#so the stitches look good too good for how he feels they should look worse he should feel worse he doesn't deserve how it looks and so...
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I honestly have SO MANY thoughts and feelings about romangerri as a tragic mentor/mentee relationship that I'd love to be able to ramble about for hours on end. but whenever I've tried I just get romangerri shippers in my notes and the way they talk about roman having feelings for gerri is so triggering to me because of something that happened to me in my first workplace that I just kinda have to avoid it <\3
#like UGHHHHH the way Roman's spiral starts with seeing gerri at waystar getting her payout#starts with him being reminded who he failed and how failing gerri signed both their death warrants and how that's always on his hands#so the stitches look good too good for how he feels they should look worse he should feel worse he doesn't deserve how it looks and so...#final scene he has no semblance of self beyond self punishment so he orders her drink so even this small bit of freedom tastes bitter...
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okay sooo mae i have this idea for emt!marauders! you know how some people have mistaken appendicitis/ruptured appendix for bad period cramps (bc period education is so abysmal). im imagining a reader who thinks they’re having the worst period pain ever and the marauders are trying to help, but once reader describes their symptoms the boys are like ‘uhmmm no babes you literally need an organ removed rn’.
i hope you are having the best day <3 sending you all the good vibes!! <3
Sending good vibes back, thank you lovely <33
cw: stomach pains, mention of hospital/surgery
emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 974 words
“Shh, I know, baby.”
“You don’t,” you moan bitterly, pushing your face harder into Sirius’ lap and clutching your heating pad to your stomach.
“I—yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry.” He continues to toy with your hair, fingernails scratching lightly at your scalp in an attempt to soothe you. On the other end of the couch by your feet, James watches you with a sad puppy look. Sirius’ hand brushes across your temple, and he makes a sympathetic whining sound. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re hot.”
“It hurts,” you whine in earnest.
“Do you want some brownies?” Remus peeks out of the kitchen. “I’m almost done with these, but you’re welcome to some batter if you can’t wait.”
You nibble your lip, looking at him apologetically. “I don’t think I feel well enough to eat anything.”
Remus gives you a compassionate look and disappears back into the kitchen. Another wave of sudden, sharp pain makes you suck in a breath, curling tighter in on yourself. Sirius coos.
“Fuck, what did I do to deserve this?” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain. “It’s never usually this bad.”
“Does it hurt in your back, too, angel?” James leans forward, rubbing tentatively at the base of your spine.
“No, not—not this time. It’s so weird.”
His eyebrows bunch. “Why don’t you at least have some of your tea? That usually helps, doesn’t it?”
You press your face into Sirius’ stomach. He palms the back of your head protectively, thumb rubbing the skin by your ear. “Honestly, thank you, but I really don’t think I can.
“You should, dove,” says Remus, coming in from the kitchen to crouch by your head. He takes your tea and presses it into your hands, brushing a kiss against your hairline when you take it. “Sit up and have a few sips before it gets cold.”
Reluctantly, you do as you’re told, allowing Sirius to help you into a seated position. He pulls you gently into his lap, making sure your heating pad stays situated, and you raise the cup to your lips. James rubs your ankle encouragingly while you drink.
“What’s wrong?” he asks at your pinched expression.
You mash your face into Sirius’ shoulder, ashamed. You feel horribly dramatic. You must have the lowest pain threshold in the whole world. “I can’t decide whether to go to the toilet. I feel like I could be sick, but moving makes it hurt worse.”
Remus takes your cup from you, setting it back on the table. He’s frowning. “Moving makes it worse?”
You nod miserably.
He touches his knuckles to your forehead, brows stitching together. “How long have you been feeling nauseous?”
You make a low, piteous sound. It feels impossible to think clearly with your stomach radiating hurt. “I dunno. I think it’s because of the pain.”
“Was it the same time that the cramps started?”
“I think so.”
“Alright, thanks, sweetheart.” He kisses the space between your brows. “Do you mind if we check on something really quickly?”
You feel your eyebrows furrow. You’re about to ask what he means when James takes your heating pad, pulling it off of your middle.
“Just for a second,” he promises at your distressed expression. “I’m gonna feel your stomach, okay?”
You nod, wanting whatever this is over with so you can get your heating pad back, but when James’ fingers push gently into your lower abdomen, the pain triples. You cry out.
“It’s okay,” Sirius coos, holding you tighter to his chest while James backs up to allow you to fold your knees in again. “It’s okay, baby, he’s done.”
“Jamie,” Remus asks softly, “would you get us a bag ready, please?”
You blow air out through your mouth, trying to calm yourself as the pain fades back to the way it was. Sirius pets the back of your head, his other arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders. “A bag for what?” you ask weakly.
Remus looks at you, his face conveying both apology and tenderness. “We’re going to go to the hospital,” he says slowly.
“Wha—why?” You feel immediately frantic. Tears press at your eyes. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“He’s telling you why, baby, listen.” Sirius kisses your head.
“You’re not having period cramps,” Remus says patiently. “The good news is, we can fix it. The pain will go away, and you’ll be completely fine. But to do that, we need to go to the hospital so you can have your appendix taken out.”
As he explains, Sirius is pressing kiss after kiss into your hair, holding you close and rubbing your back when you get upset. You make your dissent known, but Remus is calm and understanding. He answers your questions honestly, tells you about the procedure, promises they’ll be with you for as long as you’re awake. Before long, James has returned with a backpack of supplies for an overnight stay and your pillow under his arm.
He sets them both down on the coffee table. Slips one arm behind your shoulders, another beneath the crooks of your knees.
“No sense in walking when you’re poorly, right angel? Sirius, you can carry her things, yeah?”
Sirius groans as he slings the backpack over his shoulder. “Fuck, did you pack all her books?”
“Just the essentials.” James kisses the bridge of your nose. “Wouldn’t want you getting bored in there. You doing alright?”
“I don’t see how it can get worse,” you manage. You know you must look awful, eyes red from withheld tears and face creased with pain. James’ brows hook sympathetically.
“At least you’ll feel better in a few hours, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Remus answers for you. He sets a palm on top of your head as he moves past you both to get the door. “We’ll have you all fixed up soon, dove.”
#emt!marauders#emt!marauders x reader#poly!marauders#poly!marauders au#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x fem!reader#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders x self insert#poly!marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders hurt/comfort#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders scenario#poly!marauders blurb#poly!marauders drabble#poly!marauders one shot#poly!marauders oneshot#james potter#james potter x reader#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#sirius black#sirius black x reader#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#the marauders
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𐙚YOU’RE MY LIGHT - geto suguru
୭˚. ᵎᵎ notes: angst but it turns fluffy towards the end, swearing, crying, geto is worried, and boy he’s stressed for his gf.
since you had always been assigned different missions, the moments in which you were together during the day were very few, with the exception of the evening when, tired as ever, you returned to your room for a quick shower, impatient to be in each other's arms.
unfortunately, you had always been used to seeing your boyfriend come home late at night with an exhausted and tired expression, that of someone who can't take it anymore and knows he has to protect himself and his mental health but who always puts the lives of others and his duty first, always ending up in exaggeratedly dangerous situations and trying his best to get out of them unharmed.
but there were times when you too would cross the threshold of the room with a few bruises on your body, but by now you had gotten used to it: it was not possible to fight curses without feeling their effects on your body and your mind. but this is what you were born for, so you tried to live with that.
your head was pounding, every step was like torture, you walked by instinct, otherwise you would have collapsed on the ground helpless, waiting for someone to find you and take you to the infirmary. you had to go back to geto, but what would be his reaction? the expedition had gone worse than expected, geto had not taken part since he had to run some errands in tokyo, it was always much more difficult without him.
blood had never shocked you, but seeing so much of it coming out of your left arm had alarmed you, even if only a little, but among all that noise you had managed to hear shoko's voice yelling at you to go away, to let her and gojo handle it. it would be better if you went back and recovered, you weren't in a good state and they probably would have had to put stitches given the depth of the wound that went from your elbow to your wrist.
holding on to the handle after dragging yourself down the hall, you slowly opened the door, revealing your body covered in bruises and wounds, one right under your eye. you were already prepared to hear geto yell at you about how you should have been more careful, but he wasn’t there. maybe it was for the best. closing the door you headed towards the bathroom, a small but functional space and, opening one of the many drawers, you found a bandage and some plasters. perfect.
you had to hurry up as much as possible, at least fix your wounds a little before geto arrived, so as not to show up in front of him in that pitiful state. but all you felt was anger, a blinding anger that went to your head. it wasn't a feeling foreign to you, you had always felt it throughout your life but in moments like these it hit you much more, you felt it all over your body.
anger for not being able to handle the situation, to let your power prevail over that of the curse. at this point you didn't even know whether to continue being a sorcerer or give up everything, go back to your monotonous life in tokyo. what was the point of it anyway?
with tears stinging your eyes you rubbed a wet cloth on the wound violently, trying to make the blood disappear, but it seemed to have become part of the skin, continuing to come out in torrents. you had probably dirtied the whole floor.
but when you heard the door open and then close again, you stopped dead in your tracks, looking at your reflection in the mirror, you didn't recognize the reflection: disheveled hair, cheeks furrowed by deep tears and a cut under your eye that went all the way to your lip. but you couldn't move.
“y/n?” geto called you from the bedroom, looking for you in the room. his footsteps were getting closer and closer to the bathroom door and now all hope that he might not see you was dead, you had to face what was about to happen. the cloth fell into the sink, staining it with blood and you leaned on its edge with your hands, supporting your helpless weight.
“what’s going on?” the door was wide open and his tall figure was standing in the doorframe, a confused expression on his face. but as soon as he saw the state you were in and the red cloth in the sink he immediately ran to your side, taking your left arm and inspecting the wound. “what happened, y/n? talk to me, please.” his voice was broken, he couldn’t believe you were hurt so badly.
you quickly removed your arm from his grip to bring it back to yours, blood staining your uniform. “it’s nothing.” your face was turned away so you wouldn’t have to look at his broken gaze, but unfortunately you could see him through the reflection in the mirror.
“do you call this nothing?” he screamed in disbelief, his brows furrowed. “you have blood all over your body. y/n, please, tell me what happened.” his tone was pleading and he was begging you to speak with such a broken voice it made you feel guilty about yourself, for not wanting to talk about it. “it’s nothing i told you, i just got hurt during a mission. i got it.” you took the cloth from the si k and started rubbing it on your arm, more violently than before.
“stop, stop.” he demanded, taking it from your hand and washing the blood away with warm water. “you’re only gonna hurt yourself more.” “i said that i got it.” those words came out of your mouth just like a knife, but you hated when people tried to help you, you had to do it on your own. you took the cloth from his hand and turned around, cleaning your wound.
“why are you being like this?” he asked from behind. “i just wanna help you.” but that was simply too much, it only added more stress to what you were already facing in that moment, you didn’t need it. “i don’t want your help!” you screamed turning to face him for the last time, words coming out uncontrollably like the tears from your eyes, flooding your cheeks and falling in the crook of your neck. you walked out, hitting his shoulder and still keeping the cloth firmly on your wound.
you sat on the bed, the tears were now stinging your eyes, you couldn’t see almost anything, your vision blurred, but you could feel geto’s presence right beside you, taking place on the bed. you sat there in silence for a bit, he wasn’t the type to give up on something or someone so easily, he just waited for you to calm down by caressing your back soothingly, with so much love, the one he had for you.
“i’m sorry.” you sniffled one more time, passing your hand on your cheeks. your head was still pounding hard and the blood was now dry on your arm. he cupped your chin with his hand, turining you to face him. “it’s okay.” his voice was comforting as he tried his best to smile. “can i take this?” he pointed at the cloth. you nodded softly as he tooks it gently from your hand, starting to rub it against your skin to wash the blood away.
you flinched at the sudden contact, but he was being so careful not to hurt you. “m’sorry, baby.” as soon as all the blood disappeared, he asked you if you needed to go to the infirmary. “i don’t think that’s necessary.” “you sure?” he placed a hand on your cheek, tracing your now scar with his thumb. you nodded, smiling.
“you know that if anything ever happens to you, you have to come to me, right?” he looked you in the eyes, serious as ever. “yeah, i know.” you whispered, suddenly finding your shoes very interesting. “thank you, for this.” you pointed at your arm, now covered in a white bandage.
“it’s nothing.” he mocked you with a smile before leaning in and leaving a soft peck on your lips. “i’ll do my best to not get you hurt again.”
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ nina.
#jujutsu kaisen#geto fluff#geto angst#geto suguru x reader#jujutsu geto#geto x you#getou suguru x reader#geto x reader#jjk geto#geto suguru#geto x y/n#fluff#angst#jjk fic#jjk angst#jjk x you#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk
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so. please consider: König is a prince (yeah we aren’t going full king this route, maybe he has an older brother or some complications having the throne to himself but either way he has some power just not all of it lol) and reader is part of a performing troupe that usually acts out plays outside of the castle. he goes out to watch them and becomes so desperate for her that he gets /her/ to perform as /him/ when the plays are about his heroic deeds or whatever.
i have had this idea stuck in my head for days and i just know you can bring it to life 🩵
the evil little König in my head took over. no one look at me. 🥩🏰
prince!König x fem reader.
content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. dubcon. mentions of adultery (not committed by reader or König), corruption kink (virgin!König), cunnilingus, light roleplay, scent & praise kink, smut (piv), reader is kind of evil here (König still manages to be worse), allusions to abduction.
“You are certainly lovelier than my wife, the Queen!”
He had his sword drawn, not high enough to elicit panic, but just enough to know that yes, there was a very present threat. This could be a bloodbath in an instant. Speak another word — he won’t refrain. He feels his teeth grit, grating, ash in the mouth and in the air.
The actors are unaware where they are stood on stage, and the mass of bodies surrounding barely take note of their Prince. A phantom. Loathed thing that he has always been. More hated than even their lecherous, stupid king. There’s only one thing he’s good for and it’s never been politics; there’s no need to garner up public appeal when your stage is a foreign field littered with blood and corpses.
Another insult to his poor mother and the city could be one too.
From a small wooden booth acting as a prop depiction of a brothel, steps a woman. Barefoot, bare flesh, the only thing she wears is a breast band and a loincloth of finely stitched lace. She isn’t a whore, not in truth, but she looks the part of the women his men rush to the second they’ve returned home. Ale and sex in abundance, and he’s never had the focus for the latter after a round of the former.
He watches as she sways, draws her hand to her forehead and bats her lashes while her other trails up her thigh to the hem of the piece concealing her womanhood. She stops with a laugh, turns to the crowd with sparkling eyes and says, “You lot should not cheer! The Queen surely deserves better than a womanizing fool!”
König’s never been one for plays, how tactlessly they slander the royal family and make jest of current affairs. This troupe, though… he thinks it’s done in taste. Or maybe it’s just her.
Even as the aging performer with his weathered face and messy gray beard acting the part of his father rushes to the pretty thing on stage and paws at her waist, König can not tear his eyes away.
The scene reaches its end when the brothel is burned, enacting something horrible the king had done several springs ago. Bereaved, the woman returns to the stage and bares her breasts, monologuing so sweetly as she feigns tears for her fallen sisters.
König swears to be nothing like his father but he still finds his trousers fitting more tightly at the sight, not foul enough to touch himself here, if ever at all. His heart aches with each fragile word spilled from those plush lips, and his cock demands further engagement with each gentle sway of her body and heave of her round tits.
His sword slots back into place at his hip when the scene comes to an end: the crowd a storm of laughter, the fire of the torches illuminating the street flickering, the actors dissipate behind the wooden stage, and all at once the play is over.
Tactless and impulsive, he thinks to thank her for not furthering the set-up for a joke, looks the part of a proper fool when he makes his way backstage where she’s sat wiping away carmine from her cheeks. The actress’ eyes go wide and hazy when she catches sight of him towering over her, the cloth and mirror slipping from her hands to rest on the table.
Of course, she takes it as a warning, asks him if he would prefer they only act out the current affairs— the recent siege of the southern kingdom, maybe? Or a story about the harvest festival? The gods or beasts? Anything she can sputter out to the man she easily recognizes as being the Prince.
König only finds himself further endeared when she dips her head as if ashamed and moves to conceal the bare skin of her stomach as though it would be insulting to see her in such a state of undress.
He excitedly tells her about the siege, of how he slaughtered those treasonous men and so valiantly brought their women and children to the capital to live much more honest lives, boasting while she looks on in acute, wonderous horror. That’s what he chooses, even pulls his hood from his face and drops it into her lap when he tells her she has to play his part.
The actress explains to him, docile and sweet, that she’s never played a male role and certainly lacks the stature to accurately represent him of all people. To which, he laughs, bids her a farewell with a flick of his wrist and wanders back out into the cobblestone and muck to finish up his patrol of the city.
A fortnight later, she returns to the stage in hastily put on armors, his veil hanging proudly about her head, a wooden sword clasped tightly in her hands. The crowd watching laughs at her expense as she tries in earnest to perfect the way she imagined his sword must have danced during that siege. The male actors fall with each tap of the weapon’s tip, and her voice takes on a forced, deeper tone when she speaks her praises to the kingdom she’s pilfered glory for.
König only sees fire, not in the flames of torches but lain out before him, a heat that courses from the picture of this beautiful little doe on stage straight down to simmer in his chest, his stomach. She’s so cute, pretending and doing her best just to appease him that he finds himself backstage again once the play concludes.
It’s just to talk, to congratulate her on a wonderful performance. He even presents a hefty sack of gold coins to her when she returns his veil, and she marvels at the donation, takes each piece and turns it in her fingers for a time before setting the little bag on the table.
Her brow scrunches for a moment before she settles on offering her hand out to him, fingertips ghosting over his upper thigh, loitering on the armor shell protecting him and drifting further up until he takes her hand and interlocks their fingers. Surely then, the actress comes to realize that her prince is as pure as the sisters in their temples.
She breathes out a laugh and shakes her head.
“I mean to pleasure you, my Prince,” she says, less meek now and more insisting. Her hand draws back to remove the prop armor from her body, eyes never leaving his own.
Though he considers the woman’s offer heavily, pulse stampeding and heart aching, he does eventually will himself to voice a weak refusal.
Never does he keep himself holed away from her for long, even after; König returns for each play whilst his men go about patrolling the city for prowlers and thieves. He watches each performance and continuously seeks her out backstage after. They talk each time, with him offering his suggestions and her clamoring for excuses as to why, no, she isn’t fit to play his role for another fight or some drab court meeting.
Finally, the same song and dance proves too much.
This night, there is no play and König still finds himself in the room cluttered with set pieces and props. The other actors have gone about seeking their own affairs for the evening; bedsides to coax comfort from or mugs of ale and bowls of bone to drown themselves in whilst gambling away the coins the hungering crowd has thrown their way.
She sits with him, perched up on her little table wearing nothing at all. Her skin is lit aglow by candlelight, the incense burning bathing all in the welcoming, warm comfort of lavender and rosemary. There’s ash in his chest again when he finds himself at her side, already aching with a want that should not exist, one that he would deny in full with bared teeth and blurry vision.
Only, she doesn’t prompt him with questions when her palms splay flat at the chest of his tunic, just grins like a wolf given a fat leg of mutton when she feels him begin to tense. She assures him that she’s only teaching him to act after demanding that he kneel, catches his jaw atop her hand and guides his face between her thighs where he then pants and groans at the foreign, enticing scent.
It awakens something in him, something bathed out and buried in blood, the very same that courses through his veins like a violent river now. A feral look and an iron grip on her hips that would leave bruises is all she gets. All until she hisses out the words, “I am your princess and you will do as I ask.”
The first lick is hesitant, clumsy, his stubble grazed over her most sensitive parts as he slips his tongue across the smoothness of her slit. He doesn’t have an idea of what he’s doing, only enacting the vile things he’s heard men about the castle speak of, how to properly take a woman apart and push her to not only want, but to need.
Mostly, she’s unimpressed.
When he gathers her taste on his tongue, he becomes a man possessed, ripped away from duty and sovereignty and brought down to the lowness of mere swine. He groans into her cunt, laps and suckles at anything his tongue and lips can touch, savors the sight, dewy and swollen when he presses a kiss to the bud that finally does get her to purr.
“Sweet boy..,” she coos to him when her hands find his hair, petting him so gently as he continues to lap at her clit. “You’re taking such good care of your princess, yes?”
His mind blanks entirely, driven forward with a renewed, feverish vigor as he dismantles her wholly with a drooling mouth and an unrelenting stare. Rationality should have pulled him away before it ever got to this point; she’s a peasant, and he can’t run amok fathering bastards and condemning himself to Hell for a simple woman. But that’s all beaten back by her taste, the way she writhes in his hold, keeps whispering her praises and lacing those soft fingers through his hair… no amount of devils or men could pry him from her cunt.
Only she does when her voice comes in a pant and her grip tightens to pull him back. The table, his face, all sticky and wet with what must have been her very essence, drawn out by a man lacking experience but so unknowingly eager.
“Take off your clothes,” comes her next demand, one he obliges with a great hesitance.
The tunic is pulled away with shaking hands, the tie of his trousers next. He mutters a curse below his breath when his cock springs free, so erect and angry it looks painful. The tip drools just as much as that fluttering heaven between her legs, pearly beads of preejaculate leaking down to stain the fabric and further condemn him to this impromptu fate.
He jerks when she wraps her hand around him there, whines when she leans forward to kiss its head.
“I can’t…” His voice sounds weak to his own ears, pathetic and miserable as he makes a mock attempt at prying her away with a gentle press to her shoulder. “My princess… we should not.”
He’s almost certain she’s a devil herself sent to exact some punishment upon him when her lips curl up into a grin and she lies back with her knees drawn to her chest. She speaks such words to him then that he would not dare to ever repeat, songs only the unknown could sing. An angel, perhaps, when she slips a finger into herself to demonstrate to him just what should be done… there, with panting breaths and whispers of heaven.
And finally, when his cock throbs and kicks at the sight, all resolve is entirely lost. He positions himself over her where she guides the tip of his manhood to her slit, praises his size when his hips give an involuntary twitch and he slightly dips into her, sampling her warmth and the resistance from something so thick pressing into her.
His world crumbles at the sensation, cobblestone replaced by the raging heat of brimstone and an obscene lust that clouds his mind and leads him to spear her open to his hilt.
He finds holiness in their union, bites back a roar when her walls tremble around him. She only laughs when his teeth find her shoulder, only sings more hymns into his ear as he fucks into her cunt at a reckless, brutal pace. The words don’t register, far-away and distant amidst the roaring tide of sensation. She’s so tight, so wet and yearning, quivering beneath him and clawing down his back.
“We shouldn’t, hm?,” she whispers in his ear, teeth grazing the lobe. His strokes become even sloppier, each thrust stuttered and heady when the sound of her voice pulls through the haze of bliss. “My sweet boy is so good at this, though…”
His voice is nearly a wail when he loses himself fully then. He holds the back of her thighs, fucks himself through an orgasm that leaves his head spinning and his body shaking as though he’s come down with some wretched fever. And perhaps he is ill, because he can’t bring himself to think of anything more than the divine rapture of stuffing his seed into the warmth of her pussy, can’t bring himself to pull his cock out of her even when he begins to soften.
His face is buried against her neck, professing his endless love as he breathes her in and ruts into her over and over until his cock is once again stiffened and drooling inside of the very cunt he would die to keep.
Surely, when her troupe begins to pack to drift further out into the kingdom for their performances to be seen… he could accuse them of slander, have the old man playing the part of the lecherous king executed, the others thrown into rat-infested cells, and the little princess tethered to his bed to warm his heart and his cock.
He will kiss away her tears, tell her that all could be forgiven if she would only let him make an honest woman of her.
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osiem 🚑
EMS AU THINGYYY
Summary: Simon Riley Finds himself utterly in love with the newest paramedic on the base- issue is: he has the social skills of a five year old. CHAPTER SUMMARY: after a night out you wake up to unfamiliar bed. “Ya ditched us-“
“Mmhm.” “We were left for dead!” “Mmhm.”
The laughed and unimportant conversation is what ultimately woke you up, and you grumble as you turn over in your makeshift…no…in your real bed, with some real blankets. If it wasn’t for the throbbing headache and the stinging pain in your side from dehydration you would’ve been more worried about it, however your main thought was to get some salt water and to pass out again- and hopefully without puking.
the second thing that should have alerted you was that you were not wearing the clothes you were wearing the night before- as you somewhat remember tripping into a muddy puddle…though that was foggy. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, face clean if not a little dry and hair pulled up. Again. Nothing you have any recollection of- speaking of no recollection you did not remember these clothes- though, you would open your closet and see clothes you had never seen before in your life in there, and the large zip up jacket and sweats seemed somewhat familiar.
The third alert that should have registered was the conversation, more of who was speaking it. It sounded like Johnny and Simon though it process, it sounded like roommates and you would be lying if you hadn’t grown use to the concept of roommates within your lifetime. So, with no thoughts lingering in your brain you walk into the living room, only for the conversation to quiet as three sets of eyes fell on you.
alright, new way to sober someone up: embarrass the fool out of them. Because within a millisecond you realize four things.
You were in the lieutenants bed
You had gone home with said lieutenant
You were wearing his sweat set, and judging by the large RILEY plastered across the front so did you
you were know being stared at by the three men in very team you were very new to
oh and five
5. it a hundred percent looked like you just had sex with your lieutenant
….did you have sex with your lieutenant?
“Good morn’n’ Lassie.” Johnny said with a frowning smile as he gives a look to Simon, who was much too busy waiting for the kettle to boil to pay what was going on any mind.
“Morning, Stitches.” Kyle echoed the sentiment as he attempted to be as respectful as possible- though he couldn’t quite get over how funny of situation he realized he was now witnessing. You know how people tell you to get over stage fright and you try it and somehow it makes everything worse? Yes? Well imagine that feeling times four million, you felt your skin heat up and your eyes wide. So, you did the only logical thing you could think of- move back to the bedroom and shut the door behind you. There was a solid minute where you just stared at the door in front of you, eyes wide as you tried to think through what had happened. You were…flustered after the EMS training and so you chose to go out for drinks and then you vaguely remember an…Allie? Or something and then it was all gone. Now you were here, in your Lieutenants clothes, woke up in his bed, makeup cleaned off your face and hair done up with a hair tie that very much wasn’t yours.
You were snapped out of your train of thought when you heard a knock on the door and you take a step back as it opens and there stood the very man you were just thinking about, holding out your clothes. Freshly cleaned and dried, folded neatly.
“Have coffee if ya wan some, shoes are by th’ door.”
And just like that the door shut again and you were left alone with your thoughts.
what. the. hell.
(WHAT DO YOU MEAN I RLLY JUST WANTED TO WRITE THIS SO I MADE IT WORK. Anyway, tootles!)
#simon ghost riley#cod x you#simon ghost x reader#cod fluff#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley fanfic#coco's chaos <3#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley x reader#EMS AU thingy 🚑
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The Feral One • Chapter 9
Finnick x Y/N
Series Masterlist Link
Y’all are gonna like this one (I hope)
Content Warnings - Violence, injury, suicidal thoughts
Beetee’s plan seems complicated, but it might work. The group is slightly hesitant, but we’re all willing to give it a try at least. What’s the worst that can happen?
The six of you hike up to the lightning tree so Beetee can inspect it. Your bite is getting worse but you don’t want to alarm Finnick, he has enough to worry about.
You sit down while the group splits up to do various tasks like gathering food and water. Watching them all work, you wonder what their lives are like in their districts. You remember visiting them on your tour, but that feels like a lifetime ago.
“How’s the arm?” Peeta asks as he comes to sit by you. He makes sure to keep his distance, though, and you can see his hands in his lap.
You shake your head no in response. It’s definitely bad. Although the salt water cleaned it out, it stings like a bitch and it’s still bleeding. The bandage has slowed it down immensely but you need stitches.
“Can Katniss come look at it?” he asks. “She’s good at healing and we won’t touch you.”
You nod and he goes to get Katniss.
She takes one look at it and agrees it needs stitches. She tries to ask if you have any sponsors but you shake your head no. She must get the message pretty quickly that you don’t have any. The capital hates you.
“Hey Haymitch!” she says towards the sky. “We could really use some supplies!”
You shake your head no at her, as if to say that she doesn’t have to do that for you but she shakes her head back.
“You helped me in the water,” she replies. “The least I can do is try to help you.”
You give her a small smile just as a parachute appears. Her sponsors won’t be happy about this one.
“Hey,” Finnick says as he approaches with Beetee and Johanna, eager to see what was sent.
“She needs stitches,” Katniss states as she opens the parachute. “Haymitch sent stuff.”
“Thank you,” Finnick says, eternally grateful that Katniss was willing to sacrifice potential sponsors to help Y/N.
“How are we going to give them to her?” Johanna asks. “We don’t have sedative.”
The group looks at each other, realizing that giving you stitches may be a dangerous task.
“I’ll hold her,” Finnick states. “Can you do the stitches Katniss?”
She hesitantly nods and Finnick approaches you.
“Hey,” he calmly says as he sits down next to you. “It’s going to hurt and we’re going to have to touch you, but it’s going to be ok. I’ll be right here the whole time.”
You nod at him, tears already forming in your eyes at the thought of what’s about to happen.
“Lay down and put your arm out,” he instructs and you do exactly that.
Finnick lays down next to you on the dirt, positioning himself between you and Katniss but still allowing her access to your wrist. The rest of the group backs up and readies their weapons in case something were to go awry.
“I’m going to hold you, ok?” Finnick explains. “You need to be still for Katniss.”
You nod and he wraps his arms around you, positioning your head against his chest so you can hear his heartbeat.
You’re already shaking and crying and Katniss hasn’t even started. You have to remind yourself that Finnick is holding you to protect you, not to hurt you and he wouldn’t let Katniss hurt you.
The pain and discomfort you feel is so bad you black out, needing an escape from reality. In some ways that’s better than trying to attack everyone around you, but in Finnick’s mind that means there’s something very wrong.
“She’s lost too much blood,” he states. “We will need to carry her back down to the beach and back up again tonight.”
“Not it!” Johanna calls and Finnick glares at her.
“I’ll go get her water,” Peeta states.
“The bleeding should stop now as long as her stitches stay intact,” Katniss states, putting away the supplies. “Luckily I don’t think it’s infected. Can we cut away her other sleeve and wash it down in the lake so she can have a clean bandage to protect the stitches?”
Finnick nods in response and Peeta returns with the water. The boys get you into a sitting position and slowly give you the water, not wanting you to choke on the liquid.
“I don’t want to be carrying her when she wakes up,” Finnick states. “Beetee, how much time do we have before we need to move?”
“Based on my estimates we can’t wait,” Beetee sighs. “We need to move now.”
“Peeta walk behind me,” Finnick states. “If she wakes up I may need you as backup.”
“Why me?” he asks.
“You’re the strongest one,” Finnick states. “If she starts to lose it then put her in a headlock. We will need to make her pass out if she can’t calm down.”
Peeta nods and the group takes off back towards the beach, hoping that you wouldn’t wake up soon.
They were close to the beach when you woke up, but not there yet. Finnick had you over his shoulder and was hiking down the he slope with the group. Your brain had enough. He wasn’t a safe person anymore.
You bring your knee to his stomach, catching him off guard. He doesn’t drop you so you’re able to swing around and grab a hold of his neck, wrapping your arms tightly around it. You must still be weak from the blood loss though, as he’s able to force your arms away from his throat and pin you to the ground.
“Calm down,” he states as you lay panting under him. He’s straddling you with his legs pinning yours down and he’s holding your hands above your head with one of his.
“It’s just me,” he reminds you. “You’re fine. Nobody here is going to hurt you. You lost a lot of blood and passed out. I have to carry you to the beach.”
You think he’s safe, but you aren’t sure. Looking around for a weapon, you spot Katniss with her bow aimed at you, ready to shoot.
This causes you to burst into tears and mutter apologies to Finnick. You didn’t mean to hurt him. You didn’t mean to hurt anyone.
He goes to get off of you, but hesitates when you still look like you might punch him.
“You guys keep going,” he tells the group. “We’ll meet you down there when she’s cooled off.”
The group leaves and you lay there with Finnick still holding you to the ground. He can’t release you until he knows you won’t attack anyone. He could easily fight you off but he’s worried about hurting you in the process.
“Just kill me,” you tell him. “Please.”
Now he looks like he’s going to cry.
“I can’t,” he responds. “I’m sorry.”
Taglist:
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#hunger games#finnick odair#hunger games fic#the hunger games#finnick odair x reader#finnick x reader#finnick odair x you#finnick x y/n#finnick fluff#thg finnick#finnick odair fanfic#catching fire#the feral one
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Little Girl Gone (pt 3)
Synopsis: After Tommy fixes you up, you can't help but let old feelings get in the way. Then, the unexpected happens.
word count 2.8k
information/warnings: cursing, talk of death, not too much, the LIGHTEST hint of smut activity. this chapter is very strange to me, i wrote 3 different versions of it, and this is the one that i felt would carry the story further. not proofread!!
taglist: @budugu, @ajmiila02, @filmtv2022, @cyphah, @ce1iat, @thenattitude
thank you all so so much for reading, i hope you enjoy this chapter!! please leave a comment if you had questions, critiques, anything!
As you sat in the back office of the Garrison, waiting for Thomas, you heard the wails of a man coming from the bar. You could hear every single time a punch connected here, a kick landed there, and the screams that punctuated each. If you strained your ears hard enough, you could hear small grunts and pants of air coming from another man, who you assumed to be Tommy. The beating continued for another few moments, and all you could do was listen. The cries and moans of pain eventually stopped, followed by a distinct voice.
“Get ‘em out of my fuckin’ pub. I’ve got to go see about my girl.”
It was Tommy, and he called you ‘his girl’ in front of everyone.
Tommy entered the office, wiping his hands with a bar rag. You noticed the slight red tinge on the cloth, but decided to let him handle it, he was Tommy Shelby after all, surely he’d had worse than a couple of bruised knuckles. You watched him, as he cleaned his hands and then looked at you. Without speaking, he moved to his desk and opened one of the lower drawers. He pulled out a small white box, marked on the top by a small red cross.
“C’mere, Love. Let me see that cut.” He said, motioning for you to sit on his desk while he sat in his chair.
You walked towards him, wringing your hands together out of nervousness. Not only were you nervous because you were about to have his undivided attention, but him calling you ‘his girl’ still rang loud in your mind. You approached his desk, standing in front of where he was seated in his chair. He stood, hooking his hands under your arms, and lifted you so that your ass was directly on top of his desk; you were fairly certain you were sitting on some important legal documents. He softly grabbed your chin, and tilted your head to the side, allowing for him to get a clear view of your face. He gave a little ‘hmph’ and opened the first aid box. He pulled out a spray, an ointment, and a bandage. You realized how lucky you were to not need stitches when you saw the plain needle and thread also in the box.
“This is going to sting Love, so just sit still for me, okay?” He spoke, turning your head so that you had to look him in the eye.
“Okay, Tommy.” You nodded.
He began with the spray, which stung like hell, but you were tough and you wanted to be good for him so you sat still as frozen concrete. The small smile that appeared on his face at your little grimace didn’t go unnoticed.
“Good girl. The next thing shouldn’t sting, but still, don’t move.” He said, the deep baritone of his voice making your ears heat up.
While Tommy was applying the ointment and bandage to your forehead, the two of you began talking. He told you a little bit about the war, as you were young and left almost as soon as he got back. He still felt guilty speaking about it to you now, in his mind you were innocent, despite how you just beat a grown man's ass into the dirt a few moments prior. He thought that you should never have to know about war, about mass casualty. He told you about the tunnels he helped dig and operate, and every once in a while when he would get choked up, you would rub your hand along his arm that was still doctoring your face. One particular moment made you realize just what he had been through.
“We were down there, it was dark and it stunk. My God, Y/N, it stunk. People died down there and we had no way to get them out, no way to even try and get them help. Towards the end, one of my comrades, one of the few I was actually friendly with, he got hit. We never even saw it coming. He got left down there, and sometimes, I still see him…” Tommy trailed off.
You watched him with sympathy as a single tear rolled out of his eye. Tommy had seen you cry plenty, but this was the first time you had ever even seen his eyes water.
“Shh, it’s okay, Tom. Why don’t I tell you more about my time up North? Did you know thats where I went? Up North?” You said softly, trying to get him to come out of his head and back into the present with you.
“I knew you went North, Y/N. I called around about you until I found someone who knew where you were. I just wanted to know you were safe.” He said.
Tommy had looked for you? Not only looked, but he knew where you were this entire time? So much for ever truly getting away from the Shelby’s, you laughed at yourself.
“Well then how come I never heard from you? If you knew where I was, why didn’t you ever stop in? Or were you watching me so that you’d be able to stop me from ever coming back?” You scoffed, now leaning back on your hands since he was done with your cut.
“Of course I wanted you to come home, Y/N. I didn’t reach out because I thought you ran away from me. I didn’t want to scare you off the continent, so I settled for just knowing you were safe.” He replied, packing up his first aid box.
You studied his expression, and savored his words in your mind. You had been holding feelings for Tommy since you were 16. You were both grown now, and although you couldn’t be certain, the things he was saying sounded an awful lot like something you’d say to someone you cared for. You decided to bite the bullet, and expose your younger self.
“Look Thomas, we’re both grown, professional, adults right?” You said, cocking your head to the side.
“...Right?” He answered, giving you a puzzled look.
“Well then, I’m just going to out myself, and if you don’t like what I have to say then we’ll pretend I didn’t say it,” you paused, just trying to see if he would interrupt, he didn’t. “I have looked at you in so many ways Tommy. I’ve seen you be a brother, a friend, an enemy, but all you ever were to me, since I was sixteen years old, was Tommy. My Tommy. I have pined after you and wanted you since I was sixteen, and you never gave me the time of day. I don’t know what you mean by all of what you’ve said, especially earlier when you were poking fun at me over dinner, but I can see that you care for me Tommy. I’m not sure how thick you think these walls are, but I heard you call me ‘your girl’ earlier. You have opened up to me without reserve like I have never seen you do before Thomas. Never. I’m saying all this to say a few things. One, I didn’t say goodbye to you because I couldn’t face you. I knew that if I had to look at you, and have one last conversation, that I would hold onto that for the rest of my life, and those words would be the only ones of yours that I could ever hear in my head. Two, I want you to understand, and make no mistake, that I like you Thomas. Not just in a ‘well he’s fine, I like him way’, but in a way that makes my ears hot, that makes me want to giggle like a child and swing my arms around. I like you in a way that is bordering on love, Tommy. And three, I need to know if you feel the same way. I need to know. Even if you don’t, even if you have never looked at me like that and you never will, and all I will ever be to you is an annoying family friend, I need to know.”
You took a deep breath, unsure of what was going to come next. You felt a single tear roll down your cheek, but not from sadness, from relief. You had been holding onto these feelings for years, you never shared them with anyone, their weight was your own. You watched his face as he processed all of this. Practically watched the wheels turn in his brain. You had watched him so much, that you had his beautiful face committed to memory, forevermore trapped in your brain. This version of Tommy, the version where he hadn’t yet opened his mouth to tell you that he doesn’t like you, that he doesn’t see you like that, was perfect. He was beautiful, all soft pink lips and tortured blue eyes. You even thought the dark colors under his eyes from being sleep deprived were pretty. You took one last photo of him in your mind, before he opened his mouth. He stood from his chair, putting him above your eye level. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it shut again. He did this a few times, each time the look in his eye changing with the opening and closing of his mouth. Finally, he spoke.
“Y/N, I am rarely left speechless, but I think you’ve caught me here, Love.” He said softly, bringing his hand up to cradle your jaw.
He leaned his head in towards you, slower than you ever thought it possible for a human to move. Once you realized what was happening, a million thoughts ran through your head. Were you really about to kiss Thomas Shelby? Was he really about to kiss you? Here? In his office? You never imagined this would be his response to your love-fueled ramblings, but this was the best outcome you ever could’ve hoped for. You had fallen for this man many years ago, but those feelings weren’t like regular school-yard crushes. They never went away, never dwindled, never stopped or changed in any negative value. You had filled your own head with imagined words he’d said to you, convincing yourself that if he ever noticed you, just once if he could see you for the woman you truly are, that he would love you, or like you at least. But now, after you had confessed and outed and embarrassed yourself in his office, now is when he chooses to notice you? Here? While your face is bandaged up from a bar brawl that you got into? You weren’t the typical woman that Tommy Shelby went for, not now. He would go for women who were outwardly dainty, yet fierce inside. Women who carried small pocket knives in their dress pockets, and would brandish them as a ‘party trick’. Tommy Shelby did not go for women who held their own, physically. He did not go for women who stole knives off of fighting opponents, who held their composure getting fixed up in a dark back office, women who went away for five years and turned up without so much as a ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’.
Your inner monologue quickly settled, as you realized that you had created all of those thoughts within a few milliseconds, as here stood Thomas before you, still leaning in to press his lips to yours. You waited, breath hitched, eyes slowly closing, lips slowly parting, your hand coming to rest on his waist, just waiting for the fiery moment when his lips touched yours.
“Aye!” A crash came through the doorway.
Tommy jerked back, taking his hand and all your thoughts with him. You stared at him with an open mouth, chest moving wildly up and down, and then turned to the man who ruined your fucking moment. Arthur Shelby.
“What in the hell do ya’ two think your doin’? ‘Specially you, Y/N. Why the fuck are ya startin’ fights in my pub?” Arthur asked, his hands resting on his hips.
“I didn’t start shit, Arthur. Maybe make sure you don’t let fuckin’ creeps in the door and I wouldn’t have to teach these men a thing or two!” You shouted, mad at Arthur for many reasons.
One, how dare he come in here and start talking at you, not even asking if you’re okay? Two, He just ruined the best fucking moment you’d had in five long, miserable, dry years.
“Oi, Arthur, you could at least ask her if she's okay,” Tommy remarked, turning his attention towards you again.
You stared at the two brothers, feeling the slightest bit unhinged. You had yelled at Arthur when he was acting like a reasonable buisness man, of course he’d want to know why there had been a knife fight in his pub. However, would it have fuckin’ killed him to wait five more seconds before he came barging in?
“Arthur, I’ll go over all the details tomorrow,” Tommy spoke again, “For now, lets get Y/N back to Watery Lane. I’m sure news has spread and Ada and Pol will skin me if I don’t let them see her in one piece before I take her home.”
The three of you headed outside, loading up into the Shelby car. You sat in the back, with Tommy driving and Arthur in the passenger seat. There was no conversation made on the way back to the Shelby home, only silence. You watched as buildings passed out of the window, wondering what was going to come of you and Tommy now? There had been such a buildup, and obviously he felt some kind of way about you, right?
Once the three of you made it to Watery Lane, it was absolutely pouring outside. A thunderstorm had come from seemingly nowhere, lighting the sky up in streaks of white-purple light every few seconds. The rain fell heavily against the roof and windows of the car, and Tommy offered you his jacket as a cover for your head. You accepted his offering, and the lot of you scurried as fast as you could into the foyer of the home.
“Y/N, I don’t think I’ll be able to take you home tonight, Love. Are you comfortable staying here?” Tommy asked, now that Arthur had wandered off deeper into the house.
“Of course, Tommy. It won’t be the first time I’ve slept here. But is there room for me?” You questioned, realizing that either everyone was home (for once), meaning all rooms were occupied.
“Don’t worry about that, we’ll find you a good place to sleep.” He said, a sly smile coming across his face.
After explaining the whole situation to Polly and Ada, you were beyond tired. It was well past midnight at this point, and you could barely hold your eyes open. Tommy seemed to take notice, and bid the two other women goodnight for the both of you. He took your hand and lead you up the stairs to his room.
“You can borrow some of my clothes to sleep in, okay, Love? I’m going to go to the bathroom to change, just open the door when it’s safe for me to come back in.” He said, handing you a folded up shirt and pair of boxers.
You quickly stripped off the wet clothes, hanging them to dry in his closet. You ran your fingers through your damp hair, trying your best to smooth it out from the rough night you’d had. You cracked open the door of Tommy’s room, and saw him standing in the hallway, gazing at the door. Once he snapped out of his trance, he came into his room and shut his door behind him.
“You look good in my clothes, Y/N.” He whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.
You felt your cheeks blush at his comment. You saw him walk behind you, and then heard the creaking of bed springs.
“Where am I going to sleep, Thomas?” You asked, not understanding why he was getting into bed when the situation hadn’t been resolved.
“Right ‘ere, Love,” he patted the other side of his bed, “I don’t bite, I promise.” He smiled.
You gave him a hesitant look before climbing into his bed, suddenly feeling relaxed by his smell. His presence was all around you. You could smell him on the sheets, you could hear his breathing behind you as you lay on your side, and then, you could feel his arm around your waist as he pulled your back flush to his warm, bare chest.
“Goodnight, Y/N. Sleep well, Love.” Tommy whispered, still holding his grip on you.
“Goodnight, Tommy.”
#tommy shelby#thomas shelby x reader#tommy shelby smut#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby x you#tommy shelby fic#thomas shelby fic#thomas shelby x y/n#peaky blinder fanfic#thomas shelby smut
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Can you do a nami x male reader who is zoro's brother
Nami x male!reader
● you and your brother Zoro have always been super competitive
● there could only be one greatest swordsman in the world after all
● then Nami came into the picture
● and with your relationship came her having to be in the middle of countless ridiculous arguments between you and Zoro
● you two literally have a journal that keeps track of how many fights you each have won since you were kids (it was Kuina's idea she loved egging on the competition between you and now you keep it going in her memory)
● “what the hell dude you didn't win our fight last week I did!” you shout looking over Zoro's shoulder as he's writing down the outcome of today's training match
● “what are you talking about Y/N I beat you fair and square”
● “Nami you were there who won?”
● “uhh Y/N I guess?” (she definitely wasn't paying attention)
● “see I told you!”
● “she's only saying that cause she's your girlfriend!”
● when you're drinking it's even worse
● Nami “maybe instead of seeing who can drink more beer you guys should have some water instead”
● Nami “Y/N don't you dare jump in the ocean just to see who can swim farther”
● Nami “Y/N put chopper down you and Zoro can't keep bench pressing him in his heavy point form!”
● and good luck trying to have any privacy with Nami
● somehow Zoro always manages to walk in right as you're having any sort of intimate moment with your girlfriend
● “christ Y/N you know this is my room too”
● “don't be so dramatic all of our clothes are still on this time”
● you can't really sit still so if you have nothing to do you work out
● Nami will be reading maps planning your course to the next island while you're shirtless doing push-ups
● and she can't stop staring at your back muscles
● “can you do that somewhere else you're distracting me”
● “I'm a distraction huh?” You say hopping to your feet and her eyes immediately glaze over your stomach leading to an intense make out session
● Nami can handle your competitive nature but she isn't a fan of how reckless you are
● everything she does is very calculated so the fact that you frequently run into fights without thinking about it makes her constantly worried about you
● she has had to patch you up more times than she'd like
● “you really had to go and fight twenty marines by yourself didn't you”
● “one of them looked at me funny”
● “alright hot head, I finished stitching up your wound. How do you feel?”
● “good but I think a kiss would make me feel even better”
● “you're lucky I love you,” she chuckles before kissing you
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A little bit softer
Chapter 2.
Eustass Kid x crew mate!fem!reader
TW: depictions of DV, descriptions of medical terms and procedures, not as smutty
A/N: I don’t know why but l always have to make my reader inserts or OCs a medic in some way……It’s probably bc I’m a vet tech.
~~~~~~
Kid felt… guilty, which wasn’t a normal thing for him. Suspecting you were scared of him was one thing. But knowing you were scared of him was another entirely.
He wanted to shake himself some days, you were just a rookie. Not his lover. Not his partner. He didn’t owe you anything. But then he’d ruin his own pep talk by thinking of you and your face.
After your conversation with Heat, Kid walked on eggshells around you. The entire crew was still trying their damnedest to meddle with him, so encounters with you had ramped up a lot. You both still did your best to avoid eye contact or speak to him. But it was clearly starting to wear on the crew’s patience.
“You need to handle your shit.” Killer said to him one day in his workshop. Kid couldn’t even pretend not to know what he was on about.
“You need to fuck off!” He shouted, feeling his shoulders shake.
“Just talk with her, you never know, maybe she likes you as well.”
Kid burst out in hysterical laughter, needing a few moments to catch his breath.
“She’s terrified of me Killer,” He coughed. “She thinks I’m gonna hit her or something. I heard her telling Heat.” Killer cocked his head, thinking.
“All the more reason to clear the air. What’s more is I can’t have the crew keep trying to pair the two of you up, it’s getting in the way of their tasks.” Kid fixed him with a glare.
“Newsflash, asshole! You were the one who started that shit!” He turned back to his table. “Besides the fuck am I gonna say to make her feel better? Huh?”
“That’s true, you’re not good with words.” Killer nodded and began approaching him. “You’ll just have to use your actions.” Kid laughed.
“Oh yeah? How am I gonna do that?” He asked sarcastically before a sharp pain flared in his right arm. “Ow what the fuck?!”
Killer had cut his arm, a deep laceration at least 5 inches long. The masked man shrugged at his shouting.
“She’s in the med bay, go up there, tell her you got cut while working. Ask her to patch you up.”
“Fuck you this stings!” Kid pressed a used rag to his arm. “I’ll fucking stab you.”
“She won’t be there much longer. Tell her you can’t find me and you can’t stitch yourself with one hand.” Killer took that moment leave, Kid stood there fuming for a moment. Part of him wanted to just stay down here and fix it later, just to piss Killer off.
But a stronger part of him wanted to see you, hopefully you wouldn’t run or hide. He made his way slowly to the med bay, almost hoping you’d be gone. As he entered he saw how unlucky he was.
You had your back to him, wiping down the machines that sterilized the suturing materials and other rudimentary instruments. He coughed to get your attention, keeping his injured arm hidden behind the doorframe.
“Hip are you don- oh!” He hated how tense you became, you soft stomach clenching in worry. “Sorry captain, I thought Hip was done with the mop. What can I do for you?” He showed you his arm and felt a small bit better as you gasped with worry.
The rag he’s used to staunch the bleeding made it look worse than it was, but it had dried a little and was now stuck to his skin. You motioned for him to sit on the chair by the table.
“How’d that happen?” You asked, trying to gently peel the rag off.
“Was working and it just kinda happened.” He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to lie to you. “Don’t know where Killer is and I can’t sew with only one hand.” Still not lies technically.
“Gotcha.” You’re all business and he feels a little flush at the sight of you zipping around the room gathering materials. “Well it’s not too bad, really deep though. I’ll numb it, suture it really quick and you should be on your way.” Any trace of fear or anxiety was gone, your posture alert but relaxed, you soft face was focused.
“Take your time.” Kid drawled, enjoying the view, didn’t hurt that your ass looked good as you bent over to grab something under the desk. Your ass always looked good he decided. “Got nowhere to be.”
“Not true,” You return with a small syringe, some type of numbing drug he assumed. “You’re the captain, you probably got plenty of stuff to be doing.”
He didn’t respond, the injection you gave him stung so he had to bite back his swears about it. Neither of you spoke as you worked. You had to stand pretty close to place the sutures, your hands cold but soft as you touched him.
You shivered at one point and Kid realized, horrifically, that he’d leaned to far forward to watch your hands. You glanced up at him, caught his gaze and shuffled a bit further back. He wanted to growl as he saw how tense you’d gotten, your soft apology only making him more frustrated.
You were halfway done and he couldn’t take the silence anymore.
“So.” You tensed again, he could see it in your neck especially. “I never did ask… who was your old captain?” You jabbed the needle a bit harder at the question, obviously not on purpose as you profusely apologized. He ignored and continued to stare until you answered.
“His- um. His name is um… It’s Badger. Captain Badger.” You try to focus once more.
“How long did you sail with him?”
“2 years.”
“How big was the crew?”
“About 15.”
“Where’d you sail?”
“West Blue.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Um.” You were almost shaking, he almost hesitated.
“Why’d you leave his crew?”
“What does it matter?” Oh that was a response, he grinned, anger was better than fear. At least in his book.
“Answer the question. It’s important for me to know.”
“You never needed to know before. Why now?”
“Because I’ve been watching you.” He leans forward more, meeting your heated glare as you tied the final knot. “You’ve got some peculiar habits, I’d like to know more about that.”
“You’ve been watching me?”
He nodded.
“Like on deck or like…. In my room?”
“Not like that you pervert!” He can’t help but shout, you don’t flinch though. A small grin on your face as you successfully get him off the topic.
“So not my room or the showers? Just to clarify.” He knows he’s blushing but he still growls and stands to his full height. You step back but he follows you, a look of fear in your eyes takes over the glee. But he can’t stop himself from continuing.
“You’re clever, but I still need an answer.” He crowds your space, placing both hands on the counter behind you, caging your body with his. He leans forward, letting his breath fan over your ear. “Why did you leave?”
You stay silent, face red and a little sweaty, he pulls back just enough to admire the sight. He can’t make a reassuring face to save his life, but he tries as tears fill up your eyes. Still, he can’t stop, he needs this. You need this.
“If you are unhappy with my performance or skills, tell me and I will fix them. I haven’t brought any bad habits on board. I assure you.” You finally answer, your words felt warm against his face, he grinned some more.
“Uh-uh you see, one of those habits, the only one really,” His grin drops from his face. “Is that you’re scared of your captain.” You pale at his words and start to shake a little. He continues, drawing back slightly.
“That’s something he taught you, right?” He tilted his head a little. “To be scared of your captain. Because you never know when he’ll just up hit you, right?” He parroted your words from the bar back to you. Your eyes are wide with recognition.
“I’m sor-“
“Save it,” He cuts you off. “I know I’m scary, it’s my whole deal. I’m a scary pirate who murders and pillage. But my crew is mine. Understood. I don’t let anyone harm them, especially not myself.” You lean back into the counter more.
“You hurt Wire. You made him need staples and you didn’t even seem sorry. You didn’t help patch him up.” Kid knew this was coming, he still didn’t know what to say.
“It was a mistake,” He said. “I didn’t mean to hit him, but you’re right. I should’ve check on him and made sure he wasn’t hurt.” It was hard to admit he was wrong, but in the small medical room, to you, it was a little easier.
Both of you stayed quiet for a while. He made no move to let you go. And you made no move to try. He wasn’t sure if he would’ve actually stopped you if you did. Finally, the tension in you jaw and shoulders eased, just a little.
“Badger… was bad. He didn’t just hit us. He stole from us and wouldn’t let us leave, even if some managed to escape they’d have no Beris. It’d be like starting from scratch, but worse because if he caught you he’d kill you.” You paused, taking a big breath, turning to stare at the wall. “I was secretly saving Beris, to hopefully run off and be able to hide from him. I didn’t have much, barely anything. One day he came and told me he wanted me to be his… wife.” Kid stood up straight, leaning back like he’d been struck, you continued barely noticing him.
“I told him no, I should’ve said yes and bided my time. Maybe I could’ve taken more people with me, but I was an idiot.”
“No that’s not-“ You cut him off.
“He threw a fit, tried to kill me. His devil fruit power nullifies weapons, so I couldn’t fight back. I tried to stage a mutiny, but everyone was too afraid, he’d never lost a fight. Eventually I jumped over board and swam to shore. I hid on a marine ship, I never had a bounty so I just pretended to be some girl who wanted to travel. I flirted with some of them and got a ride to a port a few islands over.” You sighed, a long exhale that seemed to deflate you. “I had no Beris or even clothes. But I overheard some rookies talking about joining your crew. I figured it was the safest option. So I spoke with Killer and here I am.” You trailed off quietly, tears still hadn’t fallen yet, it was almost impressive.
Kid didn’t speak for several long minutes, just watching you hold your breath. Finally he pushed off the counter, giving you both some breathing room. He began to exit when you called out.
“Captain what are you doing?”
He turned with a scowl.
“I’m setting a course to go murder that asshole.”
“What? Why that’s so far off our course.”
“I told you, you’re my crew. We’re gonna go murder him, then if any of your old friends wanna join the crew they can.” He laughed at your shocked face. When he’d caught his breath he turned again to leave.
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chapter 6: the fold. / coriolanus snow / nsfw
Rating: Explicit
WC: 5k
Warnings: MDNI, he's still insane and possessive, he's not a good guy but he's hot, not beta read
The time between then and the engagement party had felt short, going by too quickly, a whirlwind passing through you. It would be wrong to say you weren’t nervous, the sensation gripped you holding you close. Even if you did believe Coriolanus was sincere in his desire to be allies trusting him was another matter. Alliances were often forged with hidden motives.
You had seen firsthand the ruthless ambition that drove people to betray their allies, you had done the same, sacrificing presumed loyalty for personal gain. Trust was but a fragile illusion that could shatter in the blink of an eye. A fact made all the more apparent by your illusory relationship with him.
Despite the reservations, you were drawn to him. His ruthless and cunning nature mirrors your own, and there was no denying the sexual attraction between you both. But as the day of the engagement party loomed, the agitation never ceased.
You were about to take a leap of faith, place your life, your very future, and marry a man who had once been an annoyance to you. Yes, you had brought him back to the Capitol, but he had been more annoying than you thought. There was some hope, however. Coriolanus had recognised your strength, your potential, and he had been the one to extend the hand of allyship. Besides, as long as one of your parents lived he be hard-pressed to betray you.
A pin prinked at your side.
“Sorry! Sorry.” Tigris exclaimed as she rushed to soothe the wound. Her hands were cold against your skin.
“It’s alright. Hardly imagine it was intentional.”
“Of course not.” She was quick to get back to work, doing up the final adjustment stitch to ensure your dress fit perfectly.
It was simpler than Tigris had wanted it to be, insisting that your engagement party dress should be grand. You were able to convince her to focus on the wedding dress instead, which you were grateful for. Tonight could be simple, less caught up in the extravagant happenings of the Capitol. So your dress was simple. White silver chain mesh with a nude underdress and a solid white cape.
As she backed away she spoke again. “Are you nervous?”
“A little,” you admit, gently passing your hands over the soft fabric of the cap. Despite the simplicity, it was elegant. Slightly understated, but it suited you.
Her eyes were lit with concern. “Don’t be,” she was reassuring, voice laced with genuine warmth. “You look amazing.”
Looking great and feeling great were different things. Tonight, you weren’t sure if you’d be feeling great.
“Thank you Tirgirs,” your voice was thick with emotion. “One less thing to worry about.”
“Are you worried about him?” She was quick to pick up on your actual concern. Coriolanus Snow.
You steeled your gaze in the mirror and straightened your shoulders, trying to regain composure. “How could I not be?”
“He cares for you…” she trailed off. “At least I think he does. He’s different with you. More like the boy I grew up with and less, well, like he is now.”
You studied your reflection, searching for any sign of turmoil within. Your hair was in order, your makeup flawless, and your dress impeccably tailored. There was not a hint of emotion showing. Perhaps the shadow of the boy Tigris knew was the glimpses of warmth that you could feel from Coriolanus.
“I care for him as well.” The truth was easy, you did care for him.
Tigris paused. “That’s good then. The only thing worse than a political marriage is one where you hate each other,” her voice held a touch of sympathy.
Taking a deep breath, you turned away from the mirror. Speculation would be endless, but tonight you needed to focus on the present. Standing there trying to determine, or wish, that there was the chance for you and Coriolanus to have something real, reach your goals and build the lives you want, and have something real. The past year had been messy, with a constant fluctuation of feelings but between the lines moments had felt true. When the two of you were alone it felt real to you.
Despite his previous explanation, you refused to believe that the shock engagement had been calculated as he claimed. Somewhere inside him he cared for you, you knew it, relieved it like gospel. Faithful to the higher power of emotion, praying that it was true. That he was capable of loving you like you loved him.
“We moved past hate a long time ago.”
“That's good then.” Tigris paused for a moment, hesitating to ask the question, her eyes flicking over you. “Do you love him?”
“Love?” you echoed, voice breaking on the word.
“Yes, love,” she was persistent. “Do you love him?”
It was hard to love a man like Coriolanus Snow but you couldn’t say that you didn’t love him at this point. The months of closeness laid the ground for positive feelings, and at every turn, he surprised you. The soft touches, passionate kisses when you were alone, the unspoken emotions fogging up the air between the two of you-- they had fed the selfish desire within you to have Coriolanus to yourself. A need to have him by your side. Greedy passion clawing at your legs.
The model of love you had growing up was your parents. They weren’t a typical loving couple, unconventional in all manners, but they did love each other and worked as partners. Each picked up the slack where the other faltered. What you had with Coriolanus felt like that. The balancing act, the tipping of the scales.
There was a pause before you answered. “Does it matter?”
Your feelings towards him were inconsequential in the grand scheme. It’d be worse to have them thrown in your face and laughed at knowing that you would still be going through with the marriage for the sake of your ambition. Love and ambition were a dangerous mix.
“I think so,” Tigris was soft, hand smoothing out any wrinkles of your dress. “I’d like to think that you and I have become friends over the past year and… I’d like you to be happy. I saw what a loveless marriage did to my aunt and I don’t want the same for you.”
Her words broke you down, shattering the barriers you had up. She was always so gentle and caring, it felt like she had no ulterior motives whenever you spoke. There was one thing she wanted, and that was the best for everyone. Even Coriolanus even if she didn’t agree with his actions. Tigris was a kind and gentle soul, something so rare for the Captiol.
The truth bubbled over the surface, a moment of closeness so rarely felt. The feelings you had rationalized away, hiding them behind logic, spilling out. It hurt, like ripping off a bandage, stinging and sharp, exposing the wound.
“Must you have asked me this after my makeup was done?”You joked, trying to shake off the tears welling in your eyes.
“Sorry.”
You exhaled, breathy and burdened. “Love is a complicated feeling and a luxury I didn’t think I’d ever be able to afford. It’s hard to explain what I feel for him, I don’t even know if I understand the feeling myself. I know that I want him in my life, and the thought of him not being there, being someone I can depend on, makes me feel like I’m going crazy. He’s someone I know will always have my back as long as I have his.”
Tigris chewed on your words for a minute.
“So you do love him then?”
“If this is love, then yes I do.”
“Have you told him?”
“I can’t,” you stutter slightly. “It’d be risking everything over my feelings.”
“But do you think you can marry him without telling him? Go your entire life not telling him?”
You were terrified of that. Telling him was vulnerability and uncertainty, threading waters as the tide came in threatening to swallow you whole. Your feelings could cost you your ambition, your power, and at the furthest extreme, your life. But not telling him, marrying with this secret, was even more terrifying. Trapping yourself in a relationship with him where you could never truly voice your thoughts.
It was a cruel dilemma. The future you had always wanted, influence and control, and love. How could you risk everything for something so uncertain? How could you jeopardize everything for a man who might not even feel the same? But how could you wake up every day by his side, the feelings burning you, and expect to be fine?
“I’m afraid of what he’ll say, of what he’ll do, of losing him.”
“I know it’s easy for me to sit here and say you should tell him, but I think you should. If you do love him, you owe it to yourself to at least try.”
Her words held truth.
____________________________________
The grand ballroom of the Gaul estate was filled to the brim with the Capitol’s elite. The air seems alive with the hum of excitement, bouncing around the opulent decor, mingling with the clink of crystal glassware. Even the president, who had never been the same after the death of his son, looked to be enjoying himself. There had been no expense sparred for the engagement party, Coriolanus could only imagine what the actual wedding would cost.
Surrounded by guests, Coriolanus found himself in the company of former Academy students. The conversation had been fine at the start, but the more that they drank to more it began to grate on him.
“You know I never thought you’d be the first to get married Coriolanus,” Apollo Ring hammered on. “I figured it’d be Florus.”
“Florus! I would have bet money on Io.” Domitia Whimsiwick chimed in.
Did they all have nothing better to do than bug him? The constant chatter, the forced camaraderie irritated him, like nails on a chalkboard they drug on and on. He knew that the party was about himself and you, but god did he hate having to put up with his former classmates. They thought themselves all to be friends, which included him in it.
Of course, he engaged with them, laughing at their jokes and acting like he cared about the conversation. The whole like he was surveying the room, waiting for you so he could finally have an excuse to dismiss himself from the conversation. After 15 minutes or so, he finally saw you.
Somehow, you had gotten more beautiful. It was a subtle shift in appearance, a change so small but it made you even more attractive.
Your hair was down, curling down your back, a change from your usual updos. Previously you told him they were “more practical” for working in the lab, but he did love it when your hair was down. He watched as you flitted from guest to guest, thanking them for coming with your signature red lipstick smile.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a genuine one, breaking through his front.
“Apologies everyone,” Coriolanus placed a hand on his chest and gave a slight bow. “The future Mrs. Snow has arrived.” The group wished him well, a few jokes about him being whipped, and went back to talking amongst themselves as he left.
His heart pounded with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The closer he got to you the more the feeling of contentment, something he rarely if ever experienced, settled in his stomach.
“You look stunning,” he spoke while wrapping an arm around your waist, kissing your forehead, conveying the tenderness he felt. Then with practise poise, he greeted the guest you were speaking to. “You should wear your hair down more.”
You smiled up at him. “Why thank you, Mr. Snow,” if hearing your voice was the reward he got for suffering the others, he’d suffer a thousand lifetimes. “I was just speaking with Mrs. Thornton about how you’re such a charmer.”
“Guilty as charged,” Coriolanus laughed a bit while turning the conversation the the older woman. “How could I not try and charm her when she’s this beautiful?”
“Oh, young love! I’ll leave you kids alone. Congratulations on your engagement.”
Coriolanus wanted to snatch you up and take you away from here. This was the part of politics he hated the most. The show of it all. Unfortunately, he was obligated to remain here until the last guest exited the building. His arm tightened around your waist, fingers drumming against your side.
“How long do you think this will take? I’ve had my fill of pleasantries and if I have to listen to Gaius speak again I might lose it.” His exasperation at events often entertained you.
Your laughter, a melody from the heavens, danced around the air, drowning out the ringing hum of conversation around you both. “Patience, Coriolanus. This whole thing is just for us, so probably be a while before it ends. It’s not like we can sneak away either.”
“You’re the only reason I tolerate these events, you know,” he whispered in your ear, watching the shiver run down your spine as he did. “Otherwise I’d have no problem avoiding them.”
“Well now, that doesn’t sound like a man who's excited to get married.” Your eyes met his own.
“To entertain over a hundred people at an engagement party? No, I’m not excited about that. But to get married to you? That’s another thing altogether.”
There was sincerity in his words. As much as he hated the required socialising, he was excited to marry you, to finally have a visible form of ownership of you. The prospect of sharing life with you added to that. He could taste the future on his tongue. One filled with you, laughter, and love. One where the two of you sat upon a gilded throne and ruled over Panem together.
“Are you excited then? To marry me?”
Warmth blossomed in his chest as Coriolanus gazed into your eyes. You were letting him see through the cracks and into your anxiety about the situation. You were still worried that he regretted the choice.
“Of course, I’m excited to marry you,” he admitted, voice soft and sincere, twinged with longing. “Who else can I trust to take over Panem with besides you?”
There was something in your eyes he couldn’t read, a flicker so quick he almost missed it. Something was wrong.
“First we have to endure this engagement party, don’t we?” you replied, cutting the conversation, while moving the two of you to continue flitting around the room and greeting guests.
It drug on for some time before finally everyone had been ushered into the gardens and the ballroom transformed into a dining experience. Coriolanus was glad, it meant there only be a few more hours until he was finally free from the party.
The ballroom had been completely transformed in just 15 minutes by the staff. Where there had been ample room for dancing, was now tables filled with placements and decor. The lighting had been lowered, with candles placed on the tables to better illuminate them, creating a romantic and intimate space. He had to admire the efficiency of your family’s staff as another team of them began leading guests to their assigned seats one by one. He, of course, would be at the table at the head of the room, next to yourself, and with both of your families.
After all the guests had been seated, Mr. Gaul rose and tapped against his champagne flute with a knife. He was well-dressed as usual, this time donning a black suit with white embroidery around the lapels. It was interesting that despite Dr. Gaul’s more prominent status, your father took over the majority of the public-facing events. Acting as her mouthpiece at a lot of them.
“Welcome, welcome everyone,” he boomed as a hush fell over the room.“I want to thank you all for joining us here tonight in celebration of what is bound to be the most influential wedding the Capitol will see this generation. And I’m not just saying that because it’s my daughter,” he spoke with a sly smile, making the guests chuckle.
Mr. Gaul paused, taking a sip of champagne, his eyes lingering on Coriolanus.
“Like any father, I had doubts on if Mr. Snow would be good enough to marry my daughter, but my doubts have been laid to rest. I’ve been lucky enough in my life to see love in all sorts of forms, and am glad to see the love shared between him and my daughter.” Coriolanus nodded at him, giving your hand a squeeze on top of the table where they were joined.
“Before I talk your ears off, my wife has a few things to say.” As your father sat, Dr. Gaul rose.
“Thank you all again for joining us this evening,” her sing-song tone echoed over the silence. “It truly is remarkable to witness the union between Gaul and Snow, two strong and powerful families coming together not for the sake of Panem, but for the sake of love.” Dr. Gaul's arms were wide as she faced the guests.
“With their love, I have no doubt this union will create a new era of prosperity and power for Panem,” she continued, resonating with pride. “Coriolanus, my sweet Y/N, you are the future of this nation, and I am confident that your union will lead us into a brighter, more prosperous future.”
The room erupted in applause, whistles and cheerings cutting through. Coriolanus felt drawn closer to you at the moment, your hand in his sending a jolt of electricity across his skin and through his veins. The implications of your marriage were transparent. Once the two of you were wed, even now before that, it was clear that the future of Panem was dependent on the two of you. To the untrained eye it was a beacon of hope, a promise of prosperity, unknowing that Coriolanus and yourself were ruthless. You would rewrite the narrative of Panem, and transform it into something of your choosing.
Beyond that, it was finally having you to himself. No more barrier between himself and access to you. It was a victory. His gross and sickly feelings of obsession, lust, and love, are being rewarded after months of wanting you. Your attention, your affection, your very being his. You were his prize, his trophy, his ultimate conquest and he’d place you on the highest throne beside his own.
As the cheering died down, servants came in with trolleys full of food. The air filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, succulent meats, and vibrant exotic fruits. All just for the first course, as the guests began engaging in their own conversations, all of them sheep.
He turned to you, voice low with anticipation, possession threatening to spill. “Soon all of this will be ours. Snow and Gaul leading the nation.”
You turned, facing him, big doe eyes peering up through your lashes. He wanted to make you cry again, watch the tears pool and trickle down your cheeks. It was neither the time nor the place, but he wanted to-- no needed to-- be inside you. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.
“Tonight,” his teeth nipped at the ridge. “We begin our reign. We will conquer Panem, and we will rule it with an iron first.” Coriolanus pulled away, moving to give you a chaste kiss.
When he kissed you, you didn’t smile into it like you normally did. You were passive, emotionless, simply going through the motions of it. A wave of uncertainty washed over him. What had changed in the short hours he had been apart from you? Why were you suddenly pulling away from him? He wanted to press you about the issue but this wasn’t the time nor the place.
For the rest of the meal, it was all Coriolanus could think about. Worry builds with every passing minute. The gentle warmth you brought into his life now felt passive, and that passivity unsettled him. Your interactions over the past week replaying in his mind, trying to isolate the moment when the shift occurred. It had to be after you had left his side to get ready tonight. You had gotten ready with Tigris, so she could be the cause, undermining him.
The more he thought about it, the more the problem escalated. What had Tigris said to you? Did something happen while you were getting ready? The questions echo in his skull, overtaking his thoughts. Had it been something he did? Did he say or act out of place? The fear of losing your affection, coupled with the uncertainty of the situation, weighs heavily on his shoulders.
Maybe you had learned the truth: his feelings for you. You had figured out his feelings and were pulling away to avoid addressing them. He knew that there was a very real chance that you were burdened by that truth. Coriolanus grappled with the fact that his attempts at subtlety had failed, exposing him and making him vulnerable. The fear of rejection, his emotions being laid bare for you only to be met with rejection, making him nauseous.
When the meal finally ended and guests filtered out, you were missing. You had been by his side most of the night and had only gotten up to see out guests, just like he had. But now you were missing.
Coriolanus walked the estate looking for you and failing. It was like you had vanished.
He nearly screamed when Dr. Gaul appeared out of nowhere, startling him. “Looking for something, Mr. Snow?” Her smile is wide and crazed.
“Yes. I’m looking for Y/N.”
“How unsurprising. She’s in the greenhouse, and likes the solitude after events.” Just as quickly as she had shown up, she started to leave. “Oh! Don’t forget my warning Mr. Snow.”
Coriolanus made his way to the greenhouse, driven by urgency and anxiety. If he could just explain things to you he could resolve the situation and ease his worries. As he entered the building, the smell of damp earth and flowers assaulted his nose, a stark contrast to the rest of the evening.
There, amidst the foliage of a massive monstera, he found you seated on a stone bench, your shoulders shaking. You were crying. The sight of it stabbed his heart as he hesitated, unsure how to approach you.
With a deep breath, he spoke, soft and slow, careful to startle you. “Y/N?” He watched you jump, rushing to swipe your eyes as he sat down next to you, your back stiffening.
“Sorry, just overwhelmed.” Your excuse was weak.
“What’s wrong? You can talk to me.” Coriolanus was not a man who pleaded or begged, but he would be a beggar if it meant calming you.
“Can I?” You looked so small in this moment, fearful like a child.
“Of course you can.”
Instead of soothing you, you only began to cry more. He felt so helpless watching your tears fall. His control and composure crumbled with every tear. The usual confidence he had waning. He wanted to understand the cause of your distress, understand why you had been so different tonight, but the answer felt further away than it did at the start. The need for answers was overshadowed by the need to make you stop crying.
His hand grabbed your own, running his thumb over the top of it as he often did. “Y/N, I want to help. Please just tell me what’s wrong?” for you it felt normal to beg.
He wants Coriolanus Snow in this moment, he was just a man, earnest and sincere, watching his lover cry and unable to comfort them. The weight of your sadness pressing against him. All he wanted was to find the right words, the right actions, the right anything, to bring you comfort and make you smile again.
“I just need to know if this is real. If I’m safe with you. If you don’t view me as another stepping stone. Because I can’t stay here, keep doing this with you, if you don’t feel the same way. It’s eating me alive.” your body wracked with sobs.
He could only watch. Coriolanus had never seen you so raw and exposed, your shoulders trembling. It was you letting him in, in every sense of the word. This is where he had to put himself on the line. Did he have enough courage to trust love one more time? To be this close? To let you see the most broken and paranoid parts of himself? To lose control?
This is what he had wanted. You broke down and begged him for the truth, your own feelings finally exposed for him. He had wanted you so overwhelmed with your own feelings that they damaged you the way his own did. But not that he got it, had you are your lowest, he hated it. Coriolanus hated seeing you cry because of him.
The decision was agonising. Fear of failure, fear of being exposed, but more so, the fear of losing you. Sitting here, listening to your choked-up sobs, mascara beginning to stream, beautiful at your lowest. The silver gown that started the change in him.
He had played such a dangerous game; he lost to himself when he started seeing you as a person. You were supposed to be nothing to him, another pawn, a reason for your mother to further his trajectory. How was he supposed to know that you’d be so perfect for him? Your strengths cover his weaknesses and his yours. Genuine connection, not possession. A revelation.
He would starve if he only ever ate on Sundays. He would starve if only had you on Sundays.
With a trembling voice, Coriolanus spoke, a final confession of his own feelings, of his sins. “I only want this with you.” his hands held your face forcing you to lock eyes. His eyes are bare of any calculation and ambition, just the depth of his feelings for you. “I look for you, always, and in everything I see. You’re in the grass, in the trees, in the lab, in everything, you’re everything to me.”
The tears streamed down your face, and he wiped them away. He was crying now. They blurred his vision, but you shone through it all. He kisses you, soft and tender, before continuing.
“I’m so incredibly flawed.” his voice was thick, the self-doubt that whispered in his ears at night leaking out. “I don’t deserve you, and I could never deserve you.”
“You’re death and rebirth to me. My reason to forgive, to let someone in. And every time you leave my side it’s like the world around me dims, and nothing shines anymore. It gets harder to breathe.”
You tore down his defences and stripped him of protection.
“I told myself I’d never let someone in like this again, to make room in my heart to house your own,” speaking it out loud felt like ripping off a bandaid.
“But I’ve never felt this way for someone before. You’ve changed me, altered me so deeply that there are parts of you that took over parts of me.”
You had changed him and made him feel compassion and empathy again. The dormant emotions he swore off now are reborn and only for you. Your being had seeped into every aspect of his own, forever informing him of you. At this moment, Coriolanus’ soul naked and in front of you, the final walls came crashing down.
“I was just so scared to admit it, to give away my final card. To admit that it all has no meaning if you’re not there beside me and that I need you to make it matter. But it’s more than that. I was scared that you wouldn’t feel the same way. I can never tell what you’re thinking, never control you like I can others, I just have to trust you.”
It hurt to expose himself. The kind of hurt that felt good. A cut on your hand that you can't stop picking at. A bruise that you prod. When you push yourself hard at the gym and wake up the next morning sore. The dull ache of injury, a reminder that through all the pain, all the suffering, you were still human. He was still human.
“I love you, Y/N. I have for months.”
His voice trembled, the admission hanging in the damp air. He had never allowed himself to feel love like this before, to surrender so completely to another person.
“I love you too,” the relief he felt was instant. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, focus on something--anything else. But I realised that I couldn’t marry you without telling you.”
Coriolanus’ hands cupped your face and he kissed you. Deeply and wholly. His touch was tender, filled with the very depths of his feelings for you, the kind that words could only partially convey. It was more than just a kiss, it was your soul's entwining. The acknowledgement that both of you had toiled over something for so long. There was no urge to control the situation, only to be in the moment with you.
As you kissed, the greenhouses faded. It was only the two of you, hearts beating in unison. The act dropped, the lines were forgotten, and the actors were just people. The politics were irrelevant. It was just the two of you, as it always should have been.
@serrendiipty @namelesslosers @glitteryblizzardsalad @harrysbitvh123 @secretsicanthideanymore @ayyyeeeeidk @hinata7346 @kisstheskin @sumo-b98 @duds31 @mrsjobarnes @whorefortim @joonvrs @sabrinasbd @itsmeduckieee @dangelnleif
#tdoaa#the death of an actor#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes#the hunger games imagine#hunger games imagine#hunger games smut#hunger games#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow smut#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus x reader#uzuri writes#coriolanus snow x reader smut
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Hi! How about a good old hurt/comfort whump type prompt like a "this is gonna hurt" or the more fluffy "hey, don't look at that. Look at me". Maybe with Boba Fett or Mando.
Din Djarin x Reader | 1.9k words
Content: Hurt/Comfort, detailed descriptions of pain and injuries, a lil fluff toward the end
Pain, unlike any you'd ever felt before, radiating from the point of impact throughout the rest of your body. That was all you could think about as you lay on the ground, blinking up at the stars and holding on to whatever may be left of your life.
Neither of you had seen the ambush coming, which made your efforts to fight against it that much more chaotic. Din was a trained and skilled fighter, and even he had been struggling. You, whose abilities paled in comparison, had stood no chance. You ran as soon as he told you to, and then within the blink of an eye, you found yourself flat on your back wondering whether death may be the better option.
It was impossible to tell how long you lay there... writhing, sweating, praying. You couldn't even scream, let alone comprehend the passage of time. Even one second of this pain was far too long. When he finally came, you swore you'd aged years.
"Stay with me..."
"Hang in there..."
He repeated himself over and over. Or perhaps your delirious mind was replaying his words over and over. You weren't sure how you suddenly ended up inside of a cave. You preferred the view with the stars, to be honest.
"Din," you croaked out through cracked lips.
You knew was around somewhere; you could feel him in the air that gently moved around you. But it was hard to tell if he was tending to you in any particular way as your whole body radiated. Pain, pressure, heat... it swirled in and out with your vision, your consciousness.
"This is gonna hurt," you heard him say at some point and it almost made you laugh. Hurt. You were well past hurt now, Djarin.
And then the pain got worse. Thank the stars you hadn't actually laughed.
Where before it felt like your body was expanding with hot, heavy air, now it was like an electric bolt was slithering from your leg across every other appendage. You could taste it. There were sparks in your eyes. Whatever Din was trying to do to help, it only seemed to be making it worse.
You must have blacked out. You were opening your eyes again but couldn't remember ever closing them. You felt weaker. The pain was still there, but it felt... hidden? Like someone had thrown a blanket over it, trying to hide it from sight. It was as if your body had decided it could no longer feel something that intense again.
You risked using what energy you had to lift your head. You wanted to see the damage, what all the fuss was about. It was your right leg, gnarled and twisted in a bloody mess. There was blood all over the ground surrounding you, definitely more than should be outside of your body. No wonder you felt so tired.
"What the hell..." you breathed out in shock.
Din was by your leg, alternating between work on some kind of split and adding stitches to keep the blood at bay. As soon as you moved, he immediately shifted over to get you to lay back down.
"Hey, don't look at that. Look at me."
You did, and there was something off about what you were seeing. Din's large brown eyes met yours, full of a sort of strained determination, a warrior's hope that if he just pushed a little more, a little harder, the fight would soon be won. His hair was matted to his head in a sheen of sweat, and flecks of blood - likely yours - highlighted one side of his jaw. It would have been a little hot in any other circumstances. You'd always wondered if he ever looked more haggard than the cool and collected beskar helmet ever let on...
And that's when it hit you. He didn't have his helmet on.
"I just have a few stitches left," he was saying, voice completely unfiltered. "And then I can tighten the splint and that should keep your leg stable enough to travel. The bone will take a long time to reset, but if we can make it to the ship, I can get you somewhere safe where you can heal in peace. I just need you to stay strong a little while longer."
You didn't hear a single word he said. He had a hand clasped under your neck, his thumb brushing soothingly just by your ear. His eyes were so beautiful. They pleaded with you to stay awake, to keep looking.
You were dreaming.
You must be dreaming.
You were unconscious, pulled into an unknown state of being where your mind conjured up pleasant, wonderful images to keep the pain at bay, to keep you alive and sane. That's all this was. Din would never remove his helmet, not even for you.
"Stay strong," he said, squeezing the back of your head just enough to be reassuring. "I promise I'll get you out of here."
Those beautiful brown eyes disappeared and you were faintly aware of the pain starting up again in your leg, but you didn't care. So what if it was a dream. Gods, what a thing to dream of. You clung to the image and let yourself drift away with it peacefully....
* * *
It was strange, all the different ways one could feel pain. Sometimes sharp, sometimes dull. Sometimes hot, sometimes cold.
The pain you felt when you woke again was definitely on the colder, number side, at least so long as you continued to lie still. It sucked, but it was a relief from what you'd endured before. Any movement that affected your general hip and leg areas, though, brought those sharp, prickly stings. So you did your best to limit your movements.
The view you had now was of the Razor Crest ceiling. You didn't remember the journey here at all. How had Din even managed? You shifted your hands a little. They were set at your sides and glided along familiar patterns of fabric, your own blankets. He had moved your cot out into the main hull, probably to better tend to you as needed.
Next, you tried testing your voice. You assumed Din would be up in the cockpit, trying to find a medical facility to take you to for better care. But something within you yearned to have him closer, to know you were not alone in this, that everything would be okay.
You could get out a few croaks, garbled groans that didn't resemble any known language. But that was all it took anyway. Din had been right there, just outside your field of vision. He came into view at your call.
He had his helmet on.
"Hey, it's okay, it's okay," he was quick to reassure. A gloved hand laid gently on your shoulder but it didn't squeeze, no fingers caressed.
So maybe you had dreaming after all.
You felt a little disappointed, but that quickly passed now that you simply had him here with you again.
He brought some water up to your lips and helped you drink from it. You winced a few times as you lifted your head and jostled your spine, and therefore your hips and leg. But it was worth getting some hydration and helping bring back your voice.
"What the hell even happened," you managed to string together some words after you finished and settled back down.
Din's helmet just shook slowly, like he couldn't even comprehend the events. "It was all my fault. I--"
"Don't you dare say you should've seen them coming," you warned, knowing how he got with things like this. "And I wasn't asking about the ambush. What the hell happened to my leg?"
"Speeder bike. Caught you right in your side, fractured your femur. Worst bone to break. You're stable now but you'll have a long recovery time."
"Lucky me," you sighed.
"You lost a lot of blood, too," he added.
"Well, at least I'm alive," you offered, mostly to be dramatic. But a cock of his helmet and you knew those words carried much more weight.
"Yeah," he agreed somberly. "It was bad. I was... worried, for a while."
You didn't know what to say to that. If anything, you wished you could be the one to come to his side and provide him with comfort and healing. This whole situation was messed up.
Din sat back down beside you and you did your best to shift your head and keep him in view. He had his hands resting on the edge of the cot and his helmet was trained on them in thought.
"Do you... remember anything?" he asked timidly after a few moments.
You immediately remembered his face. The line of stubble along his upper lip. How his hair curled slightly along his temple. Those big, beautiful brown eyes....
"Bits and pieces," you responded.
"Anything in particular?"
Now you were wondering if maybe it hadn't been a dream after all. He was acting like he didn't want to get caught for something.
"You really want me to revisit my trauma so soon, Djarin?" you teased.
"No, no, of course not," he quickly backpedaled and you both fell into an awkward silence for a minute.
You finally decided to pry a little further "...Why?"
"No reason."
"Hm." He wasn't giving you much to go off of. This was getting silly. "Well, come to think of it, I do remember something... odd..."
"Oh?"
His hand gripped the blanket anxiously next to you. You looked at his helmet and desperately wished you could see beyond it, to see how he felt so you could know what he wanted.
Oh but who were you kidding? You knew him well, just as he did you. You knew exactly what those eyes would be pleading for you to say, because you knew what was important to him. So you put him out of his misery.
"But you know, it's all so fuzzy. I was probably just hallucinating."
You slid your hand across to rest against his and gave it a short squeeze. He visibly relaxed and that made you just as happy as it would have been to hear him admit what had really happened.
"Okay, good. Um, I mean, that's... that's normal. You were in and out of it a lot."
Din let out a nervous breath but then gently twisted his hand around to hold yours properly.
"Were you really worried about me?" you asked.
He nodded his head slowly. "Yeah... yeah, I was."
You gave a comforting little smile and squeezed his hand again. "Well, thank you, for being there for me. And being here now."
"Of course. This is the way."
Normally you would've rolled your eyes at that, but now it was reassuring. Encouraging, even. In some ways, it symbolized a bond between you that you'd wondered would ever come. You'd been traveling together long enough, fighting together and dining together and making decisions together. Now you were helping each other live. He'd gotten you out of a firefight, pieced you back together, hefted you unconscious across a forest. And now he was staying, right here, right beside you, for no other reason than because he could.
And maybe, just maybe, he had given a little part of himself to you, too. Maybe on accident, sure, but meaningful nonetheless. You would hold that piece of him close to your heart, and keep it safe there for as long as you continued to live.
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#star wars#the mandalorian#mandalorian x reader#din djarin#din djarin x reader#one shot#hurt/comfort#fluff#pain#injuries
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💙 Post War! Levi x Nurse! Reader
Lending a Hand
@quantobono here’s your Levi x Nurse reader!
After the battle against Eren ended, Jean and Connie rushed Levi to the nearest medical tent they could find once they got back into Marley.
“Excuse me! We need help!” Jean yells as he helps Connie drag Levi into your medical tent.
You quickly turn around from your note taking to see the man these guys were carrying barely conscious.
“Oh! Lay him on the bed. What happened to him, do you know?” You ask as you peek out your tent and wave your nursing assistant, Rina, over.
Connie huffs as he tries to catch his breath. “His leg was bitten by a titan.”
You nod as you help Rina set up medical supplies. “What’s his name and who can I return him to?”
“His name is Levi and we’ll be here waiting for him. He’s our captain.” Jean explains.
Rina is cutting off Levi’s pants as you lean over to look at his face. “Hi, Levi. I’m Nurse y/n and I’m going to help take care of you, ok?”
Levi only grumbles as his dull grey eyes try to stay open.
“Quickly, Rina. He’s losing a lot of blood.” You place a glass nozzle attached to a tube over his mouth and nose. “You won’t feel any pain, ok?” You tell him as the gas slowly puts him into a deep sleep.
Some hours pass and Levi groggily wakes up and looks around confusingly. He’s not sure where he is but he sees you sitting at a desk writing something down and tries to speak but his mouth and throat are too dry.
You look up when you hear a noise to see Levi awake and trying to speak. You quickly grab a glass of water with a syringe and kneel next to his bedside.
“I’m going to give you some water.” You explain to him as you fill the syringe with water and slowly dribble it into his mouth.
Levi lets the water coat his mouth and throat and coughs as he tries to swallow.
“I’m Nurse y/n and you’re in my medical tent. Your friends brought you in here so I can treat your leg.” You tell Levi as you wait for him to be able to speak.
“When will you get started?” Is all he is able to croak out.
You giggle softly. “I��m already done! I’ve been done for the past four hours.”
Levi raises a brow in utter confusion.
You smile and remember Jean and Connie said they were all from Paradis Island. The medical technology there isn’t quite up to date as it is everywhere else.
“I gave you an anesthesia. It’s a gas that puts you to sleep so you aren’t conscious during surgery. It’s very convenient for you because it’s like you took a nice nap and woke up with everything done!”
Levi is too tired to understand further so he only nods. “How bad was my leg?”
“Well, it was a pretty deep bite, but luckily you have a lot of muscle that protected the vital arteries in your leg. That would have been really risky to stitch up and I most likely would have had to take your leg. But, fortunately for you, I was able to let you keep your leg! You will need to use a wheelchair for the time being and take physical therapy sessions to strengthen that leg enough to walk again.” You explain.
Levi clicks his tongue. “Great.”
***
About ten months pass by since you’ve been helping Levi. The head nurse appointed you to be Levi’s physical therapist after his wound healed since you already knew about his condition.
Working with Levi is interesting. He has a strong personality with a lot of sarcasm, but you find it oddly charming. The two of you have become quite good friends.
“Leeeeeevi!” You sing as you walk into his house.
He scoffs when he sees you waltz in. “Do you not know what knocking is?” He says as he wheels in from the kitchen.
“You should really…I don’t know…lock the front door then? A murderer can come in.” You say matter of factly.
Levi rolls his eyes. “I think you’re worse than a murderer.”
You fein hurt. “You really just said that? After I got you a nice gift?” You tell him as you hold out a box.
Levi eyes the box suspiciously but takes it. “What is it?”
Rolling your eyes, you wave your hands forward. “Open it and find out!”
Levi opens the box to see three sticks lying next to each other. “Thanks?”
You laugh and grab the sticks. “Watch this.” You snap it forward and the sticks piece together in one long one.
“A new cane?” Levi questions.
“Not just any new cane,” You say excitedly,” but as you saw, you can compact it so it’s easier to carry when not in use. Also, I had them customize the handle.” You put the cane in his hand for him to inspect. “I know it’s a bit difficult for you to use your cane since you have to use your non-dominant hand, but the way this handle was made, you can still use that hand, or you can use your dominant one. It’s missing finger friendly!” You joke.
Levi gave a small smile as he held the cane in his injured hand with ease. “You’re right. It fits perfectly.” He says as he wiggles his three remaining fingers into the grooves. He tries to stand up so he can try the cane out but you notice something.
“Hey, sit back down, sir.”
Levi rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“I can see a stiff knee from a mile away.” You say while squinting your eyes. “Sit and I’ll massage it. Then you can try your nifty toy!”
Levi huffs but does what he’s told. “You would make a fine captain with how bossy you are.”
Grabbing his leg, you feel the stiffness in his knee as you massage. Levi grunts in pain.
“I know. I’m sorry.” You wince as you continue pressing into his knee.
Ten minutes pass and you gently move Levi’s leg around to see it a lot more mobile than what it was. “So much better!”
“Yeah, thanks.” He says sheepishly.
“Did you need to take pain medication?”
Levi looks away embarrassed. “No.”
You and Levi spend the next few hours trying out his new cane and doing more exercises to stretch out his leg.
“Well I think we’re done here!” You clap as Levi plops onto the couch. His eyes widen when he sees you start to pack your supplies.
“Wait! My back really hurts. I think I may have over exerted myself.” He says and tries to stretch his back.
“Well that’s not good.” You frown. “Has your back always hurt after our sessions?”
“No. I guess it just started. But if you could stay until I go to bed just so I don’t risk hurting myself that would be great.”
You smile. “Levi, I know what you’re up to.”
Levi’s face scrunches. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t want me to leave.” You laugh when you see his face turn red. “You can just ask me to stay. I enjoy your company anyway.”
Levi’s heart races as you sit close to him on the couch. “You’re a brat.”
You grin as you lay your head on the back of the couch and just stare at him. Despite the scars crawling across his face and his dead eye, he was very good looking. You couldn’t admit you gained feelings for your patient as it was very unprofessional but you don’t know how much longer you could suppress it.
Levi looked back at you, admiring your beauty. He was never good in this area…love. But since his life was no longer on the line due to titans, he thought why not give love a try. It was like a culture shock when it hit him right away due to you being with him so much.
No words were said as the both of you leaned closer to one another and your lips touched in a gentle kiss. You felt Levi snake an arm around your waist as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.
Pulling away, you blushed and looked down. “Well, I’m glad the feelings mutual.”
Levi cupped your face to make you look back up at him. “I fell in love with you.”
“I fell in love with you too. But, I didn’t want to seem like a weirdo because I’m also your nurse.” You told him.
“People fall in love in all sorts of ways, right? You don’t have to stop being my nurse though. You give great massages.” He smiled.
You laugh and lean forward to kiss him again.
#levi ackerman#levi aot#levi attack on titan#attack on titan#captain levi#anime#levi x reader#fanfic#violet: levi ackerman oneshot
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Lessons
1,252 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to Good morning)
Content | Exhaustion, power imbalance, feelings of inferiority/internalised classism I guess?, implied past noncon, mention of slavery
Notes | Elgar does not know how to stand up for himself :( But it's going to be okay, right?
Taglist | @echo-goes-aaa @whump-blog @scoundrelwithboba @whumpcreations @neverthelass
@whumplr-reader @vampiresprite @pleasestaywithmedarling
It was a long journey, just like Elgar had feared. What he hadn’t predicted was how much he swung back and forth from feeling almost comfortable around the prince, to perfect uncertainty once more. The stops along the road, where they would inevitably be put up somewhere far more fancy than he deserved, didn’t help. Nor did the new clothes he was given as they climbed into higher and colder terrain, soft furs that even he could tell were of great quality, and thick wool dyed many colours expertly woven into patterns too elaborate for someone like him.
It was disconcerting, and it was exhausting to be so worried all the time.
To make matters worse, it had been decided he should take lessons in the precious resting time. Not just what little help the royals could give him with the language—he would have a proper tutor for that, the princess reassured him, and that too was a scary thought—but etiquette lessons too. It was important he would know how to act by the time they reached the capital, the prince had explained, looking at him earnestly while his sister read off what he had written for Elgar, because Elgar still couldn’t read. It was important.
And worst of all, he was getting riding lessons.
The princess had asked him if he was ready to start within the week of them setting out from Akreh; clearly, she was the impatient type, and Elgar, of course, didn’t want to displease her, so there was only really one answer he could give.
And so, while the prince was sitting comfortably by, or even resting indoors, he was learning to ride.
It was a small comfort that the horse—Sparrow, he still hadn’t gotten used to thinking of her as his own—was so easygoing; she barely ever seemed willing to move if she could help it, so there was not much worry she would run away from under him.
But still, it hurt.
He was healing so slowly, what with the daily travelling, and now he had to ride more. In the evenings, he wanted nothing but fall into bed and maybe cry to himself a little, but he knew the prince would worry, and somehow, explaining himself to him seemed worse.
He was no longer worried the prince would be upset with him for daring to voice a wish, at least not all the time; some evenings, they huddled together in a hug before going to sleep hand in hand. And yet, he simply couldn’t bring himself to ask for this specific favour, for this specific reason. Maybe he worried that the prince would tell the princess about the hows and whys of it. Yes, that must be it. That, too, was silly, of course—what dignity did someone like him have to lose in the eyes of a royal?—but it made some sort of sense.
And then, the prince was exhausted too, Elgar could tell. After his first crying session, he was certain that all the smiles and happiness he was putting on all day, whenever anyone might see, was just show, and it must be draining, especially while he, too, was still recovering from what their master had put him through—far worse than Elgar, even if he now had been stitched back together better.
»You’re making great progress! Maybe tomorrow, we can try cantering.«
The princess’ cheerful voice called his attention away from his misery. She was smiling brightly, as if that was good news.
It was true he had been getting better at keeping his balance on the horse, and at giving her the correct signals on his own—it did start to feel like he was actually riding.
It helped that however slow it went, the pain was fading, with every night he remained untouched. Still, he did not look forward to riding harder tomorrow, but he nodded. »Thank you, your Highness.«
He no longer needed her help to get off the horse and lead her away from the field they had been practicing in to be untacked. That was something he wasn’t expected to do himself, anymore than the royals were, and it made him feel uneasy. He was being served. Two of the slaves travelling with them were looking after the horses, and one of them took her out of his hands with a smile.
He managed a mumbled »thank you,« or so he thought.
He no longer needed the princess’ help with this, but she had followed him anyway, and now her grin had returned. »And you’re making great progress with that as well. Bet once you can get under our tutor, you’ll learn the language in no time.«
»Thank you, your Highness.« He opted for the more comfortable Teeradian this time, knowing she would understand it. Then something about the phrasing caught in his brain. Their tutor? Surely not their, the royals’, tutor, why would they need an Ochurian tutor?
But then, who here could teach Ochurian to a Teeradian—but perhaps someone who could have taught Teeradian to an Ochurian, too?
What would a royal tutor expect from him? How could he possibly hold up?
It was the end of the day—they had squeezed the lesson in after dinner—and Elgar was glad to be able to withdraw, sore and exhausted and now freshly worried.
Well, withdraw from most. The prince was waiting for him in their bedroom, but that was alright. Sometimes, he almost felt a kind of companionship with him. Almost like a resurrection of the bond tied between them during their captivity.
The prince was sitting up by the window and reading inbetween the fading light of dusk, and a candle. He closed the book when he heard Elgar enter, and gave him a smile, and a questioning thumbs-up.
Elgar nodded hesitantly. »It’s getting better.«
He went to sit with the prince. The bedroom was cool, of course, but he was dressed for the temperatures, like he very much hadn’t been under their old master.
For a moment, they sat in silence. Elgar looked out the window, into the stripe of orange drawn across the western sky, trying to calm his mind, but then he blurted out, »Do you think your tutor… is going to be satisfied with me?«
The prince looked at him quizzically, and Elgar explained, »Your sister, her Highness, she mentioned—I’d be taught the language by your tutor?« It sounded silly as he said it. He must have misunderstood something. But then—he had been afforded every luxury, far more than he knew how to handle.
And the prince nodded earnestly, reaching out to hold his hand.
»I just, I—I don’t know if I’ll be as good at it as… they’d expect.« He felt a hotness creep into his cheeks, and he was glad for the low light.
The prince shook his head, smiling, pointed at his chest then made a cutting motion. Elgar couldn’t read his lips too well as he mouthed words, but between it all, he figured it out. I was not good at it.
He couldn’t help a chuckle, but the prince’s smile faded as he thought about his words, and he gave a small shrug, flicking his free hand, then pointing between the two of them.
They were in the same boat. The prince would have to learn a new language, as well, with his hands.
He nodded, squeezing the prince’s hand. »We’ll—we’ll do it.«
#whump#whump writing#my writing#the black prince is a tag that apparently already exists#elgar#orafin#orina#sorry for the delay I've accidentally started. a nsfwhump series on the nsfwhump blog
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hands
simon ghost riley x reader (f!) word count: 1.7k summary: no one look at you, never mind hurts you—not on his watch. warning: smut. blood. touch o’ violence. helen isn’t readers name. an: to the anon who wanted ghost to throws hands for helen, I hope you love it (written on phone, forgive thy)
simon ghost riley masterlist
+++
They need Tarver alive.
It’s the mission. The focus. The goal.
Ghost hasn’t been sweating balls, chasing whispers to not get something more concrete from this bastard.
It’s why he keeps reminding himself to breathe as he stares through the mirrored glass.
Tarver cannot die. Yet.
He’s sure his fingers are white from how tight he’s balled his fist watching you treat him. Despising that those delicate, kind hands are stitching wounds Ghost’s fists has caused.
Even if it’s your job.
Something Ghost is very much aware of it, but hates all the same.
Your job shouldn’t be to stitch up enemies and ensure blood remains in their bodies. Your talent and skill should be saved for them, their team… him.
But he knows it’s the job.
Knows that tomorrow it’ll be the same. He’ll rip the world apart and you’ll sew it back together again. Two opposites which work far better together than apart.
He’s already lived through being apart. He hates that more than this—and by this, he means watching you through the thin glass as you stitch a man half-tied to a chair.
It was darker, more difficult, tinged with loneliness that comradery couldn’t fix when he didn’t have you.
Now, he wouldn’t let you go. Not when he’d grown used to the moments alone in your office. Not when he has felt your thighs slick with sweat, watching you roll your hips over him, hearing you whisper his name over, and over, and over.
Because he’s lived through what being apart feels like. It’s darker. More difficult. Tinged with loneliness the comradely doesn’t fix.
But, this is fucking difficult.
He knows you can handle yourself. He’s seen it first-hand. You might be good with a scalpel, but you’re mean with a knife too.
It doesn’t stop him from being annoyed that Tarver says nothing as his fists connected with his face. Reveals nothing to him. To Price.
As soon as you’re alone with him, he has been nothing but vocal. Not about what they need. Just how little he thinks of you. What he’d do to you if he wasn’t tied down like a dog.
Unflexing his fingers, he bites the hiss back from his cracked knuckles. The blood likely dried, healing against the gloves—reopening as he moves them.
He has no problem causing pain. It’s what he’s been made into, a weapon, a fucking good one at that.
Because he is methodical. The mission goes above all else, always coming first. He doesn’t think about what this will do to him later on, not when he lands the first punch, the second or the third. It’s detached, but direct.
For this, each had to land to injure, but not kill. Knowing the mission, knowing the importance of the man still being able to talk. He just didn’t do it with much ease. He didn’t think he needed both lungs, both eyes and all of the bones in his body together. He hadn’t considered the fact Price would send you in.
So, he’s watching.
Half-wishing you’d say something back to Tarver as he insults you, as he belittles you. Instead, you take it, alternating from leaning up to stitch him to standing.
Your words are direct, and clear. Does it hurt here? Breathe in for me.
He almost turns his head. Almost.
If he had done it, he wouldn’t have seen Tarver wait for you to rummage in your bag. Wouldn’t have wound his head back and connected it with your skull.
Ghost wouldn’t have been at the door in time, kicking it almost off its hinges as Tarver swings his arm, your scalpel in his hand, only nicking you—nothing worse.
But, that fucking bastard still made you fucking bleed.
His pulse thunders, fist clenching Tarver’s bloodied shirt—hearing the clatter, but still letting his fist connect with bone.
It’s like a mist comes down.
It blinds him. Burns him. He can’t see through it, think through it. His arm reeled back, one time after the next, his mind fracturing, his handle on the mission sliding.
“Ghost.”
It’s sharp, the way you say his name. Still tainted with sweetness, a warning.
It makes his fist halt. Pausing mid-air. It hovers, head tilting, eyes shifting, slowly turning till he lands on you.
You with your jaw tight, head tilted, a pleading look spreading over your features. But, it's the blood from your split lip, the nick on your cheek, and the bump he can already see which stops him.
The lump growing on the same forehead he’d kissed this morning. The same cheek he’d touched before he left your office to deal with this sonofabitch.
It should have been the look.
Cause the look fucking stings. It twists something inside of him.
It’s then Tarver decides to spit, blood spraying across the floor. A call-out, a reminder of his presence—as if the two of you had forgotten about him.
So he drops him. Purposefully.
His gloved fingers releasing him, letting him land with a thud and a hiss. He sees you flinch when he does, eyes dropping to the floor. He doesn’t move, waiting for you to give him a sign, anything.
Because he’s not sure whether to cross the room and shield you or kill the man who insulted you. The same one who caught you by surprise when you were tending to him—who reeled his head back and connected it with yours before carnage all but ensued.
Blinking, he flexed his fingers, the cracked skin raw under his gloves. It’s rubbing, chafing. Guaranteed to be far worse than the simple bruises he’d had yesterday.
And you say nothing. Not a word.
Slowly, you remove the blue glove from your hand before letting your delicate fingers brush over your lip. The wince, the hiss—it’s like nails down a chalkboard to him.
It makes him want to tear, rip and scorch the earth. Most of all, he wants to rip the man spluttering on the floor—tear him limb from limb.
Because you’re silent. Too silent.
Your lips are tight as you walk over to the open the bag, your hand disappearing inside before you’re holding a pot. The noise of the lid snapping from the container fills the space, almost silencing the coughs and splutters, the shakes of the tablets inside almost dousing the thundering sounds of his pulse in his ears as he watches you throw two pills at the man still breathing on the floor.
No instruction. No words.
A silent threat in your eyes as you stand over him before grabbing your bag and leaving.
The door squeaks and groans as you do, the metal meeting metal before he’s alone with him.
Alone with him—the man who dares breathe the same air as you.
The one who made you fucking bleed.
“I’m not surpris’d. ‘Course she’s your whor—“
His boot comes down on his jaw before he finishes the sentence, thankful for a bit of fucking silence again.
They need him alive, after all. It’s the only reason he still has a pulse.
++++++++++++++
He doesn’t follow.
Not immediately. He waits. Gets chewed out by Price. Removes his blood-soaked gloves. Washing the skin as easy as he can. Ticking off the list until he finds himself leaning against the doorframe.
The one to your small office.
The one which barely fits a desk in, and yet somehow has fit you and him both inside of it. Albeit then, you weren’t pissed at him. You willingly wrapped your arms around his neck, let him put your spine against the door, let his hips connect with yours as he drove his cock into your cunt.
Fuck, you made the prettiest noises that day. Mouth so close to his hairline, breath along his ear.
He suspects he won’t have that pleasure today.
Won’t get to taste you. Won’t get to hear the pretty noises you make.
Not from the way you cast a glance his way. Cold. And still very fucking silent.
Normally, it would be the sweetest sound. But when it’s shrouded in bitterness, and anger, it’s torture.
“We need to talk.”
You shift some files. “No we don’t. I’m busy.”
“I’m hurt.”
He doesn’t tell you that you’re fucking beautiful enough.
Even if he thinks it. All the time.
When you’ve just woken up and at the end of the day; he thinks it when you’re off duty and when you’re covered in someone else’s blood. When you’re stressed, when you’re sad; when you’re happy, when you’re laughing.
Now, when you’re mad… you’re something else.
He’d drown in you. He’d let your eyes suffocate him.
Hell. He wants your eyes to be the last fucking thing he ever sees. That and your smile.
“Oh. You are? I can’t imagine how you’ve gotten yourself hurt...”
He runs his tongue over his teeth, thankful he’s hidden behind his mask. Stepping inside your office, closing the door—thankful the beds behind him are all empty.
No chance of gossip. Murmurs.
The door shuts with ease, even if he’s almost pressed against you to do so. You tossing him a bandage and some tape, before crossing your arms—trying to keep your distance, even in a room no bigger than 6 by bloody 9.
Insolent, difficult, fucking bitch.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m not apologising.”
You scoff. “Ghost, you wouldn’t know how to articulate an apology if your life fucking depended on it.”
Ghost.
Not Simon.
Ghost.
Cold. Direct.
Sighing, you turn on your chair, twisting your body until you’re fully facing him. “Still, I don’t need one. You’ve just made my job harder, is all. Now I have more to stitch back together the next time Price orders me in there.”
“You’re not going back in there.”
Your brow arches, chin raising. “Oh. Funny. I don’t remember asking you.”
“Helen.”
You stand, quickly. Almost pouncing. “That. Earlier. Is my fucking job. I don’t tell you how to shoot someone.” Your finger poking him—all bony finger against his vest. “That’s not my fucking name, and you know it. You said it enough last night, didn’t you?”
“Why’re you shouting—“
“—because you infuriate me!” you snap, poking him again, nostrils flared. “You… fucking… nobhead.”
You poke again.
And then you ball your fist, and it hits him.
Soft. Clearly not aiming to injure him, but needing to do something all the same.
It does so again. And again—
But he grasps it. Stopping it. Stopping you. Your wrist easily fitting in his grip, your eyes molten fucking lava as they connect with his.
Silence.
A different kind, though.
And he realises you’re not mad. You’re furious. It knotting and bubbling inside of you—needing a release.
And you can’t hit Tarver. Only able to do so in self-defence. You don’t want him to hit him, because you know he won’t stop.
Suddenly, he knows how he can apologise—and it isn’t with words.
No. It’s something he can do well. Because he knows you. Every fucking inch of you.
He rips his mask off, pulling you close by your wrist as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. The groan vibrating through him, thankfully married with the feeling of your nails in his scalp.
The sound of the back of your thighs connecting with your desk, the perfect ruiner of silence.
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SHORT — Kai (01)
Originally Written: 06-17-20
Prompt: how would Kai react to an so that wants to help out with the pain from his scars? Things like putting ointment on them, getting him hot water bottles etc to help out w the pain?
Under normal circumstances, anyone who tried to put a hand on Kai without good warning would have gotten it cut off.
Touch hurts. Touch always hurts.
Kai figured that out quick back with Blight.
But now, that part of his life is just kind of... over. He's with someone who looks out for him no matter how much he complains and bites back. He's with someone who refuses to let his damaged self and prickly attitude scare them off.
He's with you.
You have a weird sort of fixation on him that Kai can't quite force himself to mind. Between insisting on taking care of him like you think he needs it and being so relentlessly nice that it's almost sickening, you seem damn-well determined to be as good to Kai as anyone's ever tried to be. Or more accurately, no one. No one's ever tried.
"Here, I brought you a hot water bottle." You knocked before you entered 'his' room. That's a courtesy that Kai never would have thought would be extended to him.
"The fuck's that for," Kai snaps in return.
"Pain. You've got those scars all over, I know I've been talking about it lately, so I tried to find something to help. Heat is supposed to be good for that kind of thing."
You plop something large and warm into Kai's lap. He flinches, because every sudden movement does that to him, and stares at it. It's a large, opaque plastic bottle that's emanating enough heat that Kai can feel it through the blankets on his bed.
You'd been talking about wanting to have some time to look after his scars. Kai doesn't see what the fucking point is. They're ugly. They hurt. They're everywhere. That's all there really is to it. He doesn't remember where most of them came from, either, so they don't matter a whole lot now. He's been stitched up enough times that the residual pain barely matters a bit.
"That's for the ones on your chest. You can hug it. It's warm!" You're smiling irritatingly. Kai hates how at-ease the sight makes him feel.
"Like hell, I need that," he bites back. "Why're you being so pushy?"
"Because I want to help? I brought other stuff too, so if you don't want the water bottle, we can try something else."
Relentless. You've always said that it's the only way to get through to him.
Maybe you're right.
"Fine, whatever," Kai snaps, snatching the water bottle and squeezing it to his chest. Just as quickly, he has to hold back a little gasp. The damn thing is warm, and that heat apparently feels abso-fucking-lutely wonderful against his skin, even over his shirt.
And yeah, his scars hurt like a bitch. They always have. Kai's had them for so long and has gotten so used to always hurting that it doesn't really matter to him anymore. The absence of some kind of pain is a foreign concept, but then again, so was the idea of someone touching him without pain up until a short while ago.
The water bottle is actually kind of nice.
"Good?" you ask, then continue without waiting for an answer. "I have scar cream too! And a little massager thingy that's supposed to help with the pain. As for the scar cream, can I..." You trail off, staring at Kai's face in a way that conveys exactly what you mean.
You're looking right at the scars on his face— the three long, nasty lines crisscrossing his chin and cheeks. You want to touch those.
"Do whatever you want."
He should tell you no. He shouldn't let this happen. Your normal affectionate behavior is bad enough— having you touch his face should be a thousand times worse.
You settle on the bed next to him with tenderness in your eyes.
Kai thinks he feels his heart miss a beat.
While Kai's not paying attention, you squeeze some of the cream out onto your fingers. It's off-white and smells strongly of medicine. Kai stares at it for a moment, trying to find his composure. The next thing he knows, you're reaching for his face and—
Your fingers trace an impossibly slow, careful line up the scar along his right cheek, rubbing in the cream as you go.
A soft breath leaves him. You follow the scar up and down, rubbing the sharp-smelling cream into it as you go. Kai somehow manages to stay still as you do.
This feels weird. This feels wrong. You're moving on to the second scar, the one along his chin, and Kai doesn't know how he's possibly supposed to respond. You're being so fucking gentle. By all rights, this should hurt. No one else would have been able to make it not. But with you, there's just a tender brush of fingers along the marred skin of his face.
That goes on for a few minutes, you tracing all three scars and working the cream into every one. By the end of it, they actually do hurt a bit less, which Kai wouldn't admit to even if you shot him. He also catches himself trying to lean after your touch, which means that he should probably shoot himself at this point.
"That okay?"
"Y-Yeah... Felt weird."
"I can imagine. Now... can I try the massager thing? Even on the ones on your arms or something?" You're smiling obnoxiously. Kai wants to scream.
"Do whatever you want." Even though he tries to say it dismissively, Kai caves nonetheless, letting go of the water bottle for long enough to strip off his shirt and give you better access. He doesn't like you seeing, but at the same time... you really might just be trying to help.
Kai barely resists shaking his head. No. That's not how it works. Even someone like you can't truly be trusted.
You get behind him, then, a small, white device in one hand. Kai feels himself tensing, body instinctively anticipating pain. This has to be going to hurt somehow, he thinks— then remembers much too quickly how careful you were with the ones on his face.
"Gonna turn it on," you murmur, pressing the blunt, cool tip to a patch of bare skin on Kai's upper back. Kai grumbles wordlessly
There's a click of a button—
The tool vibrates against Kai's back, the sudden sensory input leaving him tensing bad. But just as quickly, you're bracing the tip against one of his smaller, yet still painful scars. A second passes, and it actually starts to feel good. The buzzing isn't too intense now that he's getting used to it, and the rounded tip is massaging strongly into the scar and the muscle beneath it.
A little sigh leaves Kai's lips. He doesn't let his eyes close. He can't.
"Sorry, I know you're probably not too fond of this. But I'll be careful. Tell me if anything hurts, okay?" Your voice sounds somehow warm. Kai must be losing his fucking mind. "I want this to help. You deserve it."
Angrily, Kai grabs the hot water bottle again, giving himself something to hold onto.
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Undying Bonds (Part 12)
Pairing: Hongjoong x fem!reader, Seonghwa x fem!reader
AU: zombie apocalypse au
Word Count: 4.8k
Summary: What could be worse than being separated from the love of your life in a zombie apocalypse? Hongjoong was forced to leave you behind with his friend, Seonghwa, as he ventures out alone to search for the rest of his missing group members. Will Hongjoong be successful in his solo mission to find his members? Will he be able to return to you unscathed? And what happens when you're stuck with his caring best friend, who is hopelessly in love with you, for too long?
Part 11 | Masterlist | Part 13
"Umm… guys? What's going on here?"
Your heart nearly stops and Seonghwa visibly freezes in his spot.
Both your heads snap up to find Yunho standing by the washroom entrance with wide eyes. He gulped while his eyes darted rapidly between you and his hyung, as if trying to figure out what was happening or more like, what almost happened had he not made his presence known.
Seonghwa clears his throat and steps away from you immediately.
As much as he desperately wanted you to return his feelings, he didn't have the heart to ruin the loving image of you and the captain in any of the boys' eyes.
He could imagine how wrong this all probably looked to them. Admittedly, he knows better than anyone it wasn't right for him to still have hopes of you loving him back when you were already committed to Hongjoong.
It was at this moment that he realised how much of a dilemma you would have to go through if you truly did feel the same way about him. The last thing he wanted to do was put you in another predicament when you already have so much on your plate with the sudden discovery of Christopher being Bang Chan.
What kind of a person would he be to take advantage of your vulnerable state like this? Seonghwa decides then that he should drop the topic for now, he couldn't do this to you.
With a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder and a small nod sent your way, he smiles to let you know everything will be fine, "Oh, it's you, Yunho-yah. My stitches broke open earlier and your noona just came to help patch me up again, we're actually done."
You avoided the younger male's questioning gaze as you nodded along to Seonghwa's words, "Yeah, and you came at the right time. Would you be so kind as to help your hyung back to his bed? He needs a fresh change of clothes and some rest. As you can see, I still have a lot of tidying up to do here."
Noting the slightly awkward atmosphere, Yunho knows he isn't about to get an answer from either of his older friends.
The compromising position that he found the two of you in only further confirmed his previous suspicions of the elder male's romantic feelings for you.
Yunho and Mingi were best friends after all, you can bet he's well aware of everything that Mingi already knows. Besides, he was always known to be one of the smartest within your group.
It doesn't take much for him to figure out Seonghwa's obvious affection for the captain's girlfriend. But he supposes it isn't his place to meddle in such complicated affairs regarding matters of the heart between his friends.
As an attempt to ease the tension in the air, he salutes dramatically, "Yes, noona! You can count on me to do a good job of that," You softened, the ends of your lips tugging upwards when he beamed at you, "Thank you, Yunho-yah. If only Mingi could be half as helpful as you, that would be amazing." Thankfully, your words were able to elicit laughter from the two males.
The younger shuffles over to help his hyung before calling out to you, "We'll be going then. See you later, noona!" You let out a small hum as a response, waving at them.
Turning your back to the two who were busy wobbling their way back to the furniture store, you could feel Seonghwa's eyes glued longingly to your frame as they retreated.
Once you were sure they were both out of sight, your hands flew to your head and you rubbed your temples tiredly.
Oh god, what am I supposed to do now?
Things have just become more complicated than ever now that you learned of not only Seonghwa's feelings for you but also the realisation of your own for him.
You wondered to yourself if only he had confessed to you earlier, before you and the captain got together or even before you met Hongjoong, would things have turned out differently then?
Would you have been Seonghwa's girlfriend now?
You struggled to comprehend your own feelings, you felt like a terrible person.
Tugging harshly on your hair, you feel your eyes start to burn and well up with tears of frustration. You were on the verge of hyperventilating as a thousand thoughts ran through your mind.
You couldn't afford to lose either of them but at the same time, you felt so selfish for wanting them both to yourself. How could you possibly think to hurt them like that?
Guilt washes over you in waves, each one more tumultuous than the last. Your heart is once again torn between the love you share with your loyal boyfriend and the unexpected feelings that have sprouted for his best friend. You question your own intentions, grappling with the remorse of harbouring such complex emotions.
You carry the weight of your own heart's betrayal, uncertain of how you could find yourself entangled in such a complicated emotional predicament. The realisation is a double-edged sword—while it speaks of the depth of your ability to love, it also casts shadows of disloyalty and confusion.
Stuck in your thoughts, you don't notice your boyfriend coming up to your slumped figure until you hear him calling your name in a worried tone, "Are you alright, baby?"
You let out a heart-wrenching sob at the sight of Hongjoong, you already felt like you wronged him just for realising your feelings for his best friend. At the sight of your tears, he immediately gathers you in his arms, "What is it, my love?" You cried louder, struggling to come up with an answer, "Everything's going to be okay, I'm here now."
Oh, how you wished that could be true.
As you gaze into your boyfriend's eyes, you wonder how you could dare to feel anything but devotion for him.
You recall the moments you've shared, the laughter, the support, the dreams woven together. Yet, even in his presence, a phantom yearning for his best friend whispers in the back of your mind.
Guilt knots your stomach as you contemplate the inevitable pain your feelings might cause. You fear the heartbreak that could befall you all—Seonghwa who trusts you, Hongjoong who loves you, and yourself, caught in a maelstrom of emotions you struggled to navigate.
Deciding to ease your boyfriend's worries after calming down, you assured him that you were just deeply concerned about his best friend's condition. You took the opportunity to express the genuine fear you felt back in the convenience store when you nearly lost Seonghwa, that should be enough to justify your breakdown.
Convinced by your words, he smiled fondly at you and praised you again for your selflessness before pressing his lips softly against yours in a chaste kiss as a way to ground you for good measure.
Little did he know, his sweet actions only made you feel worse.
In the intimate moment, you tread carefully, hiding the turmoil beneath a facade of normalcy. The shame you carry remains a silent companion, an unwelcome reminder of your internal conflict. You're trapped between the heart's desire and the moral compass that dictates loyalty and honesty.
You eventually returned to the furniture store with your boyfriend.
Relieved to find Seonghwa already sleeping soundly in his bed, you nodded appreciatively at Yunho who was making himself useful by collecting his hyung's old bloodied shirt to wash.
Hongjoong sits you down on your shared bed and follows your eyes before he goes over to check on his best friend. Your heart squeezes when you see him gently pulling a blanket over Seonghwa and tucking him in.
Would he still be this caring to his best friend if he knew of Seonghwa's feelings for you?
The mere thought of you being the one to destroy their friendship, it unsettled you deeply. At this point, it was starting to feel like no matter what decision it was that you were to make, it would definitely hurt at least one of you, if not all of you.
Would things have been better if I was never around?
You snap out of your trance when you feel your boyfriend's touch on your face, Hongjoong is beside you again as he pulls you into his comforting arms, "You can stop worrying now, he's fine."
Closing your eyes, you nodded and snuggled into his shoulder. For now, you chose to focus only on his familiar scent.
"So I spoke to Chris earlier about us leaving," He tightened his hold around you when he felt you tense up at the mention of your former childhood friend, "Relax, he... agreed to let us go."
Letting out the breath you didn't realise you were holding, you gazed up at him, "It must have taken you and Jongho a lot of effort to convince him, huh? Do you… think he's sincere about it? What if he's setting us up?"
Hongjoong shakes his head, "No, I can tell he means it. Though he did say he needs a little time to break the news to Minho, so we'll just have to stay put until then."
You sighed in relief but you see him hesitate before he continued.
"And baby… he asked to speak with you."
He pursed his lips when you looked away from his eyes, "I know you feel there's nothing else to talk about between you two but I can see how much this is torturing him."
Deep in thought, you started chewing on your nails but Hongjoong pulled your hand away from your lips to hold it against his chest, determined to break your bad habit of nail biting.
"Would you give him one chance to at least say what he wants to say to you? After all, this could very well be the last time you see him. Once we get out of District 9, we won't be turning back again."
Chan must have been quite transparent about his feelings if he could somehow convince your boyfriend to speak on his behalf like this.
As if sensing your anxieties, Hongjoong squeezes your hand in his, "Hey, I'll hang around if you're scared. You don't have to be alone with him if you don't want to, just hear him out."
With a groan, you relented, "Ugh, fine. Just so you know, I'm only doing this for you."
It was dinner time when everyone gathered at the food court.
All of Stray Kids, excluding Jisung, who was still stuck in detention, and your group of friends were finally present in the same place for the first time.
The atmosphere was borderline stifling.
It wasn't like Chan's gang and your group could just go around breaking the ice and befriending one another like this was some college orientation programme.
Under different circumstances, that could have been the case but the guys of Stray Kids were anything but ordinary people. In fact, they were quite literally terrorists out for innocent blood; killing and robbing poor survivors for their own satisfaction.
Despite the excitement, wonder and enthusiasm that some of your younger friends initially had for the lavish environment, they were again reminded of how all these luxuries were 'acquired'. Lord knows how many lives were sacrificed for such extravagance, especially in this ruined world where people struggled to secure even the most basic necessities.
A few of the gang members had smirks on their faces, giving all of you a once-over as if sizing you up.
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the childish and egotistic behaviour displayed. Hongjoong sighs, taking the lead in giving out orders and delegating tasks to his friends.
The guys started moving about systematically with that, they were used to the captain's orders and knew to do as they were told.
Not wasting another second, Yeosang and Wooyoung scrambled to push and combine a few tables together for your group. Mingi and Jongho busied themselves collecting the ready-made food by the counter, Yunho helping Seonghwa to his seat while the rest of you huddled around to sit together, away from any of the gang members scattered around.
You momentarily met eyes with poor Jeongin who was sitting all by himself in a corner, frowning when you noticed how he seemed like an outcast even within his own gang.
The sound of Jongho calling for you immediately brings you back and you thank him for the plate of food he placed in front of you.
Smiling at Seonghwa who was now seated opposite of you, you scooped up some of the meat and vegetables from your plate before dropping them on his.
He blinked adorably at you in surprise, "Eat up, Hwa. We all know you're the biggest eater and now more than ever, you need extra energy to heal faster." Clearing his throat, he thanked you before digging in, all while hoping the blush on his face was not too obvious.
Oh, you had no idea what your simple action has managed to do to his poor heart.
Hongjoong chuckles lightly beside you, moving to push some of his food onto your plate, "And you need to eat up too, you're already thinner compared to the day I left you with Seonghwa. Did you give all your food to him, huh?"
You scoffed playfully when he snickered, his best friend immediately defending himself from the accusation, "Yah, Kim Hongjoong! What do you take me for?" You bit your lip to stifle your laughter, watching in amusement as the two began bickering like an old married couple.
It wasn't until the sound of Wooyoung choking on his food did they stop arguing. The two eldest quickly turned their attention to him to lecture him for his lack of table manners instead.
Meanwhile, Jongho tried to help by slapping the poor boy rather violently on his back in what seemed like a pitiful attempt to stop the choking. At the hilarious scene, Yunho and Mingi failed to hold in their laughter. Yeosang, who was beginning to feel bad for his friend, swatted the youngest's hand away before doing it properly himself.
Ah yes, just like old times.
But of course, the peace only lasted so long until you felt Chan burning holes into your back with his neverending stares from where he sat a few tables away.
You glanced over to find not only his eyes on you but also some curious ones from his gang members. You squirm uncomfortably at Minho's not-so-subtle hateful scowl directed straight at you.
Hongjoong sends the gang leader a small nod, indicating he could talk to you now if he wishes to. You look away when Chan brightens up, getting up from his seat to approach you.
Under all of your friends' watchful eyes, you moved to a further vacant table where you eventually find yourself seated across from your former childhood friend. It definitely comforted you to know that all your friends could see you and were near enough to come to your rescue if needed.
Chan appeared to be quite nervous as he fidgets with his fingers, as if contemplating the right words to say to you.
With your arms crossed, you heaved a deep sigh and began, "So, how did you do it?" His eyes fly up to meet yours, "Do what?"
You smirked, "Convince Hongjoong to let us talk, you must have put on a very persuasive act if you could get even my boyfriend to speak for the likes of you," His face fell and he dropped his head at your spiteful words, he knows he deserves it, "Believe it or not, I don't need to put up any sort of act when it comes to you."
As much as you hated to admit, you could tell he meant what he said when you managed to detect the truthfulness in his tone.
Your heart trembled when you heard him say your name in a broken whisper, old memories flashing through your mind. Despite everything that's happened, nothing could change the fact that he once meant the world to you.
"I know you're disappointed in who I've become now and… god, if only I could turn back time, I'd do it without hesitation and trust me when I say, I wouldn't have gone down this path then. Not with you by my side. But it's already too late and I know there's no point dwelling on that now."
He swallows the lump in his throat and rubs his wet eyes.
"I may have changed a lot now; I may no longer be the Christopher from before but I promise you, the way I feel for you remains the same and nothing will ever change that. I understand that expecting forgiveness from you at this point is most likely impossible but I just needed you to see my sincerity."
Deep down, you know he would never do anything to hurt you. Even when he's become this heartless and cruel monster that everyone now knows him to be, some things remain unchanged.
You could see it in his eyes.
No matter how much of him has changed, the look in his eyes remains the same whenever he sees you.
But it didn't make things any better knowing of the life that he ultimately chose to lead after leaving Australia, you simply couldn't fathom how he could easily become so cold-blooded and merciless.
It was weird, it felt like you knew him and at the same time, you don't.
Taking a better look at him now, you were able to properly take in the drastic changes in his appearance.
The transformation was stark, a metamorphosis that defied time and identity. Once an innocent young man with eyes that held curiosity and a smile that radiated warmth, he had shed that former skin like a serpent casting off its old scales.
In its place emerged a figure shrouded in shadows, a ruthless gang leader whose appearance mirrored the darkness within.
Gone were the untamed locks of hair that had once danced in the wind; now, they were slicked back with a calculated precision that mirrored his calculated moves. His once-boyish features had hardened, etched with lines that whispered of a life lived on the edge.
Despite the tough image he fought so hard to keep up for so long, there he sat before you, vulnerability etched into his every word, pleading for your understanding and forgiveness.
Your gaze flickered between the man sitting before you and the echoes of the past that had shaped your present. The remnants of his every action still lingered in your mind like a dark storm cloud, but it was that damn look in his eyes—the genuine remorse, a yearning to mend what he had broken, if only it was possible.
The sincerity in his eyes was a stark contrast to the memories that had haunted you for so long as well as the reputation he's built for himself. It was a vulnerability you hadn't expected and it was the thing that chipped away at the walls you had built around yourself.
You now understood why Hongjoong gave in and felt bad for him.
Your heart wavered, teetering on the precipice of a decision that could reshape the course of your shared history. Forgiveness felt like a fragile thread, something that could snap at any moment, but there was a part of you that yearned for release—for the liberation that came from letting go of the burden of resentment.
And as you looked into his eyes, you felt the resistance within you begin to crumble. The anger, the hurt—it was faintly still there, but it was no longer the dominating force. In its place was a glimmer of possibility—the possibility of healing, of growth, of reclaiming a piece of yourself that had been lost to bitterness.
"I know, Chris. And as annoying as it is, even if the whole world sees you as the scary leader of Stray Kids now, you'll somehow still be Christopher to me," You feel your eyes burn with tears and you exhale shakily, "Perhaps it isn't entirely impossible for me to forgive you."
His eyes widen in hopefulness as he leans forward in his seat to get closer, "I don't know what drove you to be the Bang Chan that you are today but I suppose none of that matters anymore. I don't think all is lost if you're willing to put a stop to all this madness."
He freezes when he realises what you meant, "You said you'd turn back time if you could. Sure, what's done is done and you can't undo all the things you've done but, Chris, it's still not too late to right your wrongs now… If you do that, then perhaps I could try forgiving you."
"With all this... wealth that you now have," You gestured around you, "You could do so much good and help those in need for a change, you know? To make up for all the sins you've committed?"
It was a fragile bridge you were extending, a bridge between the past and the potential for a different future. You know it couldn't possibly be this easy to convince him to give up Stray Kids but it didn't hurt to at least try.
You really do wish that there was still hope for him.
"Hyung, it really isn't safe to use yet! Why won't you listen to me?"
Minho glares viciously at Seungmin, the intensity of it immediately shutting the younger male up.
For some reason, the second-in-command was strangely adamant about taking the newest version of the super zombie out for use despite the scientist's countless warnings. It wasn't like there were any operations planned so far, not that Seungmin was aware of at the moment.
Unfortunately for you, Minho caught on to your absurd suggestion, asking Chan to consider turning Stray Kids into some organisation for charity. As if it wasn't bad enough that you have caused their leader to be sidetracked, how dare you try to dictate what their gang do as well.
He wasn't planning on doing this so soon but you left him no choice, the look on his leader's face doing nothing to assure him of the gang's future. He would have to teach you all a lesson for this.
Still puzzled, Seungmin watched as his superior uttered the few instructing terms to the zombie a couple of times and made sure it obeyed.
To Seungmin's absolute relief, it did exactly as it was told.
It meant that his latest recipe was a success but it could still be dangerous because he had no idea how long the solution would be effective for. The moment it wears off, the zombie would return to its initial state or worse, it could quite possibly go feral as a side effect from some of the substances used in his solution.
He shuddered to think of every possible scenario that could play out within District 9 due to Minho's recklessness. Everything they worked so hard to maintain could easily go down the drain if this zombie so much as loses the slightest bit of control while carrying out whatever mission it was that Minho had for it.
This was utter lunacy as most testing usually took place outdoors by the loading bay where it would be easiest to execute the test subjects first thing without the concern of causing a big mess, if anything were to go wrong. And now Minho was planning to unleash this literal ticking time bomb indoors, he must have a death wish.
Seungmin continues to disapprove, listing down all the reasons why the right-hand man shouldn't be doing this while the elder of the two proceeds stubbornly regardless.
Unbeknownst to the two, Jeongin had been eavesdropping.
The youngest gang member hadn't meant to listen in, he was just casually passing by the lab on his way to visit poor Jisung who was still stuck in the timeout room, which was in one of the many escape rooms.
His eyes rounded and his heart lurched in his chest when he caught sight of Minho rashly attempting to unlock one of the cages that held their newest super zombie experiment, with Seungmin protesting wildly beside him.
Upon hearing all the horrible outcomes that were likely to happen spill out of the scientist's mouth, Jeongin was sent into an instant state of panic.
Judging from the situation, he was pretty sure this had nothing to do with Chan or the gang, it seemed very much like Minho's personal mission fuelled by his irrational need for petty revenge.
Jeongin may be the youngest and newest in the gang but he was still recruited for a reason and he was no fool, he was mostly right when it came to sensing things.
He knew there had to be some sort of conflict between the gang leader and his second-in-command when he thought he picked up on the incoherent yelling from Chan's office. But the cherry on top would be Minho's dramatic exit with a hand pressed against his bruising neck, there appears to have been a scuffle between the two.
He didn't need to be a genius to figure out it was likely due to your presence, even the blind could see the change in the gang leader's behaviour since the moment he recognised you during the convenience store operation.
Jeongin remembered feeling the sudden surge of protectiveness for you at that specific moment. In the short amount of time he's known his leader, he knew Chan to be a ruthless and greedy individual and he didn't want you anywhere near that kind of person.
It only eased him slightly when he saw the way Jongho and Mingi had tensed as well, he knew your friends would protect you if his leader had dared to try anything with you.
"Shut up, Seungmin. I don't need another useless reminder, I heard you the first time. And sorry to disappoint you but you don't have a choice, you're helping me with this whether you like it or not, you hear me? This is an order!"
At those words, Jeongin let out a small gasp before scurrying away before either of the two could spot him creeping about.
Forget paying Jisung a visit, he had more important things to do now. He had to warn someone of what he just witnessed. But all of a sudden, he was faced with a dilemma.
Who should he go to about this?
The natural option should have been Chan but a part of him felt like Hongjoong would be a more ideal choice at this critical moment.
Even though Jeongin had only met the captain briefly when the other half of your group arrived at District 9 with Changbin and Hyunjin aside from dinner time, it was clear enough for him to see that Hongjoong was appointed leader for a good reason.
It was easy to understand why Jongho remained so loyal and dedicated to his captain.
From his quick observation, he could already see how much of an admirable leader Hongjoong made. Unlike Chan, the captain has empathy; he understands and empathises with the concerns and feelings of his friends, creating a sense of connection and showing that he genuinely cares.
He was also decisive, adaptive and confident.
Jeongin really had to applaud him for those qualities because he couldn't imagine being in Hongjoong's position. As if finding himself in enemy territory wasn't enough, he had the lives and well-being of all his friends to worry about.
Despite everything, he was still able to maintain composure under pressure and navigate setbacks with grace. Most importantly, he didn't fail to radiate positivity, even during such challenging times.
Now this was not to say that Chan was a bad leader. Sure, he does alright or he wouldn't have been able to bring Stray Kids to such heights of success. He could have been as good as Hongjoong if only he possessed the ability to care too. But Jeongin supposed that would be too much to ask, considering what the gang did for a living.
That's the thing, the only thing driving Stray Kids forward was materialistic desires whereas Jongho's group strived to help others as well as protect their loved ones.
The youngest gang member fears he no longer has the desire to be a part of this monstrosity.
Without himself realising it, his feet were already taking him towards the direction of the furniture store where you and your friends were currently residing.
He decides then that Hongjoong would be the better person to warn about whatever sadistic plans Minho had up his sleeves. Besides, he worries about the high chances of you being the right-hand man's actual target.
He yelps when he nearly runs into you, your arms shooting out to hold onto his shoulders to stabilise him, "Jeongin? What are you doing here?"
Gripping your forearms, he struggles to catch his breath and gives you an urgent squeeze.
"Listen to me, noona. I think you might all be in danger."
Things are about to get exciting, teehee~ Anyway, the results from the poll show me that Hongjoong is winning by a tiny bit more compared to Seonghwa but I was just playing with y'all, I've decided to do two different endings to please everyone.
Here's the sad part, I apologise in advance if the last few parts take me a while to update because a new uni semester has begun for me. I'm actually a postgrad (masters) student, so I'm juggling between classes, writing my research paper and this.
Hope you can understand and thank you for all the love you've shown my story, I'll do my best to update soonest possible! As always, I enjoy reading your thoughts, reviews and feedback so feel free to leave a reply, an ask or even a message if you want! <3
Tag list: @aurasblue @tmtxtf @park-simphwa @sunnyhokyu @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna
All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.
#edenesth#undying bonds#ateez#ateez fanfiction#ateez fanfic#kim hongjoong#park seonghwa#ateez hongjoong#ateez seonghwa#zombie apocalypse au#hongjoong x you#hongjoong x reader#seonghwa x you#seonghwa x reader#ateez fic
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