding around tree trunks and hopping over overgrown roots, ignoring the stinging scrapes of twisting branches against your face.

The whistling only continued, growing louder, louder, louder—

Until you came face to face with the source itself.

Car lights suddenly flashed open, momentarily blinding you. You drew Carl closer to you, instinctively protecting him, but it was no use. They had your group surrounded. Saviors, hundreds of them, gathered around you with leering expressions. All of them were clutching guns.

Raw fear curled around your lungs when you saw Eugene on his knees not too far from you, tears dripping down his face.

Rick looked destroyed. Devastated.

You were shaking so hard that your knees began to buckle beneath you.

Finally, the whistling began to dwindle away.

From the crowd, stepped out a familiar face—the man with a hideous pornstache that stopped the RV on the initial route.

“Good,” he called out. He swept his arms out in a faux inviting gesture. “You made it. Welcome to where you’re going—because you ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til we’re done with you. We’ll take your weapons.”

When he pointed a gun straight at Maggie, you immediately did as he said, pulling out the pistol wedged in your belt. There was a knife inside your boot, but you weren’t too keen on giving that up yet. You tossed your pistol on the ground just as Abraham threw down his rifle. The rest of the group followed suit.

Trembling, Rick spat out, “We can talk about this—”

“We’re done talking,” interrupted Pornstache. “Okay. Get her down, and let’s get you all on your knees. Lots to cover.”

“She can’t,” you snarled, stepping in front of Maggie protectively. “She’s sick, she can’t—”

“Oh, she’ll be far worse than just sick if you don’t get her on her knees,” the man easily rebutted, eyes roaming over your protective form.

Lips trembling, you turned around, and with Abraham on her other side, you helped Maggie limp off the stretcher and gently set her down on her knees. Your eyes glistened and warbled with unshed tears. Maggie could only shake her head, as if telling you that it wasn’t your fault.

Terrified, Rick glanced around at the rest of the group. He’d failed you. All of you.

“Gonna need you on your knees, sweetheart,” said Pornstache, slowly dragging the end of his gun up your cheek with a salacious grin.

With a withering glare, you sank down beside Maggie, Rick on your left side, breathing haggard and lips quaking. Sasha and Abraham followed suit. Carl was the last, fists clenched by his sides.

“Dwight!” whistled Pornstache. “Chop chop! Bring out the others!”

A blonde man with half of his face horribly marred by what looked to be a severe burn injury, stepped forward, yanking open the back of a truck.

And, to your horror, he dragged out your boyfriend, covered in blood—blood that you could only pray wasn’t his, even though you knew deep down that that was only wishful thinking. Following Daryl was Michonne, Rosita, and Glenn, equally distraught.

Daryl caught your eye for a brief second, pure terror within his irises. He looked over you to make sure that you were alright, and you did the same with him, a tear slipping down your cheek.

I love you, you mouthed to him. He dipped his head once in understanding, before forcing his gaze away, not wanting to give the Saviors anymore reason to torture either of you.

“Maggie…?” Glenn painfully rasped once he caught sight of his wife in such a state. He tried to make his way to her, but the Saviors grabbed his arms and forced him down, guns digging harshly into his back.

“Alright!” exclaimed Pornstache. “We got a full boat! Let’s meet the man, eh?”

He knocked twice on the door to the RV you were in not even an hour ago.

The door slowly swung open, squeaking on its hinges.

And out strode a tall man clad in a leather jacket, a bat covered in barbed wire hanging off his shoulder. He took his sweet time making his way towards the group, feet languidly dragging along the gravelly dirt, and a smirk accentuating his smug expression.

“Pissing our pants yet?” he drawled, voice tapering into a light chuckle as he stepped out into the light, smiling down at your group on your knees. “Boy, do I have a feeling we’re gettin’ close. Mm, yeah—it’s gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon. Now which one of you pricks is the leader?”

Pornstache pointed at Rick. “It’s this one here.”

The man with the bat grinned wider, before stepping right in front of Rick, who craned his neck to glare up at him. “Hi there. You’re Rick, right? I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killin’ my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people… you killed more of my people. Not cool, man. Not cool. You have… no fuckin’ idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly. Mmh, yeah. You are so gonna regret crossin’ me in a few minutes. Yes, you are.” A dangerous, wolfish grin flashed across Negan’s face. “You see, Rick, whatever you do, no matter what—you don’t mess with the new world order. And the new world order is really very simple. So, even if you’re stupid, which you may very well be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes—pay attention.”

He lowered his bat off his shoulder and slotted the barbed end right below Rick’s chin. You held in your breath, your entire body wracking with tremors. Though you knew you needed to stop, you couldn’t help but chance glances at Daryl every so often, your concern for him rapidly growing. Some of that was his blood, it had to be—his eyes were sunken with exhaust and his chest, the very chest you would fall asleep on every night, was rising and falling unevenly, making you believe he was hurt, but you just couldn’t see what was hurting him.

“Give me your shit… or I will kill you. See? Simple as that.” Negan pulled the bat away from Rick, and began walking around the group as he spoke. “Today was career day. We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me. That’s your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow. But swallow it, you most certainly will! You ruled the roost. You built something, Rick. You thought you were safe, I get it. But the word is out. You are not safe. Not even close. In fact, you are pegged—more pegged if you don’t do what I want. And what I want is half your shit. If that’s too much, you can make, find, or steal more, and it’ll even out sooner or later. This is your way of life now. The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, if someone knocks on your door… you let us in. We own that door. You try to stop us? And we will knock it down. You understand?”

Rick swallowed heavily. Narrowing his keen eyes, Negan cupped his ear and leaned down closer to the kneeling man.

“What? No answer? You don’t really think that you were going to get through this without being punished, now, did you? I don’t want to kill you people. I just wanna make that clear from the get go. I want you to work for me—and you can’t do that if you’re dead, now, can you? I’m not growin’ a garden. But you killed my people—a whole damn lot of ‘em! More than I’m comfortable with, honestly. And for that… for that you’re gonna pay.”

Your hands curled into fists on your knees. You knew what was coming. And you’d be damned if you were going to let it happen.

“So, now… I’m gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you.” Negan inhaled sharply, as if he enjoyed prolonging the torture. He bent down once more, showing off the barbed bat. “This right here—this is Lucille. And she is awesome. All this… all this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor!”

Negan stopped in front of Abraham, who straightened and glared defiantly at the smirking man. In thought, Negan subconsciously rubbed his bearded jaw with one hand at the sight of Abraham’s own mustache. “Huh. I gotta shave this shit.”

On he strolled, before halting in front of Carl. “You had one of our guns. Hm. You got a lot of our guns.” Carl only scowled at the man. “Shit, kid. Lighten up. At least cry a little.”

Chuckling, Negan moved on.

You could feel one of your eyes twitch when you saw his shoes stop right in front of you. His bat was beneath your chin in an instant, forcing you to look up. The sharp metal on the bat painfully scratched against your jaw, and fresh tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“My, my, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? What’s your name, darlin’?”

Hatred simmered within your chest, but you forced your expression to remain indifferent.

You quietly told him your name, wincing when his bat dug deeper into your neck and he ordered you to say it louder. You repeated yourself, voice cracking. A single tear meandered down your cheek and slid down your chin, dripping onto Lucille.

Negan hummed, nodding in satisfaction. “Now that’s what I want to see, folks! A little emotion around here—Y/N’s got the gist of it!”

“Kill me,” you gritted out, making the rest of the group’s eyes widen. You could feel Rick’s stare burning holes straight through you, but you refused to meet his gaze, staring straight up at Negan. “You can kill me. Just don’t hurt them. Let them go. Maggie, on my right, she’s real sick and she needs medicine—if she doesn’t get the proper treatment soon, she’ll… she’ll…”

The man in front of you barked out an amused laugh. “She’ll what?”

“She’ll die,” you snarled. “So kill me. Get it over with—and let them go.”

And for a split second, you let your eyes return to Daryl, one last time. He wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that Negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

But it was all futile. He noticed anyway.

He followed your gaze over to Daryl, lowering his bat to gesture between the two of you.

“Ah… you two are a thing, ain’t ya? Damn. And here I thought you were available for takin’, sugar.” Negan tossed his head back and chuckled with mild disappointment. “God, look at you bein’ all heroic, offering yourself up for the chopping block! No, no, darlin’, this ain’t a game of who gets to be a martyr and save their friends. You don’t decide what’s happening here. I do. You think I don’t know you’re the doctor of the group? My people have been reporting to me—they know you’ve been the one taking care of Little Miss Sickly over there. No… you’re far too valuable for me to kill. We need more people like you, darlin’. Plus, I wouldn’t want to bash in your pretty little face, now, would I?”

With a hum, Negan stepped away from you, fixing his gaze upon Maggie.

“Jesus. You look shitty. I should just put you out of your misery right now—!”

“NO!” screamed Glenn, scrambling onto his feet and lunging at Negan. Before he could even begin to make contact, Dwight grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, threateningly shoving Daryl’s crossbow into his face.

Maggie cried out—both from a fresh wave of pain seeping through her bones, and from the sight of her husband being dragged back to his spot like a ragdoll.

Huffing out a sigh, Negan grunted out, “Nope. Nope, nope, get him back in line.”

Glenn screamed, choking back a sob. “No… don’t. Don’t!”

Negan could only smile. “Alright, alright, listen. Don’t any of you do that again—I will shut that shit down, no exceptions! First one’s free—it’s an emotional moment. I get it. Mmh. Sucks, don’t it? The moment you realize you don’t know shit.”

Rick trembled violently beside you. Tilting his head, Negan glanced between him and Carl, realization dawning upon him when he noticed the physical similarities between the two.

“This is your kid, right? Ohoho, that is definitely your kid!”

“JUST STOP THIS!” yelled Rick, so sudden that it made you flinch.

Equivalent in volume, Negan bellowed back, “HEY! Do not make me kill your little future serial killer! Don’t make it easy on me! I gotta pick somebody—everybody’s at the table waitin’ for me to order, hm?”

The man whistled out a shrill tune, one that sent a shiver dance down your spine.

“I simply cannot decide. But I got an idea.” With that, he pointed the bat at Rick. “Eenie.”

He moved to you, before narrowing his eyes, and skipped over to Maggie. “Meenie.”

Abraham. “Minie.”

Michonne. “Mo.”

Glenn. “Catch.”

Daryl. “A tiger.”

Rosita. “By.”

Eugene. “His toe.”

Sasha. “If.”

Aaron. “He hollers.”

Carl. “Let him go.”

And so on he went.

My mother told me to pick the very best one. And you… are… it.

Your heart dropped when the end of his bat stopped in front of Abraham.

No. No… no… no…

“Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy’s other eye out and feed it to his father, and then we’ll start! You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you’re all gonna be doin’ that!”

And with that, he swung the bat back and brought it clean down on Abraham’s head.

Screams erupted from around you. You could feel your vision blur over with your tears, and you closed your eyes shut, not wanting to see such a gruesome sight, curling in on yourself as you listened to the repeated, sickening squelch of Negan’s bat repeatedly hitting your dear friend. Negan gloated and laughed and jeered. You cried and sobbed and flinched with every strike.

His blood—Abraham’s blood—splattered on your face. You could feel it.

Warm, moist, and thick. Dripping down your cheek.

“You guys… look at my dirty girl!” proclaimed Negan, jutting out the bloody bat for all to witness. The monster of a man tilted his head at Rosita, whose eyes were horrified and bloodshot, dripping with fat tears. “Sweetheart… lay your eyes on this!”

When Rosita began to cry harder, Negan hummed. “Oh, damn. Were you… were you guys together? That sucks. If you were, you should know—there was a reason for all this. Red—and damn if that isn’t a good name for him—he just took one, or six, or seven for the team! So take… a damn… look.”

Rosita refused to move her gaze from Abraham’s mutilated corpse.

And, much to your horror, Daryl growled out as he surged forward on his feet, landing a clean punch against Negan’s jaw. You screamed out his name when three Saviors grabbed him and beat him back onto the ground, pinning him tightly against the gravel. A sob wracked through your frame and you could feel your stomach twist into itself. Daryl was still struggling against them, clutching his side as he panted out.

“No!” yelled Negan, clearly furious. “Oh, no. That—is a big no-no. The whole thing—not one fucking bit of that shit flies here!”

Terror clutched at your palpitating heart when Negan shoved Lucille right up into Daryl’s face, smearing Abraham’s blood all over him.

Dwight strode up and pointed Daryl’s own crossbow against the back of your boyfriend’s head. A sob fell from your lips. You couldn’t watch this—you just couldn’t.

“Daryl,” you cried out, hiccupping through your words. “Negan… no. No, please, don’t! I’ll do anything, please! Not him. Please, not him!”

Amused at your pleading, Negan casted a sidelong glance to you, before grabbing at Daryl’s hair and pulling him upright. “See what you did there, Buckaroo? You got your little partner all upset! Look, they’re crying their eyes out, worried for you.” Negan got back up on his feet. “Get him back in line,” he barked, though his eyes were trained on you.

And in two quick strides, he was back in front of you, gripping your face tightly between his gloved hand. “Look at you, darlin’, all covered in blood. Would it be weird if I say it makes my dick hard as fuck?” You scowled, trying your best to pull your face away from his uncomfortably rough grip. “Ah, ah, ah, sweetheart—your boyfriend here didn’t listen to me earlier. I said the first one was free, didn’t I? And what does that mean? Second one’s got a price, hm? I said I’d shut that shit down—no exceptions. I don’t know what kind of lyin’ assholes y’all have been dealing with… but I’m a man of my word. First impressions are important! I need you all to know me. Know that I’m not joking around with this shit. Now, if you weren’t a doctor and you weren’t so fuckin’ hot—I would’ve bashed your head to pieces without battin’ an eye! But, lookie here, I’m faced with another dilemma. I need to kill another one of you to get my point across.”

A wail bubbled up in your throat and you began to claw at Negan’s fingers now painfully squeezing your jaw. “No… please, please… don’t, please—!”

“And I want you, darlin’, to pick which one of your little friends I kill.”

“No!” you spat, breathing shallow and panicked. “Me—just kill me, Negan—you don’t have to hurt anyone else, please, please, let them go, you—”

Getting irritated with you, Negan shook your face until you stopped blubbering. “You’re not listenin’ to me. Pick. Someone. Not you, and not your little boyfriend. I want him to live with the fact that one of his friends died because of him. Pick someone. Anyone, sweetheart. You’ll be doin’ em a favor, honestly. They get to save the rest of you from a miserable death! Now, doesn’t that sound appealing?”

A beat of silence. Negan stared you down, and you glared right back.

“Eat my shit,” you snarled out.

Narrowing his eyes, Negan finally relinquished his hold on you. You gasped for breath, chest heaving, stabilizing yourself with your hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you’re feisty! Might have to keep you around after this—holy fuckin’ shit. Mmh, alright… fine, then. Since you won’t pick—I’ll just have to kill your precious patient’s boyfriend, hm?”

Before any of you could react, Negan spun on his heel and arced his bat through the air, right onto Glenn’s head. Again, and again, and again.

A piercing scream echoed across the forest. Maggie’s scream.

Your mouth dropped open as a silent cry scratched down the sides of your throat.

Glenn was still alive, somehow, after all those bashes. Blood caked his entire skull and part of his head was caved in—to your nauseating horror, one of his eyes had come out of its socket.

“Buddy, you still there?” exclaimed Negan in astonishment, bending down to inspect his handiwork. “I just don’t know… seems to me like you’re tryin’ to say something! But you just took a hell of a hit! I just cracked your skull so hard, your eyeball popped right out! And it is gross as shit!”

After all that, Glenn managed to slur out, “Maggie… I’ll find you.”

Sobs rang throughout the clearing. The rest of the group cried tears for Glenn—without him, all of you would’ve been dead three times over.

“Awh, hell. I can see this is hard on you guys,” said Negan. “I’m sorry. I truly am. But I did say… no exceptions!”

With that, he brought down his bat again. Over, and over, and over.

Maggie cried so hard her voice started to give out.

Daryl, your beloved Daryl, flinched with every stroke of the bat, his eyes red and puffy with tears. You could see it already—the guilt behind his gaze. He thought it was his fault Glenn was killed.

You shut your eyes again.

“Lucille is thirsty! She’s a vampire bat!” proudly declared Negan, as he swung one final hit on Glenn’s long-dead body. “What? Was the joke that bad? Tough crowd, huh?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” whispered Rick once Negan was done. Rick had blood splattered all over his face, as well. Abraham’s blood. Glenn’s blood.

Negan squatted down beside him, tilting his head. His bat was dangerously close to you. “What? I didn’t quite catch that, Rick. You’re gonna have to speak up.”

Squaring his jaw, Rick drew in a sharp inhale. “Not today… not tomorrow… but I’m gonna kill you.”

Negan sucked at his teeth. “Jesus,” he softly said. “Simon. What did he have? A knife?”

Pornstache raised his brows. “He had a hatchet. An axe.”

Snorting, Negan shook his head. “Simon’s my right-hand man. Having one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without ‘em? A whole lot of work. You have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathing? Oh… or did I…”

The man waved the bloodied bat in front of Rick’s face, taunting him.

“Sure, yeah. Give me his axe.” Pornstache handed Negan the small weapon and Negan smugly slid it into his belt. Suddenly, Negan grabbed the back of Rick’s jacket and yanked him up, practically dragging him by the scruff towards the RV. Your breath hitched, wanting to stop him, but all the guns trained on the backs of your friends made you freeze. All you could do was lower your head and stave away your raucous sobs.

“I’ll be right back, folks! Maybe Rick will be with me! And if not… well, we can just turn these people inside out, won’t we? I mean… the ones that are left!”

They were gone for hours.

During those hours, part of you wanted to go to Maggie, comfort her, check if both she and the baby were alright. No doubt she was in a tremendous amount of both emotional and physical pain. The other part of you wanted to go to Daryl, curl up in the safety of his arms and cry into his chest.

But you couldn’t do either. Not with the Saviors pointing the barrels of their rifles to the back of your skulls.

The sun was already beginning to rise, tinting the sky a sweet, soft shade of blue. A stark juxtaposition to the dark red blood steadily drying on the rocky ground.

When Rick got back, Negan ruthlessly threw him down in front of the group. He looked exhausted. More than that—he looked dead inside. The light behind his eyes was gone.

“Do you know what that little trip was about?” asked Negan.

Rick looked around wildly, as if making sure that everyone else was alright.

“Speak when you’re spoken to,” Negan hissed.

Begrudgingly, Rick bowed his head. “Okay… okay.”

Negan wolfishly grinned, though there was a dark glimmer to his irises that you misliked. “That trip was about the way that you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you’re still lookin’ at me the same damn way. Like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that’s not gonna work!” Once again, Negan squatted down beside Rick, that smug expression still plastered across the man’s coarse features. “So… do I give you another chance?”

After a moment’s pause, Rick hacked out, “Yeah. Yes.”

Satisfied, Negan clapped Rick on the back, before getting back up onto his feet. “Alright! Here it is, the grand-prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone’s last crap day… or just another crap day. Get some more guns to the back of their heads. Level with their noses, so if you have to fire… it’ll be a real fuckin’ mess.”

You could feel cold metal graze the very top of your temple.

“Kid, come here,” said Negan, making your heart plummet to your stomach. Rick’s expression shifted to one of pure dread.

Carl didn’t move.

“Kid… now.”

With cautious movements, Carl stood up in front of the taller man.

“You a southpaw?” asked Negan while he unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of its loops.

“Am I a what?”

“A lefty,” clarified Negan.

Carl scowled. “No.”

“Good,” retorted Negan, before grabbing Carl’s left arm and tying the belt around his bicep. “That hurt?”

Gritting his teeth, Carl bit out a negative.

“It should. It’s supposed to.” Negan smirked, knocking Carl’s cowboy hat off his head. “Alright, get down on the ground next to daddy, kid. Spread them wings!”

Slowly, Carl lowered himself down beside Rick, his cheek pressed flat against the dusty gravel.

“Simon, you got a pen?”

Pornstache nodded, brandishing a marker from his pocket and tossing it over to Negan. The man uncapped the black pen with his teeth, flashing you a wink and spitting out the cap somewhere to the side. He kneeled down by Carl to draw a straight line just below the junction of his elbow.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “This is gonna be as cold as a warlock’s dick, as if he were hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it right across your forearm! Gives you a little leverage, don’t it?”

Stammering, Rick muttered out, “Please… please don’t. Please don’t.”

Negan tilted his head, lightly chuckling. “Me? Oh, I ain’t doin’ shit. Rick… I want you to take your axe and cut your son’s left arm off—right on that line! Now, I know you gotta process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though—I’m gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then your kid dies. Then the people back home die. Then you… eventually. I’d keep you breathing for a few years just so you could stew on it!”

“You… you don’t have to do this,” pleaded Michonne. It was the first time she’d spoken since she got out of the truck. Seeing Carl splayed out in front of her, practically her son, made something inside her snap. “We understand. We get it, we—”

“You might understand! I’m not so sure Rick here does. I’m gonna need a clean cut right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed-up thing to ask, but it’s gonna have to be like a salami slice. You remember those, right? Nothin’ messy. I want a clean, forty-five degree cut. Give us somethin’ to fold over. You got Y/N right there to fix him up nice and good. The kid’ll be just fine. Probably.”

Rick was just about losing his mind, rocking back and forth, murmuring incoherently beneath his breath. Sweat dripped down his bloodied face, his hair, mixing with the salty tears leaking from his crazed eyes.

“Rick. This needs to happen now. Chop, chop. Before I crush the little fella’s skull myself.”

Swallowing down his sobs, Rick choked, “It can—it can… it can be me. It can be me. Wh… you… you could do it to me. I c-can go with—with you.”

Negan smiled at his desperation. “No. This is the only way. Pick up the axe, Rick. Not making a decision is a big decision, let me tell you that. You really wanna see all these people die? Because you will—if you don’t PICK UP THE FUCKING AXE!”

Rick began sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh, my God,” said Negan, pulling at his face wearily. “You gonna make me count? Okay, Rick—you win. I’ll start counting. Three!”

“PLEASE!” screamed Rick. “IT CAN BE ME. PLEASE!”

“Two!” Negan kneeled down and slapped a sobbing Rick across the face, before grabbing his cheeks, not unlike he did with you hours before. “This is it, Rick. Make a decision. One!”

With a gut wrenching scream, Rick’s trembling fingers curled around the handle of his axe.

“Dad…” whispered Carl. A tear slipped down your cheek as the events unfolded in front of you. “Just do it.”

Rick cocked his arm back, seconds away from bringing it down to cleave Carl’s hand off.

But Negan grabbed Rick’s wrist at the very last second, stopping him.

The man smirked, pleased with himself. “You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?”

Frantically, Rick nodded his head.

“SPEAK WHEN YOU’RE SPOKEN TO! You answer to me. You provide for me!”

“I’ll provide for you!” cried Rick.

“You belong to me! Right?” hollered Negan.

Hiccuping a sob, Rick bobbed his head. “Right.”

“Now that… that is the look I wanted to see.” Negan grabbed Rick’s axe from him and stepped away. “We did it. All of us, together. Even the dead guys on the ground! Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure! Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope for all your sake… that you get it now. That you understand how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you before… that is over now.”

Negan clapped his hands together, sighing out in relief.

And strangely, you were slightly relieved, as well. Maybe he was done. He wasn’t going to kill any more of you. This was all over for now.

Right?

“Dwight,” said Negan. “Load him up.”

To your shock, Negan pointed Lucille straight at Daryl.

“See, he’s got guts. Not a little bitch like someone I know,” Negan told Rick. “I like him. He’s mine now. You still wanna try something? Not today, not tomorrow? I will cut pieces off of… what’s his name?”

“Daryl,” said Pornstache.

“Wow. That actually sounds just about right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep! Or, better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do it for me.”

“No…” you croaked out, when Dwight grabbed your boyfriend and dragged him back to the truck as if he were a wild animal, crossbow pointed at his chest. Maggie sobbed from beside you. “No, Daryl… please, no, don’t—please don’t take him from me!” you cried. “Please, I need him… Daryl!”

Negan smiled down at you. “Mmh. Alrighty, then. I’ll take you, too. Come on.”

A gasp lodged in your throat when he suddenly grabbed your arm and yanked you upwards.

“No, wait, I’m the only doctor they have, they need—Maggie needs m—!”

“I don’t give a rat’s flying blue ass,” growled Negan, shoving you in the direction of the truck, where Daryl watched you with wide, scared eyes. You craned your neck around to look at Rick and Maggie and the rest of the group—your family—one last time, unsure of when, if ever, you’d see them again. “You’re mine now. Got a whole lot of shit you can do for me, that’s for sure, darlin’. Load ‘em up!”

One of the Saviors pushed you into the truck just as Negan yelled out, “Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry shits! I’ll leave you a truck. Keep it—use it to cart all the crap you’re gonna find me. We’ll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then… ta-fuckin’-ta.”

You collapsed straight into Daryl once you were inside, thundering sobs spilling from your lungs. He wrapped his burly arms around you, smelling of dirt and blood and motor oil. No words needed to be said. No words could be said.

The both of you had lost so much today.

And now… you’d lost your freedom, as well.

Daryl began crying into your shoulder, and you could only hold him all the tighter.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon oneshot #twd angst #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon drabbles #negan smith x reader #negan x reader #rick grimes x reader #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon ff #daryl dixon fanfic

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imabeautifulbutterfly · 9 months ago

Note

Hello friend! I'm in love with your writing!!! 😍😍😍😍😍

Idk if your requests are still open but I'd like to request something if you don't mind!

I LOVED the hurt/comfort/whump fic you did for Hunter. Could you possibly do something like that for Tech x Reader?

Maybe Tech and the reader are on a mission together or maybe they've crash landed somewhere or something. The reader is badly hurt and Tech has to take care of her and treat her wounds and save her and comfort her in his own special Tech way 😂😍

Oh @arctrooper69 what can I say? I mean ... I think a thank you is just not enough. You have made my day with this request, so I took my time to give it the proper respect it deserves. I hope you like it. If it wasn't exactly what you were looking for I do apologize.

Please note that you are always welcome to send in requests. As this is a special request, it will be stored in my One Shots & Mini Series Master List.

The story got a little away from at 1400+ words, but I hope it's close to what you wanted.

And who doesn't love Tech. I love this adorable nerdy man.

Love oo,

His Promise

Warnings: Snow, injury, blood, explosions, crash, grief, fear, anxiety, hurt, fluff, near death, feelings of being a burden, getting in the way, I think that's it. If I miss any, please let me know.

Please note the explanation of Snow, Tech gives, was taken from the National Snow and Ice Data Centre.

AO3 Link | OS & MS Master List | Main Master List

The wind was picking up, as the snow piled down and was doing everything in its power to keep you and Tech from being rescued. You looked at the snow as it came down in sheets outside the entrance of the cavern he found, mesmerized by its beauty.

“It’s beautiful and so calming …” you said slowly, your body already weakened from your injury and loss of blood.

“What are you talking about?” Tech did his best not to let the slowness of your breathing or even the breathless way you were speaking affect him. His anxiety was already high, and his fear of losing you was nearing his breaking point.

“The snow…” you kept watching the soft flakes float down as they gently landed on the ground, piling on top of one another, almost as though they were unable to survive without the comfort of those around them.

Tech glanced up to see the blizzard which prevented you both from leaving. As he watched the speed of the wind, he calculated it would’ve been nearly impossible for Hunter to bring the ship close to them. As he looked at the used bandages already soaked through with your blood his fear only grew. You needed immediate medical attention, more than he could provide at the moment, or it would mean certain death for you to be out here any longer.

Frankly, he couldn’t stop picturing the way you lunged forward as the ship crashed. He was helpless to watch you, as your body fell forward against the console, as a piece of the console broke off and jabbed you in your abdomen. It all happened too fast and somehow in slow motion. He could still hear your scream piercing his ear as he pulled you off the console.

He tried to stop the bleeding right away, however when he went to look for the med kit, he realized only too late that it had fallen out of the shuttle when the engine and the side compartment blew. All he had left were his emergency bandages and gauze and they weren’t nearly enough.

At that moment, he couldn’t care less about how beautiful the snow was or how calming the blizzard looked from inside a cavern, that he only had to find because that piece of osik shuttle decided to have a fuel leak, catching on fire.

Within seconds he had needed to drag you out of the relatively warm and safe shelter you both had, grabbing what supplies he could before the ship blew up. Thankfully, he had been able to send a message to Hunter when the shuttle crashed initially. So it was only a matter of time before the Marauder showed up, but …

His eyes fell back to the bundle of used gauze, his anxiety climbing as he knew you needed more first aid than he could provide at the moment. You needed the Marauder, you needed his med kit that he carefully stocked and kept safe on board the Marauder. At this point in time, he didn’t care about any kriffing snow.

“Snow is an accumulation of packed ice crystals. The condition of the packed crystals determines a variety of attributes, such as colour, temperature and water equivalent. As weather conditions change, the packed ice crystals can change as well, and this affects the characteristics of snow.”

You chuckled at his ability to pull forth information like it was nothing. Unfortunately the chuckle turned to coughing. Only causing you to dribble more blood out of your mouth, you wiped away what you could. He didn’t need to see that, “Tech …” you coughed again, “turn off your brain for two seconds, don’t think and just look. Just watch.”

He pulled the heater closer towards you, “Stop talking and try and warm up.”

“Tech…” you held his hand, “just look.”

His eyes drifted up your body, till he locked eyes with you. They were pleading for him to listen and to just have him appreciate what you found mesmerizing. He tried to follow your advice, focusing on the snow, but all his mind kept drifting back to was this blizzard that was preventing you from getting the medical attention you needed, so desperately.

He shook his head focusing back on your abdomen, trying to stop the bleeding. Trying his best to keep you with him.

“Tech,” you gripped his wrist “… stop …”

“No.”

His tone was firm and full of anger, why did he agree to let you come with him? If he used his brain instead of allowing his feelings for you to dictate his actions, you wouldn’t have been here. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Why did you always insist on following him? Why didn’t you just stay behind on Pabu? Simply because you wanted to see the galaxy, and he was excited to show it to you? It was his fault you were here. It was his fault you were in danger. It was his fault he … was going to lose you.

“Tech …” you squeezed his wrist. He removed your hand from his wrist, placing it off to the side as he focused on your wound. He didn’t deserve your touch, he didn’t deserve to have you comfort him. It was his fault you both crashed on this force forsaken planet.

There was nothing you could do as you watched Tech pull away.

From the moment you met him on Pabu, the way he worked with Phee as he helped rescue the villagers when the rogue wave was rushing towards the island, and the way he helped make everything more ‘efficient,’ you couldn’t help but fall in love with him. You wanted to learn from him, to listen to him go on with regards to anything and everything. Only problem was you never had the courage to actually utter the words you were dying to. Phee told you time and time again, ‘later’ was never a guarantee, and now as you lay on the cold floor of the cavern you were in, bleeding out of your abdomen, you realized how little time there was left.

Tears welled up in your eyes, as you realized you needed to unburden yourself. You needed to tell him what had been pressing on your heart before you didn’t have the strength to, it didn’t help that you were feeling weaker with each passing second. Also didn’t help that you could tell he was angry, actually a more accurate description would be infuriated, more than likely at you.

“I’m sorry.” You offered the only apology you could. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden, even now.” You took in a shuddering breath as Tech stopped moving his hands for two seconds as he focused on your face. “I’m sorry for always pestering you to teach me,” you offered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry for not listening,” a tear slid down your cheek, “I’m sorry for putting you in this position. To have to feel responsible for someone like me.”

He shook his head, his teeth clenched as his anger, grief, fear, and sadness overwhelmed him completely in that moment. He pulled off his helmet and placed it beside him.

“Stop.” It was his only command.

“Please, I …” you coughed again, trying to not cough on him. “I just want … I need to …”

He cut off your speech as his hand cupped your cheek, “Cyar’ika …” tears welled up in his eyes, “you were … are never a burden.” He couldn’t believe that’s what you thought of him… that’s what you believed he felt for you. He shook his head again as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I have loved every second we have spent together. I made a point to record every moment with you, because they were more precious to me than breathing.”

You held on to his bicep, keeping him close as tears streamed down your cheek, “Tech … I … I don’t want to go… I want … I want to stay here with you…”

“You’re not going anywhere. I just got you …” his tears landed on your cheeks, mixing with your own, “you’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Hold me… please… just hold me until…I can’t feel your arms anymore.”

“I’ll hold you longer than that,” Tech pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he felt your body grow weaker. Your eyes were closed, your body was growing pale. He was so focused on you, he didn’t hear the voices calling out to him, at least not until he felt Hunter’s hand on his shoulder. He didn’t wait, there were no more seconds to lose. He rushed towards the Marauder with you in his arms, he wasn’t going to lose you. He promised. He was going to bring you back.

AO3 Link | OS & MS Master List | Main Master List

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

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archieimagines · 2 years ago

Text

Imagine finding Niragi after the Beach.

first time writing aib! i haven't written in a while so i was definitely a little rusty, but i'll have more free time from now on so ideally the next ones will be better! warnings: niragi. a drastically unhealthy relationship (of course), niragi slander, burn injuries and gore, guns, problematic grief, mentions of massacre. if you have any triggers i doubt you'd want to even look at this man, apologies. requested by: @nonsocosamett3r3. can't tag, but i hope you see this! for now, aib requests are open! written by: archie support me on ko-fi!

The store was quiet, only tainted by the sound of lit gas heating your ramen and the quiet bubbling of the soup.

Your eyes fixed on the flame like it was magnetic. After the horrors of the Beach, something just drew you to it. That little flame…

Amazing.

Amazing how something so small could grow so big that it would engulf the whole resort. The whole community. Your whole future, and who you'd planned to spend it with.

You’d loved Suguru for so long, even before you’d arrived in this world. You’d vowed to love him as long as you were alive, but that was before he’d given into his brewing internal sickness.

It hurt too hard to think it. It utterly carved your heart to think that his only relief from himself might take fire and flames. The only way to be kind to him would be to let him die, and finally, it came. He was better off dead, and yet... you couldn’t help aching for him.

He was the one person you’d come into this with. The one person you knew you could trust. Even when he was at his worst.

You shook your head. It wouldn’t do to dwell on how he’d protected you from the witch trial. How he’d given you a pistol and told you to hide on the roof. “Wait for me up there,” he’d said, a firm hand on your back to nudge you towards the stairs, his spare pistol pressed into your palms. “Anyone aims at you and they’re dead.”

Even at his worst, his most unhinged, he still took care of you. He was never all ba-

No. Thinking like this would only make it harder. You needed to focus on how he was a murderer, how he was manic, how he embodied all of humanity’s darkest traits. Perhaps then, you could function in this world without him.

A sigh. The cooker’s flame danced before you, and all you could see in your mind was Niragi. How the fire clung to him. How he screamed and thrashed—

You shut the gas off.

No, you couldn’t look at it. The flame.

The spices in the ramen no longer smelled good; they churned your stomach and the burn of suppressed tears sat in your sinuses. Your head dropped into your hands, the heels of your palms pressed to your eyes. You wouldn’t cry over him. He was a murderer. A sadistic, psychopathic, narcissistic—

A clatter behind you.

“Auh, phuck.”

Panic pushed you to your feet, your breath hitched. You’d perched in the homewares aisle with your campfire cooker, and wherever that distorted voice came from was barely two aisles back.

It was so dark, you were so tired, and so many people hated you. Not even through any fault of your own. You didn’t choose to love the most hated man at the Beach. You were an easy target and anyone who recognised you surely wouldn’t hesitate, so you grabbed for the pistol from your belt and readied yourself for an assault. You’d not die at the hands of an angry Beach resident tonight.

Slow footsteps took you through the store, startled every time you heard a grunt or a clash. Someone was rummaging through the shelves and audibly struggling.

The smash of a glass bottle on the floor, then a strained voice. “Phuckin ‘ell.”

You neared the corner of the aisle and peered around, pistol held out before you. You only hoped they couldn’t hear the trembling rattle of your hold on it.

What you saw was inconclusive. Someone with a flashlight held in their mouth, pointed at shelves full of medical wares. They struggled with gathering supplies, knocking them over instead and hissing in pain, but you couldn’t gather a single feature.

This was your chance to strike a new alliance. They were clearly wounded and in no fighting condition, so you could easily best them if you needed to, but… Would it really be worth it to make a connection with someone that may surely hold back your chances in a game?

You had half a mind to turn away, leave them to their own struggling devices-

But the choice was taken. A loud groan and the flashlight dropped from the person’s mouth, clattered to the floor, and rolled a few inches.

The stream of light pointed directly to your shoe and lit up the tip of your weapon.

You might’ve expected the person to be startled with the realisation that they weren’t alone, to stumble back or at least gasp. But instead, you were met with an audible sneer.

“Ah. Gonna kill me?”

The end of your pistol still pointed into the darkness, though you could just barely see the silhouette of your target. And oh, you quivered. Your aim was as fractured as your heart, and you’d never held anyone in place with your aim before. It was clear to see.

A familiar snort. “You couldn’t hit me if you tried.”

Your brows tugged together. Your voice had left you entirely, chest heaving with the growing panic at how this tall figure found no sense of danger in you. And yet, that voice was so…

“S-Suguru?”

“Oh?” A beat of silence, and then a soft, sore laugh. “I taught you better than to tremble, baby.”

You almost dropped the pistol. It couldn’t be. You’d seen him fall off the roof shrouded in flame, and it’d been long days. Death was the only escape for him, and he needed it. But here he was, and you couldn’t help but hope it was true.

You dove for that flashlight to check that your wants hadn’t deceived you and scooped it up to point directly at Niragi to take him in in all his… misery.

Your heart broke. The sound of it was a distraught gasp, instant tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Suguru…”

His gorgeous skin was rippled with the fusion of the fire. His hair ragged and burnt, chest and arms crimson, raw and leaking with infectious fluids.

His face scrunched with immediate hatred, his voice a pained hiss as he turned away. “Don’t. Don’t you fucking pity me.”

“I’m not-“

“Don’t.”

Ah, this was your Suguru. Blunt and dismissive, hostile even to you, but you knew how to handle him. You didn’t let him see dizzying wave of relief that drowned you, you held back those tears. Even if he was the most hated man in this realm, he was yours. You weren’t alone in this world anymore.

You took a brief moment to breathe and let your head calm before stepping in close, light shining on his arms. The skin had melted, black patches of fabric stuck into his skin, all the way up to his bare torso. But he didn’t like you looking.

He snatched away the light and the next thing you knew, you were blinded. Your eyes squinted against it, blinking, brows tugged together as you tried to seek out his face once more against the light.

A delicate hand to your cheek, a soft sigh. That was the sound of lazy Sunday mornings with him, the sound he’d always made with his nose buried into your hair.

You let your eyes close, transporting back to simpler times with his touch. His thumb ran so gently across your cheekbone and for the briefest moment you could pretend things were normal, that he was just your boyfriend back in Tokyo. Your beautiful, troubled, bespectacled boyfriend.

If only he didn’t smell of ash and molten flesh, you could have convinced yourself that nothing had changed.

His touch dropped away, the light directed away and your eyelids fluttered open once more. His gaze was so soft on yours. How could this boy with beautiful doe eyes ever hurt another? Perhaps… Just perhaps, he’d learned his lesson. He didn’t deserve this life.

“Let me see,” you murmured, carefully taking the flashlight from his hold. He was like a lost child as he watched you inspect his chest, so gentle as you opened his shirt to see the scarring. You couldn’t help the grimace as you peeled some of the sticky fabric from yellowed, skinless flesh, but he didn’t even wince. He just watched you quietly, intimately.

You met that gaze, and the butterflies in your chest were dizzying. “I’ll dress it for you. Okay?”

A grunt of agreement.

#alice in borderland imagine #niragi imagine #niragi x reader #niragi suguru x reader #niragi suguru imagine #aib niragi #aib #aib niragi x reader #aib niragi imagine #alice in borderland #niragi #niragi suguru #dori sakurada x reader #dori sakurada imagine #dori sakurada #written by archie

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8health · 9 months ago

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vimeo

Leading medical equipment manufacturer 8 Health is committed to developing innovative healthcare solutions. Our cutting-edge products are painstakingly crafted to fulfill the strictest requirements for dependability, performance, and quality. From treatment equipment to diagnostic tools, we offer state-of-the-art solutions that enable medical professionals around the globe. 8 Health guarantees the best possible patient care and results through its dedication to quality and customer satisfaction. You can rely on us for cutting edge medical equipment that improves the quality of life for both patients and healthcare professionals.

#medical supply store near me #medical supplies #medical supply store #medical equipment manufacturers #medical equipment and supplies #medical supply shop #Vimeo

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balkanradfem · 6 months ago

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So, I've been reading 'Seeds of Hope' by Jane Goodall, because I am curious to what other people are saying about plants, and this book truly delivered. I've been introduced to some past plant drama in the world and that was incredible lore that should have been taught in history.

Apparently, when people first discovered tulips, they were so intensely valuable and popular, that people would trade huge amounts of money, diamonds, or even acres of land, for just one bulb. People were pre-paying for bulbs that didn't even exist yet, they would pre-order bulbs that are not yet even made. One servant ate a bulb thinking it was an onion and he got jail time for it. And I mean they're all correct, tulips just are that good.

There was also a lot of, much sadder drama about orchids; I didn't know this, but they originally grow very high up in the trees, and people were competing for discovering new and rare species. These rare and exotic species would then be displayed in rich people's gardens. Because they became so valuable, poachers would go trough the forests and take almost all of the orchids in there, making them near extinct in nature. This was resolved by orchid gardeners carefully growing them, multiplying and sharing to the point where they were sold commercially, which lessened their value on the black market, so there was no need to pillage them from the forests anymore. Growing rare plants is protection of them!

The book goes on to talk about botanic gardens, herbariums, and the value of collecting and archiving plant material, which is then showing us the effects of climate change, and stores valuable information about what is happening to the plants. It made me want to start a herbarium for sure, I'm always stressed about the loss of local plants, and it's happening more and more as green areas are cleared out.

The book touches upon plants that people have found harmful, such as plants that people make drugs out of; she clears it out to us that these plants are sacred to the native people who grew up with them, and creating drugs from them is in fact, abuse of these plants, and offensive to the communities who hold them sacred, and use them in appropriate doses as medicine. The book talks a lot about plant medicine! Apparently the pharmacy companies have been learning the knowledge about medicinal plants from native people who knew how to use plant medicine, and then the pharmacy would make medicine from those same plants, and profit off of it, without giving any credit or profit to the communities they got this knowledge from, which is not great. But then the demand for this medicine would go so high, they would go and gather all, or almost all medicinal plants from the areas where native people lived, devastating their medical supplies and natural habitats. Book goes on to question the ethics of acquiring medicine in this way, and never informing people where it came from, or what was sacrifices in order for the world to have it.

Similar things happened with valuable crops that are grown in native areas; once the demand for these crops grew, big monocrop fields were established, damaging the land and the local ecosystem, killing millions of animals who lived there, and sometimes forcing people or children into modern slavery, in order to grow them. Coffee, cocoa beans, vanilla beans, palm oil; they've been described as specifically devastating for the communities and the environment. But the book doesn't condemn these foods at all, instead the author goes on to describe, what has been done to improve this. Instead of monocrops, which are devastating for the environment, people are now taught to grow fruit trees in the same fields as coffee, which makes the coffee plants healthier and stronger, and creates and environment where some plants and animals can thrive. I personally don't believe you should have only 2 or 3 plants in a big area, I think you need about 3 millions, but it's a progress from monocrops.

The author describes finding and helping the local farmers who found ways to healthy, natural and non-damaging growing of these plants, and she helped them sell it! She also encourages buying organic food because it helps if the demand for non-monocrop food is growing.

Now there's a section of the book standing strongly against GMO foods, and for some reason I never heard any arguments against gmo, I didn't understand much about the harm coming from them, so I was very curious to hear this. The author explained how 47 million dollars was spent just for lobbying for GMO, which explains why all my information on gmo was positive, and I remember hearing it was 'the best way to reduce world hunger', but the world hunger is still a problem, so it obviously did not succeed. But now I have a better understanding of what it is.

GMO foods were specifically developed to have pesticides inside of them, so they'd be poisonous to pests, but not to people eating them. The research on whether they're poisonous to animals showed that the animals who ate them long term, had their inner organs irritated, enlarged, stomach infections, and had higher risk of cancer. So it was not proven to be safe, but it ended up in the stores anyway; the author says that about 70% of food in american supermarkets has unlabelled gmo, which is scary to think about. She also explains that this is the reason so many people in america are now trying to grow food at home, they don't want to be poisoned by pesticides.

GMO foods were specifically designed to support monocrops, and to protect them pests; this worked out in creating more and more bugs that are resistant to the pesticides, and farmers have reported the appearance of 'superbugs', which are resistant to any kind of pesticide. There's now also 'superweeds', which are resistant to herbicide. The industry is trying to develop new pesticides and new herbicides, in order to counter these new problems, but it is obvious that they're only sinking deeper and deeper; monocrops are unsustainable. Poisoning the earth and the plants, and even the seeds, is not going to lead to the end of world hunger. Farmers are often ending up losing their entire farms due to new bugs that are now thriving because all of their competition has been eliminated by pesticides, they're now the only bug and they can eat up the entire crop easily.

The other problem of GMO crops is that they're spreading their seeds and mixing with the natural crops, making them into GMO crops as well. According to the author the canola crops has already been lost, now all canola existing is genetically modified.

I'm dissatisfied with this knowledge, but it's better to know and be aware rather than to be in the dark. The author suggests designing living spaces that have gardens in them, and encouraging local community to garden, as well as planting city gardens, where food would grow for everyone. She goes on to describe the efforts of universities and cities who already had built their own living gardens in order to support the community, and how it worked to create a more beautiful, life-sustaining, happier place. She even explained how having local gardens makes the crime rate lower.

I loved this book, it had the environment awareness that can only be compared to Greta Thunberg's book, it described trees and plants so lovingly, and the connection people have with them. It showed me there's so many people fighting to save the forests and grasslands and native plants, and it's an effort that will make a big difference to how we get to live on this planet in the future.

#jane goodall #seeds of hope #book review #reading #environmentalism #climate change #gmo #gmo foods #monocrops #gardening #environmental

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techmedicalsupplymed · 6 months ago

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Medical Health Supply Store Near Me

Discover best quality medical supplies at our nearby Medical Health Supply Store. We offer a wide range of essential health products, from personal protective equipment to diagnostic tools, ensuring your medical needs are met. Conveniently located, we provide excellent customer service and competitive prices. Visit us today for all your healthcare supply needs.

#medical health supply store near me #home care supply store #medical equipment stores in my area #Medical equipment service #Medical equipment maintenance #Wheelchair for sale near me

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 9 months ago

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Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Part 8

Hope you enjoy <3 comment and tell me what u liked about it :D it gives me liiiife

masterposst

Of course, getting into the town would be the first issue. Considering how coldly the guards had treated him earlier, attempting to casually paddle into the settlement would probably end up in disaster.

Thankfully, he wasn’t trained by Batman for nothing.

Damian stalked along the seafloor, flattening his sail and trying his best to avoid looking flashy. He kept a close eye for any patrols or wandering farmers, but the field was empty except for crops. They had likely turned in for the day, which worked out just fine for him.

Floral smells blanketed the field in a deep haze. It was oddly familiar with how vegetables smelled on land: verdant and pastoral, comforting. If he wanted to, he could probably pluck the greens growing on the edge of the field and bring them back to Phantom.

But there was likely even better food in the town proper, and medical supplies, and weapons.

So Damian pushed on. He absentmindedly nibbled some produce on the way, replenishing the energy he had squandered in his attempts to hunt. The crops were tall enough to completely obscure his body even if he were upright.

By the time Damian had crossed the fields, it was fully night time, and the field was cast with pitch black darkness, the moon obscured by cloud cover. The only light came from tiny windows out of the Atlanteans’ homes. Excellent. The cover of night was the best time to perform illicit activities.

Damian watched as the guards from earlier exited what was likely their barracks, alongside other guards. The building stood about three stories tall, with reinforced mud and stone lining its outer walls. The men and women filed out of the of barracks, armour half-undone and spears loosely gripped, laughing amongst themselves.

“The sirens trade to make another play at us. Some scrappy kid demanding shit. Could you believe it?” The man from earlier said. A chorus of laughter erupted. Damian turned his nose up at them from the rooftop he was perched upon.

Good thing about being underwater is that you didn’t need any grappling hooks to get up onto tall places. The locals didn’t either, which is why Damian kept a finger on the pulse of his lateral line, letting it warn him if anything came near.

Damian mentally noted its location, and continued. Most of the night patrols seemed to focus on covering the outskirts of the town, while Damian was already inside and in little danger of being discovered. After another brief search along the rim, carefully flitting between shadow to shadow, Damian found the jackpot. The storehouse.

It was a small mound dug into the rock with two large wooden doors and a lock. His nose picked up the same scent heavy in the area as out in the field, meaning that was likely where they stored their food.

Damian sensed no other people in the area, so he went to work. Unsheathing his claws, Damian set to work on the lock. He’d never picked an Atlantean lock before, but he was trained by Batman, so it posed little threat to him. With a click, the lock came open, and he pushed the storehouse doors just enough for him to slip inside, before closing it behind him.

Immediately he was assaulted by fragrancies and delicate flavours from every direction. Off to one side piles of crops were stacked up in neat rows. On the other side, hooks suspended the carcasses of fish.

Suddenly, Damian was made very aware of his lack of pockets.

Right, time to reroute, then.

Damian’s spine tingled. He dashed to the top of the storehouse, just as the door swung open and a pale blue light shined in.

“Hello? Anyone in here?” The soldier asked. He was a different one from the pair he had encountered earlier. This one was a bit older, a bit deeper in the voice. His posture was surprisingly relaxed, given the circumstances.

Damian could practically trace his gaze moving upward. Blast. Humans usually neglected to consider the verticality of their environment, and he could not afford to be discovered.

Damian descended up on the man. He gave a brief yelp, before Damian brought the Anti-Creep Stick upon his head. In swift fashion, the Atlantean crumpled up on the floor, still.

Maybe there was such a use for a blunt weapon anyway.

Dragging the Atlantean and tying him up in the corner, Damian set about on his task. Checking for any other interlopers, he quietly snuck out of the storehouse. It took him no time at all to trace his steps (his fin-strokes?) back to the barracks.

Careful to stay to the shadows, Damian landed on top of the barracks. The windows were small enough that a regular Atlantean could not squeeze through, but Damian’s meagre size could. Through the window, he took a peek. The room was empty. It seemed like an office of some kind, full of cabinets and paperwork.

Stalking the perimeter of the building yielded similar results. Of course the armory would be a little more secure than out in the open next to a window. There were about two guards in the entire building, which was perfectly fine by him. He’d broken into much more guarded places.

Tucking his fins flat against his scales, Damian squeezed through the window into an unoccupied hallway. The doors on the far right and far left, he had already seen. There were three more doors in the middle.

Sniff sniff… No scent coming from the first door. His lateral line tingled briefly, but the signal was weak, so it was probably detecting the residents of the building on a different floor.

The door was unlocked, which only sank Damian’s already low opinion of these people, and revealed a storage room, full of cabinets, and more paperwork.

Rubbing his hands clean of the stench, Damian investigated the second and third doors. Still nothing. He’d forgotten how much he missed Oracle’s intel. When was the last time he’d gone into a building solely off his own info?

Damian wiggled out of the window he’d come in. Time to do this the hard way.

It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to find the armory. Atlantean floor planning conventions were completely different to anything he’d ever imagined. He had some close calls with the two guards, which was embarrassing because it was only because he was about ready to pull his hair out looking for the damn place.

Eventually, on the toop floor (because of course it was the top floor), Damian found his prize. In one room, medicine, painkillers, bandages and splints practically spilling out of shelves and drawers. In another, scores of swords, bows and arrows, spears, as well as more magical water-bearers lined the walls. More importantly, bags and satchels. Damian wasted no time slinging two bags over his back, carefully minding his sensitive sail, and one satchel around his waist, and helping himself to whatever supplies he could gather.

It was as Damian was securing the last of his loot that a shrill scream sent every fin on his body standing straight up like goosebumps.

“S-S-S-s-SIREEN!” A young man’s voice cried out. Damian whipped his head around to see one of the guards staring right at him, his body quivering in terror.

A piercing alarm rang out. Dammit.

Damian bared his teeth at the man. Almost immediately, the guard passed out. At least that’s one problem solved.

Squeezing out the windows was more difficult this encumbered, but Damian had to be quick, or else the heightened security would pin him down. He gave his surroundings a once over. Guards were beginning to pour into the entrance of the barracks, giving him a moment to pull the last of his ill-gotten gains through,

“Hey you, stop!” An Atlantean ordered from overhead. Damian charged the wrist ray and fired two shots at her. One hit her shoulder and knocked her back. With her line of sight broken, Damian dove for the shadows.

Ducking and weaving between buildings, Damian found the streets crawling with search parties. He was forced to turn different corners, squeeze into boxes, and jerk out of the way before search lights could fall upon him, all as soldiers shouted orders and call outs.

It was positively nerve-wracking. Finally, he returned to the food storehouse, now with two soldiers poking their heads in. That won’t do at all. There was no more time for stealth.

Damian rushed up to one of the guards, and bashed his head in. The other one cried out, and pulled out a conch shell, but Damian blasted it out of his hands before he could sound the alarm. The Atlantean thrust his spear with both hands, but Damian was much faster. The Anti-Creep Stick slammed into the man’s helmet. The helmet vibrated back and forth with a dizzying ring and the guard went down.

The small siren boy rushed into the storehouse and stuffed whatever he could find into his bags, and rushed out. Meat, vegetables, fruit, he cared not, for he had no time to.

Bright light briefly blinded him.. “There he is! Get him!” Five patrol guards. Too many. Time was up. The patrol guards alerted more with a conch shell. They held spears at the ready. “Surrender now and we won’t have to take this any further, siren!”

Hah! They underestimated his tenacity.

Damian’s tail, which had been carrying him for hours now, was so sore it felt like it was about to fall off, but adrenaline animated it with supernatural zeal. He fired the wrist ray at will. The guards were forced to scatter as Damian dashed for the bounds of the settlement. Spears shot out, one almost nicking him in the tailfin, but Damian learned from Phantom’s tactics and kept low, zig zagging to throw off their aim. Soldiers poured out of the streets, firing arrows and spears at the young boy. Soon Damian was outside the limits of town. He dove underneath the field of crops, hoping the lose the soldiers.

The guards scattered out above him. His lateral line went crazy, pinging every single soldier in close range and putting him on high alert.

“There, in the seagrass!”

A spear narrowly missed his sail.

Damian recalled Phantom’s tactics. He flipped himself and swam belly up. With a clear shot, he began to pelt the guards with continuous shots from the wrist ray. An arrow sailed right for him, but Damian saw it clearly. He knocked it away with a flick of his sword. Another guard cut him off in front. The man lunged for him with arms outstretched, but soon learnt how bad of an idea engaging him in stabbing range was.

Before long, Damian had exited the field, and was rapidly approaching the ravine. The guards came hot on his tail, but as Damian descended into the depths, the narrow passageways and foreboding darkness meant that he was alone.

All in a god day’s work for Robin.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #merman #damian wayne #danny phantom #dcxdp #merboy #angst #mermaid au #acab for atlanteans i guess xD #de aged damian #mer damian #aquaman isn't in this one #yet

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mldrgrl · 4 months ago

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What Once Was Broken

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG-13 (violence, imagry) Summary: A sequel/prequel to Broken Things - absolutely imperative to have read to understand this story Notes: Special thank you to @carrie11 for officially being a cheerleader and unofficially ending up as Beta-extraordinaire for this piece! <3

He knows the precise time he first saw her. One, twenty-four in the afternoon. He’d just tucked his pocket watch back into his vest and as he’d looked up, his heart nearly stopped. In that moment, he was positive there was an apparition bumping towards him in a rickety wagon that looked like it had seen better days.

The red hair and fair skin had caught his eye from afar, but as the wagon neared, it was the slumped shoulders, the lowered head, the sullen and exhausted look of her that painfully squeezed his heart and made him short of breath. He was all too familiar with that look.

“Luisa,” he’d murmured, taking a step forward to the edge of the boardwalk and squinting into the sun.

Even before the man driving the wagon pulled the mules to a stop in front of the bank, it was obvious he was trouble.

*%*%*%*%*%

William and Katherine Mulder had recently celebrated their first anniversary and Katherine had never been happier in her life. She had friends, she had a position as an assistant to the town doctor, and a husband who supported her ambitions and wanted to make her dreams come true. It had taken time, but eventually she grew comfortable and confident in the independence her husband freely gave to her; driving her own buggy to and from town, doing her own banking, making her own purchases at the general store, and managing the household at the ranch. Even so, as joyous as she was now, she could never forget what she’d been through to get it.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Doctor Black made house calls and Katherine tended to his office. Mostly, she took inventory of supplies, transcribed patient notes, and occasionally treated minor wounds or infections. At first, some of the townsfolk had protested that a lady had no business in a doctor’s office, not unless she was nursing or tidying up the place, but Doctor Black had made it clear that if anyone was uncomfortable being treated by Katherine, they were free to ride on out to the next available doctor over in Abilene.

Only her third shift alone in the office, there’d been a drunken gunfight at the saloon and Katherine had to extract a bullet from the shoulder of one of the participants. The other had lost a finger. Both were hauled off in shackles by Sheriff Doggett to recover from their wounds, and their hangovers, in jail cells. After that, no one that ended up in the office questioned her skills or abilities, though of those that had before, none had said so to her face. Doctor Black was well-known in the area and highly trusted, so if he was vouching for her, so would they. Perhaps she took it for granted that she’d faced little to no opposition for so long, even though she still looked for it over her shoulder at times.

It was a Thursday when Walter Skinner knocked on the office door. She was in the midst of drafting a requisition for medications to be ordered from Fort Worth at the time. She greeted the bank manager with a smile. He was no longer as imposing of a figure as he’d once been when she’d first met him, having seen and spoken to him regularly for the last year. He’d always been polite and kind to her.

“Mr. Skinner,” she said, holding the door open for him to enter. “What can I do for you today? I heard from Doctor Black that Joey got himself into some poison oak recently.”

“He’s fine now, the rash is almost healed.” Mr. Skinner’s eyes darted around the room as he spoke and he stayed hovering in the threshold. “Is Doctor Black not here?”

“He’s on house calls today. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I…I wanted to speak with Doctor Black.”

“Why don’t you come in and you can speak with me. I assure you that any treatment you might have, I can-”

“Not me.”

“Joey?”

“My wife.”

Katherine had never met Arlene Skinner, but had heard of her through Monica Doggett and Susannah Byers. They told her she wasn’t very social and rarely came to town, and when they did see her, she hardly spoke and was very meek. Consequently, they didn’t know much of anything about her aside from the fact that she and her husband came to town with their infant son six years ago so that Walter Skinner could open and manage the town bank.

“I’d be happy to see your wife,” Katherine said.

“No,” Skinner said, quickly, frowning. “No…I was hoping that maybe Doctor Black could provide more of the morphia he prescribed before.”

“The morphia he prescribed? What was that prescribed for?”

“Head pain.”

“Does she often have head pain?”

“No.”

A chill came over Katherine at the abrupt and harsh tone of Mr. Skinner’s voice. Muscle memory set her shoulders back and she flinched as though expecting a blow. She took a glance at his hands, looking for bruises or swollen knuckles. Her throat constricted and rose in pitch. “Has your wife…had an accident?” she asked.

“Accident?”

“Suffered head trauma of some kind.”

“No…nothing like that.”

“Well, I can not prescribe morphia to a patient without having seen them.”

“I’ll be on my way,” Mr. Skinner said, taking a step back from the door. “I’ll just come back when Doctor Black is available.”

Katherine started to follow, even though her knees had begun to shake and she felt somewhat breathless. “You’re out at the west end past the Morgan’s farm, aren’t you? I have my buggy with me. If your wife is ill, I should-”

“She’s not ill!” Mr. Skinner barked, turning sharply and glaring down at her.

She stumbled backwards, catching herself on the doorframe before she completely lost her footing. “I…”

The banker had the decency enough to appear chagrined. He lowered his eyes and then adjusted his spectacles. “She’s not ill,” he repeated, quieter this time. Sweat prickled his brow and an angry vein pulsed like a lightning bolt down his forehead. “Good day, Mrs. Mulder.”

Katherine’s throat had become too pinched to respond, not that Mr. Skinner had waited for her to reply. He marched down the steps and away from the office without a backwards glance and it was only after he’d disappeared that Katherine realized that she was trembling. She had to force her legs to move and she fell into the door as she slammed it closed, gasping for breath. She hadn’t felt that frightened in some time. She put her hands to her burning cheeks and then smoothed the wild hairs she felt curling up from the heat and perspiration accompanying her fear. When at last she felt her composure return, she pushed herself from the door and went to the filing cabinet.

The file on Arlene Skinner was thin. The last prescription, for morphia, was written eight months prior and a notation was made about patient’s adverse reaction to chloryl, but as she flipped through the records, she noticed a pattern: the middle of every February and in the first week of every October for the last four years, Arlene Skinner complained of melancholy and head pain. Each time her husband had made the complaints on her behalf. Each time she had refused physical examination. Low doses of morphia were recommended, as needed, since chloryl was not an option.

Katherine put the file back in place and then pulled the one for Joey Skinner. There was nothing of concern there that she could find. Earlier that week he’d been treated for a mild case of poison oak. Aside from a few runny noses and a case of tonsillitis, the only injury was the broken wrist from his fall during recess at the schoolhouse that she herself had helped set and wrap the year prior. There was no file for Walter Skinner.

Though the biannual regularity of which Mrs. Skinner made complaints and her refusal to be examined was peculiar, nothing in the reports seemed terribly concerning. Still, her exchange with Mr. Skinner had alarmed her and was too reminiscent of experiences she’d had in the past for her not to be suspicious.

*%*%*%*

Walter Skinner was born on the third of June of 1838 in Baltimore, Maryland, the only son of Edward Skinner, a Scottsman and a professor of mathematics, and Annegret Rossel Skinner, a match that her stern, German father did not approve of. Walter had two older sisters and two younger sisters, which meant he was equal parts doted on and depended upon by the women in his family. He’d become man of the house at the tender age of seven when his father, möge er in Frieden ruhen, as his mother would say, was killed in battle in the Mexican territory.

His father had been a staunch pacifist, enlisting under duress from the cajoling of his own father and four older brothers. Ironically, though all brothers succumbed to battle, Edward had lasted the longest. Walter only remembers that his uncles were loud, burly men and that his father had always seemed like the calm center of the storm.

His mother was of strong, Bavarian stock, and although she’d been widowed at the age of 26 with five small children to care for, she’d refused to feel sorry for herself. She’d gone to work as a seamstress, a milliner, a washwoman, taking on just about any job that could keep her home with the children, but also allow her to earn a wage at the same time. The children were allowed to help at times, but his mother was adamant that they receive an education and school was prioritized above all else.

Even for all her strength and determination, his mother had been a woman that had deeply loved her husband. She carried her grief with her at all times, trying hard not to let it get the better of her, but the loss impacted her greatly. For the rest of her life she’d had an intense and irrational fear of something terrible happening to her children and she’d fretted over them constantly, smothering them with her love, and her paranoia.

Though his father’s softness and pacifism had irritated the old man, Walter’s paternal grandfather had noticed how meticulous and fastidious his grandson was from a young age and took a keen interest in him. Authoritarian by nature and difficult to please, nevertheless the two were close. Having come from a long line of soldiers, he devoted himself to Walter’s training, using his connections to enroll his grandson at West Point at the age of fourteen, against his mother’s wishes, to prepare him for a prestigious career.

Walter began as an enthusiastic pupil, thriving on repetition and regimen. He excelled in sums and philosophy and ethics, and although he received high marks in military strategy, those courses made him uncomfortable. The trouble was that he’d grown up in the shadow of the effects of war and he had no desire to contribute to the cause. His grandfather had been furious when he’d ultimately declined to pursue a career in the military and instead moved back home with his mother after graduation, taking a job as a junior teller in the local bank.

Within weeks of his return home, he’d met the woman he would soon marry, Arlene Sullivan, a classmate of his younger sister, and the most charming and beautiful woman he’d ever met. He proposed a month later and they were married a week before Christmas. Life was peaceful, and routine, just the way he liked it. In short time, he moved up the ranks at the bank, promoted to manager by the time he was twenty-two, just as the war between the states broke out.

On his twenty-third birthday, Walter begrudgingly kissed his new wife good-bye, leaving her in the care of his mother and sisters, and boarded a train, along with other conscripted men, only to spend the next four years of his life in a waking nightmare. By the grace of God, he managed to survive through the end of the war and at long last was honorably discharged as Brigadier General under the command of Ulysses S. Grant. By unspoken agreement, no one asked about where he’d been or what he’d seen, even his grandfather, and he wasn’t eager to share the details of the hell he’d been through.

Walter never expected to make it out of the war alive, never expected he’d see his new bride again, or expected he’d return to the job he loved, but he survived, even though he felt like a shell of the man he’d once been. The war had hardened him, made him an angry, short-tempered, and restless man. And just when he thought he’d never find joy again, there was Luisa.

*%*%*%*%*%

The best part of William Mulder’s day was the nightly conversations he had with his wife on their front porch. On the days she worked for Doctor Black, he always enjoyed listening to what she’d done and who she’d treated. He was always baffled by how casually she relayed the stories to him, speaking so matter of factly about how she’d pulled a bullet from a gunslinger’s shoulder in the same manner she might tell him she bought a new bolt of fabric from the general store. He thought that being a doctor was extraordinary. He thought that she was extraordinary.

Those days that she worked in town, upon returning home she usually immediately put her apron on and tried to help Melvin with supper, but he would always try to shoo her away and tell her to go on and put her feet up. The ranch hands were proud of their lady doctor in training and if it were up to them she probably wouldn’t lift a finger, ever, but Katherine never liked to feel like she was pulling less than her weight.

He saw her come home that day from where he was working in the training pen. She gave her horse and buggy over to Trevor just outside the barn and seemed to trudge to the house with her head lowered, which was unusual, but he wasn’t that concerned. She was also quiet at supper, pushing her food around her plate, which did concern him, but he tried not to let on. Melvin seemed to take notice of her behavior as well and told some boisterous tales that night to distract them all.

Mulder hoped that whatever was weighing on Katherine’s mind, she would tell him all about it during their nightly porch talks. He waited for her after seeing that the horses were bedded down for the evening, but she didn’t come. Finally, he grabbed the candle he’d brought with him and went looking for her. She wasn’t in the second bedroom that they’d converted to a parlor during the expansion and she wasn’t in their bedroom either. She wasn’t in the washroom and she wasn’t in the kitchen. He finally found her in the little study he’d had made for her through a door hidden in the pantry, reading a textbook by the dim glow of a single lantern.

“Kate?” he asked, gently pushing the door open. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she murmured, and then sighed. “No. I don’t know, actually.”

“Did something happen at Doctor Black’s today?”

“It did.” She sighed again and pushed the textbook away.

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then she got out of her chair and stepped closer to him. He could see tears in her eyes before she wrapped her arms around him so hard it almost knocked him back. He put his hand on her shoulder for a moment to set the candle down and then he returned the embrace.

“What is it, Honey?” he asked.

“Mr. Skinner dropped in this afternoon to see Doctor Black about his wife.”

“Is she unwell?”

“I don’t know. He became evasive, wouldn’t even entertain letting me go out to make a house call and see her.”

“We talked about the fact that some folks might be uncomfortable being treated by a woman. I never thought it would be Mr. Skinner, but-”

“That’s not it,” Katherine interrupted, shaking her head. “At least I don’t think so. It was the way he…he was very…very adamant. Very…gruff….” Her voice had dropped to a whisper and she squeezed him even tighter.

Mulder felt his jaw tighten and his back straightened. His stomach dropped and his chest burned. He took Katherine by the shoulders and pushed her back just slightly to look her over, but the neck on her blouse was too high and her sleeves were too long. Her downturned face was all shadows and he gently tipped her chin up to look at him.

“Kate, did he hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered, with a shake of her head. “No, he didn’t hurt me, but I thought that he might be hurting his wife.”

“He…are you sure?” he asked.

“No, I’m not sure,” she confessed. “I’m not sure at all, but I do know that something isn’t right.”

A wave of relief washed over Mulder, but then he raised his brows in surprise and Katherine sucked in a breath and came back into his arms, hugging him even tighter than before. He rocked her gently as he held her. It was hard for him to imagine Mr. Skinner being violent. He’d known the banker for six years and hadn’t even heard him raise his voice a single time. Then again, he hadn’t known the banker had a wife or a son until after he was married to Katherine. They weren’t exactly discussing their private lives to each other in their business transactions.

And then he remembered the day that little Joey Skinner broke his wrist at the schoolyard and he’d gone down to inform Mr. Skinner the boy was at Doctor Black’s office. The banker had gone white, rushing out the door so quickly he’d slammed his knee into his desk and hadn’t even flinched. And when Mulder had tried to calm him, to slow him down just a little, Mr. Skinner had flung him away like he was swatting a housefly. Mulder had thought nothing of it at the time, so palpable was the man’s fear, but now he could view it with concern.

“What about…what about the boy?” he asked. “Do you think…?”

“No, it doesn’t seem likely.”

Mulder puffed his cheeks and blew out a tuft of air as he nodded. “Kate, I know you enjoy doing your own banking, but maybe it’s best that you let me handle it for now, just until we’re certain about what’s going on.”

She tipped her head up, her chin on his chest. “You’re not thinking of confronting him about it, are you?”

“I might be.”

“And then what?”

“And then what?” he repeated, actually not sure of the answer. “And then…and then I’m not going to do business with a man that hurts his wife, I’ll tell you that much. I’ll ride out to Fort Worth every month if I have to.”

Katherine raised her brow and then pushed up on her toes and kissed the side of Mulder’s jaw. “You’re a good man,” she said. “But, I think that’s rushing things a bit. I’m going to ask Doctor Black for a more complete history when I see him. And I’m not going to let Mr. Skinner intimidate me.”

“But-”

“This is a medical issue, and I’m going to treat it as such.”

“Yes, but…” Mulder was hesitant, but the tone of Katherine’s voice told him she’d made a decision and that it was final. He was bothered, but he wasn’t going to argue. “If you think that’s for the best.”

“I do.” She nodded and then eased her grip on her husband, but he pulled her back up against him, his hands pressed to the small of her back.

“If I have a medical issue, would you treat it as such?” he asked, swaying her softly.

“What kind of issue do you have?”

“I haven’t been kissed in over twelve hours now. I’ve quite possibly forgotten how.”

“Oh no. That sounds serious.”

“What do you recommend, Doc?”

“Well, let me think…” She reached up and he closed his eyes as she caressed his face with both hands. His lips twitched as her thumbs brushed over his mouth. Her hands went to his chest and she nuzzled her face into his neck. “Bed rest,” she said. “Lots of bed rest.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning into her. “You know I’m notoriously bad at that.”

“I think you’re quite good at it, actually.”

He opened his eyes with a smile. That was another thing he enjoyed about his wife. She wasn’t one to demure from his flirtations, she gave them right back to him. He scooped her up with a soft growl and she laughed, looping her arms around his neck. When he bent his head to kiss her, she leaned away, reaching back to put out the lantern on her desk and he ended up with his nose in the crook of her neck.

She giggled. “Let me just…”

He looked up as she stretched her arm out for the candle, but he leaned past her and blew it out once she’d had her finger looped around the brass holder. He found her lips in the dark and whirled her around through the door. He didn’t need a candle to guide him to bed, the moonlight and her little encouraging whimpers were enough.

*%*%*%*%*%

Walter Skinner had only been to the Broke In once before, going on four years ago, to see about a horse. He was friendly with William Mulder, but didn’t consider the man a friend. Walter Skinner had no friends. He had business associates and customers, but he hadn’t had a true friend since he was a boy.

He was nervous to leave his teller in charge of the bank for the afternoon, more nervous than he let on, but even more nervous to ride out to the ranch. He knew it must be done, though. He’d behaved badly in front of Mrs. Mulder yesterday and he owed her an explanation. He owed them both an explanation that was a long time coming.

The changes to the place came as no surprise to him. All the billing for materials and labor went through the bank for payment. He knew down to the penny how much it had cost to put in the expansion and that Mulder could afford ten times as much as he’d spent, but it was nice to see that the ranch was thriving.

As he pulled up towards the house, he saw Sheriff Dogget’s boy out by the first barn, planing wood. He knew Luke Doggett had stayed on past the expansion as a carpenter. After opening an account at the bank, every second Friday the boy deposited his handsome salary into a savings and one day hoped to earn enough to open his own business. Mulder had already spoken to Walter about the possibility of backing him as an investor when the boy was old enough and had a bit more experience under his belt.

Melvin Frohike came out of the barn at the sound of horse hooves and waved his hat at Walter. Walter nodded to him and turned his horse in the smaller man’s direction.

“Hullo, Mr. Banker,” Mr. Frohike said. “Ain’t seen you ‘round these parts in a coon’s age. Charlie Horse givin’ you any grievances?”

Walter dismounted the horse in question and stroked him under the jaw. “No trouble here, Mr. Frohike. Best horse I’ve ever had.”

“Mulder’s got a knack for pickin’ the right temperaments for the man that needs ‘em.”

As though he knew he was being talked about, William Mulder suddenly appeared from Skinner’s left, wiping his hands on a ragged bandana. “Mr. Skinner, what a surprise,” he said, in a tone that didn’t sound all that genuinely surprised. By now, Walter presumed that Katherine had told her husband what had transpired yesterday.

“Mulder.” Walter shook hands with the rancher.

“Well, hey Charlie Horse,” Mulder said, running his hand along the white blaze that ran down the horse’s face. The horse knickered and pushed his nose into Mulder’s shoulder. “Frohike, take Charlie Horse into his old stall and get him some water and oats. He might appreciate a carrot or two while he’s there.”

The horse followed Mr. Frohike into the barn, trusting the familiar man in a way that was unusual. Let anyone but Walter try to lead him, and he wouldn’t budge. This had been the horse’s first home, though, and the ranchers his trainers, so Walter wasn’t surprised by it. When it was just the two of them, Mulder and Walter, and the sound of Luke Dogget scraping wood in the distance, Mulder shoved the bandana in his pocket and then tipped the brim of his hat just slightly to squint at Walter’s face.

“I’m here to apologize to your wife,” Walter said. “I believe we had a misunderstanding that I’d like to clear up. If you’ll allow me, of course.”

“If she’ll allow you.” Mulder adjusted his hat and then bounced his head towards his right shoulder. “Katherine’s inside. You can go on in.”

“Actually…” Walter looked towards the house and then at the rancher, trying to get a read on the situation, but the man’s face was blank, revealing nothing. “I’d like to speak to the both of you. Not just your wife. What I have to say, it…pertains to you as well.”

“Well…come on in, then.”

Walter followed Mulder through to the back entrance of the house. The younger man called out for his wife and she emerged from a hidden door inside of the pantry. She looked startled by Walter’s presence and gave her husband a questioning look.

“Mr. Skinner’s dropped by to have a word with us about something,” Mulder said. “Should we go on in to the parlor?”

“Can I offer you something to drink, Mr. Skinner?” Katherine asked. “I made fresh lemonade this morning. We store it in the new ice box now so it should be nice and cool.”

A cool drink sounded like a good idea to Walter. The dust was thick on the ride out and it would probably help him find his voice. “I would appreciate a glass, thank you,” he said.

“I’ll help you pour,” Mulder said. “Mr. Skinner, let me show you to the front room and we’ll be just a minute.”

Mulder took Walter’s hat to hang on a peg in the hallway, beside his own, and then the banker was shown to a tidy parlor at the front of the house and he sat down in a chair upholstered with a soft green fabric to wait. He could hear low voices from the kitchen, no doubt the Mulders discussing why he had come, but they were quick to return, Mulder carrying a tray with three glasses of lemonade and a pitcher. The drink was perfect, not too sweet and not too sour, and blessedly cool. Mulder and Katherine sat beside each other on the love seat, across from Walter.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your day, so I’ll get right to it,” Walter said. “Mrs. Mulder, I want to start by saying how sorry I am for my behavior yesterday.”

“Thank you,” Katherine said, politely, but her gaze was critical. “My concern, however, is for your wife. If she has a chronic illness, she should be examined.”

“She has been examined.”

“That isn’t what her records indicate.”

“Doctor Black is familiar with her history.”

“That’s all well and good, but Doctor Black isn’t always available. If it’s my qualifications you’re concerned with, I can assure you that-”

“I’m sure you’re qualified,” Walter interrupted. He sighed and put his lemonade back on the tray on the table between them before removing his spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose for a few moments. Finally, he put the glasses back on and picked up the lemonade glass to take a long drink. “Forgive me,” he said. “It’s difficult to talk about.”

“Take your time,” Mulder said.

*%*%*%*%*%

Walter wouldn’t learn he was a father until well into his second year in battle, when letters from home finally made their way to him. It came as a shock, as he was not even aware his wife was with child, but she must have been several weeks or months along when he’d been called up. Luisa Anne Skinner, a happy and healthy little girl that, according to the letters from both his wife and his mother, had a shock of red hair and the sweetest disposition on God’s green earth.

After the war ended, Walter strongly considered returning to West Point and never coming home again. He was afraid of who he was and what he’d become and he didn’t know how to be a husband or a father after all he’d been through. He was tired, though. He knew he’d never be able to quiet the nightmares of war if he went on being a soldier. He needed the monotony of home if he ever hoped to find peace.

He’d told no one of his impending arrival back in Baltimore, but the army must have sent word on ahead, for as soon as the train pulled into the station, he saw his wife and his mother waiting on the platform. He’d taken no more than two steps off the train when a tiny slip of a thing ran towards him, a blur of pink petticoats and red curls. Papa, Papa, Papa. His army issue duffle fell to the platform as he knelt down and tiny arms wrapped themselves around his neck. His heart felt like it had burst open that moment and he immediately understood why his mother had smothered her children with so much love and concern.

Walter Skinner was determined to give his daughter everything in life, even though she asked for nothing. He outfitted her with new dresses from the best tailors in town and bought her new dolls and trinkets. He did his very best to spoil her and she did her very best to remain unspoiled. She had the purest heart of anyone he’d ever known and her schoolteachers always commented on how kind and empathetic she was. She was a friend to all she met, believing in the best of the world and in everyone in it, and Walter never tried to dispel her of the misguided notion, preferring that she remain naive to the harsh realities of life. In hindsight, that was probably his biggest mistake.

It was the day before her seventeenth birthday that Luisa met Edward Jerse, a sewing machine salesman from Philadelphia. Walter remembered the day precisely. When he’d returned home from the bank, the young man was in his parlor, demonstrating the machine to his wife and daughter, who had been planning for Luisa’s party at breakfast that morning. Though the young man was well-mannered, Walter did not like him, even though he couldn’t articulate why. He just knew that man was trouble.

Luisa was smitten, begging her father for the first time in her life to purchase one of the machines, even though she’d always had little interest in needlework and he could not recall the last time she’d done sewing of any kind. She’d clasped her hands and gone to her knees beside his chair as he read the evening paper. Please, Papa, please can’t we get one? He couldn’t refuse, and so the sewing machine sat largely untouched, as he knew it would, and it gave the young man an excuse to call on them for maintenance purposes, which is what he suspected his daughter was truly after.

Walter thought that the infatuation would fade quickly, but as the months went by, it only deepened, much to his dismay. By that point, both his wife and daughter were enthralled with Mr. Jerse, and Walter was forced to hold his tongue on the matter. The singular time he’d spoken up that he thought Mr. Jerse was spending too much time at their house and he should be on his way, Luisa had been devastated and fled from the room in tears and his wife had scolded him for being so harsh.

And then Mr. Jerse had proposed marriage, without even speaking with him no less. He was furious, but careful to rein in his anger when he told his daughter it was out of the question. She was too young and besides, Mr. Jerse had not yet established himself. No, marriage was out of the question. Luisa had quietly accepted his refusal to grant her permission and then promptly eloped with Mr. Jerse the very next day.

If only Walter hadn’t spoiled his daughter so obviously, perhaps none of it wouldn’t have happened. If he’d just put his foot down that one time then maybe it wouldn’t have been so much of a shock when he cut his daughter off financially and forbade his wife from contacting her. He’s certain that Mr. Jerse had counted on him to have a change of heart. After all, Luisa was his only child and beloved daughter.

Months passed and Walter’s wife was slowly deteriorating; prone to weeping, spending days in her bed, and suffering greatly from the separation from her daughter. He tried to cheer her with those things he knew she loved the most - tickets to the symphony, a bouquet of flowers, having the cook prepare her favorite dinners - but she would not be cheered.

Before Walter had the chance to relent, one dreary day in September, a breathless errand boy showed up at the bank with an urgent message from his housekeeper, imploring him to come home at once. He ran all the way there, leaving his hat and umbrella behind in his haste, and by the time he arrived he was soaked through.

At first, he did not recognize the strange lady in his parlor, but it only took a few moments to realize this pale, drawn, bedraggled girl clutching a bundle of dirty rags was his daughter. Her cheek was bruised and her lip was split, red with fresh blood, and it was apparent she had recently suffered a blackened eye. He knew, even though she stammered over weak excuses that she’d been clumsy and had taken a fall down some steps, that that no-good, sonofabitch Ed Jerse had done this to her.

Walter felt a rage bubble inside of him that he hadn’t felt since his days in the war and though he once considered himself a pacifist, in his mind he already had one foot out the door to track down that rotten excuse for a man and show him a real fight. It was then that he noticed that what he thought was a bundle of dirty rags in his daughter’s arms was a loosely swaddled infant. The baby raised its arm and let out a pitiful squawk. Walter was too stunned to even move.

This time, when Walter put his foot down, his daughter dutifully bowed her head and agreed. She would not be going back to her husband. She and the baby would stay with her parents. The family physician was called for and Walter made it known he wanted his daughter’s injuries to be meticulously recorded. He’d wanted to summon the police, but Luisa was adamant that she would not speak with any officers.

Though their daughter had returned to them, she was no longer his sweet, innocent little girl. A year apart was enough to harden her, to dull the light that had always been in her eyes, to hollow her cheeks and round her shoulders. She was easily startled and weepy and shrank from the slightest touch. The housekeeper, who had been with them since Luisa was born, was the one who confided in him about faded bruises and fresh scars after she’d drawn the girl’s bath. Walter had gone to the clapboard alley house where Luisa had been living, accompanied by his army pistol, but Edward Jerse was nowhere to be found. Lucky for him.

Three weeks passed and every day was a struggle. Luisa lacked the strength, and it seemed the interest, in caring for her child, but that was understandable. Walter’s wife, his sisters, and the women that so deftly ran his household, all took part in trying to help his daughter recover. Unfortunately, all their efforts were for naught.

Walter was at work when Edward Jerse showed up looking for his estranged wife. When Arlene Skinner tried to turn him away, he kicked in the glass-paned door and cast her aside. Their cook ran to the neighbors to summon the police. His youngest sister, who had been visiting with her young daughter, had the good sense to grab the infant and flee out the back of the house. Their beloved housekeeper took a protective position on the stairs in an effort to stop Mr. Jerse and she suffered a broken collarbone when he shoved her down.

Witnesses said that Luisa put up a hell of a fight, even as Edward Jerse dragged her down the front steps. She bit and she clawed and she screamed until she was tossed to the ground and silenced by a crushing blow to the skull under Edward Jerse’s boot. Neighbors rushed to stop the assault, but they were too late. A brawl ensued when they attempted to prevent him from fleeing, but he managed to escape before the police arrived.

The scene that Walter came home to could only be described as chaos. Policemen were everywhere, blowing whistles, yelling at neighbors to stand back, threatening to use their bully sticks on the crowd that gathered. Nervous cart-horses whinnied shrilly and stamped their feet. His wife was wailing on the porch while their family physician tried desperately to calm her. The county coroner was already rounding up eligible men for an inquest and to make matters worse, hadn’t even bothered to cover his poor daughter’s crumpled body with a blanket or a sheet.

An overzealous journalist picked the wrong moment to appear at Walter’s side and ask if he knew the victim and wanted to give a quote. Walter had him by the throat in an instant, his clawed fingers digging roughly into the man’s neck. He wanted to kill him and probably would have had a constable not intervened and pulled him off.

*%*%*%*%*%

Katherine felt a sting of tears and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That could have been her story. She knew exactly what Luisa had gone through. She felt her husband’s hand slip into hers and she squeezed his fingers tight. Mr. Skinner had stopped speaking for a few moments, staring down at the lemonade glass that was sweating on his knee.

“You know where the sonofabitch is now?” Mulder asked.

“Rotting in hell, hopefully.” Mr. Skinner finally looked up. “They caught him at the train station that night. Murder’s a hanging offense. Justice was carried out swiftly, though part of me wishes he’d suffered a little longer.”

“And then you moved west?”

“Towns are small and people talk. We didn’t want Joey to grow up in the shadow of it all.”

“Joey is your grandson,” Katherine stated, softly. She remembered Mr. Skinner’s panic when Joey had been injured at school and his fear now made sense to her.

“He is. Though he’s not aware of that fact. Luisa had named him Edward Jr., but we couldn’t call him that, under the circumstances.” Mr. Skinner paused and he seemed to struggle for a moment, his face contorting slightly as a frown tugged his mouth down. “My wife blames herself. She was the one that let Mr. Jerse into the house to sell that blasted sewing machine. She tried to…join Luisa in the hereafter several times. They wanted me to have her institutionalized. I refuse to do that.”

“Has she made recent attempts?”

Mr. Skinner shook his head. “The melancholy comes and goes, particularly around Luisa’s birthday, or the day she was taken from us, but she hasn’t harmed herself in quite some time. There’s an Indian woman that cares for her during the day. She’s been a godsend. You might know her, Mulder, Albert Hosteen is her brother.”

“The Navajo translator?” Mulder gave a brief nod. “We did some trading awhile back, but I don’t know him well.”

“His people have a settlement a few miles outside of town. They keep to themselves, mostly.”

“Mr. Skinner,” Katherine said, trying as gently as she could to bring the conversation back to Arlene. “I am deeply sorry for what you and your wife have been through, but it does not explain why you won’t allow her to be seen. Do you believe Dr. Black would try to force her to be committed?”

Mr. Skinner stood and slipped his hand into his vest pocket. He took out his pocket watch and opened it up, staring at it for some time before passing it to Katherine. She hesitated briefly, glancing at her husband first, and then gasped slightly when she looked at the photo insert under the lid.

“I…I don’t understand,” Katherine said, staring intently at the photo.

“We had this likeness made for Luisa’s sixteenth birthday,” Mr. Skinner explained.

Katherine showed the watch to her husband, who raised his brows in surprise and then looked at Mr. Skinner. “This is your daughter?” he asked. “But, she…”

“Bears a striking resemblance to your wife. I know.”

“And you think that if Mrs. Skinner were to see me, it would cause an upset?”

“I know it would. Arlene begged me to remove all the portraits of Luisa from the walls because she found it unbearable to see them. That likeness is all I have left.”

Katherine passed the pocketwatch back to Mr. Skinner. He sat back down, but kept the watch in his hand, running his thumb over the lid. The room fell quiet and it seemed that none of them knew what to say after that. Finally, Mulder cleared his throat and shifted forward.

“Uh, when we were outside earlier, you said what you had to say concerned both Katherine and I,” he said. “I’m not a medical expert like my wife, so was there something else?”

Mr. Skinner took a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and dabbed at his forehead. “Something I need to confess.”

*%*%*%*%*%

Jack Willis made no effort whatsoever to even pretend to be personable. Walter Skinner had all sorts of men in his office looking for land, but very few that didn’t try to charm him, especially when they were begging for a homestead. He watched the detestable man surreptitiously as he made like he was perusing his files. Watched him suck tobacco juice from his yellowed teeth and pick at the dirt under his fingernails with a small knife as he waited.

Walter could have easily refused Mr. Willis and sent him on his way. The man had no collateral to speak of, only a small purse of coins that didn’t amount to half a downpayment on a lease. He didn’t claim to have any prospects in the area, wasn’t a farmer or a rancher or a craftsman. Walter was certain, by the stench of whiskey that seemed to ooze from the man’s pores, that his only profession was drinking. When the man asked about the saloon in town, and if the hands were hot there, he knew he was dealing with a gambler as well.

Rarely was Walter distracted by the window in his office, but that day he couldn’t help but keep his eye on the young woman in the wagon outside. She was still as a statue most of the time, head down, shoulders slumped. Every so often she would start to rub her fingers and thumbs together, but then quickly pull her hands into fists in her lap. He gave her one more glance before he was going to break the news to Mr. Willis that there were no leases available and she suddenly tipped her chin up and the afternoon sun highlighted a fresh bruise on her cheek. She had a blank expression on her face, staring off into the distance, but without truly seeing a thing. He’d seen that look on many men during the war, usually after a hard battle. Some of them never recovered. His chest tightened and his heart hurt.

There was a lease available, he told Mr. Willis, which was not entirely the truth, but nor was it a lie. There were plenty of leases available, but he knew that if he put Mr. Jerse’s name on any of those, the bank would be repossessing in short time. The lease that he would draft up would be on a piece of land that he owned, one he’d purchased a few months before the former owner had passed on. The old man had known he hadn’t much time left and Walter had seen fit to relieve Bob Goodwin of his burden. Installing a surly drunkard and his abused wife on the property might not seem wise, but it would give him the time he needed to make an informed decision.

When Walter’s professors at West Point had praised him for his abilities to strategize, he’d humbly chalked it up to the hours he’d spent playing chess with his grandfather, but he also knew that the reason he took to the game at such a young age was because of the way his mind worked. He planned and he calculated and he did it quickly. He also wasn’t a gambler, by nature, but when he bet on something, he did it with the same certainty as moving a chess piece.

He drafted a standard five-year lease with an option, knowing he’d be lucky if he saw a single penny from Mr. Willis, not that it mattered. The land was bought and paid for and he didn’t need an income. He just needed a chance to do what he should have done for Luisa all those years ago.

Taking into account the little he did know of Mr. Willis, Walter offered to buy the man a drink later that evening at the saloon and just as he suspected, the man was more than happy to take him up on it. He gave him a copy of the lease, a rough map of how to find the place, and watched him turn his mules to the east, out of town. By the end of the night, after several rounds of whiskey and losing a few hands of poker to Mr. Willis, he’d devised a suitable plan.

*%*%*%*%*%

“Did you kill Jack Willis?” Mulder asked.

Mr. Skinner did not seem in the least phased by the question. “Do you play chess?” he asked, in return.

“Not much.”

“Chess is as much about manipulating your opponent’s movements as it is making your own. The same as battle.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t answer the question.”

“I had a mind to.” The banker nodded to himself. “But, I didn’t have to.”

“What does that mean?”

“I know what it means,” Katherine murmured, quietly. “The whole time we were here, Jack was either too drunk, too hungover, or not there at all. It means you kept him occupied. Away from me or incapacitated.”

“I simply worked out a deal with the saloon owner that Jack Willis should feel free to spend as much time there as he pleased, whether it was drinking or gambling or in the company of the working women.”

Mr. Skinner paused at that and an awkward silence followed. Mulder was feeling a mixture of emotions; appreciation and regret and heartache and confusion. Katherine, pressed next to him on the couch, was silent, but her grip on his hand was tight and firm.

“Anyhow,” Mr. Skinner continued. “I only told Mr. Smith that he was to see me about any debts that Mr. Willis incurred and I would see they were paid.”

“Then you should…we should compensate you,” Mulder said, stuttering slightly. “I’ll pay for Jack Willis's debts.”

“I don’t want compensation.”

“But, what about the land? I…I assume you were after a profit if you bought it, but then why didn’t-”

“You own the land,” Mr. Skinner interrupted, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “The property was transferred to your wife, you just happened to purchase it from me and not the bank. Fortunately for me I happen to know how terrible you are at scrutinizing paperwork.”

Mulder grimaced, sheepishly. “Still, you should get a fair price for all you’ve-”

“I wasn’t after a profit, Mulder.”

“What then? You’re not a rancher, you’re a banker.”

Mr. Skinner shifted in his chair as though the question had made him uncomfortable or embarrassed. “I had it in mind that, should we become neighbors, that perhaps…perhaps my grandson might find his way here.”

“You want him to work on a ranch? But, he’s far too young to even consider-”

“No, not work. Just…to pass the time. I try to spend as much time with him as I can, but I’m at the bank most of the day, though I do try to shield him from my wife’s…my wife tries to love him in her own way, but I know she fears becoming too attached and Joey is so pure at heart. So much like his mother. He just…he just deserves a place where…” Mr. Skinner trailed off and he shook his head, quickly averting his eyes. “Anyway, he has school now to keep him occupied. It was a foolish notion.”

“Does he know how to ride?” Mulder asked.

“I’ve put him on Charlie Horse a time or two.”

“Well, it’s too far of a walk for the little fella. What if we sent Trevor out on Saturdays to come collect him?”

“I’m not going to put you out like that, Mulder. You asked me why and I wanted to answer plainly. I think that fate intervened and God saw fit that land be used for a higher purpose.”

Katherine sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and almost reared back as though spooked by something. Mulder turned to her, but she stared straight ahead, wide-eyed. He squeezed her hand and she startled and then pulled away, blinking rapidly.

“Kate?”

She gave a slight shake of her head and pulled her lightly-fisted hands into her lap. Mulder pursed his lips, wanting to know what had just happened, but he wasn’t going to press her in front of their guest.

Mr. Skinner rubbed his hands over his knees and then stood. “I should probably be on my way,” he said.”

“I’ll…get your hat,” Mulder answered. Normally, he might implore Mr. Skinner to stay, to have another glass of lemonade, but he hurried down the hall and back and handed the banker his hat, eager to get his wife alone.

“Thank you for the lemonade,” Mr. Skinner said, shaking Mulder’s hand.

“Anytime. And please think about sending Joey out.”

“I’ll think it over.” Mr. Skinner gave a slight tip of his hat to Katherine. “Mrs. Mulder. I hope I’ve resolved things for you.” He was about to walk out, but Katherine suddenly jumped to her feet and called out to him.

“Wait,” she said. “Things are not resolved. What about Mrs. Skinner?”

“I can’t let you see her, I thought I made that clear.”

“What if I’d run into her in town one day?”

“Impossible. Arlene doesn’t go into town. Her nerves are too unsteady for it.”

“Then we must do something about that. I’m…I don’t know the answer right now, but I will. I will write away for the appropriate texts and I’ll find something. I promise.”

“I do need to get going,” Skinner said, putting his hat on. His voice had gone low and husky. “You know, in the back of my mind I thought that perhaps out here on your own, with Mr. Willis occupied, you might find your way to a friendly neighbor’s place that could give you more help than I could. I’m happy things worked out the way they have, just sorry it didn’t happen a little sooner.”

“Mr. Skinner…” Katherine touched the sleeve of his jacket and when he turned towards her, she put her arms around him. He hesitated and then brought one hand up and put his hand very lightly at the back of her head. “Thank you,” she whispered.

They stayed in the embrace for a few seconds more and then Mr. Skinner stepped away. He gave a brief nod and then he was out the door on his way to the barn.

*%*%*%*%*%

Katherine stayed on the porch as her husband walked the banker out to the barn to collect his horse. His visit had brought forth her own recollections of the day she arrived in town with Jack Willis. A memory that she’d locked away not because she’d tried to forget, but only because she hadn’t tried to remember it.

The morning before they arrived, she had lost another baby, one she didn’t even know she was carrying. She’d awoken in pain, her skirts soaked through with blood down to the hard ground she’d been sleeping on beneath the wagon. She’d stumbled to a stream that was nearby to wash herself, retching a few times on the way there, and the bruise on her cheek was punishment for having woken Jack and for not having made up any breakfast.

She was still bleeding when they’d rolled into town, every bump of the wagon seemingly forcing another painful contraction of her womb, ridding itself of the burden that had proven impossible for her to carry. She wondered how much blood she would have to lose to pay for her sins, how much blood she’d already lost. She thought about how peaceful it might be not to even try to stop the flow.

It was those kinds of thoughts that turned her to prayer, but Jack had sold her rosary beads at the last town they were in to some gunslinger who thought his favorite whore might like them. She recalled sitting in the wagon outside the bank, asking God’s forgiveness for needing to end her suffering. One of the mules had shifted and the wagon creaked and she had the idea that when they were on their way again, she should throw herself under the wagon, let it roll over her, let it crush her and let the blood ooze out of her all at once until there was nothing left. Yes, she decided, that would be best. She had nothing left, no reason to keep going.

Just as she’d resolved to end her life, a breeze had ruffled her hair and set the back of her neck to tingling. She looked up, but the dusty road was still. Quite plainly, clear as day, a woman whispered in her ear just then, ‘don’t give up.’ Katherine turned, but there was no one there, only a glimpse of her own sad reflection in the window of the bank.

Jack returned to the wagon and shoved a piece of paper into her hands, which she recognized as a map. She studied it as Jack rambled about pulling the wool over on the idiot banker. He figured the town must be full of idiots if the smartest man there was that friendly. Maybe he’d see if he could start a new life as a bank robber.

Katherine didn’t say anything. Jack was never in favor of her speaking, even if it appeared as though he were trying to engage her in conversation. There was a little ‘X’ drawn onto the map and then a wavy line beside it that she determined to be a creek or small river of some kind. On the other side of the line was the word ‘horses.’

Once, as a little girl, Katherine had a dream about a horse. It was just after she’d read about Hippocrates, The Father of Medicine, and about how the ancient Greeks had once prescribed horseback riding to improve health. She’d thought that was silly, but that night she dreamed about riding a lovely chestnut horse with a red mane, running fast and free through an open field of grass as far as the eye could see, towards a setting sun. She felt sad when she woke up, but she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because she knew it was impossible to ever be that free.

“Hey,” Mulder said, startling Katherine as he came up to the porch. The banker was already past the sign of their ranch, his horse kicking up the dust on the main road and lost in her reverie, she hadn’t even noticed.

“Hey,” Katherine replied.

Her husband reached for her, bringing her hands up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “You looked a million miles away just then. What were you thinking?”

“Just about divine intervention.”

“So, nothing too complicated or existential?”

She gave him a small smile and he rubbed his bottom lip against her knuckles. She pulled her hands free and he opened his arms for her. Sighing, she stepped into his embrace.

“I’m sorry too, so you know,” he said.

“Sorry? For what?”

“That your friendly neighbor didn’t find his way to you sooner.”

She hummed lightly and crossed her arms behind his waist. “No, I think Mr. Skinner was right. Things happened exactly as they were supposed to.”

“I think you just said you believe in fate, Honey. I’ve been telling you that since Faithful Jenny threw that shoe.”

“I admit nothing.” She chuckled. “I’m only saying that by keeping Jack otherwise engaged in town, it did give me some months of peace I think that I needed. It made me stronger. I wanted to get away, but until then I thought my only way out would be if Jack had killed me or if I…did it for him.”

Mulder tightened his embrace and Katherine squeezed him gently in return.

“I’d like to think it’s providence,” she murmured softly. “That God put Mr. Skinner in my path that day for a reason.”

“So that he could help you.”

“No, so that I could help him. His wife.” Katherine tilted her head back to look up at her husband. He looked down at her with an expression she hadn’t ever seen, like someone pleasantly stupefied. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Fate, providence, divine intervention, kismet, destiny, serendipity, whatever you want to call it, how lucky I am to have such a wife.”

“Yes, you are.”

He chuckled as he lowered his mouth to hers.

*%*%*%*%*%

If anyone had asked him, the banker would say he did not believe in any such thing as fate. He had too much experience with the hubris and folly of man to believe that any bad or good that happened in the world wasn’t the direct result of free will. Besides, there wasn’t a philosophy on God’s green Earth that would have him believe that his daughter’s death was designed as part of a higher plan. As though God was maneuvering the human race like pawns in a game of chess. That would be illogical, and Walter was not an illogical man.

A few short weeks after his visit to the ranch, Katherine had convinced the banker to get his wife a kitten. She quoted a nurse named Florence Nightingale to him about the benefits of animal companionship. He thought it was silly. Arlene had never had an interest in cats, but Katherine was very convincing, and suddenly this gray ball of fluff that looked like he’d been in the dustbin, so he was called Dusty, had been acquired and he saw his wife laugh for the first time in years. She also managed to obtain a tortoise, a pair of lovebirds, an injured crow that she nursed back to health, and he was fairly certain she was trying to tame a family of prairie dogs in the fields behind their house. While the melancholy still took hold of her at times, it seemed that having Dusty close to her made it more bearable and her demeanor had been much improved.

Walter had finally let Doctor Black speak with his wife and he found her to be in overall fine health, but perhaps a bit of exercise would help with her nerves. Just a nice walk in the garden each day for fresh air and flowers. Monica Doggett helped with that, bringing fresh baked bread down as often as she could and teaching her the names of local herbs and how they’re used. It’s how she found the poor crow with the broken wing and the prairie dog tunnels.

The following April, the banker brought his wife to the Broke In on a Sunday morning, a day that had been arranged in advance. Joey was disappointed that it wasn’t his day to go to the ranch. He’d been spending Saturdays at the Mulder’s all winter and looked forward to brushing the horses every week and learning how to ride.

Arlene had been prepared to accompany her husband to the ranch. It had been weeks since even the mention of her daughter’s name had sent her into a fit of tears. She’d allowed Walter to hang the family portrait in the house and he had finally sat Joey down and given him a sanitized version of the truth. All the boy needed to know, at his young age, was that his mother, their daughter, had gone to heaven, and that she had loved him very much.

Walter slowed the gig down as the sign for the Broke In came into view. It seemed to him that he was more nervous about this meeting than his wife. She sat beside him almost serenely, her arm looped loosely around his elbow, Dusty purring on her lap. He hadn’t intended to bring the cat, but his wife had insisted and he knew the Mulder’s, of all people, wouldn’t mind the unexpected, additional guest.

Katherine was first to emerge from the house, followed by her husband. They waited on the porch while Walter guided the horse to the hitching post. Mulder stepped down and welcomed them warmly, saying how pleased he was to meet Mrs. Skinner and the little friend she cuddled close as he took her hand to help her from the small carriage.

Katherine approached cautiously and Walter held his breath when Arlene passed the cat to him and then reached out to touch the young woman’s face. She told her how pretty she was. She told her how she’d heard so much about her from Walter, and from Monica. She told her that her daughter had red hair as well, gently touching the ends of one of Katherine’s curls that coiled down by her jaw. And then she asked if she might put her arms around her, just for a moment.

Of course, Katherine answered, and Arlene brought her arms around her, placing her hands just behind Katherine’s shoulders and very softly, just for a moment, rested her cheek against the younger woman’s. She pulled away and then took Dusty back into her arms and rubbed one of his ears. She said that she would like to see the horses now.

The End

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #historical au #broken things #first time writing a Skinman POV!

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