Touch

Touch

Character: Francis (Ajax) Freeman Summary: was kind of worried to write this dude cuz he’s an asshole and tortures people and fucked Wade’s life up but then again he’s kind of cute so… don’t judge me and don’t judge the chick/dude that requested this, without further adieu- this thing is essentially Francis spontaneously being able to feel thanks to the reader (idk how man, it’s a fan fiction, just roll with it) Words: 700

“I swear to god, if I die wearing this I’m going to come back and haunt everyone’s arses!” she called out, struggling against the metal chains that bit into her bruised skin, the cool steel table digging into her spine as warm blood trickled down her face and arms. There was no answer from the damp grey room, just the consistent dripping of water in the corner and the scurrying of rats underneath her. Her hair stood on end as a breeze brushed against her from the vent in the roof, the metallic taste of blood and the scent of urine and sterile medical equipment choking her slightly. Everything ached and she could hardly move, tears of frustration pricked at the back of her wide eyes, but she refused to let them fall. They could torture her all they wanted, but she refused to cry. The burning of her wounds only added to the angry fire pooling in her stomach; how dare they do this to her, to any of them. She hadn’t even been one of the idiots that agreed to this, they’d taken her from her apartment (while she’d been on tumblr in her pink unicorn onesie no less). A flush spread across her cheeks as her jaw worked, scowl marring her pretty face.

“Now now sweetheart, no one said anythin’ about dyin’, well…unless the tests don’t work that is,” a smug British accent sounded from her right and she whipped her head over, wincing as her ears rang.

The mans face morphed into surprise for a mere second before schooling back into a smug smirk.

She supposed he would’ve been attractive; he had those pretty pale blue eyes that shone like glass, killer cheekbones, and was at least 6 foot 2. He would’ve been attractive, if he hadn’t been holding a giant scalpel and if he hadn’t been responsible for putting her in that hell hole.

“You’re really laying it on thick you know,” she wheezed and one of his eyebrows shot up. “Abandoned warehouse, blood stained lab coat, god you’re even British! Why are all the bad guys English?”

His smirk twitched into a smile for a second, before he paced towards her, shoes clicking loudly on the cement floor. “Let me guess, you’ve got some tragic backstory to go along with it too? Some shitty reason for you turning evil?”

He chuckled, before nodding lightly and leaning against the metal bed that creaked under his weight. “I suppose you could say that. Got my mutant genes activated, unfortunately for me, that fried the fuck out of my nerve endings. Can’t feel a thing anymore.”

“Wow. Sex must suck, or well…not suck I suppose, no point in sucking anym-OW! Hey, what was that for?” he dragged the scalpel down her arm, blood welling up around it and staining the tips of his fingers, which lightly brushed against her skin until-

“What the fuck,” he breathed out, hand snapping towards his chest as he cradled it, staring at her with wide eyes.

Everything was still for a moment, even the scurrying rats stopped moving. With a shaking arm he reached towards her face, palm cupping her cheek and she heard him take in a sharp breath, swearing quietly. “I-I can feel you.”

His fingers were rough and calloused, but his palm was warm and comforting in an odd way. Having been locked away for what must have been a week had really deprived her of human contact, she supposed, if she was enjoying the touch of some crazy guy.

“Does this mean you’re not gonna kill me or…?” The chains on her bed were ripped off instantly and she was flung into a warm, hard muscled chest as his arms wrapped around her, face pressing into the crook of her neck. His hot breath caused a rush of goose bumps to erupt and she silently prayed that he couldn’t feel that, his ego evidently did not need another boost.

“Sure, won’t kill you, just…can you hug me for a second?”

She had to bite back a grin.

“The bad guy likes hugs? Who would’ve known,” her hair ruffled as he huffed out a laugh, squeezing her tightly.