English is not my first language sorry if I made mistakes
Pt 1
It starts off small. You always thought your life was enough. Bruce always gave you money, food, and everything a child needed. Well, maybe everything except love.
The manor always seemed big and quiet, never warm, so you stayed in your room most of the time, scrolling through the internet and rotting in bed. It got worse in high school. You realized your hygiene wasn’t good, but you were too “lazy” to brush your teeth or shower. No one cared anyway. You always told yourself you were just lazy. Just unmotivated. Just dramatic.
Then you learned about self harm from Twitter. You realized you could make the feelings go away by hurting yourself. So you tried it. Slowly. One cut.
You felt satisfied.
You quickly bandaged it.
Days passed, and the cuts multiplied. It was confusing. It hurt, but afterward it felt good. Then the regret came. Then the craving. The guilt ate at you day and night, but you kept coming back with empty promises that it would be the last time.
One day you went downstairs to eat dinner alone, like always. You hadn’t showered in three days. You scratched your oily hair and poured cereal into a bowl. Your arm was still numb from what you had done earlier.
Tim passed by, grabbing a soft drink. He paused. He noticed a smell. It was you. His eyes widened slightly. He always remembered you as a small kid with that baby shampoo scent. Not like this.
“Hey?” Tim spoke, making you jolt. It was the first word he had said directly to you in months.
“Yeah?” you answered, unsure. Afraid.
“You okay?” he asked, glancing at your trembling hands and nervous gaze.
“Yeah. Just a bit cold,” you muttered, clutching your hoodie.
“Oh. Okay. By the way, we’re going to have a movie night if you want to join.”
You stared at him like he had spoken another language.
Then Tim smelled it again. His eyes shifted downward. He scanned your arm.
“Y/N… can you show me your arm?”
Panic.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Why?”
Tim squinted slightly, raising an eyebrow. Before you could react, he gently but firmly grabbed your wrist and pulled your sleeve down. Fresh cuts stared back at him.
He stayed calm. Too calm. He looked angry and disappointed, but not at you. No. He looked angry at himself.
“Y/N…” His voice softened. He let go of your arm and pulled you into a gentle hug. “Let’s get you some help.”
You started sweating. They’re going to take me away.
Everything blurred, whether from paranoia or a panic attack, you couldn’t tell. Suddenly you were in the living room. Everyone was there. Tim was holding you, explaining something you couldn’t hear.
Wait.
You couldn’t hear.
Your breathing turned shallow. The room tilted.
Then a voice cut through the ringing. You looked up. Dick was in front of you, his face full of worry, his hands cupping your cheeks gently.
“Y/N, are you okay?”
Another voice, lower and steadier, came from beside you. Bruce was crouching next to you, his expression softer than you had ever seen. He never looked at you like that. Never.
Finally, you could breathe.
Bruce sat beside you and carefully brushed your hair back. “Y/N… anything that’s troubling you, please tell us. Anything you want, we can help.”
You nodded.
But in the back of your mind, you didn’t care. You didn’t want to live anymore. You didn’t want to turn eighteen.
After the talk ended, you went back to your room. You stared out the window for hours. Slowly, a thought formed.
This is your only chance.
After today, everyone would watch you more closely.
You took out the pills you had hidden. Your hands trembled as you wrote a short will. The letters were uneven and smudged.
Then you swallowed the pills.
Seven.
Ten.
Seventeen.
Twenty.
The room began to spin. You felt light, disconnected. Your heartbeat pounded too fast, too loud. You tried to stand but collapsed onto the floor, crawling weakly toward nothing.
Somewhere in the distance, you heard shouting. Your name. Over and over.
Then darkness.
When you opened your eyes again, the world was white.
Bright lights. A steady beeping sound. The smell of antiseptic. Your throat burned. Your body felt heavy.
A hospital.
Voices murmured nearby. You caught fragments. “Overdose.” “Stable.” “Lucky.”
Lucky.
You wanted to laugh.
The door creaked open. Bruce stepped in first. He looked exhausted. Older. Behind him were Dick and Tim, both unusually quiet. No teasing. No jokes. Just fear that hadn’t faded yet.
Bruce approached your bed slowly. “You scared us,” he said quietly. Not angry. Just honest.
You looked away.
A few days later, you weren’t taken back to the manor.
You were taken somewhere else.
The building didn’t look like Arkham, but it felt just as suffocating. Clean hallways. Locked doors. Nurses with gentle voices. A psychiatric hospital.
“They’re just going to help you stabilize,” Dick had said softly. “We’ll visit.”
Stabilize.
The first night, you sat on the narrow bed in your new room, staring at blank walls. No giant manor. No towering ceilings. Just a small window with metal bars.
For the first time in a long while, you couldn’t hurt yourself even if you wanted to. There was nothing sharp. Nothing hidden. Just you and your thoughts.
It was terrifying.
But the next morning, someone knocked gently on your door. A nurse smiled and asked if you wanted breakfast.
Later, a therapist sat across from you and didn’t judge. Didn’t accuse. Just listened.
It didn’t fix everything. It didn’t magically make the thoughts disappear. They still whispered that you didn’t deserve to live. That you were a burden.
But for the first time, someone stayed in the room long enough to hear you speak.
Idk if you do request anymore, do you think we can get some more sh comfort 👀 with any gosling.
Gosling Boys | Comforting You After Self-Harm
Pairings: Colt seavers x Reader & Courtland Gentry x Reader.
Content: established relationship, costume designer!reader for colt. Bodyguard!AU for court.
Warning: Self harm obviously
A/n: Its not posted anywhere, but if you send a request, I will probably do it. Feel free to request this with any other characters I just wasnt really sure who you wanted to see 🥲
If youre interested, I've already done this for Ryland Grace
Colt Seavers
It felt like the five hundredth take of the same scene. Colt had either torn his jeans on the asphalt or suffered some other ungodly wardrobe malfunction. So here you were again, fastening a harness across his chest and rolling up his sleeves for continuity.
He watched you work. How could he not?He'd adored you ever since you started working together. No matter how many productions came and went,he still found himself looking for excuses to be near you. Working beside his dream girl on his dream job.. he only hoped you felt even half the same.
You reached around his waist, tugging at the harness to make sure it sat snugly.
Your sleeve slipped back.
"Those from the stunt wires?" he asked absently.
The words had barely left his mouth before he actually looked.His expression dropped.
You were already pulling your arms back, folding them tightly across your chest.
"Theyre old..." your voice came out quieter than intended.
"No, hey.. Im sorry," He lifted his hands instinctively, like he wanted to stop you from walking away, but never enough to actually touch you. Looking like he wanted to snatch the words right back out of the air.
"I...I wasnt making fun of you," he said, the words tripping iver eachother.
You kept your eyes fixed on the harness buckle instead of him. The last thing you wanted was for this to become a conversation in the middle of set, with half the crew wandering around behind you.
"Let's run it again!" the director calls out from somewhere across the scene.
You grabbed onto that interruption like a lifeline, forcing a small smile as you gave Colt a quick thumbs up.
"We'll talk later, right?" He asked quietly.
You nodded, unable to trust yourself with words.
"...Can i ask you something?" Colt asked, finally breaking the tangible silence between you two.
You nod faintly.
He exhails before speaking, nervous for your reaction. "...can I see them?"
His voice was so quiet it almost disappeared into the sound of the crew packing up across the lot. "I mean only if you want to. If youre not comfortable, thats okay too." His voice only grew quieter as he spoke. Honestly, he was more nervous than you were. He worried he was crossing a line, but he worried even more that if he didn't say anything, you'd keep carrying it all by yourself.
You hesitatantly stretch your arm across the center console. When you gave the smallest nod, his hand moved carefully lifting the fabric just enough to see.
His fingertips hovered just above the level scars. He never wanted more to have the right words to tell you how much he ached for you and to tell you how much it stung him to know that you were hurting so bad you felt the need to take that out on yourself physically, no matter how long ago that be.
"..Come here." He gently let's her sleeve fall back in place.
Instead of an uncomfortable conversation or a dramatic speech, he simply opened his arms.
You only leaned a little, but he wraps his arms around you entirely, pulling you across the center console. Its a little awkward and way too tight. But it says more than just "Im sorry."
He just holds you there with you head pressed into the crook of his neck, letting out a contented sigh.
"Ive been trying trying to think of the right thing to say all afternoon..." he meets your eyes.
"I just...hate that you ever felt like you had to survive that by yourself."
Sierra Six
"You know youre bleeding." Court drops in such a flat, matter of fact tone.
"Huh," you pause to tug your sleeve down. He had rather abruptly came in. Its not uncommon. Checking on you had quietly become part of his routine. Every pass through the grand house ended with a glance into your room, just to make sure you were there
"Oh look at that," you nervously laugh, trying to down play it so he wouldnt look into it.
As you started towards en suite bathroom, his hand closed gently around your wrist. Before you can even react his other hand is wrapped around the back of your arm, sliding upward to reveal your skin.
You pull away just one second too late. Hes already seen an angry red line stretched across the skin of your arm.
"Give me your arm."
"No."
"You could need stitches if it's that deep."
"Im not letting you see."
He exhailed slowly. Contemplating your stubbornness when he already knew. When hed already known. Seeing you startle anytime he reaches for your wrist. Disappearing into your room after a stressful day. Opting for wearing long sleeves even in the comfort of your own home. To him, blood isnt shocking. Whats unsettling is that youre the one hurting yourself. That he has one job, and that is to protect you. Yet he'd failed to protect you from yourself.
Instead of reaching for you again, he just ushers you into the bathroom with him traling behind you.
He runs two fingers under the water first, making sure it wasnt too hot or too cold. Simultaneously searching the cabinets for a first aid kit.
"Arm."
You knew there was no getting away from him. He wouldnt let up on this.
Reluctantly, you let him hold your arm and roll up your sleeve to rise it with utmost care. Youre frankly shocked he could be so gentle with anyone.
He shut off the faucet with the back of his hand before reaching for the first aid kit. The room settled into an uneasy silence, only broken by the rustle of gauze as he worked.
"...tell me if im hurting you." He said quietly.
"You dont have to explain..." he begins, smoothing over the edges of the sheer cotton.
"Just..."
The bandage wrapped around once.
"Next time.." twice.
He looked up, wanting you to know his sincerity.
"Find me first."
"Thank you.." you finally manage.
His fingers slipped between yours, giving your hand one quiet squeeze.
"Okay?"
His fingers ghosted down your arm, mindful of the fresh bandage, slipping between your slightly damp ones. He lifted your hands to his lips, pressing the softest kiss against your knuckles.
"...There she is," he murmured, catching the tiny smile that finally tugged at your lips.
One corner of his own mouth lifted in return. A rare, bittersweet smile.
It wasnt much. But it was enough to remind you that you werent sitting in that bathroom alone.
Pope gets so aggressive when he figures out getting on mood stabilizers fuck up your ability to cum quicker, in his free time (which is often) he gets you intoxicated and fucks you over and over till you cum and about three loads of his are inside you. He gets mad at some point that your not finishing as much as him so he gets aggressive, choking, knife and gun play being brought in which to your surprise actually does help you finish quicker. By the year mark of you taking your meds its like the side effects (sexually) are non existent. But bruises and marks all over you body are consistent in its place.
Hear me out... Pope helping you into a straight jacket. He's gentle as he guides your limbs, as he tightens the straps on the back, and as he loops the ones between your legs. Once you're secure he sits you in his lap, arms around you, and rocks you both back and forth. Symbiotic regulation. You're safe from everything -- even yourself -- because Pope would never let anything happen to you. He would never leave you wanting, either. A total loss of control that isn't absolutely terrifying. Instead, you're taken care of. For once.
non canon event for my fic on Ao3 Here Comes the Bride.
reader is mentally unwell.
a/n i do not want to talk about how many different times i typed this up omfg... thanks for liking it here i 'preciate that muchly xx
“Don’t touch me!’
You jerked back, not from fear, but confusion. The scream had echoed through the recreational building, an unholy thing filled with terror. Had it been anyone else you’d have been able to ignore it, to wave it off as just part of the ambiance. But it had only taken a moment for it to filter through that you knew the voice, which had sent you running blindly in what you hoped was the right direction.
Doubt your ability to find the love of your life? Never again, your navigation had been flawless. But outside of his hair slightly mussed, and that he was breathing too hard, he didn’t seem hurt. Pacing a hole in the floor, but not injured, and you’d only reached out to touch him because he hadn’t acknowledged you saying his name three times. Gaze shifting to the mannekins laying strewn about the floor, you began to straighten them, unsure how to rescue the fabric.
It hurt that he kept the distance between you, moving as you did, his gaze a heavy thing you felt like the heel of a hand pressing against your chest. Outside a bit of blood on the dresses you didn’t see a body, and it wasn’t like he was afraid of vermin. Far too strapping for that sort of foolishness he’d assured you when you’d apologized for jumping when a mouse had scuttled over your foot. So what had happened?
“Where were you?’
Well that was easy, making sure that the records hadn’t gotten stuck again. Eddie worked hard on those displays, and the music was important, each one had a specific mood that needed catering to. He didn’t seem to like that answer, and you hesitated in righting a mannekin to watch him. There was a tightness to his face, your chin resting on the neck as you tried to puzzle it out. But he definitely didn’t like that either, crossing his arms over his chest as if daring you to say something.
By the time you realized you’d been quiet too long, his lips had pressed together, biceps stretching the shirt as his hands curled into fists. You didn’t move as he stalked towards you, reaching out for your chin which you offered out of habit. It did hurt a little, but that was okay, he was upset, something had upset your beloved Eddie.
“Where. Were. Y-’
“Did you have a nightmare?’
Though your voice was low, he reacted as if you’d shouted at him, briefly looking panicked before the expression was quickly hidden away. But you could see the shadow of it in his eyes, though it got a bit harder when your own blurred from the punishing grip. If he needed you to cry for him you could do that, hands settling on his forearm gently to silently tell him it was okay. Or would be, taking a step closer, your toes brushing the tops of his shoes.
“Let’s go to bed, it’s been a long day.’
Not that you actually had days anymore, but you could feel the tremor in his forearm now. Whatever had happened had shaken him badly, so much so he didn’t just not want to talk about it, he was willfully ignoring it had happened at all. Well then it was time for a restart, gently pulling at his wrist until he lowered it. Good, good, slowly guiding him into the starting position he’d shown you, you smiled up at him as his hand settled on your waist.
A proper gentleman your Eddie, giving his lifted hand a squeeze and feeling the hand at your waist slowly shift to your lower back. Even better, you hadn’t like that distance you could still feel though his every inhale pressed you back slightly. Humming as he slowly waltzed you to your room, you refused to let go to crawl into bed. A brief flash of irritation was better than the hollow look that you kept catching in his eyes when he forgot he was supposed to be hiding
“Let go of me.’ He finally managed, giving his hand a tug despite the fact it hadn’t worked the last few times.
“I'll never let you go.’
Leaning backwards, you felt like you were practically horizontal by the time he followed you the rest of the way into the room. Another brief battle of wills as you awkwardly crawled into bed and kept hold of his hand, but you managed. When he realized leaving was not going to be an option he sighed, motioning at his clothing clearly unwilling to climb into bed fully dressed. Tough. Stubbornly keeping hold, he eventually tugged the bow tie loose and tossed it aside before sitting on the bed with one knee crooked to stare at you.
It was a small victory, but you were greedy, tugging until he shifted, moving to rest his head on your stomach. That could not be comfortable, looking at the way the rest of his body hung over the side of the metal frame. Baby steps then, fingertips tracing the line between scalp and hair as he faced away from you. Not ideal, but he was letting you touch him, more now actually that you were thinking about it. Humming softly, you lightly scratched his scalp with each note, playing with the melody even as you tried to puzzle out what had happened.
“That’s nice.’
Oh a compliment? Much better, growing brazen as you threaded your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging at it in a silent offer to please get further on the bed even if it meant squishing you. Your pleasure that he did was not quantifiable, feeling him resettle with his head over your heart and a hand smoothing from waist to hip and back again. It would be nice if he also decided to tell you what had happened, what memory had made him scream like that. But that might be a bit far a reach even for you.
Happily sinking into the coziness of his using you like a very willing teddy bear, you missed what he said and kicked yourself. It wasn’t as if you had the option to ask him to repeat himself. It had probably been hard enough admitting it the first time, straining your brain to try and force yourself to remember.
“I would never hurt our children that way, you must know that.’
“I do.’
Like what? Had his father beat him? What an ass. … Or had he-
“Good, good, I’ll make sure they’re safe. … Even from you.’ That… was a threat, so why did it give you butterflies in your stomach and make you want to kiss the top of his head? “My children will be safe.’
“Yes they will.’
A little disheartening that he’d put so much emphasis on the word my, but you could work on that problem later, trailing your fingers along his upper back as he pulled your body closer and seemed to believe it was possible to force his face through your sternum in order to see your heart properly. He already had it, but if he’d prefer stitching his name into it that was just fine.
Your boyfriend, Suguru Geto, has always known about your struggles, and you have known about his. It was almost a silent agreement between you both to check up on each other.
That’s why when he got home and saw you, bandaids haphazardly placed along your upper thighs, he felt his heart drop.
That’s why, when you saw that he saw, you couldn’t help but freeze.
He approached you slowly, sitting down on the bed beside you. Before you could open your mouth to beg for forgiveness, to explain, he pulled you into his arms.
He whispered soothing words as you broke down in his arms. He listened to everything you had to say patiently. He didn’t get mad, didn’t berate you, he was just… there. And that was enough.
While he hadn’t experienced this struggle specifically, he knew you did. He loved you, he understood how you felt to some extent. No matter what, he would be there. He will be there.
Guys I had the most random yet coolest idea ever about Superman,I have never watched the film but whatever this idea is so cool plus I never write anything for DC so now I'll start.
A bloody kiddo
Part 2 here
Clark Kent x psychopath son! Reader
Tw: Reader is diagnosed Conduct Disorder with callous-unemotional traits because I googled it an it says it's the most common thing be diagnosed in children,Reader has complete lack of empathy and murderous tendencies,animal cruelty,extreme gore,Clark had Reader as a teenager,your mother left you,reader kills his entire classroom,so teenagers slaughter I guess.
Clark wished he could say you reminded him of himself when he was a teenager. He really does. And yet,you two couldn't be more different. And he finally,finally realizes that when he sees all that blood. So much blood...
It had all started when you were just a kid. He must admit it,you were a mistake. Unplanned,he had you with a girl who didn't want anything to do with you after you were born. He had to agree to let her leave and take care of you alone for her not to get an abortion. His parents were worried and angry,rightfully so,but ultimately they supported him. And as soon as he saw you in the hospital,he knew he was done. You were the cutest little baby,chunky and healty and perfect. A boy with his eyes and a few raven locks on your head already,just like his. He thinks that despite the circumstances,he did a pretty good job raising you thanks to his parents' help. But even as a baby,he noticed you weren't...like he expected. You rarely smiled or laughed,you broke all your toys,especially the dolls,and then just stared at the pieces,playing with the cotton from their insides. His mom told him that it wasn't anything to be worried about. Sometimes little kids are weird,you'd grow out of it.
You didn't. You just changed targets.
The deaths started when you were around seven years old. First,the neighbor's dog. They found it dead,it's neck snapped. Then he started finding more and more dead cats on the streets. He thought they had just been ran over by a car at first. But then it was clear that the killings were intentional.
The biggest one was at a nearby farm. You and him were staying with your grandparents for the holidays. You were eight. They were saying just how similar to Clark you looked and you were smiling,enjoying the compliments. No one said it,but all of them thought your smile looked weird. Cold,calculated,like you were acting. But maybe it was just a feeling...that was mostly what Clark told himself to feel better. Children always act weird. Nothing to be worried about.
Until he saw the massacre. A nearby farm. Every single animal slaughtered. Organs and gore splattered everywhere. Heads hanging from hooks on the ceilings,dripping blood on the floor below. Some seemed to have been cut off with some kind of laser. Others were torn open,seemingly barehandedly. Their skin wasn't cut or bit. It was torn to shreds. Bones were snapped,some used as daggers,stabbed into other animals' corpses. The farmer screaming,looking on the verge of throwing up,his wife laying on the ground,passed out from the shock. And there,standing in the middle of the massacre,was you. Smiling proudly at him,covered in blood and gore,clutching a cow's bloody rib like a toy. You ran to him at a superhuman speed,enough that some of the blood on you splattered on him. "Look dad,I have superpowers too! Just like you!" You said,smiling excitedly,jumping up and down. And for how much he hated to say it,this was the happiest Clark had ever seen you. Here,covered in blood,after slaughtering tens of innocent animals for no reason,not an ounce of regret on your face. He didn't know what to do. If he was a normal human,he would have probably have fainted by now,like the farmer's wife. "What did you do?" He whispered,unable to keep the horror out of his voice. You looked confused at that. "I tested my powers,but I needed something to test them on! To show you how awesome they are! Aren't they awesome?" You ask,pointing at a burnt,broken skull that he couldn't quite associate to any animal because of the destruction that had been inflicted on it. You were smiling excitedly,giggling as if showing him an art project. He slowly,slowly lowered himself to your level. He had no idea what to do in this situation,but he knew that you needed help. This was not just a child's weirdness. This was a clear lack of empathy towards other living beings. He wasn't the most informed towards mental illnesses,but he was sure this was something that needed to be studied and understood by a professional. He picked you up,gentle as ever. Yelling at you,or worse hurting you right now wasn't gonna help. "I am so sorry." He whispered to the farmer,before walking away. He needed to get you away from that mess. He was shaking violently,tears prickling at his eyes. What did he do wrong? What could he possibly have done for you to be like this? Able to bring so much death without as much as a thought? He had immagined this moment so many times,the moment you got your powers. How he was gonna show you how to use them to help other people,to protect the weak,to save lives. And now here he was,holding you like he did so many times,trying not to gag at the smell of blood as you stared at him. "Did I...do something wrong?" You ask,tilting your head. You didn't understand. Why was your father shaking? Why was his breathing so labored? It was just a few animals. You don't understand why he's being so dramatic. He doesn't answer you,and you just shrug,resting your head on his chest as he walks,enjoying his warmth. You always loved to be carried like this. If only he would stop sobbing,it's so annoying...
Conduct Disorder with callous-unemotional traits. That's what the psychiatrist said. "He show no sign of remorse towards the killing of those animals,nor any empathy,and we discovered he has many more violent fantasies. He has...we think he might have the same type of feelings towards people." She said,her tone a mix of worried and apologetic. Clark felt like he was gonna puke. Violent fantasies towards people. This was all his fault. He must have done something wrong raising you. Something must have happened,something he doesn't know about...you can't simply be like this. You're a kid. You're his kid. You can't just...be like this.
He tried everything. Spent everything he could on the best psychiatrists and therapy. Anything to help you. He spent more time with you. Tried to explain why killing innocent animals was wrong. You seemed to get better. You gave the farmer some flower and your version of an apology. It sounded rather weird,but somewhat sincere. You asked the wife if she felt better,and gave back the rib you had brought home with you after the act. She passed out again. You didn't understand why,but you helped carry her to the bed,which was something. Clark really thought you were making progress. Even if you didn't feel empathy,he was sure you could at least understand the concept of it. Why it was important. He taught you to control your powers and why you should use them to protect others an not harm them. You didn't necessarily like it,but he thought you were starting to get it. In front of his eyes,you slowly but surely changed.
By the time you were 15,you were known for your kindness. You saved kittens from trees,helped old ladies carry their groceries and cross the road. You were a straight A student in your school,with a group of good friends,all good people that made people sigh and whish their child was more like them. You even stepped up as a hero,determined to help your dad. You were extremely good at fighting. No matter how big the threat was,you always had it under control. And Clark was happy. Years of trying,years of believing in you,years of prayers had finally paid off. The memory of the farm and the slaughter was now distant. Still painful,but far away. You changed. He changed you. He saved you from becoming a monster. He saved the world from having to deal with a monster. And he saved himself the pain of seeing his child turn into someone cruel. So maybe that's why he found himself ignoring the signs. It was just too beatiful to ruin. So what if your smiles always seemscold and studied,unless you're actively killing something? You only hurt monsters that harmed people. And what if sometimes he catches you on the corner of his eye,staring at a civilian that got a bit too close to you with a gaze colder than ice? You just don't like being touched by strangers. You're not hurting anyone with a glare. And what if sometimes a person or two go missing without explanation,and even he can't find them? It happens. It always happened,way before you were born. Sometimes people dissapear.
All that shatters the second he sees you. Covered in blood and organs,smiling brightly at him. Just that this time,the blood isn't an animal's,if the human head you're holding in your hand,half crashed already,is any sign. "Hi dad,I stopped the shooter!" You said cheerfully. Your smile is the exact same one you had that day. Sincere like never before,large and red-stained. "Some of the students got caught in the fight thought." You say,shrugging. Your class. Your whole class is flodded with blood. Not a single survivor. None of them had any bullet wound. You killed them all yourself. This was supposed to be just another day at school. He was supposed to pick you up in two hours. Not stand here,watching as you play with the head in your hand,humming happily. "I tried your method,dad. I tried to be a good person. A hero. Now it's time for my method." You whisper after a moment of silence,your eyes softening,smile still perfectly in place,voice sharper than a razor blade. You giggle and turn around. He goes to grab you. You're faster and you fly out the window. He wants to follow you,but then he hears a groan. A guy in the very back of the class is still alive. One of your supposed friends. He has various broken bones and severe internal bleeding but he's alive. He needs to rush him to the hospital.
And as he does,a cold,terrifying truth finally makes its way into his heart. Nothing you were doing was real. He never healed you. He just forced you to drown out the parts of you he didn't think were good. He didn't help you get rid of the beast. He taught you how to hide it. You just got tired of doing it constantly.
This work IS NSFW - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Trigger warnings can be found on the Chapter Index.
a/n: okay sike im gonna post this now bc i already posted it on ao3 LOL cant let my little tumblrinas not be fed...!!! /j
this chapter is part of a series. Please see the chapter index to read from the start!
Prev | Chapter Index
It was beautiful and warm.
Sunlight glared in your eyes, dappling and shining, the brightness making your eyelids ache; you blinked slowly, your eyelids glowing orange each time they closed. You were on your street. The chipping sound of a sprinkler a few houses down, a lawnmower roaring maybe a block further. In front of you, through the rays of sunlight, your home appeared. It looked like someone had trimmed the grass and cleaned the gutters, the windows cleaned and shined spotless.
The door swung open, and there she was—not the frail wraith from her final days. Her cheeks glowed with life. She beamed at you, yet sadness shadowed her eyes. You remembered that look: when she found you after hide-and-seek in the woods, when you waved goodbye for college.
You reached for her; you stepped forward. Then another. The visage did not move. No matter how hard you lifted your legs, pumped them in a run, you got no closer.
You looked to her desperately for help. Her mouth moved, but it made no sound. You couldn't quite make out the words. You shouted her name, screamed at the top of your lungs. Nothing but a suburban chorus replied; tires rolling down a street, the hiss of leaves stirred on branches; the coo of a mourning dove, the trilling of a bell on a child's bike.
You breathed in—the sharp scent of grass anchoring you. The house, her warm shape in the doorway, blurred and faded. Neighborhood sounds warped, slowing, sloshing into water. Suddenly, you stood on a pier, watching a man’s body drift beneath green waves.
"Engel."
You blinked awake, vision blurred by sleep and tears, curled into something soft—a shirt, spotted with damp marks. Your face was wet, nose and brow aching. When you lifted your head, you bumped into chin, his slow, warm breath stirring your hair.
König's great body, pressed to yours, shielded you from the strips of predawn light filtered through the blinds that made tiger stripes across the bed. König had wrapped his arms around you sometime in the night.
"Hmmnh…?" You croaked hoarsely, disoriented.
He came into focus; his face was so close, you could see little scatterings of freckles between the long scars. He was looking at you intently through his hair, with an odd expression. You squirmed, but he was holding you firmly, searching your eyes and your face. "You were crying," König whispered back. "In your sleep."
"Oh." That was all you could say. You weren't necessarily embarrassed, but an strange feeling curled about your insides, remnants of your dream that still tugged at your half-asleep body.
König 's eyes lowered, the lashes dark and long, hanging over the gunpowder blue of his eyes. "Bad dream, yeah?"
You weren't sure how to reply. So you just buried your head against his chest again, blinking away what remained of the tears. His wide hand petted your hair, smoothed it down against your skull.
"...'time is it?" You mumbled, muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
"Very early. We will leave today. You may sleep a little longer, if you like."
You decided yes, you would like that. You closed your eyes and felt the last of the tears slip down past your nose. In the comfort of his embrace, his smell, his warmth. It wasn't quite morning yet; memories of last night had not crashed into you, worry of the shift in your relationship was for later on, a less tired, less weepy you. "...stay here?" You requested in a small, rasping voice.
"Of course."
As you fell back into a less fitful sleep, you thought you might've felt the brush of his lips over your hair, along your hairline, just so lightly, daringly, on the soft skin of your forehead.
The steam from the coffee warmed your face against the frigid draft of the motel room. It was in a flimsy paper cup Konig had nudged you awake with and handed to you, while placing a fistful of cream and sugar on the bedside table. He'd gone off somewhere and back while you slept into the morning. But he was here when you woke up, to your relief.
You sank back against the flat propped-up pillows, still in bed. You had your shirt on, but at some point the night before, you'd discarded your underwear somewhere and now were too embarrassed in the traitorously revealing sunlight to go looking. Especially with Konig sitting before you at the table, wiping down his pistol.
At least that's what you thought he was doing. The morning, as you knew it would, brought a new feeling around him that left you newly unsure where to put your eyes. His rifle waited for its turn in its leather case beside him. Between you both, the road map spread over the foot of the bed, a sprawl of the country, veined with highways, thousands of possibilities. You worked up the nerve to look at him. König's mask was off; his hair tied loosely, strands still hanging about his face. He had been wearing a balaclava, which he now rolled up as a hat.
"I just don't understand," you sighed.
"Not much to understand," König glanced at you sideways. He put one finger down onto the map, tapping a sparse patch of dark green. "The safe house is two weeks' drive north, then maybe half a day hike. My contact assured me there would be plenty of supplies there to last."
"Contact...? To last...how long is that?" You mumbled into the cup as you took a sip. Sour, watery, brewed with cheap beans that even sugar and cream couldn't conceal. You set it down, trying not to make a face and appear ungrateful.
"Until spring," König stated so casually, while you almost choked.
Outside the grimy motel window, soft snow floated in the chalk-colored air and dusted the asphalt of the parking lot, clinging to the power lines. Winter silently promised you to hold on long and fast with each flake that stuck. You sighed.
"That's…terrible. But that's not the part I don't understand."
He set his pistol in its holster, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, looking at you expectantly as if asking, Then what?
But you hadn't worked up the courage to be direct just yet. To say how you felt about running from being trapped in your hometown to being trapped in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, alone, with König. It unsettled you as much as it horrifyingly thrilled you. So you wanted, needed to drag your feet.
"Have you done this before?" You finally asked. "How can you be so sure they won't follow us up there?"
König cleared his throat and took a moment to respond. "These things, they happen. I do my job, separate of everything any one employer might be doing. But it will get messy, sometimes. Nothing to do with me, as I said, special consultant, no strings. Still they are angry at me, even if I'm doing my job." He leaned back, reaching for the rifle. "It's best to wait until it all blows over."
You tried to listen carefully to this logic, this world you could barely understand. What had the news labelled them, international gang members? Still, he had avoided answering your questions directly, plying you with his logic. God, it was just too much. "Then I can go home, right?"
König met your eyes. "You want to go back?"
"Of course." You knew you answered too fast, too defensively. It felt wrong coming out of your mouth, sounded worse in the air, faltering your next words. "I-I mean, at some point, don't you think? I want—I want…" What did you want, exactly? To return to the house? It would be nothing like the bittersweet dream you'd had.
Would it be better or worse than being on the run, hiding in motels and in the back of the truck? It was getting harder and harder to know.
As you toiled in your brain, König had silently stood, pushing the map aside to sit on the bed. Over the blanket, he put his hand on your foot. The contact broke from your reverie. Slowly, his hand slid up to where your ankle and calf might be beneath the sheets. "I want you to be safe," He said quietly. "I promised you I would take care of it, did I not?"
The soft sincerity melted your defenses some. More and more, you felt yourself slipping into some kind of mood, deeper and deeper around him, a feeling hard to really comprehend between the stress of everything else. Cloyingly sweet, you couldn't help but still wonder distrustfully in the back of your mind if it was to hide venom laced beneath. "I don't know," you mumbled, looking away.
What you wanted to say was, I don't know how safe I am with you around.
Ashamedly, you looked down. Something caught your eye. "Wait," You pulled the map to you, — with it, a thought, an idea. You unfolded the map fully over your legs. "How about, can we um, go here?" From the place he had circled, you drew with your finger a line to the only other option you could see; the large city you'd left to go to university in. A slight breakaway from a straight route, but not l further than midway between where you were now and the so-called safe house.
"That's where I went to school. Where I worked. I had to leave so abruptly, because—you know." You spoke quickly, the idea forming more and more in your mind. The streets you were familiar with, had walked through enough to know, not as well as your hometown, but enough.
König looked down at the map, scanning silently, then back up to you. His eyes were suddenly hard, switched from the tender look seconds before. "You would not be able to speak to anyone you know. Not any friends," König replied coolly. "It would be too dangerous to let anyone know where you are, what you're doing."
You felt a pinprick of discomfort. "I don't have any friends." You replied softly.
Flickering your glance back to König, his face was hard to read. Calculation, suspicion? It unnerved you, so you kept talking. "But I never, really um, got to say goodbye. I could show you what my life was like, before all this. My old apartment…the park I really liked. I want…I want to show you." You tried to smile, trying to hide your surprise at the sincerity of your voice. You even leaned in, until your hand brushed where his sat on your leg. "Please, König?"
König stared at you for a little longer. At your pleading, his cold authority tempered out. "I will think about it. I will not promise you." He watched as you wilted, and he lifted his hand from your leg, thumbing your cheek with an affectionate pinch. "When you look at me that way, it is hard to say no."
Hope, hard and bright, flared in your mind. If this worked, once he got you there safely, you could make moves of your own; you knew it. The city was huge, after all. Big enough of a city to run away from König entirely, and never be found by anyone. You could even return to your old life there. You could beg off one of your old acquaintances until someone lent you their couch. You could pick back up and leave this nightmare behind.
The idea of it surged you with energy. Without thinking, you pushed up from the bed until you were on all fours, hooking your arms around König's neck in a hug. "Thank you...!"
König's arms snaked around you, and you yipped as he hauled you into his lap, your arms still tight around his neck. The hand that didn't hold you in place slid over your bare thigh, down your calf until his hands swallowed up your ankles.
Your face warmed as you remembered you wore no underwear; your lips parted instinctively. He hiked up your knees so he had you folded in his lap. But he didn't try anything. Instead, to your surprise, he placed his lips against the soft mounds of your kneecaps, the wet his mouth left behind chilling the skin. He closed his eyes and turned his head to you as he leaned his cheek where he'd just kissed. He rubbed his head up and down a moment like a cat against a leg; you felt the wiry bristles of his beard, the smooth scars, the weathered skin of his face.
"I like to see you happy," König sighed. His eyes opened a crack, and he gazed at you narrowly, through his lashes. “But I need you to be safe.”
The profession made your face burn all the more, the heat spreading over your chest, dropping into your stomach. Embarrassment, mixed with guilt at the planned deception. The energy between you both had shifted. You found yourself less stiff, less defensive against him. Pliant to his touches, even if the sensation felt searing, almost burning, in its exhilarating novelty. You wondered if it was in your mind, psyching you out, but König seemed to have relaxed some as well —in his posture, in how he regarded you, in the ease and gentleness with which he handled your body.
Something burned at the back of your mind; a darkness. Not necessarily about König, either. About yourself. This care and attention, this touch. You realized that what you couldn’t fathom; that it was authentically, fully yours. Especially since you hadn’t known him all that long; He knew a lot about you, but you knew close to nothing about him. However — as much as this ought to concern you, it was smothered by his compassion, his care and attentiveness of you, everything you tried to hide. It was hard to shine the light back upon him, when it burned to have it on you. Guilt pricked harder at your heart, a honeyed thorn mixed with your hope to return to normalcy.
“You shouldn’t need anything from me. I don’t… I can’t give you anything." You whispered. "I don't…have anything."
You felt the sensation of König shaking his head, just slightly. The bristles of his beard catching just so on your skin. You saw his lips moving, but you couldn't quite hear, quite understand his mumbling. Softly, barely audible, breath warm against your legs.
