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writingsbychlo · 3 years

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smoke and fire (13)

word count; 14,463

summary; in the aftermath of an unusual rescue, some big revelations come to pass.

notes; y’all are gonna hate me but love me.

warnings; descriptive gore, gun use, reference to death, violence, gang activity, reference to drug use, reference to arson, reference to house fires, main character injury.

It was a known fact that it took three whole seconds in the morning before you could process where you were, and remember anything other than your own name.

That first second was spent in a quickly disseminated state of serenity. Your head wasn’t yet hurting, and you eased back into consciousness with a slow start, the darkness surrounding you oddly reminiscent, but the chilling cold and the damp was less so.

The second was when panic rushed through your system. Your throat felt blocked as you came back to consciousness, the pain in your head came crashing back over you like a crushing tidal wave, the blood rushing on your head as coughs racked your body, trying to take a deeper breath, and panic filled you.

The third second made you roll onto your side, spluttering a little as pain throbbed behind your eyes and your head was spinning, making you feel like you were falling for just a second, before your nails were scraping at the material underneath you as you tried to sit up, everything along your body screaming out in agony and almost giving out with your weakness. It wasn’t soft cotton like your sheets, it was gritty like stone, tearing at your nails.

And then, you remembered.

You remembered exactly where you were, and what had happened, and why you were here. Well, that part was still a little fuzzy, you’d never really been given a reason. The pain in your body made sense, the dull throbbing in one eardrum more than the other and the shock of residual adrenaline left in your sore body that was beginning to make a resurgence in your fear, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

The familiar burn of tears in your throat as a lump formed and the stinging of salt in your eyes as they threatened to fall, and then you found the strength to sit up, to blink and clear dust-filled eyes a little more, before wiping a hand over your face to get rid of it all. There wasn’t much light where you were, but there was a clear spot of musty-yellow lighting in the centre of the room, your body curled in the corner, dumped in uncomfortable positions that made your legs ache, and there was a figure you recognised leaning over the table.

Covered in blood, frantic, brown eyes fixed on you that glittered under the low light, you swallowed thickly.

“Nice of you to join us, sleeping beauty. Think ya’ can come give me a hand over here?” Your brows furrowed, still trying to piece the puzzle together, but then there was a clicking that made you jump unnecessarily violently in fear, the memory of the last time you’d heard it flashing behind your eyes like a scene from a movie. Newt was panicked, but clearly trying to stay calm, his eyes widening just a fraction in a messaged for only you to hear, and despite the pain you felt, you forced yourself to your feet.

Your bag was weighing you down, medical supplies rattling, and you stumbled on feet that you could barely feel until your hands were braced on the edge of the table, and you could see what was going on a little better.

A gunshot victim, at least four bullet wounds, two packed with gauze that was rapidly soaking through as Newt had pressure on two others; swapping between them frantically if the pile of blood-sodden gauze on the floor was anything to go by. You assumed from the recognisable tattoo on the other half of this mans face too that he was a part of whatever gang this was, and clearly, an important member if they were willing to commit these kinds of crimes to save his life.

“You got more gauze, ‘cus I’m running out, and I could use your help getting him fixed up before we both end up looking like him.”

His words were low and whispered, and you gaped as you stared at the man. “This guy needs a hospital, and a team of professional medical surgeons. Like, Derek! Or, Dr Lahey! We aren’t trained for this!”

“Yeah, well, we’re all he's got.” Newt huffed, a spit of blood leaving the unnamed man’s body between Newt’s gloved fingers as he tried to shift his weight, a whispered curse from his lips as he tried to stop the flow again.

You nodded, swallowing thickly and squeezing your eyes shut in a desperate attempt to quell the pain bouncing around the inside of your skull. You assessment the scene, noting the Newt really hadn't been able to do much, and thankfully, if the change in the daylight outside was anything to go by then you had only been out for an hour or so, maybe a little longer, light still coming in between the cracks in the boarded-up windows.

The man in the corner was slumped in his chair, gun sitting beside him on the table, and your heart was racing so fast that the headache you sported was only getting worse. Your voice felt raw and hoarse as you tried to speak on it, squeaking and cracking the first time you tried to speak in anything above a whisper.

“We’re gonna’ need some water over here, boiled if you can to stop an infection, but even just bottled water would do at this point.” The man sitting on the chair stopped his rocking, the groaning of the seat against the concrete pausing, and you jumped as the front two legs slammed back down onto the floor. He stared at you for a moment, analysing you, before giving in, wandering over to the door and undoing a heavy deadbolt to open it up, never turning his back to the two of you and keeping his gaze locked with yours before throwing a demand for bottled water over his shoulder.

There was scuffling, various sounds of movement on the other side and you assumed there would be multiple people, before the door was closing once again, and the grating sound of metal was making itself knowing again in such a piercing scream along the lock that you shivered, wincing at the chill it gave you, stomach twisting.

“All right, this is a fucking mess.”

“You don’t say, love.” Newt grunted, a soft laugh falling from him as you opened up your bag, hands shaking as you tore it roughly, the zip ricocheting along its tracks to expose the contents to you. A fresh pair of gloves, and two of the strongest painkillers you could find that you forced yourself to choke down dry, and then you were attempting to focus.

Your scissors came first, chopping around Newt’s hands as best you could to remove the sodden clothing that covered his body to expose blood-smeared and frayed skin, torn from bullet wounds and bruised from the bleeding under the skin. Pushing the fabric aside, Newt pressed down a piece of gauze that was turning redder from pink by the moment, no white left on it, and the colour of his skin was beginning to turn sickly pale.

Grabbing for your flashlight, you noticed it was gone, left nowhere on your bag and missing from your person, patting down every pocket, before your partner simply huffed. “I wanted to do a trauma exam, except my torch is on my keys, too, and they took those a while ago because they have things that could be used as a weapon on them.”

“What, like my star-shaped plushie keyring?”

“Apparently.” You rolled your eyes, reaching a hand up to the lamp overhead, and tapping your fingers against the metal, hissing at the heat building up along the cover of the lamp, but deciding it would have to do. It wasn’t ideal, and it wouldn't give results all that accurate, but if there wasn’t any functioning or reaction at all, then there was no point in doing this at all, because the bleeding in his torso wouldn’t be the bleeding that would kill him.

Grabbing onto the stem instead, you covered his eyes with one hand, adjusting the lamp to sit a little differently, holding it over his head. Moving your hand back quickly, you lifted his eyelid, his pupil sluggish in his movements, but there was definitely a reaction, and you let out a little breath of relief. One more thing you could deal with. Checking the other eye, just to be certain, you got much the same reaction, not a speed you were overall happy with, but certainly better than nothing. This guy really had seen the worst of it, there was swelling along his jaw, cut and battered, a blackish bruise forming above his cheekbone and burst blood vessels in the same eye, and that was just his face.

He was coated in blood, and you couldn't tell whether it was his or someone else’s, some dried and other patches still oozing, body marred with bruises and cuts, both old and fresh, most of which were unrelated to the gunshot wounds he had. A fist came banging on the door, just in time, water bottles being handed through when it was cracked open a fraction, and there was only six of them by your count, eyes flittering over the sealed packets of water that hadn't even been opened, and you’d have to stretch it to make it last.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than this guy, he has a bullet in his thigh.” The joke was to brush off his own pain, but for the past couple of minutes, he’d been shuffling his weight from one foot to another, and you glanced around, noting the box that was sitting only a few feet away. The unidentified man set to guard the two of you was coming over, the door sealed up tight once again and the packet of water in his hands.

“Can you put them down on the box? We could use the extra surface?”

He paused, glancing at it, considering the request, before agreeing. Silently, albeit, he accepted your request, dropping the bottles down onto it and kicking the crate across the floor to you, wooden container scraping over the stonework and bumping against your leg roughly, and you tried not to glare at him as your leg buckled.

A coppery taste filled your mouth as you licked over your bottom lip, wincing at the slight pain of the cut, swollen and sore, but not as much as the pain along your forehead, a cut you assumed you gained on the drive here. “So, first up, we need to try and stitch up those holes.”

“If I let go of these cuts, he’ll lose a lot of blood.”

“I know. We can work fast, but I need you to do the stitching, because I’m not sure I’m up to it right now.” You held your hands up, the uncontrollable trembling taking you over was far too violent to be able to do sutures, but you could definitely hold down pressure. Newt nodded, your hands closing over his, the squeeze of cold blood between your fingers from the gauze making you gag slightly, choking down that feeling of nausea.

His hands slipped out from underneath your own, and you pressed down the second they were gone, the man underneath you groaning under his breath as he constantly walked the border between conscious and unconscious. As you held down, Newt reached across his body, snatching up the first of the water bottles. Unscrewing the lid and placing it down, he left the cap beside it, before he was shuffling through his bag.

Pulling out the kit with needles and thread in, your emergency stitches kit that you’d ever actually to use in the field, and you were having flashbacks and pinpricks of pain along the tips of your fingers as you remembered practising the stitches in the academy, constantly poking your fingers with the metal thread.

The strongest antiseptic followed, dark brown liquid in a half-empty container sloshing against the sides, and it dripped across the edges, spilling a little in his haste, before he was diluting it in the first bottle. Lid back on, shaking it to mix, the once drinkable water turned a murky brown colour, and your eyes were stinging a little front he still open bottle letting strong fumes out into the air.

“I’m thinking chest, stomach, stomach, thigh.”

“Should probably elevate his legs if you wanna’ go thigh last, it’s pretty close to his femoral.” Newt nodded, glancing around, before realising there wasn’t much for the two of you to work with.

“Alright, chest, thigh, stomach?”

“I guess.” You mumbled, none of the odds being in either of your favours, and you watched as your partner pressed his fingers down against the pulse in the man’s neck, frowning at what he found and holding the position down for longer than what was good, the results silently given to you simply by the actions. “Do you need me to push the cut shut so you can stitch?”

“I do, but if you let go of those other ones, he’ll bleed out.”

You gnawed a little on your lower lip, fear and panic building once again, because every slip this man made closer to death, he was dragging both you and Newt with him. The words hadn't been specifically spoken, nothing was clear, but you could read between the lines, and if this man didn’t survive the day, then neither would you and Newt.

You didn’t know what had happened to him, you didn’t want to. Whatever kind of illegal activities, gang territory fight or simply men wreaking havoc upon one another had caused this, you wanted no more part of it than keeping him alive long enough to hope that you and your friend might get out of this situation. The hand under your heart thudded a little more violently as he surfaced back into total consciousness once again, a gasping breath followed by sputtering, fresh red bubbling in his spit as he tried to clear the blood that was pooling in his throat, before an agonising sound was leaving him.

“What the hell are you doing to him?”

You jumped at the loud voice, yelling from across the room and the gun clicked again, the sound a threat that made your entire body stiffen painfully, nails digging into the mains chest as your hands tried to ball themselves into fists.

“We’re trying to save his bloody life!” Newt yelled back, and you gasped, eyes widening a little, because if the two of you had already learned anything from talking back to these people it was the risk of a ruptured eardrum and a killer headache. Clearly, this wasn’t the same man who’d taken you hostage, the rasp in his voice a little different and this man simply grunted at the pair of you disdainfully, rolling his eyes and shuffling in his seat beside the door.

“Alright, what if we use the bags for weight? It’s not ideal, but if we work quickly, I can hold one shut while the bags put some pressure on the other two, and I can hold it shut.”

The blond before you flicked his eyes over everything, fiddling with the tools as he toyed with the tweezers he had retrieved, wiping them down as best he could with some tissue dipped in the antiseptic water. “This guy is so gonna’ fucking die.” He whispered, and you couldn't help the chuckle that left you, swaying on your feet a little as you did, the rush of a chemical other than adrenaline being overwhelming.

“Well, we’re all he’s got.” You repeated his words back to him, a cheeky flash of white teeth in a smile that was gone as fast as it came, before you were shaking your head and refocusing on the task at hand, chasing away anything else you might be feeling in the moment. Daring to free one hand from his thigh, you watched the rapid spurts of blood that came free, trickling over his trousers to the table below, before you were putting your bag down on top. You couldn't see much, whether or not it was even working, but it was the best chance the two of you had.

Newt copied your action, placing his bag down over the wounds on his stomach, much like you had done, giving the two of you the chance to focus on the wound on his chest.

Taking the disinfectant from his hand and pressing down a cotton pad over the end, you soaked the small white ball in the liquid, packing it into the wound as Newt tried to clear the area to see what he was doing, but really, it was only smearing the blood around further. You could clean him up and do a better job of it later, but the first thing you needed to do was get the blood flow under control and wash off the antiseptic once it was clean.

You pinched the hole shut, temporarily stopping the floor, beads of red pooling at the corners, and Newt spilt water over the tops of your fingers, the cold feeling making you shiver, because despite the freezing temperatures in whatever kind of warehouse you are trapped inside of, the layer of clammy sweat coating your skin was hiding you from the chill. Once you could see what you were doing, Newt sighed, taking the tweezers in one hand, and nodding his head.

“Push up around the edges to stop the bullet slipping, I should be able to get it pretty quick. I was good at this part.”

“You scare me a little, why the fuck were you a bullet removal prodigy?” He shrugged, winking a little and holding the metal tongs over the wound, before nodding his head once. Slipping your fingers out of the way, you pressed down around the edges, blood spurting up again but you pressed down, stopping the bullets from shifting as Newt pushed into the man's chest through the hole already made. There was a scarcely audible sound, one deaf to the untrained ear but like sirens to a paramedic, the cling of the tips of the needle against the tip of the bullet, and newt shifted his fingers a little.

Letting the metal open back up from where he’d squeezed them closed like a bullet, the edges of the hole stretched around the expanding metal, and an intense look of concentration took over Newt’s face, not even looking at the wound but staring at the wall behind you, looking right through it as he operated purely on instinct and the touch as he felt his way through it. He let out a victorious little noise, pulling back, and as he did, he brought out the shell of a bullet, one that looked to be homemade, though that didn’t exactly surprise you, and it let out a much louder clanging as he dropped it back down onto a metal tray beside the victim’s head.

You moved instantly, the second that it was pulled back you were pushing your thumb and forefinger back up against the edges of the cut to contain the bleeding. Holding it tightly, Newt picked up the next set of his equipment, an atraumatic needle, one of ten and you hoped he was as good as he boasted being because you only had ten between you both, and you’d need two per wound with the length of these wires to seal them up tight enough.

You watched, carefully, as Newt threaded the first of the holes through the wound, pulling it out of the other side with the tweezers, and beginning to tie a series of surgical knots to keep them closed. He gave it a test tug, the skin pulling as he did, but it didn’t rip or tear, neither the wire nor the flesh, a solid base with which he could work. Beginning to sow him up further, Newt moved in steady motions, each gap only two millimetres apart at the maximum, pulling them tightly enough to stop the blood flow and allow tissue repair to began, but not enough that it would tear at the inevitable strain it would undergo when it was done up.

As soon as she was halfway through, attaching a new thread to continue with, and the wound was getting closer to being shut, allowing you to move your fingers out of his way, a slight breath escaping you as your breathing hitched each time the needle or thread came too close to you, because the last thing you needed right now was to get an infection from someone else’s blood and a dingy warehouse, or to lose time on this man’s life by having to start disinfecting everything all over again.

As he sealed it up, he pulled all of the threads a little tighter, working his way along to make sure the thread was evenly distributed, before fastening up the thread. He pulled back, the both of you waiting with bated breath to see whether blood would come free or whether they would bust open once your fingers moved, and while they pulled tautly, they never broke or tore.

You flooded with relief, Newt letting out a mix between a chuckle and a sigh, relief overlaying it all, and you took just a second of reprieve to know that you were just one step closer to this all being over. Opening your mouth, you weren’t sure what was coming, words of gratitude and accomplishment sitting on your tongue, aimed at any kind of higher power that might be watching over the two of you right now, but your partner beat you to it.;

“Let’s check the bag wounds.”

You nodded your head, swallowing back whatever you were going to say, beginning to feel a little dizzy as your head spun, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, containing the way you were feeling. Lifting away the bag that was sitting over his thigh, you were both surprised and impressed that the bag method had held reasonably well. There was more blood than there would be if you’d held it yourself, but you could work with what you had, and as your eyes flicked to where Newt was checking his stomach, you found similar results. Your gut was twisting again, bile rising in your throat at the sight of the blood in various places, an unusual phenomenon as blood had never bothered you before, and you turned away, gagging as vomit threatened to make itself known, and you tried not to clap a blood-soaked hand over your mouth, the thought only sickening you further.

“Woah, you alright?” You gagged, dry heaving a few more times as you tried to keep back the vomit that was on the verge of making itself known, tears lining your eyes and heat flooding over your cheeks as everything within you threatened to let go, but you managed to keep a lid on it. “The fuck was that?”

“I don’t know. I’m fine. Just aftershock, I think. Hunger, too, maybe, been a long time since I had anything real to eat, I think my body is just all fucked up right now.” His eyes narrowed on you, but he nodded, accepting the answer because the two of you needed to focus on things that were more important.

Once you had suppressed your nausea, you were picking the scissors back up, Newt resetting and disinfecting the equipment once again as you cut away at a patch of the ruined jeans the man was wearing. The denim was stiff while wet, and you struggled to cut it, your fingers aching as the metal of the handles pressed into the edges of your fingers, and you released a breath as you were holding as it was finished. Wiping down the area and packing the hole with disinfectant to make sure it was clean.

The procedure between the two of you started up again, only a second later you were pinching the wound shut, waiting for Newt to extract the bullet before moving to knot the thread and begin to fasten the stitches. It felt like time was coming to a stop while also speeding along, your fingers moving to the pulse point on his neck to monitor how it was going, counting the beats you could feel and trying to remember how light it felt so each period check would reveal whether it grew stronger or weaker.

You felt like the clock was ticking by too fast, every time you glanced up to the musty glass barrier hanging over the door seemed like it was spinning by at double speed, the hand constantly moving in starling jumps around the clock, the shadows in the room growing more pronounced and sharp as the sun moved across the sky, the light becoming duller as the one hanging over you both seemed to become brighter, and you watched Newt work.

As a team, you stitched him up, making sure that each wound was sealed up tightly and that they wouldn't burst, the pair of you physically exhausted. You could see the ache in Newt’s leg, he’d given up on even trying to hide it a while ago, as the two of you had moved onto the third bullet hole, all of his weight sitting on his good leg as he balanced barely anything on the bad one. Four bullets were sitting in a row, lined up neatly beside his head, and you let out a sigh, scrubbing over his skin carefully to wipe up the traces of blood.

Once he’d been stable enough, you checked his vision again, his reaction times having increased by a fraction of a second, but it was enough to mark an improvement, and his pulse was picking up with both strength and speed. You could see the bruises and cuts along his skin more clearly once you’d wiped him down of excess blood, littered with marks that would fade, only the bullet holes to turn pinkish-purple with scar tissue eventually, to join all of the other battle wounds along his flesh. Various tattoos to match the symbols on his face were across his body, and you made sure to treat every single cut, not wanting to leave anything up to chance, your body screaming out in protest as your adrenaline died down, and exhaustion was crawling in.

You were overwhelmed, tears building in your eyes, and Newt mentioned nothing as a few fell free, because you were sure that at some point - perhaps before you’d surfaced back to consciousness all that time ago - that he would have done the same. The situation was terrifying and you were struggling to process it all, every thought you had was like a swirling hurricane, melded with every other thought and emotion you were feeling, leaving you hopeless to process your thoughts but just lay rampant to them.

Anxiety was spiking through your system, choking it down by focusing on the methodical cleaning of the man, but eventually, there was nothing left to do. Fresh gauze and bandages were stark in comparison to his sickly-coloured skin, wrapped neatly and tightly and finally staying crisp and clean as you had everything under control, and your legs were threatening to buckle. You packed away slowly, stepping back from the table, and removing your gloves to join the scattered piles of medical waste that covered the floor and the edges of the workspace.

Newt didn’t even bother to put things back properly, to look after the equipment, he simply dropped it all inside, doing the zip up enough to hold it shut, before it was dangling from his fingers by the straps, and you followed suit.

Noting the movements, the man in the chair stood, his movements slightly wobbly from how long he’d been sat down, and you realised how long must have passed. As he approached, he kicked one of the empty bottles aside, all six used to the last drop for cleaning and disinfecting, and he pulled the gun from his waistband, making sure his finger was over the trigger in case either you or Newt made an attempt to pull something.

Not that you had any chance, there was a pile of everything that could possibly be used as a weapon over on the table beside where he had been guarding.

“He’ll live?”

You raised your hands, folding them behind your head in a symbol of your cooperation as he turned to you, and you tried not to sway too much in your weakness, simply nodding your head to him, and swallowing thickly. “He’ll need to keep those wounds clean, you can take the stitches out in about a month, or longer, wait until they start to form flesh for a scar but take them out before the skin gets too puffy.”

He nodded his head before lifting the gun up a little higher, motioning to the bag you held, and you trembled, his finger flexing a little on the trigger. “Whatever we’re going to need to keep it clean. Get it out. Put it on the table here, and then walk over to the wall until your back is pressed to it.”

You lifted the bag slowly, the dragging of the zip over the metal was all that field the room, tense silence taking over before you were reaching inside, daring to take your eyes off of the man and quell your fear to be able to reach inside. Pulling out both the diluted and undiluted bottles, you hoped he didn’t notice the lack of canister spray you’d left at the scene, your mind suddenly becoming aware of the life you’d left hanging in the balance, and wondering whether he’d survived.

By now, the shift at the firehouse would have been over, and you did not doubt that a missing persons case would have been filed for you and Newt, the abandoned ambulance after over an hour of no check-in would lead them to know something had happened, but you didn’t know how long it would take to find you, or if they even could.

Placing the bottles, spare bandages and wraps, as well as some painkillers down on the table, you stepped back, fastening your bag up.

“He’ll be in a fair amount of pain for a while, they should last two weeks, he can’t take any more than two a day, or else he’ll OD.”

The man nodded, motioning backwards toward the shadowed walls, and you stepped back slowly, Newt following when his command was given, and his hands were held up into the air too, both of you proceeding with caution.

While one danger had dissipated, another was making itself known, the purpose of being brought here was over, you and Newt had served your purpose, and if the man asking for supplies and advice was anything to go on, it meant that either they planned to let you go or planned to kill you, because you clearly wouldn't be sticking around to follow through on a treatment plan.

Once your back hit the wall, you stilled, Newt coming to stand beside you. The door was unlocked, several more men coming in, and the four of them all lifted their comrade carefully, carrying him out, and the door slammed shut behind them, leaving you both in cold silence. This area of the room seemed even colder than that of your impromptu operating theatre had, the shadows creating a drop in temperature, but you were simply too tired to care anymore.

Your head was still throbbing, your eyes felt heavy each time you tried to hold them open, the adrenaline and fear in the situation had been all that had helped to even keep you awake, and you rolled your head from side to side, trying to ease the pain in your neck.

Newt followed beside you, your legs pulled up before you as his stretched out, your bags abandoned together between your bodies, and your head came to rest on his shoulder, a heavy sigh let out.

“I think you have a concussion.”

You chuckled, but it was dry and humourless, simply a sound made to fill the silence and bush him off, but he wasn’t accepting that answer. His hand closed over yours, lacing your fingers together comfortingly and squeezing tightly, and you did your best to squeeze him back just as firmly. “I don’t have a concussion, I just have a headache.”

“Yeah.” He hummed, and you thought for a second, you may actually have won an argument with him. “But you also have nausea, you passed out, you’re a little confused, you’re weak on your feet and you can barely stand up straight.”

“It’s a-”

“You say aftershock and I’ll slap you.” He teased, a genuine laugh leaving you this time, and your shoulders rose and fell with a shrug. “When we get out of here, w-”

“If.”

“When we get out of here,” His voice was a little firmer, commanding you to have as much faith as he did, “Will you please just get it checked out? Just to make me feel better.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes behind closed lids, and groaning when he jostled his shoulder to wake you back up to the fullest alertness you could muster. “Fine! Fine, when we get out of here, I’ll get it checked out.”

Silence encased you both, darkness taking over, and the man who’d been tasked with guarding you both returned, taking his seat again and setting up to play on his phone from the second that he was comfortable, and you waited. He said nothing, not noticing the stare both you and Newt had fixed on him, your heart sinking as he remained quiet. The longer his lack of information dragged on, the more you felt doom beginning to sweep over.

The fact that he had nothing to say to you both screamed volumes into the void. There were no threats to keep your mouths shut, or looming promises of what would happen if you exposed the group’s location, or even any information on when you’d be leaving, and it seemed that they had no intention to let you go at all.

As you wiggled a little against the concrete, butt becoming numb from the stone underneath you, your legs stretched out to match your partners, and your eyes closed. You were fading away again, drifting towards sleep as it called out to you, the spinning of the room, the dizziness that was bordering on vertigo and the nausea with the headache, it all seemed to lessen as you slipped from consciousness.

Newt was talking to you, forcing you to stay just enough awake that you didn’t drift completely, but you weren’t processing what he was saying, the words just becoming background noise that disturbed you from being able to slumber, but you suspected that was the whole point. He wasn’t talking about anything important, he was telling you his mother’s recipes and the time he once went to buy new work shoes but almost walked out of the store while wearing an un-purchased pair because he was so tired from a double shift.

You missed the banging in the other rooms, you missed the actions taking place, barely roused by the sudden shaking your body felt, and you only snapped back to consciousness when you felt hands on your body. You kicked roughly, Newt barely avoiding the blow as all the pain you’d felt came flooding back over you in shockwaves, making you shudder violently at the surge of pain and nausea, before you were blinking at the dull lighting in the room.

“Stick with me, love. Tommy would kill me if we had to take you to the hospital after the final hurdle because I couldn’t keep you awake.”

“Oh, shut up.” Your words were slurred, and you shook your head, eyes squeezing closed at the throbbing taking place behind them. “You’d love that, I’m surprised you haven’t sacrificed me for a trip to the ER yet, anything to see Dr Derek in his lab coat, right?”

Pink flushed his cheeks, his eyes flickering over to the door, and he leaned in a little, hugging you tightly and shaking you enough to jolt energy through your body, a groan on your lips as he did. “Something is going on outside, and I never pass up a chance for an I-told-you-so!”

“A what?” You questioned, confusion still washing over you, but you never got a chance for an answer. The sound of a bullet pinging against metal was so sharp that it left another ringing in your ears as you cupped your hands over the sides of your head just a second too late. Newt did the same, falling away from shock with a grunt, and the man beside the door was in a little more agony at his close proximity to the sound.

You blinked blurry vision clear, watching smoke curl up from the lock, before the heavy metal door was falling open. It was a uniform you recognised, one of the police members you’d already seen much of over the last few cases, your brows raising a little as you watched them enter. You kept your hands over your ears, at least two more shots reverberating through the air and you felt them more than you heard them, body feeling the impact and breath feeling knocked from your lungs at the vibrations over the airwaves.

It was all like a dream, detached from reality as you were pulled to your feet by an officer, Newt’s hand dropping away from yours and you stumbled, feelings as though your movements weren’t your own. As you were guided through the halls, you tried to remember some of it, any of it, but everything you saw and heard seemed to be going in one ear and out the other.

Flashing blue lights outside with wailing sirens signalled the police cars, and several men around you were all being arrested, pinned down face first and snarling as they were cuffed, but you didn’t have enough energy to feel intimidated right now.

The fresh air was a shock, like plunging into water below the freezing point, and you took a sudden and gasping inhale, coming to a full stop, and everything out of focus suddenly went into overdrive. As you stepped out of the building the haze seemed to drop away, and you took another lungful of the air, panting breaths as you tried to fill your lungs with the source of oxygen, a panic attack building as you finally let everything cup back through, and gentle hands were guiding you to an ambulance.

You recognised the paramedics waiting inside, they were friendly as they greeted you by name and you recognised them from another case, perhaps the one on the bridge or at the chemical plant, you weren’t too sure, but it didn’t matter. An oxygen mask was placed over your face, fresh breaths of air racing through your lungs on a steady distribution that forced your breathing to even out, and you were grateful for it, not wanting to break down until you were curled up in your own bed tonight.

You winced at the flashlight that flickered over your eyes, stars in your eyes flashing for a second as you blinked to clear them, and while the paramedic around you shuffled within their own devices, you shifted yourself slightly on the stretcher, turning to stare out at the collections of cars instead, trying to see more than just the inside of the ambulance.

You searched for Newt, unable to find his blond hair for a good few minutes, before finally, you spotted him. Messy mop head in a far corner, beside a collection of cars that didn't belong to the public services, but instead to the members of the public services.

He was wrapped up tightly in his best friend's arms, Thomas patting his back comfortingly, as Minho all but bounced with excitement at his side. Brenda was leaning on her car, and Gally was standing beside them, hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. They were all in casual clothing, clearly having changed since the end of their shift had rocked around so long ago, the night sky closing in overhead as the day was being chased away, and you took another deep breath through the mask, smiling again.

Just the sight of your team was reassuring, to know they’d found you, they’d come to collect you, to make sure you were okay, and your heart thumped steadily and surely in confirmation that you needed their comfort right now. They were talking, Newt using a lot of hand gestures and while you couldn't tell much about their features, you knew they’d all be flickering from amusement to confusion to horror. Newt was quite the storyteller, at any time, no matter the trauma.

They turned, Newt pointing over to the ambulance you were within, and you raised a hand to wave to your friend as you watched all of their attentions move to you, before the paramedic before you was summoning your attention once again. You turned to her, the call of your name snapping you to the moment, and as much as you didn't want to look away from them all, you knew you’d be reunited with them soon enough.

“Well, you definitely have a concussion.” She confirmed, and you pouted, taking a final deep breath from the oxygen mask, and then taking it off.

“Newt is going to live for the ‘I-told-you-so’.” You scowled, and she seemed to come into more focus within your memory now. You remembered her, she had been there at the chemical plant, she’d been new at the time, a trainee, fresh out of the academy and on one of her first cases, and you’d tried to comfort her about the card system, making sure to navigate as many red cards away from her as you could to make a hard day just a little easier.

She grinned, handing you a plastic cup with some tablets inside, and a bottle of water, with the lid already unscrewed. “I’ll spare you the medical analysis, I’m sure you know what to do.” You only nodded, taking both from her gratefully and tipping the pills onto your tongue, before following them with a gulp of water, and taking them down eagerly. “Two painkillers to keep the headaches and muscle soreness at bay, as well as the nausea.”

“As much as I’d love to chat, I’m going to have to rain-check. Am I good to go? I’m desperate to just get home.”

She chuckled, nodding, and you stood up, still feeling a little unsteady and lightheaded, but it was beginning to get easier. Giving her a final thanks, and climbing down from the van, you closed the doors up for her, banging on the back when they were sealed up, and she gave a thumbs up from inside of the window, before sorting everything out and preparing for their journey back.

Turning around, there was a body directly behind you, and you cursed loudly while jumping, eyes trailing up from a familiar chest to his face and raising a brow as warm honey-coloured eyes stared at you. “Fuck, Tommy, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to sneak up on someone who’d been freshly rescued after an abduction? We tend to be jumpy.”

He grinned, shaking his head a little at your words, before your own smile was following. His hands came up, cupping your cheeks, and you leaned into the warmth that his palms brought over the cold skin of your face, sagging a little at his touch. “I have a lot of questions, but the main one is; are you okay? I just need to know you’re alright, and everything else can wait.”

“I’m okay, Tommy, I promise. A little battered and bruised, but hey, what’s new?” He rolled his eyes softly, a yawn following on your lips as you covered it, not missing the fond look he held as he continued to stare, eyes sweeping over your features. You waited for a second longer, before nudging one of your feet forward to bump your toes against his, your brows raising a little. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just really fucking worried about you.” He whispered, eyes dropping down a little, fixing on your lips, and licked over his own. His hands fell further down, sitting over your jaw and he dragged a thumb across your lips a little, your mouth pouting instinctually as he did, and his lips flicked up at the edges, never taking his gaze from where his finger was resting. “Chasing after you is like being on a damn rollercoaster.”

“How’s that?” You mumbled, breath clouding in the cold air slightly but the words were whispered, and his lashes tickled against your cheek as he shifted to bump his nose against yours, dragging them together slowly, his lips pressing to his own finger on the other side.

“Exciting, addictive, a total rush, but a little scary right at the big drop.”

You brought a hand up, sitting over his cheek, his head tipping into your hand, and his thumb slipped away, leaving nothing between you to stop you from being able to taste the overly sweetened coffee on his breath that he drank whenever he got worried. “Don’t kiss me yet.”

“Why not? It’s me and you, and now I know you’re okay, and I just really want to.” He teased you, pushing in enough to trace his lips very gently against your own, sparks of electricity shooting along you at the fleeting brush that you could still feel but wasn’t enough to be a kiss, but already left you wanting more. “If you don’t give me a reason soon, I’m gonna’ kiss you breathless, and they’ll need to put you back on that oxygen mask.”

You let out a soft breath, an airy laugh, before finding the strength to pull back by a fraction. “I have a concussion.”

He snapped back, eyes wide and brows furrowing so tightly you thought he'd get permanent perry lines, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “You said you were fine! You little liar!”

“I am fine!” You took his hands, pulling them away from your face and weaving your fingers with his on both sides, before rocking up on your tiptoes, and pressing your lips to his lower cheek, hearing him whine a little at the near-miss kiss. “I’m just a little woozy, and tired, and shaken up.”

“You promise that’s all?”

“I swear.” You offered, and he smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your own cheek in return as he respected your boundaries. “If you can set rules for our first kiss, then so can I. I want to be at my peak when we do, I don’t want anything to spoil it, I want to remember it perfectly, and not have such a killer headache, preferably.”

“I can live with that. We’ll wait. For now.” You nodded your head, foreheads resting together once again, and your eyes closed, simply soaking in how it felt to be surrounded by him, before a loud and exaggerated clearing of the throat was breaking you apart, and Brenda stood with her hands on her hips, a wicked smirk on her face as she stared at you both.

“Do we get any greetings, or do we not matter anymore? Because I was kinda’ worried about you too.”

You grinned, the woman who you were proud to call your best friend was holding her arms out for you, and you dropped Thomas’ hands, feeling him let you go and step back just as quickly now that everyone else had come over, and you wrapped her up in your arms as she squeezed you tightly, rocking you from side to side. Another pair of arms wrapped around you, and you grinned as the familiar smell of your partner’s aftershave overwhelmed your senses, the man clinging to you from the back as he wrapped his arms around the both of you.

Minho followed, a wicked grin on his face as he draped himself across Brenda’s back, squeezing all of you even tighter, and Thomas followed beside Newt, Gally and Fry coming next, until you couldn’t see out past the mass of bodies that had joined, feeling as though you were in the middle of a rugby scrummage and you could barely breathe, the laughter you were letting out doing nothing to help.

Eventually, Brenda was elbowing the men back, letting you slip free when they all backed away, and you missed all of their body heats, wrapping your arms a little tighter around yourself to keep warm All you had was the thin material of your uniform shirt, soaked in blood and clammy sweat, as well as various medicines and chemicals, with a vest underneath. It was doing little against the cold of the night closing in, twilight well past as stars started to make themselves known.

You shivered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms, wondering how Newt wasn’t feeling the cold, but he was excitedly retelling the tale already of the surgery the two of you had been forced to perform, a story that would last him for ages, no doubt, but it was his way of processing the trauma; to turn it into something he was proud to remember instead of something he was scared to think about, something that made him feel bold instead of terrified, and you wanted to support that, so you kept your mouth shut.

Stepping back over to Thomas, his gaze left his best friend, flicking down to you, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, and raising a brow when you tugged his arm out of his pocket. He let you, his arm limp in your hold as he let you guide him, a soft pink flushing his cheeks as you tucked yourself under his arm, your cheek moving to rest on his shoulder, your hands tucking into his pocket and one set of fingers weaving with the fingers of his that were still inside. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, before turning to look up at him as his arm squeezed around you a little more tightly.

There was a grin on his face, one with a hidden meaning as he bit at the inside of his cheek to contain it. “You know, Newt is gonna’ give us shit for cuddling.” His fingers were moving over your back in slow patterns, large palm rubbing slowly and transferring warmth back to you where you were chilled to the bone.

“I don’t care. I’m fucking cold, and you’re nice and warm.” You moved, face pressing into him a little further, the rest of your words becoming muffled, and he chuckled.

“Well, in that case,” He simply rested his chin on the top of your head, freeing up his other arm to hold you more securely, and letting out a slow breath that became a slight yelp as you pressed cold hands under the edge of his hoodie to sit on warm skin, grinning cheekily at the scowl that formed as you did. “Is any of the story Newt is telling actually true?”

“Surprisingly, most of it.”

“Well, which p-” He was cut off, the gruff clearing of a throat making him fall silent, and you pulled back, slightly embarrassed as heat made itself known along your cheeks when you found the police officer to be looking for you, the rest of the squad falling silent too and all turning to look at you, following the officer’s gaze, and you untangled yourself from Thomas.

“Sorry to interrupt you all. I just need your statement, ma’am, it’ll only take a moment.”

“You haven’t given your statement yet?” Newt quizzed, clicking his tongue in a tutting fashion, and you stuck your tongue out a little bit at him.

“You still haven’t been checked out by a paramedic yet?” You mocked, his amused face falling as he mock-glared at you, Minho pinching his arm as he tried to insist he was perfectly fine, his friend telling him otherwise.

“I’ll meet you over by that car in a moment, it’ll only take a few minutes to get your statement.” You nodded, the policeman giving you a polite smile, before tapping his pen against the pad in his hand and wandering away to the vehicle.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Lips brushed against your ear, making you jump a little, and you turned back to face the man behind you, your lieutenant standing back up to his full height as you did, and raising his brows.

“No, I want you to take Newt over to an ambulance and force him to get a check-up. He’s more than happy to diagnose me, but he won’t do a self-diagnosis.” Thomas laughed, a hearty and full sound, and you assumed there were memories flashing behind his eyes of a childhood full of similar circumstances. “I’ll come and meet you over by the cars afterwards. I’m going to need a lift home, y’know..”

His hand came up, tucking away stray hairs behind your ear, and nodding his head. “I was already planning on that, don’t worry.” You smiled, head ducking a little, and you tensed up a little at the clenching in your gut again, fearing it was another bout of nausea rising, but instead, your stomach rumbled, loudly. There was a snicker, hidden in your hairline, and your lips pursed, a shy feeling growing within you once again. “I’ll take you to get some food, too.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, a finger hooking under your chin, pulling your face up, and there was a smirk there that only made you flush further. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like you’re adorable? Because, you are.” You scowled, blush only growing stronger, and he smoothed a thumb over your cheek as did, glancing away over your shoulder for a second. “Go give your statement, I’ll wrestle Newt into an ambulance.”

“Mhm, ‘kay.” You twisted your head, nuzzling a little into his palm for a second, before pulling it away from your face and squeezing his hand. “I want McNuggets. McDonald’s drive-thru.”

“Whatever you want, angel.”

You raised a brow, hand smoothing down over his chest to sit just above his stomach, and his eyes dropped, following your hand, a slightly more vulnerable look on his face when he turned back to you; wide eyes, swallowing thickly. “Whatever I want?”

“Anything.”

You tugged on the front of his clothing. “Can I wear your hoodie?”

He froze for a second, before a rush of a breath was leaving him like a punch, and he smiled, reaching behind his head with one hand and tugging it up, stripping the garment off and shucking it down his arm, the long-sleeved shirt underneath rising up a bit as he did, and you forced your eyes away from the happy trail revealed or the flex of his biceps, taking the warm garment from him. He held it out, soft green material looking warm and inviting, flooded with his body heat and the smell of him, your fingers twitching to take it.

Undoing the buttons on the front of your shirt, you cursed under your breath at the cold while taking it off, just a tank top left underneath, before taking the hoodie. It caught on your ponytail, Thomas helping you to adjust it over your head before taking the ruining uniform from you and draping it over his arm like a waiter’s towel, nodding his hair and lifting your hair free from the collar.

He leaned in, lips pressing to your forehead, a soft kiss given to you, before he was pushing you backwards. “Go. Go give your statement, the sooner it’s over, the sooner we get you those nuggets. I’ll meet you at the cars.” Tucking your hands into warm pockets, you wandered away, bumping your hip against Brenda’s as you did and she stumbled a little from where she’d been balancing mid-yawn, flipping you off as you laughed while walking away, and making your way over to the officer.

He stood up straighter from where he’d been leaning against his car as you approached, offering you his hand and introducing himself politely, and you freed up a hand to shake, giving him your name for the record, before your hands were once again clenched with the oversized hoodie’s pockets.

It was a simple case, there wasn’t much to tell. In all honestly, you didn’t know much. You wouldn't be much help, you’d been unconscious for the first half of the journey and in the midst of your concussion symptoms the second time, and you’d never seen the man pull up. You did tell him what you could, about the unusual call, you and Newt splitting up to check the area, before finding the man under the bridge. You tried your best to patch him up, before the two of you had been taken at gunpoint, and you’d lost consciousness when you’d been put in the car.

You asked about the fate of the man under the bridge, your heart sinking a little at the answer you got. He hadn't made it, he’d tried to use the equipment you’d left him but had passed away before the hour mark had passed, and you gripped onto yourself tightly to contain how you felt. He attempted to comfort you about it, to tell you that it was the gang activity you and Newt had speculated it to be, and that the man who’d been stabbed was a criminal, but it did little to ease your suffering.

You were a big believer in second chances; if you didn’t you wouldn't be in the place you were now, with the family you’d found.

Once he had you sign off on the confidentiality forms and disclosures, your name signed next to Newt’s chicken scratch signature, you were free to go, more than ready to just go home. Everything ached, you were still sore and covered with pain, your muscles all tensed up and torn from the strain of the day, your hunger making you feel like you were being eaten from the inside out by your own stomach and the headache that came with it wasn’t a highlight of your day, and your bed was calling out for you.

As promised, the teams were over by the cars, music playing on the radio from within Brenda’s as the door was open, letting her lean against it, and Newt was sucking happily on one of the lollipops reserved for little children that some of the ambulances carried, his tongue turning purple from the false-grape flavour of it.

He saw you coming, a little bounce in his step as you approached, before he was coming to stand before you, a smacking sound making itself known as he pulled the sweet treat away from his mouth. “You okay? Did he tell you about the guy?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, and he frowned, shrugging a little, but holding his arms open.

“He was a bad guy, you can’t save everyone, but you tried, okay? You gave it your best.” His words were true and you knew they were, you didn’t want to wallow in self-pity, you’d done everything you could without losing your one life, in which he would have died too, and you were trying not to risk your own life as much these days. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah.” You huffed, and he squeezed you a little tighter, clearly not accepting that answer, and waiting for me. “God, I hate this job sometimes, but I love it too. We save more lives than we lose, we change more lives for the good than bad, but every job has its bad sides.” It felt like you’d been having an awful lot of the bad side lately, but that only meant there was a lot of good to come to balance out the scales. “Have you texted Derek, yet, I bet he’s pretty worried.”

Newt let out a breathy sound at the mention of his crush, sagging in your arms a little before pulling back, and pale cheeks were flushed with warmth, the men avoiding your gaze and scratching at the back of his neck. “Not yet. Bren had my bag in the car, I got a lot of missed texts and a missed call, but I don’t really know what to say. It’s late, he finishes shift soon, I figure I’ll just wait until I get home.”

“Maybe you should go and see him.” You teased, poking at his shoulder, and your friend’s flush only deepened, shaking his head a little.

“I want to take a hot bath, and watch embarrassing rom-coms and eat an ungodly amount of food in a very unattractive way, and I don’t think me and Derek are quite at that stage. Yet.” He added the last word on, smirking as that cheeky attitude came flooding back, and you felt a presence coming to stand behind you. You knew who it was without having to turn, feeling it instinctively as a slight thrill raced through you, before a kiss was being pressed to the back of your head, an arm slipping around your waist, and a chin hooking over your shoulder.

Newt smirked, eyes moving over the pair of you slowly, and you ignored the look as he busied himself by moving to the backseat of Brenda’s car to retrieve your bag as well, and rifling through his own for his phone.

“Is this okay?”

“Why wouldn't it be?” You relaxed a little further into his hold, his fingers toying with the stitching underneath the pocket of the jumper idly as you sagged into him, feeling the movement of the muscles in his chest as he shrugged.

“Whole teams here, and you’re kinda’ the centre of attention right now. You and Newt. I didn’t really wanna’ push my boundaries, but I’m kinda’ afraid that if I let you go again, you’re going to get into some more stupid shit and get me all riled up again, and I’m still all full of adrenaline form these last few hours worrying about you.”

You moved to the side a little, twisting your head to be able to look up at him, eyes scanning over his face as you analysed his words, nothing but honesty and vulnerability shown to you. “Hey, I didn’t get myself into this one, it just happened. For once, I have no blame! I was cooperative with the criminal, kept my mouth shut, for the most part, you would have been proud of me.” His lips twitched with a soft form of amusement at your joke. “Besides, they all know how I feel about you, anyway. I’m not exactly subtle about it, and neither are you. I don’t think whatever this is, is exactly a state secret.”

He beamed at that, you weren’t sure why, but his face lit up with pure joy, and he nodded his head sucking down to peck the tip of your nose with a sweet kiss, one that made you feel ticklish, your face screwing up slightly. Turning back to your friends, you watched Newt stare at his phone for a second, considering accepting a call as his finger hovered over the accept button, the vibrating device with Derek’s name flashing along the top going off after a second, and you frowned.

“You sure you don’t want company tonight, Newt?”

“Yeah, I don’t really think either of you should be alone. Especially not with your concussion.” She pointed at you, but her attention quickly moved back to Newt, and the lanky blond shrugged. “How about a girl’s night? You can join in, Newt, because you can talk guys, so you’re acceptable.”

“Wow, thanks, Bren.” His tone was sarcastic but his face lit up a little, and he chuckled. Brenda turned back to you, raising her brows.

“Girl’s night?”

“How about a girls day tomorrow?” She pouted, and you grinned. “You’re right, I really shouldn’t be alone for forty-eight hours with severe concussion symptoms, but I think I can monitor them myself by tomorrow night.”

“Exactly, tomorrow night! Who’s gonna’ look after you tonight, huh? Girls. Night.” She punctuated her words with emphasis, and you tried to hide your giggling at her confusion behind your hand as even Minho groaned, both Fry and Gally snickered. “What?”

“Brenda..” Minho sighed, nodding his head towards you, where Thomas was squeezing you a little tighter, pressing a series of kisses along your hairline, and she studied you both for a second, before scoffing.

“Really? You’re taking Thomas home instead of me? Boo, you whore.”

You gaped, not sure whether to be offended or amused, and Thomas made the decision for you, protesting in offence on both of your behalves as he questioned why he was deemed as a ‘bad’ choice. “He’s bigger. He gives good cuddles. He promised me McNuggets. He smells good. Those are compelling arguments.”

Thomas’ chest puffed out a little against you and the compliments. “Uh, I smell excellent, I give great cuddles, I’d buy you a share box of nuggets that you wouldn't have to share, and I could put on tall boots.” She raised her hands, her voice teasing now, and your head tipped to the side as you stared at your best friend. “But, fine, girl’s day tomorrow it is.”

“I’ll come to that!” Newt chirped, sticking his hand up, and you nodded your head, Brenda taking the opportunity to high-five him.

“If Newt gets to go, then I’m staying.” You huffed, Thomas squeezing you a little tighter, and you lowered a hand to rest over his, soothing as his intense affections were based on the need for his comfort as well as your own.

“Uh, no.” Brenda deadpanned, her bluntness making you laugh. “You’re one of the main topics we’re going to be talking about. Newt gets to come because he can talk boys, and he tells me about hot doctors.”

“So I can’t come?” Minho chipped in, pouting a little for effect as he stared at Brenda, and her words went silent, no arguments to offer as her eyes narrowed on him, a silent argument between two colleagues that only you knew to be between two lovers, and you chuckled to yourself. He knew he’d won that battle, a smirk taking up on his face, and she huffed.

“If Min gets to go, can I come then?” Gally took a more polite approach, and you nodded your head.

“Sure you can.”

“You’re gonna’ fit all these people into your living room? On your two-seater couch?” Thomas teased, a couple of smirks being thrown in his direction at his reference to knowing your apartment so intimately, and you hadn't even realised that you’d been so freely inviting people to your home until now. You felt a little winded by the realisation, by the idea that it would be so simple to accept someone into the place that was so private to you, the place you’d retreat to after a long day to get away from work, but now, work was your family, and you wanted to share it with them.

“Well, Tommy-boy here can drive himself and you over to my place instead?”

“Team day at Minho’s!” Newt cheered, throwing his hands up in the air, and you laughed, the sound fading into a yawn as you covered your mouth.

“Okay, but late afternoon, because I’m exhausted, and I want a lot of sleep.”

“Late afternoon.” Brenda teased, rolling her eyes. “Midday. You better be there.” She barely gave Newt the chance to get the bags from the backseat before she was slamming the door closed, Gally twirling his keys on his finger and Fry already leaning against the car, half-asleep as his head was popped up on his hand.

You took your bag from Newt, who was catching a ride with Gally, the member of the firehouse who lived the closest to him. Brenda’s car was leaving first, spinning dangerously on mud-tracks as she left, and you were impressed with how recklessly she dared to drive surrounded by cops, but that was probably playing it safe for her. The rest of the team slowly followed, Thomas’ arm still wrapped loosely around your waist as he guided you over to his car, fresh mud spattered up along the polished paintwork, and your bag was placed on the backseat.

He was holding open the passenger door for you when you were ready, and you sank into the seat, offering him just a smile in acknowledgement, before he was rounding the vehicle to get in too, car starting up smoothly, and his hand on the back of your seat as he reversed out of the spot.

Switching gears, he inched forward slowly, pulling up the track carefully, and glancing back in the mirrors, before both hands were sitting on the wheel, and he was flicking on the indicator for the highway.

“You still want to go to the drive-thru?”

You considered it for a second, watching the road as he pulled out, before giving in to your craving. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He hummed, a hand reaching down to find one of your own where it was sitting in your lap, linking his fingers together loosely with your own. The radio was playing softly, the cars were flying past you on the highway as you weaved between lanes, an area you didn’t recognise, and clearly, Thomas wasn’t all that familiar with it either because he didn’t talk much, instead, focusing on the signage along the road for a long time.

It was a longer journey than you’d expected it to be, almost thirty minutes passing before you were entering an area of town that you began to recognise, the very edges of your territory as far as you’d expanded so far, and you squeezed Thomas’ hand a little tighter, letting him go every so often when he needed it to change gears or to drive, but his hand always seemed to find it’s way back to being pressed up delicately with your own.

Your mind slipped a little bit, wondering just how it was that you found yourself here.

It had been a long time since you’d allowed yourself to trust anyone, to really let anyone in, and now you found yourself surrounded. Your entire team had shown up to collect you tonight, all of them wanting to make sure you were okay; honest and true with nothing to gain from it themselves except for knowing that you were safe, and the man beside you had let himself dig in a little closer.

Instead of just holding your heart, he’d managed to let himself inside, residing there and making it his own with everything he did. The moment you’d laid your eyes on him, you’d hated him, hearing him already hate you felt like a bittersweet mouthful, making it easier not to get attached but hard as it always made you one step further from home. You’d spent so much of your life forcing people away while dreaming about one day finding your home that you’d never stopped to watch the time slipping away around you as the chances seemed to get further and further away, until Newt had forced you to.

You had your own history that made you the way you were, but you’d never stopped to give Thomas the benefit of the doubt that he did, too, and you’d taken out your anger on him when it was unwarranted. He’d clearly forgiven you for it and moved on, but you’d never really apologised.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

He frowned, the neutral expression he’d held switching to a frown as he began to slow the car down, navigating through the car park as a surprising number of cars still milled around, shopping at the mall in the stores with later hours into the night and various fast-food joints, the illuminated letter ‘M’ calling out to you, and Thomas joined the queue of cars.

“I never said sorry for the way I treated you. I had stuff going on, I had a lot of issues, but I didn’t stop to think that maybe you had stuff going on too, and I’m sorry.”

He seemed stuck for a second, like a deer caught in the headlights, before he sank into his seat a little bit. “That’s okay, I forgive you. You didn’t know I had stuff going on at the time, I shouldn't have been mad at you, either. I took it out on you, but really, I had issues with someone else.”

The name was on the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak your next words, the static of the intercom requesting your order made the both of you jump, and Thomas rolled down the window. It took a moment, deciding as quickly as you could and putting in an order for what it was that you were craving as your stomach rumbled again, that typical greasy smell of fast-food drifting through the open window.

You stayed quiet for the rest of the transaction, reaching out to turn the music up a little bit as you switched over to a classical station, finding the latest chart-toppers to be a little overwhelming in the moment, but late-hour classical piano and violin notes were much more comfortable. The bags were hot in your lap as Thomas handed them over clutching his McFluffy in your hand carefully and staring down longingly at the chunks of chocolate candy and caramel sauce through the lid, somewhat regretting your decision not to get one when he’d offered you one.

Parking up at the back, a little bit away from where everyone else was, and you unclipped your seatbelt, watching him do the same, before he was pushing his chair a little further back and getting comfortable. You handed him over his cheeseburger, and the fries that followed, stealing one from his portion and watching as he grinned, sitting them on his lap and unwrapping the burger, while you opened up a box of nuggets, offering one to him.

You sprinkled some salt over the box, shaking the nuggets after he’d taken one to mix the seasoning, but you couldn't eat one, couldn't focus, not when a certain question was still hanging on the tip of your tongue.

“What’s up? They make it wrong? It’s pretty hard to mess up chicken nuggets.” He teased, leaning over to inspect them and winking cheekily as he plucked another from the large box, popping it into his mouth and chewing happily, a sound made as if to confirm to you that they were okay, but the food wasn’t what was bothering you.

“Can I ask you a question, and you promise you’ll answer honestly?” his brows furrowed, but he nodded, taking another large bite of his burger. You hesitated, picking at the edges of the bag, ripping the brown paper slowly, and you sighed. “That woman in the bar, that was Teresa, wasn’t it?”

He stiffened at the mention of her name, his face falling, and he was stiff as his head turned away from you to stare out of the dashboard, and your lips pursed, anxiety coursing through you at the time that it took him to reply. He chewed slowly, eventually swallowing his mouthful, and you took a cautious bite out of a chicken nugget as you waited. “Yes.”

You nodded, keeping it to yourself and looking through the bag for a packet of ketchup, opening up the small tub and dunking the savoury treat inside, swirling it around, and eating the other half. You licked salt from your lips as you finished, and turned back to look at him, where he was staring down at his food, a confused look on his features. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He took a breath, seeming to have an answer ready to go, as though he’d anticipated your words, before his jaw snapped shut, and he put his burger down, sighing a little and nibbling on his lower lip, before giving in. “I didn’t want you to know.” You raised your brows, not the answer you were expecting, and he turned to look at you, taking in your expression, and shrugging a little. “You said you wanted honesty.”

“But why?”

“Why didn’t I want you to know that was her?” You nodded, and he took a bite of his food, prolonging the suspense as he procrastinated on his answer. “I guess,” He spoke through his food, grimacing a little upon realising, and you couldn't help your smile, eating another one of your chicken nuggets. “Because you’re nothing like her, and what we have isn’t the same, and I didn’t want you to have to cross with her.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yes.” He didn’t pause this time, stiff once again as he gave you the truth without even considering lying, and you felt conflicted. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to reach out and comfort him, or comfort yourself and put your walls back up; in the end, the person best at comforting you was Thomas, and so you needed to be that for him. Reaching a hand out, you placed it on his arm, and he jumped at the contact, seeming shocked by it. He turned to look at you, eyes dropping to where your hand was sitting on his arm. “Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t have anything to be mad at you for, Tommy. I’m just sorry you got hurt.” You whispered, and he let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to sit on your cheek, his face dropping to bump his nose with your own, sharing a breath and nudging into you.

“Just so you know, this is one of those moments that I would kiss you, if we’d already had our first kiss.”

“I’ll remember that.” You grinned, bumping back against him, before pulling away, and eating a chicken nugget as he whined slightly at the loss of intimacy.

“She, uh, she was a paramedic. You reminded me of her, at first.” You turned, realising that in the interest of honesty, he was going to tell you it all; the information that other members of the team skirted around and answered vaguely, a mystery that had been locked up tight to keep you out of, all of them having gotten hurt in some way. “She had the same attitude you did, she didn’t really let people in; a lot of walls. We were.. something. She didn’t want to put a label on it, she wanted me behind closed doors but never wanted me near her in front of the rest of the team. She had boundaries, she wanted me to come over late but never wanted me to stay the night, she wanted to have dinner and drinks but never in public. It felt exciting, but wrong. But I couldn't stop.”

“Thomas, you don’t have to tell me this.” He sniffed a little, eating his fries quietly and shaking his head a little as he relived the memories.

“I want you to know.” You felt touched that he wanted to share one of his deepest pains with you, but it was scary, because it meant you had to do the same. “I should have seen the signs, she always wanted more, and she never wanted to settle down, kind of like you.” His words cut a little, stinging, despite knowing them to be true. “She said she was leaving one day, out of the blue, and I blamed myself for it. We got into an argument, she didn’t even tell me she was moving house until she asked me to sign her transfer papers. We yelled a lot, and I was upset, so I signed them and told her to just leave. She did.”

“Is, uh, is that the day that-”

“Newt got hurt? Yeah.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “She left, and I was upset, and about an hour later, we got a call. I’d been too busy pacing my office and seething over it that I didn’t call in for a substitute. Newt told me it was okay, he’d been comforting me. He went alone on that call, got stuck under material that had fallen on his leg. Minho found him and carried him out after he passed out.”

He crushed the empty cardboard carton in his hand, the sudden sound making you twitch at the shock, and he whispered an apology upon sensing the environment he’d created.

“Newt’s been my best friend since I was a kid, and because of my feelings, he got hurt. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, but there were just so many similarities, it was overwhelming. I didn't want you to meet her, because you're nothing like her.”

“I’m not? Kinda’ sounds like we’re the same.” You finished your food, packing the wrapped back into the bag, and facing him more confidently as you turned in your chair, and he chuckled.

“You’re nothing like her. She may have been what I loved once, but you’re something entirely different.” He picked up his ice-cream, peeling back the lid on it and poking at the contents with a smile on his face now as he mixed the toppings in. “You’re sweet, you get along with everyone and you want to be with us, I can tell, even if you were going to leave at first. You.. you want me, you don’t hide it. I like that. You’ve spared my best friend a lot of pain instead of causing it, and you make Brenda feel like a woman again when she’s surrounded by men, and you cook with Fry. You’re a real part of our family, I don’t think she ever was.”

Once he deemed it thoroughly mixed, he took a large spoonful of it, holding it up and poking it against your smile lightly.

“Take a bite, I know you want some. You can share mine.”

You did as told, accepting the ice-cream he was offering to you, and relishing in the sweet flavour. He took his own bite, and despite how happy you were, there was still a pang of lingering guilt as you kept back your secrets from him after he’d told you his. “You’re not the first firemen I’ve been involved with.”

“I figured as much.” You were a little surprised, pausing in your words as he looked at you like it was no big deal, and he shrugged, offering you another spoonful. “I mean, I figured you had to have some kind of history in a firehouse, with your transfer record, more switches than a lightbulb sees.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning at his joke a little. “Well, you were right. In my first house, I was straight out of the academy and young, and there was a fireman. He was charming, and very attractive, and he had this way that made my heart race.” You reached up, wiping a stray piece of ice-cream for the edge of Thomas’ lip. “Like you do.”

“I make your heart race?” He was smirking, liking knowing he had such an effect on you, and you redirected your attention to the dessert, turning the spoon he was bringing to his mouth and stealing the spoonful, the chill helping to calm your flushing features.

“You know you do.” You swallowed the treat, licking the sugary taste from your lips. “He had a previous injury, and a drug problem. I was young and naïve, and he wanted the ambulance stock for the pain so he could avoid surgery. When the truth came out, I took the fall and lost my job, while he got off with a reprimand and being put on probation. I had to move to a whole new state to escape it and find a new firehouse. When someone tried to get close to me there, I panicked and thought they would use me again. I moved, and I moved, and I moved. Whenever someone got close, I panicked. I got confused. I wanted family, and I was so set on finding that perfect family that I never stopped to let anyone in, until I came to ‘21, and encountered a moody lieutenant.”

Thomas grinned, cold lips pressing to your cheek as he ducked down, and you squirmed at the slightly sticky feeling of melted ice-cream, the cardboard cup empty as it had been shared between you both.

“My real family, there’s not much to say about them. I don’t have much, my mother hasn’t spoken to me in a while, she sends a birthday card every year, and that's about all there is for me. Until I found all of you.”

“It was just me and my mom when I was a kid, and there was a house fire. She’s never been quite right since, I grew up looking after her, and Newt was the kid across the road who brought me trays of food his mom made for us, and who brought me the homework sheets when I had to leave school early. He’s my family, too. This whole squad is.”

You felt like a weight had been lifted off of your chest from the confessions, from finally trusting someone enough to tell them your story, feeling the burn of tears in the back of your throat, but you were too tired to cry, having no tears left to give. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Can we go home now?” He nodded, starting the car back up, and you leaned over the centre console a little to rest your head on his shoulder, feeling him turn to press a kiss to the top of your head. “When we get there, I want to go to bed, and I want you to stay the night, and then I want to spend the whole day with you tomorrow, in front of our family, without hiding anything.”

He took a second to reply, letting out an unsteady laugh, before starting up the car and nodding for you as you pulled back. “I would fucking love that.”

#thomas #the maze runner #ff!tommy #firefighter!tommy #smoke and fire #SAF #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner

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medicus-mortem · 2 years

Text

ReiLaw // We Keep Running into Each Other

[Word count: 7441]

“This is bullshit,” the man grumbles, head sinking deeper into his ratty scarf. “How’d we get door duty three nights in a row?”

“I don’t think the boss likes us very much, Hochi,” mutters his fellow guard as he paces in front of the locked, faded and cracked red door in an effort to fight off the persistent night chill.

His warn boots scrape on uneven cobblestones, his shuffle betraying that lack of enthusiasm for his work. Hochi himself slouches against the wall, uncaring of the ashen grime that rubs off onto his coat. You can’t really escape the stuff on this island. Once a day the ash fall occurs, coating the buildings and cramped streets with a near constant layer of ash. The locals see it as a gift from Mother Mountain; a great volcano rising out of the centre of the island, its slopes lush and vibrant due to this very ash. The inhabitants of this house think differently, but that’s because they’re all foreigners.

“No shit, Trent,” Hochi growls, glaring at his constantly moving companion. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t be makin’ us watch a street no one dares to walk down. Look at this,” he waves an angry hand at the empty street, the place silent but for his complaining. He stalks forwards, a sneer baring cracked teeth. “Not a soul to be seen and that’s ‘cause these superstitious cu- Urglgl.”

Words become a wet gurgle as the tip of a sword bursts out of Hochi’s throat. His body slumps, eyes going dim just as Trent turns once more from his pacing to see a shadowed figure standing behind his now dead friend, its golden eyes practically glowing in the gloom. Trent’s mouth opens, a warning on his tongue that never gets a chance to fly. With a flick of his wrist the figure cuts his sword free of Hochi’s mouth as he surges forwards. A blackened fist cracks into Trent’s throat, cutting off his air and killing his voice. That same hand grabs the side of his head and smashes it into the doorframe, giving it a fresh coat of red with his blood and brains.

Both bodies thump to the cobbles as Trafalgar Law lets out a huff. Would have liked it if this posed a tiny bit of a challenge, but expecting more from minimum wage thugs is stupid. He takes a breath, head tilting as he stretches out his neck, the bones giving an audible crack. Law rolls his shoulders and golden eyes grow cold, a smirk spreading across his lips. This might turn out to be easy but that doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy himself.

A swift kick to the door cracks the wood, doorframe giving way around the lock. It slams against the wall and Law steps into a narrow hallway. A heavy miasma of tobacco smoke hangs in the air, likely adding a new stain to wallpaper now heavily faded and discoloured. From deeper within the building Law can hear the jovial susurrous of men enjoying a drink and a card game while on duty. Boots thump on hardwood floors, the pirate captain not trying to hide his presence. Further down the hall a spindly man steps out of a door, a smile on thin lips and arms full of moonshine bottles. His eyes meet Law’s, the Surgeon of Death grins, and the bottles drop.

“What the shit!?” the man shouts, now empty hands reaching for the pistols on his belt. He has them up before ceramics shatter on the wood, spreading their illegal hooch all over the place. Law increases his pace.

Two shots are rattled off but Kikoku is already where she needs to be. One lead ball pings off the side of her blade, deflected with so little effort. The second is cut in two, the halves whizzing by her master’s head. Law’s stride doesn’t slow and he sees fear in the man’s eyes as he drops his now useless pistols and reaches for a knife. The blade barely sees daylight before a sword goes through his gut. He gasps, a hand going to the wound. Law twists and shoves the man back, freeing Kikoku just as another thug enters the hall. This one is ready, his scimitar already drawn and wide blade menacing. He swings it with a roar and Law parries, the metallic clash of blades accompanied by the scraping of seats and shouts from the other room.

Law snarls as the burlier man pushes him back against the wall, their weapons pressing against each other. The doctor kicks hard at the side of the thug’s knee and he buckles with the satisfying crack of bone. Law pushes just enough to slide out from between his foe and the wall. He circles around him as the man drops, pain on his face. Kikoku gets placed on the guy’s throat and Law tugs her back with both hands, one on the hilt while the other holds the blunt side of the blade. Not a lot of room to swing in this hallway but enough to pull, pressing the blade against the man and cutting his throat with pressure alone. Another body at his feet, shoved against the wall and blood pooling beneath him.

He steps back into a new doorway. This leads into the kitchen and where some of the inhabitants were having their card game. Now the cards have been discarded, drinks forgotten in favour of weapons. Each man stands, faces filled with rage upon seeing this intruder covered in the blood of their comrades. Law takes a single tread into the room, unperturbed by how they outnumber him or the threat of their various killing tools. He just opens his arms, practically goading them into attacking him. A couple of them step forwards but then a crack behind Law makes them pause.

A wall shatters behind him, drywall and wood chips mixing in the smoky hair. An almighty bellow comes from within the debris, the heavy footfalls of a beast following it. Law spins on his heels, Kikoku rising in a defensive instinct. Then all he sees is the massive form of a rhinoceros man slamming into him. Heavy arms wrap around him in a crushing grip. Law’s eyes bulge as he gasps, the doctor picked up like a doll and slammed down onto the table. It cracks beneath the force but does not break, a couple of the legs shattering to make the thing hit the tiles with a thud. The rhino man releases him, Law’s head swimming for a moment. The beast looms before bringing down an axe almost as big as he is.

Law catches the shaft of the axe on his blade, wood cracking. The wicked edge of this weapon stops inches from his nose, threatening to ruin his pretty face. Law scowls as he raises a foot, pressing it against the broad grey chest of his assailant to get some more leverage. Muscles tense under this pressure, the burly rhino glaring as he pushes harder. Law does see some frustration in those beady eyes. Guess he didn’t think it’d be this hard to cleave the Surgeon of Death’s head open. Around them the other men hoot and holler, cheering for their friend and ridiculing the pirate.

Even with this noise around him and this snorting beast pressing him further into the table the doctor’s Observation Haki picks something up, a change in the group that makes his tension lesson. A new voice among all the others entering this den of crime on silent feet. He lets a smirk spread across once irritated features. An expression that is made justified when a heeled boot slams into the rhino’s head and suddenly the weight pushing on Law is gone. The body crashes to the ground, the surprise in the rhino’s expression is mirrored in the faces of the shocked men around them.

Blood trails down the beast man’s head from where the bladed heel cut into his temple. He growls, moving to rise only for his limbs to betray him. He gasps, choking on his own breath. The axe rattles to the tiles, his blunt fingers rising to claw at his throat only for eyes to roll back in his head as he begins to convulse. He froths at the mouth, writhing in poisoned agony. It isn’t long before that white spit turns red. All the while the killer runs her fingers over a small red stain on her wings, looking a little annoyed the scum dared to get any on her raid suit.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” Law says, rising to his feet and dusting some wood chips off his jacket. Gaze slides to his saviour but takes a while to reach her face, appreciating what he sees even as he relishes the choking gasps of the rhinoceros. That’s not her usual raid suit. There is less skin showing even if the tight material leaves just as little to the imagination. Can’t say he doesn’t like this look.

“I don’t agree. I always find these types of encounters stimulating,” Reiju hums, taking that half step into his personal space as their eyes lock.

Law’s head tilts, the smirk on his features turning a different type of wicked. Reiju’s smile is gentler but there is something heated in it, her deep purple eyes reflecting his gold with a promise. Despite the imminent danger, angry men with raised weapons advancing on all sides, there is a moment of wordless communication. A second of a spark where the two only have an interest in each other. Then a flash of silver and the moment is broken. Law latches onto Reiju’s wrist and tugs her closer. He spins their positions, moving side-on as Kikoku rises in a vicious sweep. Her cold blade cuts into flesh, sending an arm that once held a sword aimed at Reiju’s back arcing into the air, blood trailing behind it. The victim screams, dropping to his knees and clutching at his stump. Once again, the Surgeon of Death’s features are cruel and mocking.

“You might have a point there,” he comments.

Behind him Poison Pink has used his momentum to kick a man in the chest, both caving in his sternum and spreading her chosen poison into the man’s bloodstream. She giggles, the sound airy and far too delighted by the agonised groans of her newest victim. The two now stand back-to-back, Law’s stance firm and both hands gripping the hilt of his cursed sword. Warry gaze watches the remaining enemies on his side, the three men appearing to be working up their nerve. Reiju shifts on her feet, backing up just enough to press her back to his. A wordless confirmation that she has his back, just as he has hers. Wouldn’t be the first time they’ve killed together.

“I do gotta ask,” Law says as the men decide to charge them at once. “Why the contact toxins?” A man shouts with his machete swing. Metal rings as Law deflects, stepping forwards and breaking the guy’s stance before cutting him from shoulder to hip. “You coulda just gassed these fuckers out.”

“I would have,” Reiju answers, breaking a hand that dared to grab at her. “But a certain pirate captain walked into my target area. Killing him would have been a shame.”

“Appreciate the thought,” he grunts as another blade shatters in a haki’d fist that soon breaks far more than just the owner’s nose. “But I know you’re lying.”

“I have a question of my own,” she adds, amusement in her voice. Her nails rake across the eyes of another victim, forcing him to drop his mace and back up as he begins to scream. Fingers claw at his face, his skin now bubbling. “Why aren’t you using your devil fruit? These men would be dead already if you were.”

“Reasons,” Law growls, getting pushed back a step by a heavy club smashing into his guard.

Brow furrows, the doctor not liking the vibration in his hands. Behind him Reiju sneers at a pair of hatchets getting swung at her. Again, she backs up, pressing her back against Law’s but this time there is something insistent in the pressure. Law senses what she wants and gives one final shove at the club wielder before he ducks, bending low. Reiju rolls over his back, feet kicking up with the spin. Her toes crack into the foe’s head, the momentum causing him to overbalance forwards and land head first into the tiles. They break beneath the force, Reiju’s kick ending with her foot on the back of his head and the woman herself appearing perfectly unphased by any of this. All the while Law rises from his bend, Kikoku singing as she cuts through air and then flesh. She separates the hatchet wielder’s torso from his legs, the body falling apart with a surprised squelch.

“You don’t want anyone to know you were involved in this,” Reiju says, turning just enough to watch Law flick the excess blood off of his sword in her peripheral vision.

“And there is someone in here you want alive,” Law states, shifting on his feet to once again give the Germa Princess all his attention. “Most likely the guy hidin’ out in the basement. I knew these dumb shits had kidnapped someone important but never thought they’d be so moronic as to take one of the Germa.”

“He was one of our scientists. Defected and got himself grabbed by a crime syndicate,” Reiju says, arms crossing over her chest and her body relaxing. She figures Law would find out eventually. It is terribly difficult to keep secrets from him. Yet, her eyes go cold, emotionless as she begins to evaluate him as a possible threat to her mission. “Are you after him?”

“Nope,” Law says, shaking his head. Kikoku gets placed on his shoulder, back of the blade resting there as a hand settles on his hip. “Just what he knows and why these guys stole him. They’re clearly not interested in whatever scientific knowledge he has. This is a way station, just some shit hole to stash him in before someone picks him up and takes him to wherever the fuck he’s supposed to go.”

“A pick up that was scheduled for tomorrow which is why we both decided tonight would be the best time to hit this place.”

“Yep, ‘cause they’d be complacent since the job’s almost done.”

Their words are all business, focused on what needs to be done, but their eyes tell a different story. Once more they stand face to face, bodies inches from each other, and exactly where they were when this fight broke out. Bodies lay around them, blood seeping from wounds any investigative Marine would call horrific. The room smells of recent death but neither care.

Again, their eyes have locked, that spark of promise igniting between them as it did before. Law’s smirk grows, an eyebrow arching when he notes Reiju’s gaze dropping to his lips. Arms unwind from her ample chest, bust no longer pushed so far into that scandalous boob window her cat suit sports. Her hand rises, fingers moving to trail across his jaw. Law feels his heart beat faster in his chest, the doctor knowing a single nick from those perfectly manicured nails would send a toxin through his body powerful enough to kill. He’s no masochist but Trafalgar Law does have to admit there is something exciting about a woman who could kill him without a second thought.

“There was a little blood on you,” Reiju says as her finger slides off his skin. Sure enough it comes away with red on the tip. He watches enraptured as she brings that finger to her lips, pops it in her mouth and gives it a gentle suck. Her eyes stay glued to him, watching his features. She cleans the blood from her finger and though his medical brain squirms at the unsanitary nature of this act a more animalistic mentality takes over. It tells him there is only one appropriate reaction to her moving her finger over her pink luscious lips like that and it is to be incredibly turned on.

Reiju’s hand falls from her lips, corners of her mouth turning up in a sexy knowing smile. Law’s own hand rises, moving quickly to wrap around the back of her head as he leans down to her level. He pulls her close, lips capturing hers in a heated kiss. Reiju moans, both her hands are quick to rise to his shoulders, one burying nails into his jacket, the other sliding upwards into his hair and pushing his hat from its perch. Their eyes close, the Germa Princess tilting her head to give into this kiss. A low groan slips from the doctor’s throat and he uses his body to push her backwards. They find a wall, forced to kick only one corpse aside as they move through the room. Reiju gets pressed against it as Law thrusts Kikoku into the faded wallpaper, freeing up his other had. That hand drops to her thigh, feeling the supple flesh beneath the tight fabric. Law lifts her leg, guiding it to hook around his waist. Both hands grasp her hips as his tongue slips past lips that open to welcome it and Law lifts her up with an expectant groan.

Both her lags wrap around his waist, Law’s left-hand lowers to grab at her ass cheek, squeezing and eliciting another delicious moan from the princess. Oh, how it intoxicates him, the Surgeon of Death wanting nothing more than to hear every dirty sound she can make. He grinds his hips, crotch pushing against hers. Law feels her breath hitch, feels her fingers tighten in his jacket. Lungs begin to ache so he breaks the kiss but his lips still lavish her with attention. They trail heated caresses along her jaw and down her neck. Reiju gasps, her head tilting back as she relishes this searing contact.

“Ah, Law,” she breathes, eyelids fluttering. “Law. … Law! Mmmm. Law, stop!”

A louder use of his name, demanding he take his attention away from her body, but it is the tug of his hair that breaks him out of the spell her scent and taste has over him. The doctor groans, eyes opening as his lips are wrenched from Reiju’s hot skin. His breaths come heavy, chest heaving in his sleeveless turtleneck. His brow furrows, unsure why she’d want him to stop. That’s not how this usually goes. Her grip on his hair loosens now that she has his attention. Hands slide into position to cup his face, the look on her features just as disappointed as he feels.

“We don’t have time,” Reiju murmurs.

“ … Your people are coming,” Law says after a split-second of thought.

“My people are coming,” she nods, the motion sage-like.

“Well, fuck,” Law grumbles.

“Yes, it is a horrible shame,” Reiju sighs.

“Guess we gotta get back to work then,” Law says, hands moving onto Reiju’s hips as she unhooks her legs.

“Hmm,” she hums in agreement while he places her back on the ground, his motions far gentler than when he pushed her up against this wall.

His touch slips away from her figure and Law grabs Kikoku once more, tugging the cursed sword from the wall where he’d left her. And just like that he’s all business again, golden gaze scanning the kitchen for the door he’s looking for. Behind him Reiju takes a breath, hands moving to fix the pink locks his hungry touch messed up. She can’t help the smile on her lips as she watches him. Photographic mind recalls the plan of the building, something Bepo had dug up for him while he was planning this little excursion. The door is exactly where it should be, as he expects of his navigator, on the north-eastern wall of the kitchen. It is large, metallic and reinforced. All things Law expects.

Stepping over a few bodies, he strides up to the door. One look at it tells him he doesn’t have the time to find a less destructive method to unlock it so he grips Kikoku tighter and turns her blade black. He slashes at the side of this barrier, cutting all the locks and deadbolts off from the rest of the door. Law then pries it open, revealing a set of stairs descending into a darker gloom. He doesn’t wait for any sort of permission from his companion Law just walks into it. At the bottom he finds a makeshift lab, complete with test tubes and what could be an observation table. Law frowns at this, not expecting to see a set up like this in a temporary safe house. As he steps onto the cold concrete, entering the room proper, a balding man in a tattered lab coat turns from the microscope he is inspecting.

“Hey. Wha-You’re not-,” the scientist starts, jumping up from his seat. It clatters to the concrete. He reaches for a pen, as if that would protect him. Law takes another step forwards, a hand rising and mouth opening to speak. Then the scientist freezes, true terror entering his features. Reiju has appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Hysterical words leave the man as he backs into the counter behind him. “Poison Pink. No! I’m not going back! Not ever!”

That pen turns in his hand and Law sees what he’s about to do before he does it. There is a grimace on the doctor’s features, Kikoku getting dropped as he moves to run forwards, but he is too slow. The scientist shoves the pen into his throat, his eyes going wide as he begins to drown in his own blood. He wrenches the stationary item from his neck, blood spurting from the wound as he buckles. Law is by his side, catching him before he cracks his head on something. The man grips at Law’s shirt, scrabbling while eyes plead. Is that the desperation of a man who would rather die than go back to the life he once lived or the begging of the suicidal who isn’t actually ready to die yet?

“Shit,” Reiju hisses when she rounds the table, staring at the dying man. She rarely swears and that earns her a glance from the doctor before his gaze drops back to his likely unwilling patient. “Can you save him?”

“He’s punctured his trachea, maybe even caused some cricoid cartilage damage. If I had the time and equipment absolutely but …,” there is a pause, the doctor chewing on his inner lip for a brief second. He’ll have to be a little unconventional. He grabs the man, his gurgled choking growing more desperate. Law picks him up and dumps him on the observation table. It’s not nearly as big as his operating table but it’ll have to do. Law then pulls off his coat, throwing it aside onto a bench as he spins about to eye the equipment he has on hand.

“I can do enough to keep him alive until your Germa get here but I’ll need to do a transplant. Go find me a donor. Bring down anyone with an intact untainted throat. Hopefully one of them is still alive,” Law commands, his tone demanding she obeys. He moves to a drawer, wrenching it open and going through the contents.

“But … If you use your powers like that, you’ll give yourself away,” Reiju says, something in her tone that could be considered guilt. Law straightens, turning his harsh gaze to see her by the stairs, hand on the door frame.

“You want this guy to live or not, Rei-ya?” he snarls.

She huffs at his tone, flipping her hair in annoyance before bounding back up the stairs to find what he needs. The doctor rips open another drawer, disappointed by it’s contents before moving onto a cupboard. There should be something in here he can use. A lot of this stuff looks like it belongs in a chemistry lab. Maybe they were making drugs down here before the scientist moved in. There is a layer of dust on some of the glass beakers that suggests just that. Behind him the man gasps, writhing some on the table, and Law grows very aware of just how little time he has to work. He needs to help him get oxygen in his body real fast or he won’t survive long enough for Reiju to find him a suitable replacement trachea. The third cupboard reveals what he needs, a long tube of flexible plastic often used as a flowline for gasses and liquids. He pulls it free, tsking at the slightly too big thickness. It’s not ideal but it’ll do.

Law returns to a previously open drawer to grab a pair of scissors. He cuts at the end of the tube, giving it a slight point to make insertion easier. As he turns back to his patient, he notices the man wiggling, trying to slide off the table and away from him. He really does not want to be saved and in truth Law can’t blame him. A criminal kingdom like Germa probably doesn’t treat its defectors very well. The surgeon doesn’t care about that. If this guy’s suffering helps Reiju succeed in her mission than he’d gladly torture the dude himself, beside Law wants what he knows just as much as she does. Law strides over to the struggling man, dropping his improvised tools onto the table. Hands latch onto the scientist’s head, grip tight and stopping the squirming.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Law says, an amused light in his eyes. “This is definitely gonna suck for you.”

He lifts the man’s head before slamming it into the table with a harsh crack, knocking him unconscious. As much as he likes seeing the fear on a conscious patient as he works Law knows the value of a still body. Much easier to root around in their innards when they can’t scream or wiggle. The doctor’s hands move to the man’s jaw, pushing it back to get a better look at the opening in his throat. Not big enough for the tube and still leaking. With a breath he raises a tattooed hand, fingers opening to summon the blue swirl that soon turns into his Room. It spreads out in this basement lab, turning the space into his operating room. As Law runs a now glowing palm over the patient’s throat, mind taking in the medical data the scan sends him, Kikoku rises from where he dropped her. She floats to his side, leaning against the table as he works.

Law eases the tube into the man’s throat, glowing blue palm passing over the neck to follow the path and make sure he doesn’t send it into the oesophagus. So far so good. Law even manages to get past the damaged section without making it worse. His hands are steady, eyes focused. He watches his progress, bypassing the damage and blockage until he gets to the right spot. Everything seems well enough, right up until blood starts coming up the tube. He scowls, that glowing palm moving onto the man’s chest.

A frown on his features, the doctor sensing too much blood sloshing around in the right lung. Again, he turns from the patient, grabbing up the pen used to cause this problem and removing the ink filled section. He finds a pipette in the chemistry equipment. Not the tool he’d use to suck blood out of a lung but it will have to do. First, he has to make the right channel. Law rips the man’s shirt open, getting to a chest that is disturbingly still. A pair of fingers to the wrist tells him his heart is still beating. He sighs, taking up the pen. Fingers move across clammy skin, feeling the ribs until he comes to the right spot. With a grunt Law thrusts the pen into the patient’s chest, piercing the lung exactly where he has to. Blood spurts from the little plastic tube and Law eases in the end of the pipette to start syphoning out the blood. It is at this point the patient spasms; body desperate for oxygen.

“Fuck,” Law hisses, pushing down on his shoulders until the body stills. Once it does, he presses down on the diaphragm, trying to stimulate the lungs. “Come on. Breathe.”

Reiju comes down the stairs then, an unconscious armless man thrown over her shoulder. When she sees her target getting CPR from the surgeon, she drops the unwilling donor to come to his side. Fear mars her features for a brief second. The fear isn’t for the man under Law’s hands, or of Law himself. It’s for her, for what might happen if she fails her family. She grabs Law’s arms, fingers wrapping around a bicep.

“What can I do?” she asks.

“See that pipette there?” Law replies, not turning to look but nodding in its direction. “Use it to drain the blood out the tube in his chest. Don’t stop until it’s clear.”

She moves into position, doing as he says. For a few tense seconds Law gets nothing from his patient, the man determined to die. Then there is a gasp. His chest rises and settles, oxygen finally entering his system. Law lets out his own breath, turning to see Reiju pull an empty pipette from the drainage tube. With the man stable Law can finally move onto fixing the problem. He grabs a less than sanitary piece of cloth and presses it to the hole in that man’s neck. Law then nods at Reiju, indicating she needs to hold the cloth in place. She does just that, the glance she gives him a little in awe of what he just did.

“He’s lost a lot of blood but this should work,” Law explains as he moves over to the man he’s about to steal the trachea of. He crouches down beside the armless thug, a hand pressing to his neck to feel a weak pulse. That hand soon glows, Law’s scan once again working to get a sense of how useful the body part he wants will be. There is no poison in his blood and that trachea doesn’t have any concerning diseases, but the blood type isn’t compatible. “Is this the only one I can use?”

“Yes. All the others are too damaged or poisoned. Is something wrong?” Reiju asks, frowning at the back of Law’s head.

“He’s got the wrong blood type. The trachea will be rejected the moment I start the transplant process.”

“Can you fool the immune system into thinking the new trachea isn’t an intruder?” Reiju asks, eyes growing thoughtful.

“I … maybe but it won’t last long,” Law replies, head turning to watch the Germa princess. She has an idea and he’s curious to see how it goes.

“As long as he’s alive when my soldiers get here everything will work out. Do the transplant anyway.”

“And how exactly will they stop total organ failure?” Law asks, standing to give Reiju an intense stare.

“My dear doctor, I can’t share all our secrets with you,” she says, giving him the sweetest of smiles.

“ … You will one day. I’m gonna get everthin’ out of you, mark my words,” the Surgeon of Death promises, pointing a finger at her. Reiju giggles and Law feels some frustration. He doesn’t like not knowing how she plans to keep his patient alive but he knows he doesn’t have the time to start trying to pull information from her. She can get incredibly tight lipped when she wants to, despite the Germa Princess being happy to satisfy a surprising amount of his curiosity. So for now he’ll trust her, or at least trust she has a plan. He crouches by the armless man once more, his hand clawing. Then he whispers scalpel, thrusting that hand into the throat and tugging out the section of trachea complete with intact cricoid cartilage he needs which comes out encased in a gel cube. Law turns while he stands, eyes on the piece of throat in his hand.

“How’s the blood flow?” he asks, rounding the table.

“It’s slowed quite a bit,” Reiju answers, pulling the cloth from the wound.

“Good,” the surgeon places the donated organ down beside his patient before turning his gaze to his coat. Law rifles through the pockets until he pulls out a small first-aid kit, complete with medical needle and thread. He mightn’t have time to both repair damage cartilage and stitch up soft tissue but he can close up the hole in the skin, a hole that will still be there after Law replaces the trachea. The hole is small, only requiring a single stitch to close it up. His teeth are used to cut the thread, practiced fingers tying it off. Now comes what most would think is the easy part. The thing is it requires a lot of concentration.

A new use of scalpel has the damaged trachea removed and yet the man’s breathing doesn’t falter. Breaths continue to wheeze through the tube down his throat, body acting as if the rectangular gap in his neck isn’t there. Law places the damaged tissue down very carefully, the gel casing blooming read with the continued blood flow. Law presses the intact trachea into the hole, golden eyes glued on his actions. It settles in, appearing to warp into the surrounding flesh as if it had always been there, but the outline of the rectangle is visible. It is a thin line, barely noticeable to the untrained eye but Law sees it. An organ that isn’t part of its new body yet.

“I have to remove the endotracheal tube before I start the transplant process,” Law says, using the medical term for the equipment he just improvised with a random plastic tube he found in a cupboard. He’s in surgeon mode, mind so focused on making sure this surgery succeeds. “He’s gonna choke for a second. I’ll need you to hold him down.”

Reiju does just that, taking orders far better than someone of her status should but in this situation, she knows he’s in charge. She may have a better grasp on toxicology than he does but Trafalgar Law is the doctor here. Illegal doctor perhaps but far more versed in the body than any doctor she’s met. She adds her genetically modified strength to his, bracing the body as Law grasps the tube and begins to ease it out.

“How … how are you doing this?” Reiju asks, voice bewildered. She watches that tube slide free, surprised to see it come out intact despite a section of it removed from the body.

“No idea,” Law replies, his words not a lie. He truly doesn’t know how his devil fruit allows him to safely remove organs. It makes no medical sense, these pieces of flesh still functioning despite being separated from a body or how this tube can still give his patient air despite being broken up. He’s experimented with this and found he can remove an organ with a metal bar pierced through it and parts of that bar would still be in the body. It is also impossible to remove that section of bar without breaking the gel encasing the organ. Doing that would harm the organ itself, essentially turning it into a normal organ cut from a body. It is all so strange and complicated but Law has his theories. One being he thinks his devil fruit has an inaccurate name.

With the tube removed he is free to start bonding the new organ to the body. The scientist gasps once more, breaths a struggle. Reiju does her part and Law starts trailing his finger across the rectangular line surrounding the new addition. “Suture,” he mutters as his hand makes the motion. That thin line begins to disappear beneath his touch, attaching the new organ into place and affixing it to the patient. When finished the unconscious scientist once more breathes easily, chest rising and falling gently. Law takes a moment to remove the pen from his chest and slap down an adhesive bandage before he steps back and takes a breath, body relaxing.

“What do we do now?” Reiju asks, arms crossing over her chest. She looks at him expectantly.

“Now you watch him,” Law says, stooping to pick up the chair the scientist knocked over and putting it in place beside the unconscious man. A hand gestures at it, expecting Reiju to sit. His Room stays intact, the blue dome keeping the body from reacting poorly to the new organ. “While I find what I am looking for.”

“Doctor Trafalgar I am not your nurse. You can’t simply dump your patient on me,” she huffs, glaring at his back as he turns on a tap to wash his hands.

“You’re the one that wants him alive,” Law says with an uncaring shrug. “If you’ve changed your mind, feel free to ignore him.”

“Hmph, you’re impossible,” Reiju huffs, dropping onto the seat and crossing her legs.

“I’d be less stubborn if you actually wore a nurse uniform,” Law mutters, smirking at the pouting princess leveling a glare at her target. He takes the damaged throat and shoves it into the hole in the armless man’s neck, but Law is quick to move on from him when his attention turns to a dirty filing cabinet. The lack of dust on the handle tells him it is used often. Law tugs it open and starts leafing through, pulling out papers that might have value and placing them on the counter.

Law pauses in his search, head tilting as his Haki picks up approaching people. People whose voices are exactly the same. He straightens fast, snarling as he snatches up the collection of papers that appeared to have what he wanted. How he wishes he had the time to give these a better look, one that was longer than a few seconds. Should have just let the scientist die, then he would have had the time to go through this properly, but then there is Poison Pink. She would have been angry. He’d probably survive that but why risk it when he can make her owe him something?

Reiju’s head rises from where she had it resting on her hand, her eyes on the scientist. She too has noticed something different but it’s mostly due to his sudden rush. The sound of uniform footsteps above has her jumping to her feet. The Germa 66 are here and looking to clean up the job she was supposed to be doing alone. If they notice Law this will become a problem for both of them.

“I’ll distract them long enough for you to get out,” Reiju insists as she once more runs up the stairs.

“Wait,” Law hisses, turning in time to see her vanish. She’s always so sure of herself. He would have liked a plan for escape but he guesses he can work with this. He strides over to his jacket, pages getting shoved into pockets after he pulls it onto his shoulders. There is one last glance at his patient, the doctor noticing an unhealthy spike in the man’s body temperature. It isn’t his problem now. Law did his job, kept him alive long enough for the Germa to get here, now the suicidal man is their problem. He turns his gaze from him, a hand snatching up his sword as he rushes past. His Room vanishes just as Law’s boot touches the first step out of the basement.

He is silent as he climbs the stairs, motions careful to not betray his presence. He pauses at the door, peering out into an empty kitchen. Well, empty except for the corpses. Elsewhere in the house Law can hear the soldiers tromping about and Reiju’s usually sultry voice sending commands that remind him she really is an authoritative presence. Sounds like she’s getting them to burn the building down. Smart way to cover their tracks and cause some chaos as they extract their target. He slinks out from the basement entrance to inch across the kitchen, picking up his hat from where Reiju pushed it from his head. Law gets to the hallway, peeking into it just enough to see the front door isn’t a viable option. Too many people down that end but luckily they have their backs to him.

Slipping out just at the right time, he makes it across the hallway into a smaller room, one that looks to be some type of bedroom. There is no bed here anymore but the wardrobe along one wall is telling enough. Gaze locks on a window that opens out into a dark alley, the shadows out there perfect to hide in. He takes a step across the stiff carpet, intending to break the lock to open it, but then he catches Reiju’s voice again. This time she says something he isn’t sure she wanted him to hear. Is she being careless or does she truly think he got out?

“The target is in the basement,” she commands, voice carrying. “He’s injured and will need a shot of your Lineage Stimulant.”

There is a resounding ‘yes ma’am’ and three soldiers break off from the rest. They rush by Law’s hiding spot and into the kitchen. One of them reaches into a pouch on his belt to pull out a syringe filled with a luminescent green liquid he’s never seen before. Law stares at it, knowing he needs one of those syringes. Not only does it have something to do with the Lineage Factor but it might have healing properties. A small taste of the Germa technology, something he’s had a great interest in ever since he was a child. There is no way Law can pass this up.

The Surgeon of Death spins on his heels and moves to the window. A push with Kikoku is enough to pry it open and soon Law is outside. He could be submarine free now, moving through these cramped streets towards his underwater home, but there is a little something he must do first. It seems only fair that he gets more than some crumpled pieces of paper from all of this. He moves up to the edge of the alley, leaning into the shadows to wait and watch. When the soldiers following Reiju exit the building he straightens, mind already calculating a plan to steal what he wants.

He turns his jacket inside out to hide the symbol on its back, pulling the hood up over his head. Law hunches, shortening his posture and making himself appear a little sickly. Kikoku gets propped against the wall, his hat joining her. Both items are hidden in the shadows of the alley, Law’s eyes watching the company of Germa soldiers as they march by with their burden. He lower’s his head, staggering out of the alley like some drunken fool. He thumps into the side of one of the soldiers, hands moving deftly into the belt pouch with motions the grunt is too stupid to notice. Instead, he growls, shoving Law away who allows his usually immovable form to stumble.

“Get away from me, wretch!” the soldier hisses, Law cowering as he plays the part he needs to.

“I am s-sso sorry sssir, please ffforgive me,” he slurs, raising his hands in supplication.

It is a good thing this guy isn’t all that observant. He turns away a moment after spitting in Law’s direction instead of noting the tattoos on his fingers. Law stamps down his pride, the action easy as he reaches into his coat to pull out the syringe filled with the luminescent green liquid. He feels a gaze on him, a stare that isn’t unfamiliar to him. Law looks up, peeking out from under his hood to see Reiju looking back, her features unreadable. The Surgeon of Death smirks, raising the syringe to tease her with it. He did say he will learn all her secrets eventually. This is just another step in that quest.

The doctor creates a Room then, positioning it so few people would notice. A twist of his fingers has him and his object vanishing. It is as if he was never here. As long as no one looks too closely at a certain body that’s missing his arms.

#Log Entry // Drabble #Surgeon of Death // Trafalgar D Water Law #Poison Pink // Reiju #Toxic Hearts // Law x Reiju #violence tw #blood tw #medical procedure tw #suicide attempt tw #long post tw #[I had a mighty need]#[*whispers* I will edit in the morning]

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wonderwomanfantasy · 4 years

Text

Kinktober day 14

blood kink w/ Shigiraki

masterlist

Me: I do not have a blood kink

also Me: If shigiraki stabbed me I would simply find it hot, rip to y’all but I’m different.

also this is for @kazooli but like lowkey cus I’m shy 👉👈

warnings: This is not how you do Knife Play safely!! Please don’t be stupid and try this shit irl! it is factually incorrect! knife play, Blood kink, Bondage, gagging, dubcon, CNoncon/ full on NonCon depending on ow you want to read it, degradation, Shigiraki being nasty, Innocence kink if you read between the lines a bit,

word count: 1,100 (About)

Summary: Shigiraki loved nothing more then hurting pretty little innocent flowers like you, despite that fact, he really didn’t mean to make you bleed. but now that you were bleeding... well he can’t not take advantage of good luck.

Shigiraki picked at his neck raked his blood shot eyes over your now exposed body. He really hadn’t meant to cut you, despite the large butcher's knife in his hand. Shigiraki just wanted to cut your clothes off but it seemed like he had knicked you in the process.

He watched the crimson line form just below your ribs, the drop of blood growing heavy before falling down your skin leaving a burgundy trail in its wake.

Shigiraki could smell the stink of iron in the air, the potent smell of blood already so thick after just one scratch. He reached for your body tentatively and caught the dewdrop with his thumb and pressed it flat against your waist smearing the blood against your otherwise unblemished skin.

Shigiraki often had to remind himself just how delicate and fragile you were, not a hardened killer like him. It took a moment for him to register that he had hurt you and that he had gotten turned on by doing so. Of course Shigiraki was a sadist, but this rush of euphoria was ten times greater than anything a spanking had ever done for him. He grinned to himself, this really would be a fun night.

“I told you to stay still, now look what you’ve done,” he chided, moving back up to the cut and pressing on it with his thumb forcing blood to the surface witch he again caught, but this time he brought it to his own face.

He breathed in the metallic scent and rubbed the warm liquid between his thumb and forefinger. It was your own fault really, for being so pretty when you bled.

“you’re lucky I’m giving you a second chance,” He muttered raising the Knife again. this time to your frilly white panties. The fabric was thin and gave way to the sharp knife effortlessly. They fell to the ground with the rest of your tattered clothes.

You struggled again, but this time the blade didn’t hit you. Your arms were bound above your head with a length of rope and attached to a meat hook, leaving you dangling, only the tips of your toes touching the ground. A gag stuffed in your mouth muffled any verbil protests. the room was a dirty filty place, he wondered if you thought you were too pure to be fucked in a place like this. Too good to be defiled by a man like him. He itched his neck excitedly as he ate up you naked body.

Not that your opinion really mattered, you had already submitted to him, so you would do what he wanted weather you fought him or not. His heart hammered in his chest, god he hoped you fought him.

“It’s like you’re trying to get cut,” he muttered then his eyes lit up.

“Is that it? do you want to be cut my little pain slut?” He asked pressing the tip of the blade to your thigh, hard enough for you to feel it but not enough to cut you. you continued wiggling much to his annoyance.

Shigiraki twisted the blade down cutting your thigh. this cut was a little deeper, still not enough to even scar but the blood flowed a little more freely. His mouth watered at the sight.

“You’re beautiful like this bleeding for your master,” He praised, this time he let the blood flow unimpeded. It slipped from your upper thigh in between your legs and down to your knee.

“Spread your legs,” he demanded. You denied him, clamping your thighs together. you were such a brat even when you were so clearly at his mercy. But he couldn’t be too mad, not when it gave him a chance to punish you

He pressed the tip of the knife to your tummy. “Come on be a good girl, let Daddy at that pretty pussy,” he prompted only for you to squirm away from him.

“Naughty girl,” he sighed, with fake disappointment, in reality, he was giddy with the opportunity to cut you again. wich he did. three beautiful cuts, although the first one had already stopped bleeding.

you tensed with the pain of the cut and when your body relaxed, you spread your legs, Showing the Rorschach of dried blood on your inner thighs. and of course your glistening pussy was there for his eyes to devour as well.

“you’re so wet, you really are my little pain slut,” He carefully slid one finger over your slit, collecting your wetness and circling it around your clit making you squirm, tugging against your restraints.

You moaned around the gag rocking your hips against his hand. It was amazing how much you trust you were putting in him, enough to hump the most dangerous part of his body like this, He could kill you, but the danger only seemed to make you more aroused.

He was about to slip two of his fingers inside of your quivering walls when he had a better idea. He flipped the knife around in his hand so he was clutching the blade, and pushed the handle inside of you. you clamped around the handle feeling the ridges of the cold plastic.

“Don’t trash like that Baby girl, we wouldn’t want you to get hurt now would we?” He teased thrusting the knife in and out of you while twisting your clit, pinching the sensitive nub hard enough to make you squirm.

The blade grazed your inner thigh, reminding you that it was still there. He shoved the handle further into you pressing it against your g-spot making you scream against the gag, throwing your head back.

“Cum for me good girl, cum for Master,” he growled pushing your body further the tension in your stoumach snapped and you came, your slick wetness dripping down the handle to the blade of the knife. It almost glittered against the cool metal.

He admired the sticky cum that coated the knife before yanking the gag from your mouth and ordering you to stick your tongue out.

“make me you creep son of a bitch-” you snapped your eyes glinting with rebellion. He squeezed your cheeks with two fingers making your lips pout, then he put down the third finger and saw the childish glee in your eyes turn to fear.

“do you want to be a good girl now?” he asked. You both knew he wouldn’t really kill you- right? you stuck out your tongue before he could even touch another finger to you. he released your face letting your tongue loll out further. He brought the knife up to your face and dragged it along your tongue making you taste your own cum.

“That’s it, baby girl, taste yourself, you taste so good don’t you?” he purred licking his own fingers clean. Shigiraki took the knife from your mouth and trailed the tip down between the valley of your breasts not enough to break the skin as it passed your sternum, but slowly he added pressure digging the knife further in finally cutting your stoumach watching with wrapped attention as the blood swelled to the surface. He dropped the knife and fell to his knees leveling himself with your stoumach. He licked his chapped lips and leaned forward bracing himself carefully against your hips He pressed his lips to the injury, his tongue darting out to snag some of the blood

The warm metallic drop melted in his mouth in an almost sinful way. He groaned against your stomach. He flicked his eyes up to yours watching you pant and quiver. He pulled back and smiled.

“what are you looking at? Do you want praise whore? you want to hear that you’re blood is absoultly delicous?” he asked carressing your thighs with his hands, dirtying the plush skin with his touch.

“n-no,” you stuttered, tripping over a single word how cute.

“lair,” he hummed standing again and leaning to hover his mouth over your neck, so he could drool over your warm skin. He reached down and slipped two fingers inside your soaked cunt making you yelp.

“you are going to have to actually start behaving if you want me to call you a good girl, pain slut,”

#shigiraki tomura #shigiraki x reader #imagine shigiraki #shigiraki x reader smut #dubcon #shigiraki smut #my hero academia #my hero acadamy #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia head cannon #lov x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2020

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

Hello there! Idk if you’re still taking requests, so if you aren’t, ignore this! But I was wondering if you could write Diego x reader, where she meets his siblings for the first time, and at first it’s kinda awkward, but then they get more comfortable and maybe just like fluff after when they get back home? It might be totally stupid but idk. I love your writing!💕💕

A/N: Babe, it’s totally not stupid at all. Meeting the family shenanigans is basically the perfect trope for this show. Sort of accidentally ended up a sequel to this fic, so I ran with it. Word Count: 1678 Content Warnings: Season 2 spoilers

“Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?” Diego asked, gripping your hand tightly as the two of you walked toward the restaurant. “It’s not too late for us to just leave.”

“Diego Hargreeves, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you didn’t want me to meet your family,” you teased, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s one dinner, it’ll be okay.”

“You say that now,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes affectionately in response before pulling open the door and walking inside.

When you gave your names to the hostess, she smiled brightly and told you that the rest of your party was already waiting for you, before leading you to a large table in a private room off the main dining area. Four pairs of eyes turned to you appraisingly. You swallowed nervously and put on a smile of you own.

“Hi everyone, sorry we’re late,” you said, taking one of the two empty seats, somewhat awkwardly as Diego still refused to let go of your hand. “Someone didn’t believe me that traffic was going to be a nightmare on a Friday night.”

One of the women at the table, who you vaguely recognized from a cheesy romance playing on late-night cable and therefore deduced was Allison smiled in a way that felt indulgent and false; it didn’t quite reach her eyes; it was rehearsed.

“Oh he never listens to anybody, don’t take it personally, Y/N,” the smaller of the two men said, stretching across the table and offering you a broad grin and a hand with the word hello tattooed on it. “I’m Klaus, and you’re the gorgeous creature my brother’s decided to shack up with, huh?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his greeting, shaking his hand politely while Diego glared. “Nice to meet you Klaus,” you said with a smile.

“You know, I already like you better than his last two girlfriends. You haven’t tried to arrest or kill me!”

“Sorry what? Is that a joke?” you frowned in confusion as you let go of his hand and leaned back, glancing over at Diego to see his tight jaw and stony face, clear indications that he was upset.

You hand sought his under the table and you gave it a gentle squeeze, drawing his gaze to you and smiling at him.

‘It’s all good, relax,’ you mouthed.

“No I’m deadly serious,” Klaus continued. “For a while he was with this lady cop on-again/off-again style and she’d arrest me for drugs when she caught me around. Until she was tragically murdered by time-travelling assassins who kidnapped me looking for Five. Then while we were in the 60s, he fell for this girl from the nuthouse who turned out to be a plant and totally tried to kill us!” He gave a pained little chuckle, as if to say, ‘can you believe that?’

You stared at him, open-mouthed and aghast.

“Ignore Klaus, he’s never known when to shut up a day in his life,” the woman you had first noticed said. “I’m Allison.”

Klaus shot her a look that somehow combined a pout and a glare, but fell silent. You felt some of the tension sink out of Diego beside you, though he still didn’t seem comfortable. You smiled at her.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” you said, still trying to shake off the information Klaus had given (which seemed to line up with what the small, angry brother who was oddly not at dinner had said, and was far too much to actually process at the moment).

You turned to the two who hadn’t yet spoken. “So you must be Luther and Vanya?”

The man nodded, shifting in his seat and giving you an awkward little wave. The other woman glowered at you and said nothing. You frowned, wondering what you had done to earn her ire already.

Allison cleared her throat. “We ordered some bruschetta and sangria for the table before you arrived.”

The rest of dinner passed in much the same way as those first moments: Luther was mostly silent and clearly uncomfortable (whether with your presence or very fact of being out in public seemed unclear) but he started to relax and warm up as the evening went on, even once or twice sharing a stiff joke; Vanya was cold, barely responsive to your attempts to engage with her; Allison tried to play the hostess and keep topics light and small-talk-esque, breaking long silences with new conversations, obviously trying her best but ultimately resulting in a stilted performance; Klaus blurted out evidently whatever thoughts passed through his mind, usually bizarre and outlandish, sometimes profound and deeply sad. It was like none of them knew how to be normal people or have dinner with their sibling’s significant other, or an average conversation and you couldn’t help but feel oddly warmed by that, but the fact that they were so…human.

You did your best to keep up with all of them, appreciating Allison’s best efforts, laughing at some of Klaus’s jokes or countering his philosophical points, trying not to call too much attention to Luther or make him feel put on the spot. Diego felt his heart swell with pride at how well you did, and how you took everything in stride, even as the minutes seemed to drag on and he started to fear that dinner would never end.

The only thing that kept rankling at you was Vanya’s attitude, so when she got up to go to the bathroom, you excused yourself as well, cornering her in the hall of the restaurant.

“Hey, no offense, but what the hell is your problem with me?” you asked, tilting your head to one side, more curiosity than animosity in your tone.

She rolled her eyes, trying to push past you, but you resolutely blocked her path.

“I know I’m dating Diego and there’s like a whole weird history there or whatever, but don’t I at least deserve a chance before you decide to treat me like the devil?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“You seem nice, and you’re…normal. Our family doesn’t do well with that,” she explained, folding her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to do the whole friendly, welcome to the family or whatever bullshit. Cus you’re either going to turn out not actually normal and screw us over, or you’re going to turn out actually normal and get hurt or bail before you do.”

You stared at her for a long, silent moment.

“I’m not going anywhere. I love Diego, and I think for all that they’re weird, I like your family a lot.”

“You say that for now, but we’ll see.”

“If there’s really no way for me to change your mind, fine, but maybe the reason people leave is just because you shove them away.”

You turned and returned to the table with that, not giving her a chance to respond. You still weren’t thrilled, but at least you felt like you understood her better now, and she seemed to soften toward you at least a little for the rest of the evening.

By the time the check came (a check you noticed that Allison picked up without even glancing at the numbers) you felt like you had really gotten to know Diego’s siblings, and seen a different side of him as he slowly loosened up around them.

As you all got up to leave, it became a chain of “it was nice to meet you”s and “we should do this again”s. Allison moved in for a hug and you returned it happily enough. Luther patted you on the shoulder awkwardly, his big hand enveloping it as if you were a child, surprising you with his size more close up than the other end of the table. Klaus moved as if to follow you home, and then pouted much like a stray puppy when Diego gave him a stern look that communicated without words that he was not allowed to do so. Then he turned to you and hugged you. But where Allison’s was polite and somewhat formal, Klaus’s was anything but, his long limbs folding around you and his chin resting on your shoulder.

“It was sooo good to meet you,” he purred in your ear. “And I’m glad Diego found you.” He pulled back to look you in the eye, his hands still resting on your upper arms. “I mean it. You’re good for him. Take care of him.”

“I will,” you said with a smile. “And you take care of yourself.”

Vanya offered you a polite nod, and you took what you could get.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry about tonight,” Diego sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he sank down onto the couch.

“What are you talking about D? It was fine.” You hung your coat on one of the pegs near the door and then, with a roll of your eyes, picked up his from where he’d tossed it on the floor and hung it as well.

“It was torture. In fact I think I’d rather be tortured.”

“I mean sure it was awkward, and your family’s a little weird, but I knew going in not to expect anything else.”

“It didn’t make you regret the day you ever met me?”

You dropped onto the couch next to him, leaning into his side and tilting your head to kiss him, smiling against his mouth.

“I could never regret that babe.”

His arm circled your shoulders, drawing you closer as he returned your kiss fervently. He groaned as you pressed against him and ran your tongue over his lower lip, opening up to invite you in. It wasn’t often that he let you take the lead, so you took full advantage while you could, pressing him back against the cushions and straddling his lap, running your hands through his hair.

“Besides,” you said, pulling back to smile teasingly. “Now I won’t feel so bad when you meet my family.”

#I hope you enjoy this darling Nonny #TUA season 2 spoilers #The Umbrella Academy season 2 spoilers #It sort of ended up more about the rest of the family and less about Diego #but I think it works?#Diego Hargreeves x Reader #meeting the family

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stardancerluv · 3 years

Text

Gotham Lockdown 2020

Part 18

Summary: Love & surprises abound in Sionis’s buildings leading up to Christmas.

Arthur’s Note: After the some of the angst of At War and when they first met, as the writer it is nice returning to Gotham Lockdown 2020. This is where reader and Roman have come so far and still have a lot head of them like the grenade but that is still far off. This is nice and fluffy. I dedicate this to chapter to an amazing person and reader of my stories. Thank you for being awesome. (This is a take on your request!) lyrics from How You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra in italics at the end!

Roman rolled over in bed sighing. He had slept incredibly well after the frosting fight. You were certainly his little minx. Remembering, how your little tongue felt on his throat as you licked away some of the icing he had drawn there. He stretched, and a warm sense of contentment wash over him. Turning his head, he smiled as he saw your soft sleepy face near his on the pillow.

How had he gotten here, he mused for a moment. Dark violent, memories prickled at his mind. He could remember the people he dispatched people with Victor. He remembered the empty smiles, his cold bed. Now, everything was different. That made him happy.

Sure, he still killed from time to time, but with much more restraint. He had a solid empire in Gotham despite the silent killer that was still tormenting the world but he felt stronger about his place in the underworld of Gotham.

He went through these changes all because Victor had fucked or perhaps it had been destiny that had brought you hand cuffed to a chair downstairs. He could still recall how that beautiful wrap dress laid on your body.

Smiling, reaching up he brushed some hair from your cheek. He bit back a chuckle so as to not wake you. A smudge of green frosting laid on your cheek how had be missed that.

He sat up and carefully hung over you, bracing his hands on either side of you. He honestly couldn’t resist this. He bent down and easily licked what remained off.

“Roman?” You voice was deep and sleepy.

“Yes.” He chuckled. “I had missed a bit of frosting.”

You blinked and smiled. “I thought you had found it all.”

“I did too.” He rose an eyebrow playfully. “But, I should check. We don’t want you being sticky.”

Soon giggles filled the bedroom, the inspections turned into giggles. The two of you kissed, tickled and cuddles till you both were laying at angle across the bed.

You swallowed your breaths hard. “It’s no fair, you didn’t have as much frosting on you.” You pouted.

Roman raised himself on his elbow as he braced his cheek in his hand as he looked down at you. “I’ll have change that next time.”

“Yes you better mister.” You smiled.

“Today is very important.” He said, for first time that morning he sounded very serious.

You pressed a kiss on his upper arm. “Oh?”

“Hey that tickles. I was saying today is important. Don’t distract me with kisses.” He had tried to not smile and be serious but it wasn’t working.

“I thought that was my job as your fiancée was to distract you.”

He smirked. “Could be, I didn’t read the small print on what your job entailed.”

“Roman! You are supposed to read that! It’s crucial.” Giggling, you buried yourself into his chest.

He smiled. “I better go and read that right now.” He pretended to get out of bed and you pulled him back.

“So tell me sir, why is today important?”

“We have to put the star on the tree.”

“Oh yes! We need that up before Christmas next week.”

He nodded. “Yes! But also....” He added the silence to be mysterious. “And Victor and I are hosting a small dance part for the four of us downstairs in the club.” He loved how your eyes lit up.

“Oh Roman, that sounds amazing. I will have to get all dressed up.”

He smiled. “You better. I want to see how you were when you get dolled up for one of my meetings.”

Your eyes grew even larger. “Oh, that has been like forever.” You smiled even bigger. Your eyes glowed happily. “I remember how nervous I was. I wanted to look so good.”

“You did. I think the deal sealed since Killer Croc could not take those lizardy eyes off you.”

“Well,” you said filled with a smug air. “There is no one like me in the sewers.”

“No there certainly is not.” He bent down and kissed you, loving how one of your fingers laid on his cheek as he kissed you.

******

“Baby, you should let me do it. I am alot taller afterall.” Roman chuckled.

“Oh? Are you? Right now I beg to differ.” You stood proudly on the top of the three step stool with your hands on your waist. The star under one arm.

Roman came over and was shorter but not by incredible amount. “Oh! You are so tall, what am I am to do?” He chuckled. He held a hand over his heart pretending to be in anguish.

Smiling, you climbed back down from the step stool. Once again, Roman towered over you as you stood before him. “There you are, perfect and at the wonderful height where I fell hard for you.” He kissed the top of your head.

“Here you go.” You giggled and handed him the star.

You watched as he effortlessly out the star on top.

“Is it straight?”

Grabbing the mug of hot chocolate the two of you shared, you backed up. You tilted your head from side to side. “A little over to the right.”

He moved it and rose his eyebrows.

“Now just a breath to the left.”

“And now?”

“Perfect.” Putting down the mug, you met him as he climbed down.

He wrapped his arms around you and looked up at the tree. “It looks great.”

You smiled. “It does.”

He smiled. “Want to see something special?”

You were intrigued. “Sure.”

He led you over to the where your winter coats hung and your boots. “We got to out these on for a moment.”

Holding your hand you slipped on your boots and then he did the same when you finished.

*****

“Roman’s its so cold.” You cried as the snow swirled around you. Your one hand dug into the pocked into your coat while your free hand still held his.

“Only another moment.”

The sun had disappeared the icy air held onto the snow and blew through the air.

“Ok here we are.” He stood behind you, laying his hands on your shoulders. He pointed.

You saw the twinkling of Christmas lights twinkling through Gotham. It looked like Gotham had become its own Christmas tree with lights. Everyone, despite the lockdown had strong holiday spirit.

“This is lovely Roman.” You shivered despite warming at this sweet moment.

He pulled you close. “I will always try and make this special for you. You made feel the real magic of the season.” He whispered.

“Oh Roman.” You teared up but then you sighed and your lips met.

******

You were smoothening your stockings when Roman in a tux, leaned in the doorway and made you gasp. He whistled. You slipped into your shiny black heels and went over to him.

“Look at you!” You ran your hands up the black jacket. “How did you ever?”

He smiled. “I have my ways.” He looked you up and down. “As lovely as ever.”

You flushed. “I am not used to this. But it feels good.” You smiled.

“Once, we’re back where we were I am showing you off as much as I can.”

You pushed him. “I’m just me.”

“Yes, which is a knock out. Alright, let’s get this dance party started. I think Victor has brought down Doll-Face.”

“Alright! Let’s go!”

*****

He interlaced his fingers with you. Loving, how your perfume filled the air of the elevator. An eagerness filled him.

The elevator with a ding announced its arrival at the club. He brought your hand up and kissed your knuckles. “Go on into the club, let me get us a drink so it feels like old times.”

“Ok!”

He hung back and watched. He was happy that Victor was already there and the music was giving a good beat to the place.

Squeals, giggles and voices reached levels that the club had not heard in months. You had rounded the corner, Doll-Face and five of your closest friends were there.

Sticking back to the shadows, he went to the bar and began making the drinks for all of you. He eyed, the cheat sheet his main bartender had sent him a few nights ago. Before that he had only had known how to make his drink and yours, and made a poor version of Victor’s though thankfully the man usually drank a beer so he was easy.

There was a click of heels and he out down the Amaretto bottle because your arms were around his middle and he could barely breath in the best possible way. “You’re welcome baby.”

“Roman! I...I”

He turned to face you. “Go have fun.” He loved seeing how bright your eyes were and the wide grin across your face. “After putting up with me all these months and well this entire situation, you deserve to dance and drink with friends.”

You went up on your tip toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. “You’re the best.” And then you fluttered off.

He only had to remake one of the drinks before he brought them out to you and the girls. He was also proud of himself that he had not spilled any of the drinks, that tray had been heavy.

He nodded and smiled as the girls once again thanked him for doing this. He was able to fend off some enthusiastic hugs. Despite them all being tested twice, the only girl he wanted to hug was his own. But seeing all their happy faces was nice. His club had been empty for far too long.

Smoothening, his suit jacket he went over and checked on Victor. “Thanks again for doing this.” He leaned against the DJ wall.

Victor smiled. “Nothing is too good for the girls. It was a shame Doll-Face didn’t have any friends we could invite.”

Roman, looked at him. “You can’t be completely surprised.”

Victor shrugged and nodded. “That’s the price of being the best female assassin in Gotham.”

Roman nodded. “At least, she became good friends with my girl.”

“Yeah, those two they are always plotting.” Victor chuckled as he cued up the next few songs.

“And you help them sometimes.” Roman quipped.

Victor scratched the back of his head. “Only sometimes.” He smiled.

*****

You felt as light and as bubbly as the champagne that Roman brought out later. This was so wonderful. They may have always been a pain from time to time; especially when they found out Roman was your boyfriend. Though they were all still friends and right now dancing to the music was exactly what you needed.

Clinking of heels and glasses and laughter bounced off the walls. The club had only, know your four voices these last few months. But now, with all of you dancing and having a good time. It felt for a brief moment like it had before the pandemic.

youtube

Roman, you saw and smiled had gone up to one of places where he had liked to go and watched the action. “Woo!” He called out. “Who is having a good time?”

The girls and you erupted in cheers. You even screamed up an, I love you. More squeals filled the air as he moments later, he opened a bag of confetti and it billowed and rained down on all of you.

You unpinned your hair. You were not used to the dancing or all that it entailed. It had felt like old times catching up with them about how their lockdown had been going.

Hushed gasps and smiles were around the table as you all took a moment to catch your breathes when you held out your hand that held the elegant ring gave you. After this was all over they promised to give you the engagement party to remember.

*****

It was around three in the morning, when you finally collapsed onto the sofa. Every part of you ached but you were happy. Contently, you threw an arm over your eyes.

Hearing his footfalls you watched from under your arm as Roman came around the sofa opening his suit jacket before settling beside you, laying your legs in his lap. His hands gently rubbing your calves.

“Have a good time?” He smiled, giving you a sidelong glance.

You lowered your arm. “I am. That was amazing.”

“I’m glad. I think Doll-Face had a good time too.”

You blew some hair from your eyes. “I hope so.”

You sighed, with Roman’s aversion to germs and sometimes annoyance at how they sometimes treated you, you were really happy that he did this tonight.

“How did you manage all of this?”

He chuckled. “Being one of the most powerful man in Gotham, gives you the skills to surprise your girl and her friends for an unexpected dance party.” He smirked.

“I knew there was a reason, I loved you.” You smiled and sitting up, nestling closer you rested a hand on his shoulder.

He chuckled. “Baby?”

“Yes?” You didn’t move, you were very comfy.

You felt him shift where he sat and the soft voice of Frank Sinatra filled the penthouse. “Dance with me?”

You lifted your head and smiled. “Of course. I was hoping the last dance of the night was with you.”

*****

Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm

And your cheeks so soft

There is nothing for me but to love you

He held you close as Sinatra’s words swirl around the two of you.

youtube

Smiling, at you took a tiny curl of confetti that had nestled close to one of your cheeks. It was almost like a flower clinging to you.

You smelled as sweetly and as beautiful as you did when the two of you had headed downstairs.

With each word your tenderness grows

Tearin' my fear apart

And that laugh, wrinkles your nose

Touches my foolish heart

He met your eyes. “Y/N, I am still learning all this romantic stuff even after all this time.” He grimaced. “It just was never part of me till, I met you.”

“Roman!” You hugged him tight. “I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

He smiled, he was a lucky man. “That’s why you’re my girl. But this,” He twirled his finger. Something, he had used to do so often, those little things one forgets when in a lockdown. He was reminded of when he first had done it, it he could order you a drink. “this song speaks of some of the love I have for you.”

Your eyes met, your eyes twinkling in the light from the Christmas tree as you danced and continued to move as one, made him one happy man.

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @top-rumbelle-fan @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @rosionis @queenofgotham800 @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @pooshnulooshnu @speedypartyducksuitcase @blondekel77 @corey-clown @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @deadlymistress24

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fuwafuwamedb · 4 years

Text

Fate/Still Night (Gilgamesh, Kirei, Hakuno, Cu)

He’d just returned when he saw the body.

The wounds were deeper than usual, bleeding out onto the earth around them. Leaves were in her hair, showing that she’d taken a tumble when she’d been assaulted and killed. Then there were the markings in the earth. He could see the footprints, the brush and debris showing the person’s escape from the area. He could see Kirei making tracks to follow.

Silver flashed around his waist, he could hear the sound of the fighting and the clashing of metal to metal in the distance. The one the priest was after wouldn’t last long.

No doubt, she’d be dead as well.

That didn’t answer the large question though: why was the priest killing so close to the church?

They didn’t risk the mages finding out anything. They were careful, keeping their distance and keeping funds that were meant for the church purely focused on the church. It was his funds that kept them going for the war’s grail.

None of their actions were normally this senseless.

Such a shame, killing off perfectly average women without taking any pleasure in the kills. The woman lying amongst the leaves didn’t even look like any of the mages he’d seen before. She was too soft, her hair loose and her attire too bright and cheery. What kind of dark mystic arts mage ran around in a golden yellow summer dress?

She looked far too innocent.

A disappearance was one thing, but risking the idea of someone actually missing this woman was a bit greater than they should have been making.

Too often, the innocent were so often fodder for the deeds of others.

Perhaps he should take some pity upon the girl. It would be worth a few good laughs, bringing her into the church and setting her at one of the pews. Kirei would be panicking for a full minute, grabbing his weapons and rushing forward, intending to murder the woman to cover up his actions.

“Let’s see what you look like, mongrel.”

A turn showed that the flawless skin shown off by her dress was continued. The face was pleasant enough, long lashes and good grooming. Some hair fringe was hanging over her forehead as he found himself giving a small sigh.

Average looks, but no doubt a regular citizen of this place.

This was the kind of person that wouldn’t have had to do with anything. She’d most likely been on her way here to pray or something when she had been assaulted and-

Gilgamesh paused, noting the shift.

Her body was still breathing. Nothing rough or overdone, she wasn’t going into shock like she should have been. She was calm.

But that wouldn’t make any sense. She was dying. The woman should have been growing cold in the features and suffering from extreme shock and panic. Instead, a pair of brilliant eyes opened, gazing up to him.

There was color to them, despite the dark hue. He could see the flecks of gold amongst her eyes as she returned his stare.

And within them he could see a grand throne, his own throne. He could see countless stairs and countless more enemies, descending upon him as he found himself once more in that armor he’d abandoned so long ago.

For once, he was back, fully and wholly prepared to slaughter those who stood before him in an upfront and beautiful manner, worthy of a great epic. His laugh was coming to life again, his whole being riding a high that only came once before.

It’d been so long since he had felt like this. Not since-

Gilgamesh closed his eyes, staggering back.

Her lips weren’t turning blue as death came to greet her. She was still covered in blood. She had to be dying, but she was narrowing her gaze at him.

The kick to his shins earned a curse in her direction. She was rushing back, grabbing the earth in her hands and pushing herself up to her knees.

“Stay away from me.”

The command was immediate, impudent. Had he the mood he’d held a moment ago, perhaps he would have laughed and pitied her a moment by listening. However, a moment ago had been before his foresight had begun to tear through his mind.

The thoughts that had come to his mind a moment ago were not ones that he’d held before. They weren’t dreams or aspirations. He never dreamed in such a vivid manner. He didn’t dream at all, thanks to the liquor. Rather than dreams, he’d seen life.

He’d known this woman.

Somewhere, in some other time and place, he had become accustomed to her in some way. That meant that the woman was no mere citizen. The whole ensemble she had on and the manner to which she’d portrayed herself was nothing but a deceit.

His eyes fell to her hand as she moved to check her wounds upon her chest. He could see the blood smearing, dribbling slightly down her dress as those red marks stood prominently upon her hand.

She was a master.

There were only two masters missing now. Kirei had seen to the woman from earlier this night. The woman before him either had Saber or Archer. Either one would be an entertaining foe to meet. She merely needed to say the word and summon them forth.

“I’m going to go home,” the brunette told him, those eyes all but glinting with a look that had his heart beginning to race. “I never saw you. You never saw me. You won’t follow me. I won’t come back here. Ever.”

“And if I don’t listen?”

“Why not?”

“Let’s say I don’t listen, little mage.” He took a step forward, something in him feeling more alive than ever before. It was as though the grail had come before him once more. It was like that saber from the last war had fallen and he could fully enjoy the magnificence of her demise with his own gaze. To hold such power again, after so long; he could barely contain himself. His eyes roamed over her as she held her hands against her bloodied chest.

There wasn’t any more blood flowing freely over them.

She wasn’t bleeding.

A master whom could play dead. Had this opossum of a woman eluded Kirei?

“Let’s say, for example, that I decide to get much closer instead. What can you do?” Gilgamesh asked of her, using his mana to leap from one point to behind her. His hands pressed lightly to her shoulders, making her jump just enough to see the bare chest.

Someone had feigned her death, faked killing her.

Kirei was after someone else.

Was there a companion that looked more like a mage? Had that fool truly gone after the wrong woman?

A whir came in the air, soft and easy to the ears like the wind was. He barely managed to step back, finding the red spear slammed into the earth between him and the woman he’d been speaking to.

Then there were arms around the woman.

“It would seem that the priest is after the wrong woman,” Gilgamesh purred.

“I think my master picked well enough for a successor. You won’t be able to find her in this place, not after we leave.”

He rushed them.

Knowing he’d fail, he rushed at the two. His hands dipped into the gates, pulling his weapon of choice and slicing without a second thought.

Just as that single breeze flitted through the trees and the storm in the distance began to rumble, Gilgamesh found the servant escaping. His master was safely tucked away in his arms, no doubt feeling the slice he’d given to her leg.

His eyes dropped to the blade in hand, knowing full well what it meant.

This blade was coated in a very rare poison, one that would begin a slow and painful increase.

She’d no more escaped him than she’d escaped the task of breathing. Perhaps those first few seconds would be fine. She could last for a span of time without, but not breathing- or rather, not seeing him- would result in death. There would be little choice other than to come back to him.

Her skirts vanished against the light of the moon, a single speck of gold amongst a dark and dreary night sky.

And then there was Kirei.

“Bazett has betrayed me.”

“Who?”

“The woman whom held Lancer’s command spells. She’s passed them off to someone.” The priest glanced at the ground before frowning. “There had been a body here.”

“Sounds like you’ve been sloppy,” he told the man simply.

The man didn’t hesitate to begin on him, looking around for signs of movement before declaring that they would need to find the body and burn it before someone else located it. He called to others as they returned to the building, declaring the storm forecast too great for gardening in the morning.

“I shall survey the damages and inform the gardeners from my findings.”

Oh, but he had no doubt that Kirei would try. Even after his wine was poured and his place on the man’s couch was settled, Gilgamesh found his mind reeling. The image of golden skirts and reddened cheeks on a surprised face met his mind.

The blush of surprise she’d had matched his wine, he thought idly, sensing the priest coming to his side.

“Gilgamesh, this is no time for drinks. We still need a spare servant.”

“Then pick the fool whose money you steal in the name of your great god.”

The Tohsaka heir had little use.

Thus far, her only asset to their plan was being a distraction for the association of mages. She danced and pranced around like a jester, entertaining those whom thought themselves mighty.

“Rin is for the grail, you know this.”

“Could she not serve both points? A vessel and a toy? You merely need her body, do you not?”

His reward for that was a glare.

“It’s not that simple,” Kirei growled. “The Tohsakas disappearing before the war would result in riots. The Mages Association would investigate.”

“Would they?”

The feeling from before was returning in the barest of ways. He could feel himself slipping away further from the waking world, his mind drifting.

“My treasure…”

Gilgamesh paused, his lips upon the rim of his wine glass.

Memories again?

For what reason would he call anything his treasure? There were only such things in his Gates. He didn’t bother with pet names normally.

Still, that did not stop the flicker of brown hair in his mind’s eye.

“Gilgamesh?”

He opened his eyes, glancing up only to find the priest lingering near him.

Kirei frowned at him, pulling away the wine bottle. “Gilgamesh, did you hear me just now?”

“Survey the church grounds, priest. You’ve failed enough for once night, don’t you think?”

His lips met the bottle the moment that the priest was gone.

His treasure...

The war had become that much more interesting.

#drabble #drabbles

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holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

Pure Love (3)

Request: I was wondering if u would be willing to write a florist reader x mob dean story where the reader is extremely shy and doesn’t wanna date him cus she’s scared of him but he’s super soft with her and it shocks all the other mob members because they have never seen this side of him.

Summary: It’s been too long since he met someone pure making him feel less evil.

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Reader, Mobster!Benny Lafitte,

Warnings: angst, shy reader, innocent reader (non-sexual), fluff, flirting, comforting, soft/caring Dean, a hint of making out, implied smut

Pure Intensions Masterlist

The next weeks passed in a blink. You slowly got comfortable around Dean. Every morning he drives you to your shop to make sure you get there safe. Castiel or one of Dean’s other men is always by your side. You like the blue-eyed man the most. He’s a bit silent, maybe shy but less scary than Benny or Gadreel.

Unfortunately, this week Castiel is away, along with Garth. That’s the reason Benny took the trench-coat wearing man’s place.

“You okay there, Chère?” Benny is glancing at you, knowing you feel uncomfortable around him.

“Yeah…” Shyly nodding you try to focus on anything than the dangerous man sitting next to your side.

“Please don’t believe I would harm you, Chère.” Benny rumbles giving you a charming smile. “I know I can look intimidating, but I swear I would rather die than hurt a girl. Especially not my boss’s girl.”

“Why?” Curiously glancing at the man, you see his features soften. “Dean would kill me if anything happens to you and he would rip me apart slow and painful if I dared to harm you. Relax and act as if I’m not around. I will just sit here, read my newspaper and make sure no one will hurt you.”

“How did you get into this business if you don’t mind me asking.” Benny leans back, smiling at the memory. “I met Dean during a tough time. Some years ago, when I was younger my boss abandoned me for falling in love with a girl.”

“I’m sorry…” Gasping you meet Benny’s eyes and you can see the hurting all over his face. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Hey, that was years ago, Y/N.” The tall man shrugs, offering you a cracked smile. “Said boss almost killed me, left me to die in the desert. I thought he killed my lovely girl too but…” Now Benny sighs. “He offered her a better life and she agreed. Money can buy everything, I guess…”

“Not everything…” Gently placing one hand onto Benny’s shoulder you shake your head. “Loyalty, friendship and love - money can’t buy this. I watched you and Dean together. You are not just boss and employee, Mr. Lafitte, you are friends…”

“Call me Benny, Chére or I feel like an old man next to you.” Chuckling Benny pats your hand on his shoulder, glancing up at you. “I know why Dean has a thing for you, you’re someone special.”

Flustered you look at Benny, not knowing how to react to such a compliment. “I still owe you my story.” Getting up the tall man glances out of the window, remembering the day he met Dean.

“You don’t have to tell me, Benny. It’s quite alright. I know how it feels not wanting to remember the past or certain people.” Voice soft you stand behind the Benny, gently patting his back.

“I recovered and got to know my girl, the woman I love is still alive, held hostage in the Mansion which used to be my home. I wanted to storm into the building when someone stopped me.” Benny keeps on talking, explaining Dean wanted to break into the house too, to prove he’s worthy. “Dean had a plan to enter the house, I could get my girl and Dean gets what he wants too.”

“So, this was some kind of ritual?” You ask not understanding what this means.

“You see…uh…” Scratching his chin Benny tries to explain how things work in the ‘family business’. “It’s like when kids tell you to steal a candy to prove you are brave enough. This was the same with Dean.”

“I get it. Dean had to prove he can get into the house and get something special.”

“Smart girl. John and his men waited outside, just in case. It was the usual drill to steal something from a befriended family.” Benny’s eyes darken at the memory of that night. “Dean and I entered the house with a stolen key. I thanked him and we parted ways.”

“I assume something went wrong?” Glancing at Benny you can see the hurting once again as he starts talking again. “Let’s say my girl wasn’t in danger. It was the opposite, Y/N. She was living a good life. Money. Expensive clothes. Everything she always wanted.”

“Some people don’t deserve our love, Benny.” Turning around the tall man, your protector nods. “Dean needs to keep you for sure. He never had a nicer girl.”

----

“So…Benny and you warmed up?” Dean is looking at you while you try to feel comfortable in the fancy restaurant he invited you in for your third date.

“He scared me a little, but he seems to be nice. Benny told me how you met, well at least a few things.” You look around the restaurant, feeling the waitresses staring at you. “Why are these women keep on staring at me, Dean?”

Leaning closer to you Dean chuckles before he takes your hand in his to kiss it softly. “They are not used seeing me with a girl here. This restaurant is reserved for the Winchesters family and very close friends, Sweetheart. According to the way the waitresses look at you they know you are someone special to me…”

Dean’s words make your heart flutter. “You never brought a girl here before?” There’s a smile all over Dean’s face when he shakes his head, squeezing your hand tightly. “Not a single time. I was restless for the last years, Blueberry Pie. I had affairs, flings but nothing serious. You are the first girl I can imagine marrying, Y/N.”

“Marry…” Choking on your water you look at Dean with wide eyes. He gives you his brightest smile, playing with your finger as the waitress approaches to bring you the ordered food. Dean is watching you glancing at the expensive food.

“Baby, you can eat it. It’s the best chicken parmesan in town, maybe even in whole Kansas.” Eyes softer than usual Dean looks at you, smirking when a little moan escapes your lips at the taste of the first bite. “Good?”

Nodding, you chew faster to answer Dean, but he starts eaten and you whine when he pulls his hand away to grab his fork. “I’ll touch you as much as you want to later…”

“UH…I…” Clearing your throat you glance at the waitress offering Dean and you wine while you shake your head at the young woman.

“Don’t be shy. Everyone in this establishment knows by now you are my girl.” Dean is teasing you once again, a soft smile on his lips.

“Dean!”

“What?” Awkwardly filling your glass, the waitress looks at you, trying to find out why the infamous Dean Winchester is falling hard for someone plain as you. “Don’t say such a thing. She could feel uncomfortable…”

“Y/N, I’m pretty sure Suzie heard and saw worse things than a love confession while she pours us some wine.”

“But we can change the subject for a moment, and I tell you how Benny became one of my best friends.” Dean offers you a distraction from his shameless flirting, so you nod eagerly as his hand gently caresses yours for a moment.

“I knew you are friends…” Your eyes shine when he starts telling you Benny and his story. “Benny found his love, Andrea. He believed she’s in danger, but she was busy fucking his former boss. One of his old bosses’ men captured Benny right before he could attack ‘the old man’.” Dean’s eyes darken at the memory.

“Awful…” Covering your mouth with your hand you imagine the hurting Benny must’ve felt back then. “Exactly. Seeing the woman, you love, the one you almost lost your life for with your former boss…” Dean takes a deep breath before he shoves the thought away someone could touch you.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing…” Mumbling you glance at your food before you shove another spoonful into your mouth. “I know, Baby. You’re such a good girl…” Oddly Dean’s words go straight to your core and you lick your lips, earning yourself a dirty grin from Dean.

“Anyways…I heard someone yell while I was hiding behind a wall. I saw Andrea kicking Benny down the stairs, telling him he was never good enough. One of these bastards aimed a gun at Benny and I jumped out, telling them I will lose the bet if they let him go.”

“Bet?” Dean remembers you can’t know about ‘the ritual’, the bets or anything so he tries to explain what he means. “It’s a tradition the sons turning 21 try to steal something from a befriended family. Whoever wins will get the prize, in my case my favorite strip club.”

“You sacrificed your win for someone you didn’t even know, Dean. I know you believe you are a bad guy, but this shows me you can feel compassion.” Your food gets cold while you just look at each other before one of you breaks the silence.

“You make me feel like a better man, Sweetheart. I want to be better for you.” Sighing Dean looks around the room, seeing the respect and partially fear in the guest’s eyes. “Family business is a part of my life, but I swear I will try to never get you involved in this kind of things. Castiel will be back in a few days and we will know if the gang is after you or not…”

Looking at your plate you know Dean wants to tell you that you can move back into your apartment, so you nod, blinking a few tears away. “Still I want you to stay with me. Don’t get me wrong, I like your style, but your apartment is way too small for a tall guy like me! I almost hit my knee in your bathroom when I tried to turn around.”

Chuckling you imagine Dean trying to find enough space in your tiny bathroom. “It’s not made for a tall man like you, with muscles and all. I’m way smaller and got no muscles…” Seeing the knowing look on Dean’s face you stop talking.

“I knew you checked me out, Y/N! My sweet, innocent girl is into checking her meat out!” Wiggling his eyebrows Dean stuffs another piece of food into his mouth, a never-fading grin on his lips. “Going to let you see all of my meat…”

“Dean!” Flustered you glance at the waitress looking at Dean, mouth agape as you feel the heat creeping into your cheeks and core…

----

Walking you toward your room, Dean has one arm slung around your waist, squeezing the flesh tightly. “That was a nice date…” He whispers in a lower voice than usual.

“Very nice…” In a blink, you are pressed against the wall and Dean’s lips are on yours. Tongue licking into your mouth, hands roaming your back he moans against your soft pillows. “Well, goodnight.”

“Good night…” Dean wants to turn to leave but you grab his hand, glancing up at the tall mobster slowly stealing your heart. “Do you really like me?”

“I don’t like you, Blueberry Pie…” Dean nips at your lips, breathing ‘I love you’ against you.

“We could not say goodnight right now…”

Dean’s eyes meet yours as he slings his arms around your waist while you do the same. Just standing there you let Dean kiss you again, humming against your lips when you move one hand to his butt, squeezing it harshly.

“Whoa, lady.” Chuckling at your boldness Dean sees the smirk all over your face. “I’m shy, not a virgin. I want you…”

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baekhyuq · 5 years

Text

“Atta Boy.” Baekhyun| Werewolf!bbh

Genre: Smut, Angst(not really)

Warnings: Makeup sex, face sitting

Mini Playlist: “Shes my collar - Gorillaz”

Summary: You try to teach your werewolf boyfriend a lesson and he most definitely does not appreciate it.

Baekhyun sits with his feet propped on the coffee table. Your oh so beloved coffee table you got on sale with your mother during a black friday event. The memory gives you chills remembering how you fought off a middle aged lady for the table.

Baekhyun knew the rules, but never abided by them. If you told him to keep your feet off the table? He’d respond What table? It’s HIS table? His feet will remain on the table.

“Baekhyun, i’ve told you a million times to not put your feet on the table.” You sigh loudly as you swat at his feet with a rolled up news paper. Baekhyun growls, it comes from the back of his throat.

You huff and go back to the kitchen to tend to your dinner. And Baekhyun sneaks his feet back onto the table.

“What’s so special about the table anyway?” He whispers to himself.

You pop your head back into the living room, indeed he’s put his feet back on the table.

“Baekhyun!”

“What!? It’s just a fucking table!”

“The constant weight of your feet will loosen the legs, It’s not meant for your feet.” You swat at him again. He grabs your wrist standing up, his claws dig into your skin slightly.

“That’s the last time you hit me, you always scold me like i’m some fucking dog Y/n. What do you want from me?!”

“I want you to listen to me for once.” You cry. “You always brush off my words. Why don’t you just listen to me!” You rip your hands away from his grip and push his chest. “Your fucking ears should be big enough to hear that.”

You storm off to your shared room, finding your coat and your purse. You make your way to the door and slip on your heels.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Baekhyun shouts at you, his voice on the edge.

“Out.” You spit at him. Your blood pressure was probably through the roof. Why couldn’t he just listen to you for once. All you ask is that he respects you. What’s so difficult?

You make your way to a bar called UN Village. You could use some distractions, for the night perhaps.

***

The clubs dark, safe for the lights that are flashing around constantly. The music is pounding away, making your whole body vibrate uncomfortably. And the smell of alcohol is calling your name.

You slide into a chair at the bar, the bar is even vibrating from the loud music. But it’s more quiet on this side of the club. A bartender offers you a smile and you note how handsome he is. Red horns rooting from the top of his head.

“Rough night?” He asks.

You nod and let out a sigh with a smile.

“What’s your name miss.”

“You can call me Y/n. You?”

“Jongin.” He responds in a voice all too kind. “What can we get started for you? Want something light, fruity, strong?”

“Surprise me.”

“You got it.”

Jongin turns to grab a few bottles before mixing up a concoction that fizzes. He slides it to you and you eye it before taking a sip. And another. And another. Until it’s gone.

“That was really good. What did you put in it? It tasted fruity!” You giggle, asking for another drink mixture. Jongin laughs before picking his brain for another drink to offer you.

“This ones my personal favorite.” He places a glass in front of you and you smell it, it smells slightly of alcohol. You taste it and it tastes like, Baekhyun. Like red apples and cinnamon. You frown slightly.

“Didn’t like it? Let me make another.” Jongin turns but you stop him.

“It’s not bad I-It just reminded me of somebody. Can you just give me lemon water?” You smile at him.

Jongin smiles back at you with a nod, “Coming right up princess.”

Jongin stays and talks with you throughout the night, he doesn’t leave your side as you spill your relationship problems with him. He comforted you with words of wisdom.

“Sometimes when we are arguing with people we love, we tend to hurt them the most. And when we are arguing one person will want to be heard, but becoming loud and being hurtful doesn’t get your point across. And in the end when the argument is said and done and you both apologize, it will take a whole person to say that they’ve not only heard what you’ve said, but understood.”

Jongin’s words grabbed you by the throat and choked you up. You and Baekhyun have had so many petty fights that it’s just built up. When you both apologize it doesn’t feel like you’ve squashed what you’ve fought about. It’s always something to slide under the carpet.

“Jongin you’re very smart. Your words have actually made me see something I’ve been doing wrong.” You smiled at him, and he kindly returned the smile.

“I need to go...” You patted his shoulder. Jongin nodded in understanding. “I wish you well. Come back anytime princess.” He waves.

***

You enter the house and it’s silent, the silence makes your ears ring. You take a deep breath before continuing to your room. You hear the low hum of a voice.

“Baekhyun?” You call out.

“Y/n?” He says back. Baekhyun’s sitting on the bed facing the wall with his hands in his lap. He looks like a sad puppy and you can’t help but to be sad also.

“Puppy...”

“No. I should apologize to you Y/n. I-I’m sorry for not listening to you more. I can see how it may have been troublesome to be with a person who doesn’t listen.” His ears are laid flat against his head and you feel even more bad.

“Baekhyun I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you like that. I’m sorry for letting it boil over. I’m sorry I walked out, I needed space to clear my head...”

“Yeah, you smell like...a man.” Baekhyun’s ears aren’t flattened anymore. Ones raised and the over is flopped over on itself.

“Don’t get the wrong idea.” You punch his shoulder playfully. You stand between his legs and take his face in your hands.

“Do you accept my apology?” He says, his eyes shining in the moonlight that creeped in.

You give him a small smile and nod. “Yes puppy, I forgive you. Do you forgive me?”

Baekhyun wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. “Let me show you just how much I forgive you.” He growls.

He tosses you onto the bed and you gasp.

He flashes you a toothy grin which you see his pointy canines. You feel a want towards him and it makes you almost whimper. He crawls on the bed toward you like an animal, stalking its prey. His eyes are narrowed at you, your heart beating out of your chest.

He touches your shoulder and you fall back completely. Baekhyun’s slender fingers strip you of your bottoms, leaving your top on. He plays with your clit, rubbing a finger teasingly. He smiles up at you a playful look thrown your way.

Your brain is processing it all so slowly, capturing every moment every touch every sensation. Baekhyun’s voices sounds but your body is too focused on one thing, getting a release from all this pent up frustration. And sadly Baekhyun would be on the receiving end.

You shot up in the bed, making Baekhyun jump back slightly.

“Y/n?”

“Lay on your back.”

He did as you told eyeing your suspiciously. You were never the one to command in the bedroom but tonight you’d show him. Show him how you should be heard.

You straddled him for a second, your mind almost retreating at the idea of dominating Baekhyun. Even though you know that he would never let you fully make him submit. It was in his nature to be dominant.

You put your hair up in a ponytail, Baekhyun gazing at your figure on top of him. He ran his hands up the sides of your body, his eyes on yours.

“What do you have planned pet.” He said, there he goes. Giving you a nickname to know who you belong to. Being on bottom was hard for Baekhyun. His ego hurt too much.

“How about you wait and see.” You whispered leaning down to playfully bite his lip. He growled, a smirk coming over his lips.

You take his clothing off firstly, getting the materials out of the way. Your fingers trace the muscles on his stomach and arms.

“You’re going to have to control yourself and listen to me.” You say confidently working your way up his body. You make a move, climbing up his body till your core is hovering over his mouth.

Baekhyun looked up at you with those bedroom eyes, the ones he’d give when he really wanted you. When he gave you that look you knew you had a collar on him.

His hand itched to pull you down onto his lips, to taste your sweet nectar stored deep within you. You carefully sat on his inviting mouth, holding most of your weight onto the headboard. Baekhyun was strong enough to hold you up himself though, and he did just that. His hands coming up to support your thighs, his arms flexing slightly at your weight.

He needed some sense of control on his part. Having you on his lips was a treat.

His eyes fluttered closed, his tongue poking out to lick a stripe up your clit. His eyes flashes back over to see your reaction. He can’t help it, you’re too sexy. Irresistibly so.

Your eyes are on his, your voice shaky when you tell him to continue. A moan slips out when he flicks his tongue, you let your hands come down from resting on the headboard, to tangling them in his hair. His hand travels from your thigh to your ass, giving it a cheeky squeeze. You moan once more, his tongue buried deep within you. Alternating between up and down, sliding between your folds to dipping you a few times. To Baekhyun, eating you out was a delicacy. His arms strongly supporting you, his hair between your fingers and your pussy on his lips. He smacks your ass quickly gaining your attention. Your thighs were crushing his head.

“Sorry I got carried away—Are you okay?” You sputtered out.

Baekhyun huffs out and his cold breathe hits your cunt. “I cant believe you tried to kill me.” He says playfully biting the inside of your thigh. Your cheeks turn rosy and you move to get off Baekhyun but his arms keep you in place. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I-I don’t want to accidentally kill you.”

“Y/n i’m a lot stronger than you, your thighs may have almost killed me but atleast i’ll die in your cunt.” Baekhyun smirks up at you, he knew what his foul mouth did to you. Dirty talk was something you loved receiving from Baekhyun.

His tongue was back at your core once more, teasing was no more. He was full on tongue fucking you now, no holding back this time. Baekhyun wanted to get you to release and he was going to stop at nothing. You mouth fell out at the sudden stimulation, missing the warmth between your legs you gave in to his dominating tongue. The faster his tongue was the louder you got. His name slipping off your tongue once or twice. The vibrations from his deep grunts traveling to your core.

You didn’t want him to make you climax without learning a lesson. You looked down at his disheveled hair, yanking harshly on it. Baekhyun’s brows furrowed together and his eyes shot up at you.

“Keep going.” You demanded, gaining confidence when he followed your demand. You rocked your hips on his skillful tongue. You reached back behind you and squeezed Baekhyun’s bulge teasingly. In return Baekhyun groaned, thrusting slightly into your hand. It continued for a minute, Baekhyun’s desperate attempts to make you climax while you returned the favor. Right before Baekhyun was able to feel you unfold right on his lips you pinned his head down on the bed.

“I want you to swallow.” You demanded, your hands full of his white locks, your eyes staring right into his animalistic ones. He nodded eager to please you, he returned to his place between your thighs. Before you knew it he had you doubled over, bent in half as usual. Your thighs squeezed around Baekhyun, but he knew this would happen so he held your thighs apart. Your body twitched and withered as the orgasm ripped through you. And you had the guts to praise Baekhyun, patting him on his head, “Atta boy.”

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crimsonfluidessence · 4 years

Text

Pursuits Of The Fractured

Esredes was pissed.

Now, this was a state of being very common for the ex-harrier, and on its own, it would be indicative of just a regular day in his unnecessarily extended lifespan. What cued one in to it being an irregular state of pissed- besides being in The Mists, a location he didn’t often have reason to visit, with a location written on the notepad that he had never heard of before until two days ago- was the motivation for being pissed and showing up here.

Living corpses were something Esredes loved and hated in equal measure. When it was a dear fellow harrier he long thought potentially dead showing up to his door, or a different fellow harrier discovered alive in Gridania, or even, he would admit, the empty husk of his brother appearing again claiming to be better and surprisingly actually meaning it- those were all good living corpses.

And then there were the bad kinds. Mad scientists from centuries ago suddenly alive again, or lord forbid, greedy parasitic bastards who for some reason were apparently alive despite being sliced in half.

Now, that on its own would be a whatever. He was an awful person who deserved to die, sure, but if he wasn’t hurting anyone, who cared if he was hiding out at some fancy hotel? Not Esredes, particularly, if not for some unfinished business, to put it lightly.

Or in his case, vengeance.

For this was no ordinary somehow-alive horrible syndicate member, it was an ordinary somehow-alive horrible syndicate member who had pledged to help his cause.

He still remembered the meeting clearly enough. The Lalafell from Ul’dah, in addition to complaining of cold, had claimed to be someone of influence interested in helping his people for business purposes. Food and supplies for rare materials like molted dragon scales. That on its own would have been fair enough. He wouldn’t expect someone so far from the conflict and Ul’dahn to be invested in it for anything else, and he could take on a few purely business deals as long as the person was fair about it. He had even helped supply them for their failed invasion on Ishgard. If the man simply wanted to keep it quiet and disassociate from the harriers in light of the war, so be it.

No, what Esredes couldn’t stand was people who played to both sides. Business was one thing, but using his people purely as a means for monetary gain while also assisting their enemies was another. And for someone from Ul’dah, no less, who had the lowest chance of being in such a position! Hiding that he was a Syndicate member was one thing, it only made sense, and Esredes would have never expected to have accidentally talked to a Syndicate member in need of money. But revealing allegiance to those blue-coated bastards who had helped to kill his people at Snowcloak?

Oh, that was another, dear little rat.

It was a shock to find out their little helper was actually Teledji Adeleji after the man had already died. But it was even more of a shock for him to find out the man was alive and the manager of a hotel now, as if that had never happened. As if nothing had ever happened. Oh, but everything had happened, and Esredes, above all else, wanted answers.

Mirage Crown.

It was a very nice looking hotel from the exterior, Esredes could admit. And in such an ideal location. Had it not belonged to an oversized rat, Esredes wouldn’t mind staying here if he ever had need to.

But today was not about hotels or vacations. Today was about finding out what kind of security this place had. He had no need to sneak in elaborately or anything of that nature, yet, no, this was a test run. He would walk in as normal and see if there was any chance of confronting the man. As tempting as it was, Esredes wasn’t sure he could get away with proper murder- again- but he could certainly do a host of other things.

The man pocketed the notepad and took in a deep breath, then proceeded to do what any person would- simply walk into the establishment normally. With a visible sword as always at his side. And see what would come of it.

One way or another, he would find what he wanted out of this place. And whatever became of the method...

Well, two could play at stubborn.

#roleplay #teledji #post hw #esrey continues to be pissed at npcs for existing more at 5 #in action #shoutout to pipin for being the only npc not to piss him off #screenshots #heretic uniform #amon #seraphiaux #ambrose #lycelle

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emoboijk · 5 years

Text

jjk | calla lilies

“The calla lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower—suitable to any occasion.” (Katherine Hepburn) or You're trying to help set him up with his boyhood crush and things don't go according to plan. —hanahaki disease au, non-idol au, friends-to-lovers au, flora & fauna series

6,222 words

p.cred

The waiting room is beige with a dark brown carpet, the kind that has either always been that color or is that color as a result of years of use. There are paintings (ironically) of flowers on the walls, and potted plants stationed randomly between the chairs. A receptionist sits behind a counter, typing on a computer and answering the phone when it rings. Aside from her, there are seven people scattered about the room.

Jeongguk sits in the corner, eyes flicking between the different patients without paying any real attention, bouncing his leg and drumming his fingers on his thighs. He’s always been an overachiever, but this takes the cake. Of all the flowers to infest his lungs: calla lilies. And black ones at that. How fucking emo.

He presses against the earbuds in his ears even though they aren’t falling out; he wants to disappear. It’s easier with loud music, so he’s been blasting Linkin Park (a favorite from his teen years) ever since he first coughed up the dark black calla lily petal three days ago. Although he didn’t so much “cough it up” as pull it slowly, painfully from his esophagus, because calla lily petals are long as fuck. But even with the reverberations of Linkin Park in his ears, he can’t escape the image of the woman stumbling to and from the bathroom, or the boy all but curled into the fetal position in his chair. His jaw is clenched as if that’s all it will take to keep any more flower petals or blood from coming up his throat.

Jeongguk nearly jumps when his music is interrupted by a harsh ding in his ears. He takes out the earbuds, wincing when he can hear the girl vomiting harshly in the bathroom; he immediately puts them back in. Of course, he thinks once he pulls out his phone, you have a sixth sense about these things.

Hey, is everything okay? It’s been like 12 hours since you texted me so ofc I’m freaking out :D

He smiles at his phone like an idiot.

JK: haven’t been feeling well

JK: at the doctor’s now

Oh! Want me to stop by with some soup later?

He chuckles and wonders if soup could burn up all the flowers in his lungs.

JK: no soup but you can stop by if you want

There are immediately three little dots beneath his last message, so he already knows what you’re going to say. And then a nurse comes out; despite the music he knows she’s said his name. He raises his hand as if in school, flushing at his embarrassment, before removing the earbuds and stuffing them and his phone into his pocket.

“Come on back." He follows behind her noiselessly, hands balled up into his jacket pockets.

The nurse asks the questions with a bored tone, typing his information into a computer, measuring his blood pressure and pulse. She has to scold him three times before he can finally calm down enough to stop drumming his fingers on the side of the table.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” she says before closing the door. He wished she’d given him some kind of indication of how bad it was.

His fingers hit the metal table even harder and when he can hear voices outside the room and the clock on the wall ticking slowly, he stuffs the earbuds back into his ears.

Cool! 3 okay?

JK: yes!

It makes him feel better, knowing you’ll be there to talk to later. He hasn’t told anyone about his…condition; he wanted to wait until he knew for sure what was going on. But if he was going to tell anyone, it would be you.

He takes his earbuds out again when the doctor walks in, smiling warmly at him before perusing his chart. The doctor isn't old but he has started graying; there are laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. Jeongguk immediately trusts him.

The doctor raises his eyebrows and looks up at him, “Calla lilies, huh?”

Deep, deep sigh. “Yes.”

The doctor almost chuckles at his patient’s whiney tone. He pulls a stool over and sits in front of him. “I’m Dr. Moon.” He holds out his hand and Jeongguk takes it, bowing his head respectfully.

“I’m going to listen to your lungs and take a look down your throat, but we may need scans to survey the full extent of the infestation,” the doctor says. Jeongguk nods. He feels like the tortoise trying to catch up with the hare. Dr. Moon continues, “But before we look at the physical signs, I have to ask about your mental state.”

“My mental state?” Jeongguk cocks his head to the side.

“Yes. Truth be told, Hanahaki starts with the mind. There are many cases in which the patient only believes that their love is unreciprocated, and yet that is enough to kill a person. Grief, despair…those are the killers.” Dr. Moon looks solemn for a long moment before continuing, “So. What’s your story?”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen because it feels like such a personal question. He’s barely told you all of the details, how is he supposed to tell a stranger in a lab coat?

Dr. Moon senses his hesitation and pats Jeongguk’s shoulder, “Trust me. I need to know.”

Jeongguk sighs and says, “Um. I don’t really know her, I guess. We went to school together for a long time, had a few classes…” He flushes as he speaks, his cheeks going beet red because what kind of an idiot gets Hanahaki disease for a boyhood crush? He hides his face behind his hands.

“I see,” the doctor says, standing and patting his shoulder again, “Okay, let’s take a listen.”

Dr. Moon presses the stethoscope to Jeongguk’s chest and back; he breathes deeply when cued, only having to stop once when a matte black calla lily petal inches up his throat. Jeongguk frowns as he holds it between two fingers, dropping it in the trash can Dr. Moon offers.

“So,” the doctor says when he’s finished, “it doesn’t look too bad.”

“Really?” Jeongguk’s face brightens.

“You’re in the early stages. But you’d be surprised how quickly things can escalate. You have some options for now; I’m going to prescribe some anti-growth pills that should keep the flora from progressing too much. And…” he pauses, choosing his next words carefully, “I would recommend finding a way to get over this woman. It’s always best to avoid surgery if you can, but if there’s no way of overcoming the mental and emotional hurdle, you might want to consider the surgery…” The doctor twists around to retrieve a pamphlet from the counter.

Jeongguk takes it carefully, the cover reads Flora Removal Surgery: What You Need to Know. He takes his bottom lip into his mouth and worries it slightly, frowning at the image on the front of a man with a rose growing in his chest.

Dr. Moon scribbles on a pad of paper before ripping it off and handing it to Jeongguk, “Get this filled today, and let’s make an appointment for a follow up in a couple of weeks.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk whispers, head swimming with the doctor’s words.

An hour and a half later Jeongguk is walking home, toting a small paper pharmacy bag and a wrinkled brow. The pamphlet the doctor gave him is burning a hole in his pocket, and he’s so lost in thought that he doesn't see you.

You're learning against the door of his apartment in a patch of sun, squinting as you see him round the corner. He's stressed. You can tell by the way he carries himself: the hunch of his shoulders, the wrinkle in his brow, the downturn of his lips. Right now he resembles the quiet boy you knew in middle school, not the confident young man he actually is.

As soon as he’s in touching distance, you press the back of your hand to his forehead and say, “How are you feeling?”

Jeongguk jumps at the sudden contact. But once he realizes it’s you he chuckles and shakes your hand off, “I’m fine.” But even he doesn’t believe himself. He unlocks the door to the apartment and sighs in relief for the air conditioning.

You follow behind him, picking up the supermarket bag you’d abandoned on the ground as you do so. He said no soup, but he hadn’t said anything about snacks…so you bought all of his favorites.

When you finally get in, closing the door behind you, he’s buried in the fridge (unbeknownst to you, he drops his prescription there in a rush). He’s chugging a carton of orange juice in large gulps. You avoid looking at him (sweaty and shedding his layers of clothing so that his shirt rides up…) and make yourself comfortable on his couch, dumping the contents of the bag onto the coffee table.

“Sick!” Jeongguk grins, swiping a bag of chips from the table and landing next to you on the couch.

There’s a pain in your chest as his arm brushes against yours but you can’t make yourself move away. Instead, you press your hand against his forehead again and frown, “You feel warm.”

“I’ve been walking in the sun for fifteen minutes,” he shrugs, chewing with his mouth open.

You wrinkle your nose at this; it’s one of his more annoying habits from childhood that, unbelievably, has grown on you.

“What did the doctor say?”

Jeongguk clams up. He puts down his bag of chips awkwardly, wiping his mouth to buy time before saying, “It’s not…that bad.”

“What?” Your eyes narrow.

Jeongguk avoids eye contact with you. Jeongguk “Golden Child” Jeon is pretty much good at everything, even lying (when the occasion permits it). He’s like Korean Superman. But his Kryptonite?

Sitting next to him on the loveseat and watching him so closely it burns.

He shrugs and bounces off the couch like he’s spring-loaded, rubbing the back of his neck, “Nothing. A cold.”

You cross your arms and lean into the couch, watching him twitch nervously as he tries to decide why he stood up. “Which is it?” you ask, “Nothing? Or a cold?”

He still won’t look at you. “I mean…it’s a cold. But it’s not anything serious. So it’s nothing. A nothing cold.”

You stand up and touch his arm gently. He finally turns to look at you, his expression guilty. You brush a piece of his hair from his face, and say, “For the record: I don’t believe you. But, fine, you don’t have to tell me.” You shrug, then hit the back of his head, “But you do have to tell me if it gets serious!” You narrow your eyes again before picking up a box of Poky and plopping down on the couch.

Jeongguk stares at you for a moment too long, his chest feeling the lightest it has in days. He adores you, his best friend, his confidant, his person. Watching as you sink deeper into the couch, pulling your knees to your chest and scrolling through Netflix on the TV…it feels like he can breathe again.

But he only gets through half an episode of Hwayugi (a recent discovery on Netflix and an instant favorite of yours and his) before his chest begins to feel tight. Jeongguk coughs harshly into a closed fist, feeling something wet on his palm and already knowing what it is instinctively.

“Gguk?” you gasp when he rises suddenly, bolting across the room and dropping to his knees in front of the toilet. He heaves violently and when he opens his eyes there’s a mix of blood, bile, and dark calla lily petals swirling in the water. Ironically, the sight (and the smell, dear god) makes him nauseous.

He leans away from the bowl, resting his back and head against the wall, trying to calm his heart and get the taste of blood from his mouth. A surge of thoughts hit his mind and he jumps when the toilet flushes.

Your face is confused and concerned as you watch him breathing heavily. Chewing on your bottom lip, you sink to your knees to sit across from him in the small space. "So...it's nothing, huh?"

Jeongguk almost smiles, his lips quirking upward just slightly, dyed red from the blood. He shrugs, his chest hurting with the effort of breathing, “Well…the doctor said it didn’t look too bad.”

“Jeongguk,” you sigh. You reach forward and push his mop of dark hair away from his forehead. There’s a sheen of sweat shining in the light that filters in from the window and you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows down blood and bile, his chest heaves with the exertion. You have to bite your tongue to keep your composure.

You twist around so that you’re sitting next to him, knees touching as he almost subconsciously starts to lean into you. Fighting against the pain, you rest your cheek against the top of his head, sighing again, “Who is it?”

Jeongguk scrunches his face together and you can feel shame shed off him in waves, “Lisa.”

There’s a split second where you can feel a fresh pain in your chest and you almost cry out. Instead, you smile and force a seemingly involuntary snort from your nose, nudging him with your elbow.

“Lisa Em,” you chuckle. Lalisa Manoban from Bangkok. She’d transferred in the middle of fourth grade and had thus made quite an entrance; she was popular instantaneously. All of the teachers had struggled with her last name (for reasons unbeknownst to you) and had unanimously called her Lisa Emmmm.

You remember the first time Jeongguk saw her. He was ten years old, eyes wide like galaxies and in awe of her. She’d been assigned to your and his reading group; ten-year-old Lisa had pulled out her chair, smiled and bowed shyly at the group, then complimented JK’s sketch of the tree in the courtyard. You’d watched from across the table as a new kind of light hit his fourth-grade face.

In retrospect, after you’d received your official diagnosis, you’d wondered if Hanhaki could start that early. You guessed probably not. But then again…

“Don’t laugh,” Jeongguk whines, but he’s smiling as he buries his head in your shoulder.

“I’m not laughing,” you grin.

“I know I’m an idiot,” he chuckles.

“True,” you joke, pinching his knee playfully, “but not because of this.”

“What should I do?” he whispers as if contemplating it out loud will cause the room to shatter.

“What did the doctor say?” You’re whispering; such delicate and sensitive topics are not meant for the light of day.

“To get over it.”

You roll your eyes, “They did not say that.”

Chuckling despite himself, he clarifies, “He suggested I do what I can to get over her. But he gave me some meds for now, and a pamphlet on the surgery.”

You let out your breath abruptly as if his words were a sudden weight on your chest. You cough almost violently, and Jeongguk pushes off your side to get a good look at you.

You wave your hand at him so he won’t worry, but when you manage to swallow the clotted dandelion seeds in your throat (a habit your doctor has told you multiple times will speed up the progression of your disease) he still has that same expression. To distract him, you say, “Do you want to get over her?”

Jeongguk watches you for another long second, pouting when he decides to answer, “No, of course not.”

“Well then let’s fix you two up!” You’re a little too loud with your explanation, like a goose squawking. You hope he doesn’t notice that your teeth are now stained pink.

“What?”

Awkwardly you lick your teeth, tasting iron on your tongue, before you turn to face him. “That will make the flowers go away! Hanahaki disease is motivated by the brain; you think it’s unreciprocated which makes the flowers grow. If you two get together, you no longer think it’s unreciprocated, the flowers go away!”

Jeongguk runs a hand through his hair and you try not to watch the way his fingers move or his arm flexes. “But in my case, it really is unreciprocated. I only see her when we pass each other on campus. We just…wave,” he says lamely.

“So? Even if you go on a couple of dates, that will do it!”

For the second time, he watches you suspiciously, “Why do you know so much about Hanahaki disease?”

“Um,” you look at the grimy blue bath tile, “I had to research it for an elective?” You mean to make it a statement, but your voice goes up on the end like a question. But the plan has had enough time to percolate in Jeongguk’s mind and he’s too excited now to notice.

“Where do we start?”

Three days later and you’re hiding behind an untrimmed hedge in the quad with Jeongguk. He has his hand shoved into a bag of chips and you keep twisting around to shush him because it’s too noisy.

“I think you’re taking the stealth thing a little seriously,” he chuckles, loudly crunching on chips just to be annoying.

“You’re the one dressed all in black.”

“This isn’t for stealth, this is my aesthetic.” He puts a dramatic emphasis on the word aesthetic, but it’s ruined when he immediately starts crunching loudly on his chips.

You finally look away from the central part of the quad to side-eye him, “Are you sure they meet up here?”

Jeongguk nods seriously and you can see he’s using his tongue to pry chewed chips from his teeth. “I always see Lisa and BamBam sitting around here after my three o’clock class.”

“BamBam” is BamBam Kunpimook, an exchange student from Thailand. He and Lisa were friends from childhood (before she moved) that had reconnected last year. After a couple of strategizing sessions (in which you and Jeongguk played video games and talked aimlessly about Lisa), you'd decided he posed the biggest threat to Jeongguk’s future success.

You turn back to look at the quad, squinting against the sunlight and Jeongguk puts his chin on your shoulder to watch with you. He stuffs the empty bag of chips into his hoody pocket and frowns, “Are you sure about this?”

You find it hard to concentrate with him all but sitting on top of you. Ever since you’d learned about the Hanahaki disease, he’d amped up the skinship. You’d always been close, and not necessarily shy about skinship, but lately it seems like he’s been hanging off you constantly. Normally, you wouldn’t complain, but it makes it hard to breathe. Literally. The doctor said one of the side effects of Hanahaki, although rare, was that any kind of touch from your unreciprocated love could make the flowers grow.

Jeongguk leans against you heavily, his back pressed against yours and his chin almost digging into your shoulder. He inhales deeply; you smell like soap and laundry detergent (his two favorite things) and it makes his heart flutter. He lets the scent settle in his mind, conjuring up images of you that make him smile. Then he takes another deep breath because it’s easier when he’s close to you.

“Of course,” you whisper, but you don’t turn to look at him. You can feel how close he is and if you turn he’d be right there and with so many possibilities. “This is your life,” you add, shrugging him off gently when you see BamBam’s lithe stature from across the quad.

You stand and raise your arm in a wave, “BamBam!”

Jeongguk almost falls on his ass without you there to steady him. He takes a shaky breath, wincing at the stabs of pain in his lungs now that you’re gone.

BamBam cocks his head at you but doesn’t stop walking, taking his earbuds out and saying your name like a question. His confusion is warranted, considering you’ve only ever had one class together and it's not one in which you’ve ever talked.

“Do you have a second?” You stop in front of him, squinting because he’s standing in front of the sun, “I lost the homework assignment for composition…”

He shrugs good-naturedly and swings his backpack off, turning to place it on a bench as he digs through the papers. You catch sight of Lisa and turn to wave discreetly at Jeongguk.

“Shit,” Jeongguk whispers, bouncing up once he’s seen her. He doesn’t realize his strength and flies about half a foot in the air from the force, landing shakily and almost losing his balance. He jogs across the quad to meet her.

You snort at his antics, shaking your head to turn back to BamBam. He’s holding out the assignment and watching you with a curious expression.

“You like him.” He’s smirking and it isn’t a question.

You hope your blush can be attributed to the mid-afternoon sun. “Of course, he’s my best friend.”

BamBam shakes his head and puts his homework away. You don’t even bother with the ruse anymore, too focused now on your defensive strategies. “Not like that,” he says. He looks above your head now and you turn to follow his line of sight.

Lisa is laughing happily at something Jeongguk’s said and he has his nose scrunched him in a smile so you know he’s pleased. It creates an odd mixture of feelings for you. You’re happy for him because he’s happy; you’d do nearly anything to get him to smile like that. But there’s a sharp pain in your chest, and before you know it you’re coughing up blood.

“Oh my god,” BamBam says, his hand on your back, “Are you okay?”

You wave your hands around as if to say I’m fine, don’t worry, but it just comes off as frantic. BamBam digs into his bag again and pulls out a towel, “Here.”

You take it and wrinkle your nose because it smells like sweat but use it to wipe your mouth anyway. You swallow, but the seeds won’t go down and you cough again, holding the towel to your face and covering it in blood.

Lisa’s the one that points it out to Jeongguk, pointing in your and BamBam’s direction. He turns casually and with a smile, expecting you to be watching his success with pride. But his blood runs cold when he sees you collapsed on a bench with BamBam leaning over you.

Jeongguk can’t think. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest that it’s knocking against his rib cage. It only takes three seconds to run across the quad, but it feels like that dream where no matter how fast he runs he can’t get to where he’s going.

Until he’s there, heaving painless breaths without noticing and crouching over you. His hand is hot on the back of your neck and he’s startled by how cold you are. When he tilts your head to look at him there’s a little crease between his eyebrows.

You’re a bit delirious and all you can think about is kissing that crease.

But then he says your name so earnestly that it cuts through the delirium and the blood loss. You feel BamBam’s towel still in your hand and swiftly push it off the bench, waving your other hand at Jeongguk carelessly.

“I’m fine,” you insist.

“What happened?” Jeongguk whispers. Never, in the entire time you’ve known him, have you seen Jeongguk get loud when he’s upset. He always gets quiet. Lots of people, particularly in high school (pre-Junior year when he went through his growth spurt and started working out), took this as a kind of meekness. You know that to be the furthest thing from the truth. There’s a strength in the depths of his eyes as he watches you now; it makes sharp dandelion stems stab your lungs.

“I just got lightheaded,” you say softly. In his eyes, crouching down beside the strength, you see fear. You place a hand atop his wrist so that he knows to let you go. His hand travels to yours and he helps you stand, tightening his grip when you wobble. “Dehydrated,” you try to explain, watching as BamBam notices the blood on the towel and opens his mouth to contradict you. You make a face before he can and add, “Haven’t had any water today.”

Jeongguk calls you an idiot softly under his breath and you would be annoyed but you’re too tired and you know he’s just scared. Instead, you let him loop an arm around your back to help keep you upright (you need his steady hold more than you can say) and let him walk you away.

Lisa stands next to BamBam and watches the two of you go, “That was weird.”

Only when you’ve both turned the corner does he reach behind the bench and retrieve the bloody towel. He holds it out to Lisa and frowns, “She’s sick.”

The next two days are spent on Jeongguk’s couch because he won’t let you leave. You gave up trying midway through day one because, frankly, he’s bigger and stronger than you. And he has a nice couch.

But he’s been force-feeding you water (8 ounces every hour, on the hour) and you’ve missed nearly all of your classes by now.

“Where are you going?” Jeongguk says when he sees you toeing on your shoes in the entryway. He’s standing at the other end of the hall with a bag of gummies and a hurt-puppy expression.

“Home. To shower. And then to class.” You tighten the straps on your backpack and reach down to get the lip of your shoe over your heel.

“But—”

“I can come back afterward,” you say, smiling at his forlorn expression. “But I have to go to class today because he’s handing out midterm assignments. And if I’m going to class, I have to shower. I’m surprised you put up with it this long.”

Jeongguk frowns, “You do smell pretty bad…but you can use my shower!” He flings his arm in the direction of the bathroom and gummy candies fly out of the bag.

You chuckle and say, “Gguk, I’ll be fine. I’m so hydrated I’m practically a liquid.” You wink at him boldly and disappear out his front door.

Jeongguk stays frowning at the door for a long moment. He places a hand over his heart self-consciously, muttering unhappily, “My chest hurts.” Then he turns on his heel, abandoning the gummy candies he’s spilled.

You get winded walking back to your apartment and you have to pause before you climb the stairs. As you unlock the door you make a mental note to schedule another doctor’s appointment. Even not having taken any the last couple of days, you know you’re running out of anti-growth pills.

You’d thought about sneaking some from Jeongguk’s stash while he held you hostage but it left a sour taste in your mouth. He needed those. Instead, you did your best to hide the coughing and the blood.

You take off your shoes, drop your bag on the ground and immediately turn into the kitchen. The anti-growth pills are sitting on the counter like always and when you twist the cap open you’re disappointed to find you only have ten left.

“I guess that’s what happens when you take them five at a time,” you whisper, shaking out that many and gulping them down without water.

Then you choke. Because you’ve never been badass enough to take pills without water, so you scramble for a glass as you cough. Your phone buzzes as you lean against the sink, breathing heavily.

JK: make it home ok?

The message causes a warm stir of fluttering in your stomach and you smile down at it.

Yes! Stop worrying!

JK: don’t tell me what to do!

Jeongguk has put on jeans and he regrets it. They’re a couple of years old and while he stares down at your messages, waiting for you to reply, he keeps adjusting his crotch in them. They’re a bit tight.

But since you’re going to class, he figured he might as well. Not Calculus, of course (he still thinks that’s some kind of elaborate practical joke pulled by the university), but probably Advanced Photo Comp. and Music Theory. So he showered and pulled a giant black t-shirt out of his closet and the only clean pair of pants he has (he’s been too busy hydrating you the last two days to do laundry): three-year-old jeans.

He stares at his phone the entire walk to campus, checks it every two minutes in both classes (enough that Mr. Kim actually snaps at him), and is still watching it as he crosses the quad on his way home.

“Hey, Jeongguk!”

Lisa Em. He’s startled when he sees her because, as terrible as it sounds, he had kind of forgotten she existed.

Jeongguk furrows his brow, placing a hand on his chest. Nothing but a dull ache. His jaw drops at the realization.

“Lisa,” he smiles at her, “What’s up?”

She shrugs, “I was just wondering if your friend was okay. BamBam and I have been worried.”

His head tilts to the side in confusion.

Lisa says your name and points to the bench, “The girl you’ve been hanging out with forever? The one who was coughing up blood three days ago?”

Jeongguk freezes like there’s ice in his veins. His heart is pounding so loud in his ears that it’s all he can hear. “What,” he whispers. His mind is racing back to the day, to the last couple of days. Why would you cough up blood and not tell him!

Lisa is saying something but he doesn’t listen. “I have to go,” he says, rushing past her.

The professor has just begun explaining the midterm project when you reach down to your bag for a fresh pen and your head starts to swim. You steady yourself on another chair, unable to right yourself.

“Woah,” you whisper. Breathing is like wading through cement.

Your vision goes black and you hit the floor with a loud thump.

When Jeongguk gets to the Modern Languages Building, he’s sweating and out of breath. One of the knees on his jeans has ripped from when he tripped and fell; blood is seeping into the fabric from the scrape on his skin. His lungs burn with the strain but there’s none of that prickly feeling he had grown so used to.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees the ambulance turn the corner. His knees feel weak and he might’ve hit the ground if BamBam hadn’t come up behind him.

“Hey,” he says softly, patting Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“What,” Jeongguk is panting, still watching the spot he last saw the ambulance, “What happened.”

“She fainted,” BamBam says and holds out a bag. A jolt runs through Jeongguk as he recognizes it; the dorky video game and anime buttons, the spot where Jeongguk scribbled a cartoonish sketch of himself your senior of high school, the orange juice stain…

Jeongguk tugs the bag from BamBam’s grip and clutches it tightly to his chest. BamBam seems to sense his thoughts before he voices them and says, “They’re taking her to Seoul Central.”

Jeongguk is gone.

By the time he arrives at Seoul Central Hospital, Jeongguk has convinced himself that it’s too late. That whatever’s wrong with you has progressed too far and you’re gone. His eyes hurt from holding back the tears.

He approaches the counter of the emergency room like a man walking to his death. His grip on your backpack is so tight the pattern on the handle has dug into his palm. The nurse watches him with a concerned look.

Jeongguk clears his throat and his voice is polite as he says your name. The nurse looks it up on the computer and he can tell she’s found it. But she hesitates.

“We’re not supposed to let anyone but family back,” she says.

“We’re family,” Jeongguk insists, “We’re family,” he repeats it several more times like a mantra.

“Okay, okay, honey,” the woman stands, “Room 1132, two lefts and a right. Go on back.”

Jeongguk nods and pulls your backpack up to his chest, hugging it tightly as he wanders down the hall. All urgency has left him, now he only feels a sense of doom. But she would’ve said something if you were dead…

He doesn’t notice the tears that slip down his cheeks and hit the floor.

“1132,” he whispers, opening the door with a shaky breath.

You’re. Awake.

Jeongguk drops your backpack in surprise and stares. Now he does fall to his knees because he’s so relieved his body can’t hold him up.

“Woah,” a nurse says, jogging from your side of the bed to Jeongguk’s crumpled form on the floor. He lifts him by the armpits and places him in a chair, waving a hand in front of his face. “You okay?”

“Jeongguk?” It hurts to say aloud. Your voice is raspy and raw and soaked in emotion.

At the sound of your voice, Jeongguk is up so fast that he sends the nurse reeling. He takes your hand and squeezes, “What happened? Are you okay? Why did you faint?”

The nurse rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He walks back over to your other side, “That’s what happens when you put off life-saving surgery,” he jokes. He cracks the ice pack he’d been prepping before Jeongguk walked in and then presses it to your head (the spot that hit the ground when you collapsed), “Keep this here. The doctor will be right in.”

“Surgery?” Jeongguk wonders but you won’t meet his eyes. When he finally looks away from you he spots an x-ray in the corner. He assumes it’s yours. A ribcage, dark shadows in the shape of lungs and…a messy infestation of flowers. His eyes turn wide and fearful, “Hanahaki?” His voice cracks.

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. Jeongguk stumbles back in disbelief.

“But,” he whispers, over and over again. “Who?”

Tears are spilling over your eyes unbidden, seamless and silent like rain on a window. You try to look at him even though your vision’s blurred. “It’s you, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk is a statue. Frozen in time. The gears in his brain try to process that statement and they refuse to. He blinks and that’s how you know he’s alive.

You keep crying, still noiselessly, but you cover your face. You’re mortified. And your chest feels like the crack in the concrete where flowers bloom, split open by nature and forever scarred.

It’s a long minute before Jeongguk finally says, “What.” His eyes flick to you and stare like you’re an abstract painting he doesn’t understand.

You frown and your face is itchy with wetness. Your voice is soft and raw, “You’re my unrequited love, Jeongguk.” Your voice cracks on his name.

He points to himself as if you may have gotten him confused for someone. “Me.”

You almost laugh. You do smile. He’s ridiculous.

“What do you mean unrequited?” he frowns, and it’s really a pout. He can’t believe that you could be friends for two decades and you think he doesn’t love you.

You sigh; your smile is gone. “I know I’m your best friend and you love me, but…”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurts and then looks sheepish.

You shake your head, “Don’t just say that.”

Jeongguk furrows his brow, “I would never just. Say. That.” He’s balled his hands into fists and he’s about as angry as you’ve ever seen him. He chews on the inside of his cheek and stuffs his hands into his pockets. He can’t take it anymore.

Jeongguk lunges forward boldly, clumsily taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours. He’s determined and his lips stay frozen against yours for a long time; your eyes are open as you stare at him, bewildered.

When he pulls away there are tears in his eyes, “It’s not going to work if you don’t kiss back.”

“What’s not going to work?” you whisper, brushing a tear from his cheek.

“Making the flowers go away,” two more tears, “If you kiss me back, you believe that I love you…they’ll go away. Kiss me back.”

This time when he kisses you you’re ready. He tastes like mango chapstick and desire. His hands are warm against your cheeks and his kiss makes you feel warm everywhere else. When he pulls away so you can breathe, he lands soft butterfly kisses all over your face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kiss, kiss, kiss. On the side of your mouth and your cheeks and your nose and you’re forehead. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

A doctor clears their throat and Jeongguk leaps away from you like he’s been electrified. He stares at the ground sheepishly and it makes you giggle and blush. The doctor is standing in the doorway watching with a bemused expression.

“Well,” the doctor says, standing in the doorway casually, “I guess we should do an x-ray to confirm there are no more flowers.”

author’s note—happy birthday jeongguk-ssi (now watch this tweet go crazy)

for more of my works check out my m.list

#bts #rosynamjoon #bts x reader #jeongguk #jungkook #bangtanbudsnet #bangtanbuds #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jeon jeongguk fic #jeon jungkook

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