#ive been having like entire months between chapters i am so sorry????
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Another Rough Day
gif credit @chrishemsworht
Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 13.7K
Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort
A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long). As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that
ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello
ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing
anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall
---
You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.
Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession. You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets. The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.
They’re… awful.
Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it. The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.
Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to. You don’t even really feel like a person right now. The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life. It feels sick. Wrong in your bones. Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop. Not until all of them stop moving.
You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops. Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago. Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.
Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception. What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all. You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now. No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams. No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.
You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move. The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again. It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.
Silence. Silence. You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement. You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are. You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder. You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—
“P-Please don’t kill me!”
His words remind you of something. Reality, maybe. A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.
It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands. “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”
Behind the mask, your expression furrows. Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying? They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat. Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy. It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.
No, this is a trap, it has to be. Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.
You pause, staring down at him in shock.
It’s him, you recognize him immediately. It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances. Oshua Ryler. Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened. A stormtrooper? His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense. What is he doing here? Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them. They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.
“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers. “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”
“Shut up.” You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done. You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet. You hate looking at his face. It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.
“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust. His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat. He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby. You know what needs to be done. Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over. It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.
But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”
“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”
“The Empire is ashes.” You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears. “They hold no power anymore. Why are you with them?”
“Because the one thing they have left is money!” The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green. “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…” He stares wide eyed at you and gulps. “C-Conditioning.”
Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now. “Were they expecting the baby?”
“W-What?” He squeaks up at you.
“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?” You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side. “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”
“Who is ‘he’?” The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around. “What are you talki—”
“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!” You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him. Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about. “Now—”
“If it was I didn’t know!” He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight. “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty! They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”
You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling. You could still kill him. You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.
Shit. “Who put the bounty out on you?” You ask sharply. It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.
“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”
“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.
“Yes!” Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”
Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it. You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask. Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something. Din was cut off before he finished. Help? Know what to do? You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by. The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.
But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice. The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him. Get to Nevarro. Tell Karga. Get to Nevarro. Tell Karga.
You look back at the quarry. “How many of you are there?”
“At the base? Around three hundred,” he immediately spills. “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours. There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”
“So around a hundred left,” You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker. “How many were dispatched on the search?”
“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground. “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”
Of which, four you’ve already taken care of. In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence. That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector. If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon. And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.
You make the decision immediately.
“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel. “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”
“You…” He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands. “You want to rescue the men?”
Ideally? Sure. Realistically? You don’t say anything in response. Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.
Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do. The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it. They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip. Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.
“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you. Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease. It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.
When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression. Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood. Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color. Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.
“Can you make it up to the cockpit?” You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder. Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again. “I need as much information as possible about the base.” You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm. Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard. It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.
Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest. While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking. Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now. Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission. Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.
Besides. What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?
It’s just… not really your thing.
---
They’re everywhere.
They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors. Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger. Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.
Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next. His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears. When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.
He’s not thinking much. He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread. If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces. He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind. Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers. Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.
His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base. He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.
Din needs to go.
And yet… if he was another man. If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go. With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get. He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat. Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range. Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind. He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.
Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.
Run, sweet girl. Run.
---
You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard. Not far from here, three minutes or less. The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers. It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.
“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.
“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers. “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”
Your mouth twists downwards under the mask. Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible. Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed. The turrets, then. “Are they automatic?”
“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.
“Radar?”
“Old. Only engages above fifty meters.”
You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel. “What about ships?”
“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport. TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”
“Anything else?” You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got. You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?
The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here. Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here. The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here. Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not. He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.
Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul. If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.
You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator. “Mando?” You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway. Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing. “I’m coming to get you. Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside. If you can’t, I’ll just… uh. Try to figure something else out.”
That’s it. That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to. Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction. Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose. Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily. It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.
“Where’s your helmet?” Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.
But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls. “I’m not a Mandalorian.”
“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit. “You cover your face like one. You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”
“I’m not a Mandalorian.” Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now. “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”
But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he? He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan. All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge. You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood. This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby. In a sense, it still feels that way. The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family. The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.
Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch. He’d know, you tell yourself. If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow. Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.
---
There’s too many for Din to handle.
They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore. The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response. In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet. These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.
Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back. Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms. The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.
An officer, he assumes. Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.
“Well now, what do we have here?” Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter. The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh. “What a shame.”
Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.
“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add. “How were you able to find us?”
Silence. The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now. He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red. Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality. The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead. Useless, then. Good to know.
After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.
“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor. Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention. “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”
Gideon. The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite. It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened. But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it. The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.
“For what? This Mandalorian?” The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.
“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms. “Orders were to capture him, alive.”
“Hm.” The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head. “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees. “He must want the beskar. I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”
All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive. He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.
Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.
“Binders!” A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.
The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed. There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury. It’s such a punchable jaw.
After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues. “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”
Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth. He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize. Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible. You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety. Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually. It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.
“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive. Assistance may be required.”
It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk. They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost. You’re both long gone by now. They’ve got no idea you even exist—
“He also spoke of a girl.”
And then he feels his heart stop in his chest. Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response. His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it. How the fuck did he know? He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?
But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile. Who’s this, Mando? She’s just darling, isn’t she? Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?
“A girl?”
The trooper nods. “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”
He’s going to kill them, Din decides. Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man. The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul. His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun. He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.
Except, then—
“Mando?” The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet. “I’m coming to get you. Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside. If you can’t, I’ll just… uh. Figure something else out.”
And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.
The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember. He’s panicked before. He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time. This is different. This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.
He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection. There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now. The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat. You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.
Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it. Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you. Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.
“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out. His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision. For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.
All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…
Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground. There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.
---
You’re right on time.
The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about. Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.
Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed. It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground. Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.
For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him. Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up. Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.
“Which ones are in charge?” You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.
“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on. Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—
To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them. If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways. The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.
The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge. Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.
“Lift up!” You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull. You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door. “Now! We have to go now!”
You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up. Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel. Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears. The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.
As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping. You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.
Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense. Deadly tense. Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—
It flickers into existence all at once. One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.
A star destroyer.
Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life. It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it. All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking. You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.
Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.
---
The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before. Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear. Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship. But now, everything has changed.
You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap. Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared. They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is. You can’t seem to breathe like he is. It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.
After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand. Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.
“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh. A close one.”
You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now. Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing. You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you. When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain. You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.
Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment. You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through. You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now. However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest. Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline. Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.
Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you. His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.
You feel something this time. It’s… cold. A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin. Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood. You did that.
There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word. You can’t find a single word to say. The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones. It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet. There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.
You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden. Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.
But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement. He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip. It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.
“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.
Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features. His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to. You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there. He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.
Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor. You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves. Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.
You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.
“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly. Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself. “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”
He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.
But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly. Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t. Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult. You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive. There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.
He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.
But then there’s a moment. One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.
“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty. There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t. “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”
Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it. Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones. You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.
He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands. He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from. It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.
When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you. The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood. Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.
Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face. The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.
After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground. It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet. Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.
Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back. Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.
Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand. It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang. You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground. The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.
“Are you hurt?”
He sounds… dead. So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state. He doesn’t move. His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last. If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.
“No,” you eventually whisper.
The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else. Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying. You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him. You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.
You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor. Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes. Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done. Tasks to complete.
Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown. Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain. The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert. You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy. If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him. It was… isolating. Lonely by yourself. The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.
When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp. Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner. Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath. One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.
You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet. You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…
What? At least what? Comfort you? Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions? What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him? You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.
The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically. He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you. You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do. If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself. At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment. Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul. Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover. You keep hearing their screams.
So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on. You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again. You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand. After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.
Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone. After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in. The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings. It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.
After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent. You don’t feel anything as you do it. You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm. Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.
Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster. The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything. They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.
The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower. Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy. Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.
After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent. When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.
You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls. Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today. You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.
You can’t sleep. You don’t even try, it’s pointless. The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself. You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking. You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago. You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong… They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.
You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation. You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point. In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.
You also can’t face Din yet, not like this. You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure. How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices? Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t. You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him. You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance. You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.
Figuratively, of course. Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been. Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.
So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you. A long time ago, what would he tell you?
Din would tell you… that you killed someone. Multiple people, this time. He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done. The end result won’t change. You own this now. You’ll carry their deaths with you.
You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice. He wouldn’t argue with you. He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them. It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.
And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount. You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned. You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive. You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him. If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.
That’s it. Focus on them both, alive and well together. Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.
Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness. It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself. Hours, maybe. Time is strange in hyperspace.
You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.
---
When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.
“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are. You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways. After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”
“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair. He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet. “Don’t say anything. Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”
“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes. You did save him. You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent. “I tried. Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself. I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”
His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul. Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.
“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you. It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up. “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”
“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.
“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat. They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses. “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”
“Stop,” he chokes out. The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body. “St-Stop it, please.”
Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.
“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself. The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking. You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.
“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.” Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes. “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”
Your heart goes cold. Again, everything turns numb. It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today. It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it. For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.
“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks. “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me. I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger. I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe. And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II. Do you know why I did that?” The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart. “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”
You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand. You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up. Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away. But then, instead…
There’s a flicker of something inside you. Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying. It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die. You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.
“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t. “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones. Especially the trained ones. Anything else was meant to be your last resort. Not your choice. Not something you chose.”
“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself. The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him. Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried. You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen. “I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t a choice.”
“It was,” he tells you. He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words. “And it was the wrong one.”
“What was I supposed to do?” You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster. Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care. “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”
“Yes.” It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless. Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against. It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively. “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”
It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean. Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.
“No.” The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child. Never. You’ll die before that happens. “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that. Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing. Not even you.”
Din stares at you. His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant. It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become. You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.
After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both. He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”
You stay quiet. It happened. What’s done is done, you can’t change the past. He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so. This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child. You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them. Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.
“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers. It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak. Broken. “You wore mine once before, and it was…” He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away. “It wasn’t real. It didn’t fit. It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out. I liked it because it wasn’t real.”
“Was it… really that bad?” You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad. You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but… Not a Mandalorian, he’d said. Of course not. Of course not.
“It wasn’t the armor.” Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again. “It was you covered in blood. It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger. You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship. And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too. You…” He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice. “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”
Not a Mandalorian.
“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you. “You don’t fly into war zones. You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me. You said you tried to be brave… like me.” His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand. “I’ll never ask you to be brave. I’ll ask you to survive.”
“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight. They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time. Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again. It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside. You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.
After a while, Din quietly breaks it.
“How many?” He murmurs to you. You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.
You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.
“That didn’t deserve it?” You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory. “Four.”
And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that. Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain. You’ll never be able to change it, though. This belongs to you now.
This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”
And that covers everything.
The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else. Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come. You need to tell him. You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.
“Din?” You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor. “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat. “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”
“A star destroyer.” He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time. He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine. You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.
He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before. It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.
“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms. His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing. “What do I do?”
He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today. All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty. You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now. If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.
“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer. Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him. “We’ll figure it out together.”
---
@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!
#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#din djarin#din djarin x you#din djarin x reader#mando x reader#mando x you#reader insert#fanfic#star wars#rough day#no-droids
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Matters of Time and Fate (Chapter 26)
When Olivia looked into the metallic surface of the coffee pot, she remembered something she had buried years before: at three years old, her father brought a malfunctioning robot into his office.
Little Olivia, still sucking her thumb at the time, looked the slender robot up and down. She couldn't recall her thought process, but the prospect of sitting on the robot's shoulders piqued her interest. She rose up and slid across its lap without thinking, grasping for the shoulder to help herself up.
Right at that moment, the robot sparked, glitched, and grabbed her by the arm with no warning. Olivia shrieked in terror as it loomed over her, weapon in hand, preparing to strike.
Her father appeared out of nowhere, and all she could do was watch as he sank a screwdriver into the robot's cranium, thus stopping it in its tracks. It made a popping noise and sparked again, before crumpling to the floor.
“Why would you do that!?” Gray snapped at his three-year-old, yanking her to her feet. “I’ve told you never to touch my robots when I’m not around!”
Olivia only bawled, unable to form words as she rubbed her teary eyes, her body still shaking with fright. Gray pursed his lips together. “Oh, stop crying,” he sighed. “You’re all right, Olivia…”
When she continued to cry, he laid the screwdriver down and scooped her into his arms, hugging her close. She still remembered the smell of his cologne as he held her, mixed with the faint scent of metal. Even as the years would go by, she would never, ever forget that smell, or the comfort her father’s presence gave her.
That had been three years ago. Olivia moved her gaze away from the rusted coffee pot in Sniper's van kitchenette and back to the window.
“They’ve been taking too long,” she spoke up. “We need to go look for them!”
Zhanna looked up from her spot at the table, brow furrowing. “What? Olivia, they will come spoon. I say what I say before, do not worry.”
Olivia frowned, climbing up onto the seat beside Zhanna. “But what if something happened? We need to go help if…”
Zhanna shushed her, smoothing the girl’s hair back. “Misha is with them. So is Jane. My brother and husband are strong. No reason to be scared.”
“I guess…” Olivia hugged her knees. “I feel small again…”
“I am sorry,” Zhanna sighed, giving Olivia a little half-hug.
Lar-Nah then approached the table with a bag of chips in her hand. “What are these?” she asked Zhanna, showing her the bag.
Zhanna glanced at the bag. “Spicy cheese chips. From there,” she said, motioning to the gas station they were parked next to.
Lar-Nah opened the bag and stared into it for a few seconds, before reaching inside and pulling out a chip. She took a bite, chewed, before she coughed and spat the chip into the waste basket. “Oh, my god, that’s disgusting!” she wheezed and tried to compose herself, a look of horror on her face. “People eat these on purpose!? I hate this country!”
“You are wimp!” Zhanna scoffed at her, taking the bag and pulling a chip out to eat.
Olivia looked back out the window, just in time to see the headlights of Engie’s truck pull up. “They’re here!” she exclaimed, leaping from her seat and running right to the door.
Olivia stood in the parking lot while Engineer's truck and Miss Pauling’s car came to a halt. Everyone stepped out of either car, and within moments, Helen emerged. Her hair was down and soaking wet, and her makeup was smeared in the dim light of the gas station. Upon seeing her, Olivia was reminded of the night Helen had the water spilled on her.
“Look who we got back, Liv!” Scout greeted Olivia as he bounced out of the truck, stopping to ruffle her hair.
Olivia couldn’t help but giggle when Scout ruffled her hair, and she swung her hands at him. “Yeah!” she glanced back up, her eyes meeting Helen’s.
Engineer stepped out of the truck, pausing to talk to Helen. “Need anything else, ma’am?”
Helen just shook her head. “No, I’m quite all right.” She looked back to Olivia. “May I be alone with Olivia for a moment?”
“Sure, you don’t gotta ask,” Engineer assured. He took a moment to smile gently at Olivia. “I’m gonna stop at the station for some stuff, okay? Be right back.”
He followed Demoman and Heavy to the gas station, leaving Helen and Olivia in the parking lot alone. It was dark out by this point, and crickets could be heard chirping in the surrounding bushes.
For a moment, it seemed as though Helen wasn’t going to speak. Yet then, she knelt down carefully to Olivia’s level, maintaining eye contact with her.
“I just want to let you know…” Helen took a breath. “I’m – I’m deeply sorry for leaving you like that. I can understand how upsetting that must have been for you.”
Olivia stared down at her shoes on the pavement. The pavement looked damp, as if it had rained at some point, though she didn’t remember hearing any rain. “Yeah,” Olivia admitted. “I got sad. I cried.”
Helen nodded. “I see. I apologize…” she reached out to stroke Olivia’s hair, but stopped herself, pulling her hand back. “I want to make it very clear to you that you do not have to accept me as your mother. You do not have to forgive me, either. But…I will protect you always, for as long as I’ll live.”
“You promise?” Olivia asked, looking up into Helen’s eyes.
“Yes – I promise.” Helen affirmed. “I won’t put you into a stranger’s arms like I did before.”
Olivia did not quite know what she was referring to, but it didn’t matter. She was comforted by the fact that she'd been apologized to, yet she was still a bit sad. She gave Helen a nod before taking a step forward and resting her cheek against her shoulder.
Helen sat still for a moment, a little surprised, but she wrapped her arm around Olivia. They held each other in the darkness for a little more than a minute before Helen cleared her throat and stood. “W-well…we should get you back home, it’s getting awfully late for you.”
Olivia nodded in agreement. “Yeah…okay.”
Miss Pauling, Helen, Olivia, Spy, and Scout were the first to board Pauling's car, followed by Zhanna, Soldier, Demo, Sniper, and Lar-Nah in the camper van, and Heavy, Medic, Pyro, and Engineer in the truck. The plan was to return to the townhouse to relax and figure out what to do next, and everyone felt relieved for now.
Olivia sat in the back of Pauling’s car, tucked between Spy and Scout as they headed on their way home. She felt rather sleepy, now, and she yawned, her head coming to rest on Scout’s arm.
“Are you gettin’ tired, Liv?” Scout asked, ruffling her hair.
“I guess…” Olivia rubbed her eye. “But its not my bedtime…”
“You’ve had a lot of excitement today,” Spy replied, looking out the window and watching the scenery pass by. “We’ll get you straight to bed.”
In the passenger seat, Helen suddenly exclaimed, “The Australium!”
Miss Pauling looked up from the road ahead. “Huh?”
“I lost the briefcase in the water,” Helen groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Dear lord, how could I have—”
“I got it for you, ma’am,” Spy assured her from the backseat. “It washed up on shore while we were waiting for Dell to bring the truck. I put it in the trunk.”
Helen sighed with relief. “Thank you…you have no idea how much better that makes me feel…” she looked over her shoulder, seeing Olivia curled up next to Scout. She couldn’t help but smile a little. “You are very good with her, you know,”
“Oh,” Scout glanced up. “Thanks, I’m trying to be…she hasn’t tried to stab me again, so we’re good,” he laughed a little.
Olivia cracked her eyes open at that. “Oh…yeah. I forgot I did that.”
“Hey, its okay,” Scout patted her shoulder gently. “You wouldn’t do that again, though, right?”
Olivia pursed her lips in thought. “Um…hm…no, I wouldn’t try it again,”
Spy let out a snorting laugh, quite amused. “She had to think about it!”
Scout made a face and swatted at Spy. “Hey, c’mon, man! You know she wouldn’t do that, I’m her cool uncle! Or…whatever…” he clearly wasn’t angry, though, as he smiled a bit after he said it.
Olivia covered her mouth and snickered, curling her legs up in the seat. It seemed to her in that moment that everything would be okay.
And then it wasn’t.
The car suddenly screeched to a halt, and Miss Pauling grunted out, “Oh, god,”
When Olivia looked up, she saw a huge, unmarked white van right in the middle of the road, blocking both lanes. As she sat up taller to get a better look, she couldn’t see anyone inside.
Scout frowned. “Who the hell parks there? What are they, nuts?”
“There doesn’t appear to be anyone in it…” Spy observed. “Drive around on the grass, Miss Pauling,”
The walkie-talkie Pauling had on her dashboard came to life, with static and the voice of Engineer pouring through. “Everything okay up there?” he asked, sounding concerned.
Pauling answered, "Yeah, Engie, it's fine... There's an empty van blocking the road, but no one appears to be inside—"
Before she could finish her sentence, she could hear other cars revving in the distance, as well as motorcycles roaring and screeching. Within seconds, all three cars were surrounded by cars and motorcycles, their headlights almost blinding.
Olivia froze, and she could feel her heart drop immediately. Beside her, Spy tried to remain his composure, reaching for one of these guns. “Who are these people?”
Helen’s eyes scanned the surrounding people through the windows, and it was then she noticed letters painted on the front of one of the cars: SR. Security Republic.
Sage had found them.
Sure enough, there he was: stepping out of one of the cars and slowly approaching Pauling’s car. His eyes locked with Helen’s, and he grinned a wicked grin at her.
Helen’s eyes narrowed, and she knew what she had to do. She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door. “Stay here. I’ll handle him.”
“But—” Pauling started to plead, but Helen had already closed the door.
Olivia moved towards the window to try and see what was going on, but Scout held onto her, keeping a protective, vice-like grip on her.
As Helen stepped out onto the grass, Sage met her in the middle. “Hello, my darling stepmother,” he greeted her with a voice like molasses. “It pays to have security cameras installed around town, doesn’t it?”
Helen clenched her jaw. “So, that’s how you’ve been tracking us down? You sell security cameras to people in this town just to use them for your own espionage?”
Sage shrugged. “It’s all business, Helen. Don’t act as though you have the high ground, we’ve all done the same thing…”
“Just…” Helen took a long breath. “I know who you’re after, Phoenix. I know Olivia was the target of those bounty hunters you sent after us.” She leaned in to look him dead in the eyes. “What is it you want with her?”
“I just want to talk,” Sage replied, almost sounding innocent. “I have some business ideas in mind, and I know how her father raised her. I think—”
Helen held up her hand to stop him. “Are you looking to get Mann Co.’s rights from her? Because you should know, she does not have them,”
“Who said that was what I was after?” Sage snorted. “Just tell your friends and her to come to my office, and we can forget this whole thing even happened.”
“Olivia will not be going anywhere with you.” Helen asserted, crossing her arms. “Call off this futile mission, Sage. Go back to your mansion, or I will not hesitate to rain hell upon you.”
Sage’s demeanor switched to one of pure rage, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “Why can’t you just hand over Olivia, Helen? She’s the last daughter of the Manns, what do you care what happens to her?”
Helen said nothing, staring directly into Sage’s eyes. It was then, though, that it seemed to click for Sage, and his face fell.
“Is Olivia…” he began, trying to form words. “Is she…your daughter? Did you and Gray—”
“That will be all,” Helen raised her voice at him. “Call off your team and go home this instant.”
A look of pure rage formed on Sage’s face, and without warning, he pulled out a long knife and thrust it towards Helen’s stomach. Helen acted fast, covering her midsection with one arm and using the other one to grab his wrist. The knife nicked her, however, drawing blood across her forearm and causing her to yell.
From the car, Pauling saw this and cried out, “Helen! Oh, my god!” within seconds, she leapt out of the vehicle with a pistol and aimed at Sage’s head. Sage ducked out of the way, but it wasn’t enough, and the bullet shattered his shoulder within seconds.
The scream he made sounded like a wounded animal, and Pauling grabbed Helen, yanking her to the car. Once in the car, Pauling snatched up the walkie talkie and alerted those in the other cars, “Guys, we gotta get out of here! Follow my car and just drive as fast as possible!”
“What happened?” Olivia wanted to know, looking out of the window in a mix of fear, excitement, and confusion.
Helen pulled out a tissue from the glove compartment, pressing it to her wound as Pauling sped through the row of motorcycles and onto the grass. “We’re going to be all right, Olivia! Lay low and don’t let them see you!”
The van and truck followed suit, speeding off into the green countryside. A few of Sage’s guards swarmed him to tend to his gunshot wound, and Sage yelled out, “Well!? Go after them, idiots!”
Men on motorcycles and in cars soon sped after the group, engaging on a chase through the grass and thicket.
Olivia didn't realize what was going on at first: she could feel them speeding down the road, and when she looked out the window, the scenery passed by so quickly that it made her dizzy.
Out of nowhere, a masked person on a motorcycle caught up to them, a baton in their hand. They began to try and smash the window, but before they could get very far, Scout rolled the window down and punched the attacker directly in the face. They yelled, then tried to steady themselves to attack Scout, but Scout let out a string of expletives as he punched him again, this time hard enough to knock them off the motorcycle.
Within seconds, another rider zoomed up and began shooting directly at Scout. Spy acted quickly, yanking Scout back into the car and exchanging gunfire with the attacker. He managed to hit them, sending them flying backwards.
“God – thanks, man!” Scout panted, watching as Spy zipped back into the car and rolled the window up.
“There’s more coming up,” Spy informed the others, the gun still in his hand. “What should we do!?”
Miss Pauling gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. “I…I don’t know! There’s a lot of them, is it worth it to stop and fight them!?”
“Keep going!” Helen urged. “We have to try and lose them, all of you seem woefully underprepared for another fight!”
“Well, that’s ‘cause we were going to help you!” Scout barked, feeling a little offended. “
“I know!” Helen rasped, still wincing as she tended to her wound. The car rounded a sharp curve, jostling everyone inside, and Helen glanced back at Olivia. “Lay down! Olivia, lay low! I mean it!”
Olivia obeyed, laying flat on her stomach in the backseat, though she kept her head lifted to watch and get a sense of what was going on. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest – none of this felt real. They'd been ambushed by strange attackers twice in one day, but her mind kept returning to the same scene: being held helpless, the robot arm holding her down while the weapon glinted above her.
Her father wouldn’t be here now, though. What if the other adults were not as strong as him?
The car shook, and Olivia heard Miss Pauling scream. She looked up, alarmed, just in time to see a man leap onto the hood of the car and lower himself down to smash the window with a baton. He was successful, the glass showering the backseat of the car.
Spy whipped out his gun again and began shooting, but the man acted faster and grabbed Olivia by the arm. Olivia shrieked, only able to watch as Scout wrapped his arm around the man's throat and began to choke him. They only struggled for a few seconds in the backseat before Spy yanked them apart and jammed the gun into the man's throat. The man wrestled with him, though, gripping his wrist and tussling with him while trying to keep a grip on Olivia. He pried the gun away from Spy’s hand, letting out a triumphant laugh. Helen whipped off her high heel and began furiously attempting to stab the man with the sharp angle of the heel, causing him to turn the gun on her. She ducked out of the way as the bullet shattered a portion of the windshield and littered more glass throughout the vehicle.
For a brief moment, Olivia felt as though she wasn’t in her body, as if she’d stepped away just to observe what was happening from a different angle. In those few seconds, she thought back on what her father had said in that dream – how she had forgotten herself, how she had become passive and afraid…
Olivia returned to herself just as the attacker got Spy’s gun away from him and aimed it at his head.
In a split second, Olivia spotted the knife that had fallen out of Spy’s pocket, and she snatched it up. Before anyone noticed her, she struggled to reveal the blade before springing up and jamming it into the man’s eye.
He may have screamed – she thought she heard him scream. His blood ended up on her hands, there was so much more than she thought there would be. As she fell back into the seat, Scout flung the car door open, kicking the attacker out onto the pavement of the road as they sped into the oncoming town.
As the door slammed shut, Helen leapt out of her seat, rushing into the back to Olivia’s side and wiping the blood off her with a napkin.
“Did I kill him?” Olivia panted, eyes wide as she shook. She’d fought grown men before, but she had never drawn blood. She’d never done…whatever that just was.
“I have no idea,” Helen confessed, wiping Olivia’s hands down. “How do you feel?”
The adrenaline still flowed through Olivia’s body. “I don’t…I don’t know…” she confessed.
“You were very brave,” Helen released Olivia once she was clean. “Now, stay down. I mean it,” she gave her daughter’s hand a light squeeze, her other hand taking a moment to brush her cheek.
Olivia nodded, curling in on herself again, but this time there was a different feeling in her. Not a helplessness, but a hope.
Behind them, the truck and the van stayed close by, blocking off the Security cars and motorcycles the best they could. All of the sudden, something in Engie’s truck popped, and smoke began billowing out from under the hood.
“No, no, no, no!” Engineer cried out, exasperated. “Shit, it’s the motor! God, no, I had a feeling this would happen!”
“Can you fix it!?” Medic asked, looking out the window with anxious eyes as another Security car approached.
Engineer kept his foot on the accelerator, eyes locked on the road ahead. “I have a generator in the back, but I can’t hook it up while I’m driving – someone else needs to!”
Pyro waved their hand around, mumbling out an offer. Engineer glanced over at them, before nodding frantically. “Okay! You know how to do it? It’s in the bed of the truck, you just hook the blue wire to the red one! The whole thing’s already hooked up, just be careful!”
Nodding, Pyro climbed out of the back and out into the truck’s bed, steadying themself as they began to work on the generator. They were instantly noticed by another agent on a motorcycle, who zipped up to the truck and pulled out a gun. Pyro did not see this, however, as they were too busy with the instructions Engie had given them.
Heavy noticed the potential attacker through the rear-view mirror and smashed his hand through the window, grabbing the agent by the throat. The agent gagged in shock as Heavy lifted him right off his motorcycle, and within seconds, he tossed the man into the path of one of the oncoming cars.
As the affected car swerved off the road to deal with the unexpected hit, Heavy fell back into the truck, grunting and picking glass out of his fist. Medic sprang to help him right away, cleaning out his wounds.
“Gott, I love you,” Medic whispered, still in awe of what he witnessed Heavy do. Heavy just smiled, briefly, before glancing back out the window to watch for any more attacks.
Pyro then switched on the generator, slipping back into the truck and signaling to Engineer that they’d done it.
“Good work, Py!” Dell praised breathlessly. “Now let’s get the rest of these creeps off of us!”
Everyone tried their hardest to get away from their pursuers, but the chase was becoming increasingly difficult. The rural areas disappeared and very soon, the pursuit continued into the town.
Sniper’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. “What now!?”
Miss Pauling grunted, laying down on the gas pedal. “Keep going, I guess! Try and throw them off our path!”
From inside the van, bottles rattled in the cabinets above as Sniper sped up faster to try and lose the attackers. Out of nowhere, a skinny form leapt from one of the cars, shattering the front window of the van and tackling Sniper.
Sniper let out a yell, the van swerving as he fought his assailant off. When he threw her to the floor of the van, he recognized her right away: it was Shell, one of the bounty hunters who ambushed the house before.
Shell struggled to her feet, pure rage in her eyes. “I knew I’d catch up to you bastards! For what you did to my team, I’m gonna fuck you up!” she lunged at Sniper, but he blocked the attack, grabbing her by the hair and smashing her face against the dashboard.
Demo dashed to the driver's seat door, and when he flung it open, he was met by Shell leaping back onto Sniper and attempting to claw his face.
Right away, Demo pulled the woman off, securing her arms behind her back. Shell twisted and snarled in rage, shouting at Sniper, “I know it was you! I know it was you who killed Grudge with the microwave!”
“What!?” Sniper exclaimed, startled to learn that she apparently knew what happened. Before he had time to ask questions, though, someone else had appeared at the doorway.
“You’re wrong!” Lar-voice Nah's drew Shell's attention, and when the two women locked eyes, Lar-Nah simply stated, "I did it, not him!"
Instantly, pure rage filled Shell’s face, and she twisted her foot around to kick Demo in the gut as hard as she could. He lost his grip on her with an audible 'oof' and couldn't regain it as she tackled Lar-Nah to the ground and began attacking her like a wild animal. Lar-Nah, on the other hand, managed to deflect her attack by slipping out from under her and sprinting back into the van's living area.
Shell gave chase, pulling a knife out of her pocket and catching up to Lar-Nah. Before anyone could react, Shell shoved her up against the wall and sunk the knife into her chest.
“Bitch!” Shell spat at her, pulling the knife out but holding it with the intention to stab again. “Any last requests!?”
Lar-Nah coughed, startled by the blood beginning to pool out from her chest. Still, she looked into Shell’s eyes and only glared. “Go to hell,” she spat through clenched teeth, her hand struggling to grip Shell’s wrist to keep the knife away.
Before Shell could make another stabbing attempt, Zhanna yanked her away from Lar-Nah. Shell tried to attack her as well, but Zhanna just knocked her in the head with her hand. The force was enough to cause a sickening crack, and Shell crumpled to the ground with a broken neck in seconds.
After checking to make sure Shell had indeed died, Zhanna rushed to Lar-Nah, helping her up but then noticing the blood. “Oh!” Zhanna exclaimed, panicked. “Stabbed!”
Demo took over driving, and Sniper came sprinting to the scene. “Mom! Oh, my god, oh, my god!” he examined her wound, wincing at how deep it looked. “Bloody hell—shit!”
Lar-Nah tried to catch her breath, wiping blood from her mouth though clearly getting weaker. “I’m fine…I’m fine…” she gurgled out another cough, pressing her eyes shut in pain.
“Is she dying!?” Soldier asked, rather blunt as he stared in alarm.
Zhanna looked her over. “No, did not stab her heart. But maybe she hit throat…I cannot tell,”
Sniper leapt up to his cabinets, pulling down a medkit he’d had stashed there. “Mom—hey, you’re gonna be okay! Okay?” he tried his best to reassure her, but it looked as though she’d fallen unconscious.
The car jolted and swerved, and more gunshots could be heard outside, but Sniper drowned it all out as he used the supplies Medic had packed in the kit to treat her wound. He silently prayed she would survive – even after everything, he couldn’t watch another parent die.
Once he’d bandaged her up, he tried to figure out what to do next. “We need Medic here! Can one of you flag him down or—”
All of the sudden, Lar-Nah coughed and gasped loudly, eyes flying open wide. Zhanna quickly assisted her in sitting up, patting her back and allowing her to resume normal breathing.
Sniper let out a breathless laugh of relief. “You’re alive! Oh, my god, I thought you were gone for good!”
Lar-Nah composed herself, swallowing and taking another long breath. “I’m alive,” she observed, sounding shocked by that fact. “I thought for sure I’d died for a minute! I saw…angels or something…”
Before kneeling to continue speaking with her, Sniper looked out the window to make sure no one else was trying to break in. “Yeah? You saw something?”
“Yes—I saw…” she thought hard for a few seconds, trying to make sense of it. “I saw a man and a woman—I didn't know them at all—but...they were very kind to me and told me to go back to keep you out of trouble,”
Sniper let this process, and when he realized who she’d met, he had to fight away the tears he felt welling up. “Yeah,” he sniffed, putting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her in for a hug. “Yeah, that sounds like something they’d say…”
The hug took Lar-Nah by surprise at first, but it soon clicked for her, and she slowly brought her arms up to hug him back. “I’ll listen to them,” she promised.
Sniper pulled away, wiping his eyes with his wrist. “Okay…thank you.” He smiled at her a little, but it was then that something shattered outside.
Soldier ran right to the window. “We’re in town, now! We’re going right for those stores!”
“What!?” Sniper leapt up, watching in horror as Demo drove the van right through the parking lot of the shopping plaza.
“Sorry!” Demo apologized from the driver’s seat. “I’m following the others, and that’s where they’re headed!”
Sure enough, the chase had continued into the shopping plaza. Several people were around at this point, watching the chase in terror as they scrambled to get away from the cars and motorcycles. The attention of pedestrians made Helen exceedingly uncomfortable.
“Get us out of this parking lot!” she shouted at Miss Pauling. “People are staring!”
“I’m trying!” Miss Pauling desperately jerked the wheel, looking for a way out. She spotted an area that led into a backroad, and she headed straight for it, searching for an escape.
However, she’d failed to realize that with the attention of pedestrians also came the attention of police.
Within seconds, police cars swarmed them. Someone yelled over a megaphone for everyone to step out of their vehicles as sirens blared overhead.
From the backseat, everything else felt like a blur to Olivia. There was yelling, and she watched as an officer tried to pull Scout from the car, while Spy desperately tried to pry him away, only to be apprehended as well.
She saw, for a brief moment, one of the security guards pull the sheriff aside and whisper something to him. Whatever he had said made the sheriff order his men to load the mercenaries into security vans rather than their own police cars. This included Olivia – someone carried her to one of the vans, handcuffed her, tossed her in the back and slammed the door.
Helen was beside her, though. Just as everything sank in and Olivia began to panic, Helen hushed her gently and pressed close to her.
“We're going to be fine,” she said quietly, resting her chin on the top of Olivia's head, unable to hold her due to her handcuffs. Helen was visibly unnerved, though – her body was trembling, yet whether it was fear or rage Olivia could not tell.
Olivia still felt afraid, but she pressed close to her mother, trying her best to calm down. She could vaguely see the shapes of the others being loaded into the vans through the dim windows, but she did not know for what reason.
All she could hope was that they would have the strength to escape when they could.
#GUESS WHAT I JUST FINISHED#cliff hanger ending but whoop i did it#ive been having like entire months between chapters i am so sorry????#anyway#my writing#writing#tf2 fanfiction#tf2 olivia mann#tf2 administrator#tf2 miss pauling#tf2 zhanna#tf2 lar-nah#tf2 whole team#i dont feel like tagging all of them im sorry sksksksks#tf2#tf2 ocs#well i killed one of my ocs here oop#ocs#blood tw#ask to tag#tf2 gray mann
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got7 reacts to something theyve never experienced before in a relationship
warning(s); slight cursing, sexual content in bam’s part
mark; being jealous
mark understood why his past partners could be jealous of him in his line of work. as long as it didn’t get out of hand, he thought it was cute. he was never the jealous one in the relationship. he didn’t even know what jealousy felt like....
....until tonight.
you were mark’s entire world. you excited him, you built him up like no other. never before could he see himself spending his life with someone before you came along. you made the world brighter to him.
but now he was only seeing red.
you had been a trainee and never debuted, which you weren’t too upset about, you had a boyfriend you loved and a career with less physical and time demands than being in the entertainment industry. this meant that you knew a lot of other bands, stray kids being one of them. chan was, quite frankly, your best friend during your trainee days, so when you saw him at this afterparty you were attending with mark, you threw yourself into his arms.
mark just watched you from afar.
and his blood boiled.
chan spun you around in his arms, the biggest smile on his stupid, handsome face. “yah!! y/n! mark didn’t say you’d be here.”
you giggled, trying to keep your tears at bay. you put your hands on his face, poking his dimples. mark scoffed at the blush that was forming on his friend’s face. “god, chan i missed you so much.”
“bro, you look constipated,” bam snuck up behind him. “dude, your face is so red right now.”
mark rolled his eyes. “these parties are so annoying.” he didn’t take his eyes off of you as you caught up with chan, who still had his hand around your waist.
bam followed his line of vision. “shit, you’re not constipated, you’re jealous. yugyeom, come look at him!”
mark walked away from his intoxicated friends and up to you. you smiled at him before returning to your conversation with chan.
“y/n, we have to go,” mark said lowly, smiling a sickly fake smile at chan, who immediately dropped his hand from your waist.
“why, baby, we just got here? are you not feeling good?” you asked. he wanted to feel bad, your voice was laced with concern.
“something like that. see you, chan.”
as you got in the car, you smiled at him, poking his cheek. “somebody’s jealous, huh?”
“huh? of chan? i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he clenched his jaw, not making eye contact with you as he steered his car out of the parking lot. you were giggling now.
“you’re cute when you’re jealous. maybe i should make more time for chan.”
“y/n!!!”
jaebeom; wearing disguises in public
jaebeom never thought he would have to dress up in a disguise to go out in public. and jae would never want to put you in such a position. it was draining, and you, as his girlfriend knew that he despised it.
but you wanted to go to a concert with him.
and you wanted to stand in the pit with him and be part of it. don’t get you wrong, you loved when he bought you suite seats or could watch his shows from backstage, but you wanted to sway to ariana grande in th pit with your boyfriend.
“cmon, jae, i think everyone is going to be paying attention to ari. we can skip the opening act?” you suggested.
“y/n, i don’t want to take a chance...im sorry,” he pouted at you. you sighed, trying to figure out what to do.
“what about disguises?” he said. “like, we could wear our halloween costumes?” you were giggling to yourself, but your boyfriend seemed like the idea.
“i could wear my jesus wig and you could paint a beard on me?” he said with serious eyes.
“jae, you hate going out in disguises.”
“true...but, babe, this will be fun. you could wear your sailor mars wig, it’d be cute,”
okay, this was a really cute idea and you were warming up to it...if it made your boyfriend more comfortable to be out in a crowd of so many people, you were down to try it out.
“this really feels like halloween in july,” you giggled as you used mascara to draw a beard on his chin.
“do I look like jesus??” he asked childishly.
“well, you don’t look like im jaebeom of got7, that’s for sure,”
“you look like an egirl,” he laughed at himself. “don’t hate, you know you love it,” you said. “we look so cute, let’s take a mirror selfie and post in later,”
“no, then people will be on to us,” your boyfriend sent a pout in your direction as he looked at his makeshift beard in the mirror. “I look sexy as fuck in a beard,”
“super sexy aegyo please?”
the two of you arrived at the arena, not be noticed by anyone, but jae was still on edge, so you held his hand tight as you made your way into the pit.
“im so excited!!” you shouted over the noise. he shook his head before leaning in to kiss you. the two of you danced the whole night away to arianas crooning, his arms around you as you swayed to her pretty, soothing voice. the two of you let the world fade away while ariana sang honeymoon ave in the background.
jackson; his significant other saying ily first.
it was no secret that jackson was stock full of love and kindness. he had had other partners before you, all with him ending up getting too attached, or scaring them away when he said “I love you” too early.
he did not want to scare you away, and honestly, he had known he loved you two months into dating, but he didn’t want to scare you away, so he never outwardly said those three little words to you.
he wasn’t expecting you to say it, first though.
you had invited him over for dinner and a movie, just wanting a chill night in with your boyfriend. he brought the wine and promised to give you a back massage, so really, what more could you want on this chilly thursday night?
“what’s been going on, honey? you know you can tell me anything,” jackson whispered into your ear as he helped you out of your clothes.
“I feel like I deserve to oversee my department at work. i have the most education of all of them, more experience than them, and generally, I am more optimistic than my superiors….,” you sighed, letting him rub just under your shoulder blades, which had been itching all week.
“mmm?”
“i think they might be scared of powerful women who like to wear hot pink fendi suits to work,” you smiled, knowing he would be offended at your joke. you could almost feel him pouting.
“so the reason you can’t get the job is because your superiors don’t like the suits your boyfriend buys you? wow, what a way to hurt a guy’s pride…,” he followed your lead on the joke, trying to make you laugh because he knew this was really getting to you. “baby, I think you should go to their boss and see if you can get a promotion…tell them everything you told me, okay? i know you’re not only the best woman for the job, but the best person for the job…period,” he said, making you feel so overwhelmed with emotion. none of your previous partners had ever revered you the way jackson had. you felt so incredibly blessed and in love, you couldn’t help yourself.
“god, jackson, I love you so much,” you whispered.
the movement of his soft hands on your back stopped abruptly at your words. ‘oh god, was it too early to say that?’
“j-jackson…im sorry-“
“ive been waiting to say that to you,” he breathed against your lips, closing the distance that was between them.
“jackson wang….you love me?” you could feel the tears building. the man of your dreams was in love with you, too.
“i love you,” he whispered reverently.
“say it again,” you begged. he said it like a mantra.
“i love you, i love you….i love you..”
jinyoung; moving in together
jinyoung thought you were so cute. you were ecstatic to move with jinyoung. you had been living in your shared apartment with your mom your whole life and we’re excited to start a new chapter of your life. jinyoung didn’t think you were taking in the fact that moving is one of the most stressful things a person can go through.
he didn’t want to rain on your parade, though.
the two of you got settled into your new apartment after a long day of unpacking. jinyoung kissed you as you laid onto your new king sized bed. “im gonna grab takeout, you want your usual?” he asked sweetly, squeezing your hand. you just nodded, squeezing his hand back.
you watched as jinyoung walked out of your shared bedroom. that’s when the dam broke. you were so overwhelmed. you didn’t know how to make warm water happen in your shower, you didn’t have your wifi set up, and you forgot your favorite teddy bear at your moms. you missed teddy and your wifi and your mom.
“hey, i ordered you two egg rolls and they gave us three - hey, baby, are you crying?”
“no,” you replied lamely. “I miss teddy,” you wailed miserably.
“teddy...the...stuffed bear?” he asked.
“i slept with him every night for the past 20 something years.”
“baby...we can get your bear in the morning...,”
“we don’t have netflix set up so how am i supposed to sleep tonight?”
“y/n...,” he chuckled. you frowned harder now that he was laughing at you. “moving isn’t as exciting as it looks. tomorrow, we will fix the wifi, okay? and we can visit your mom and rescue teddy.”
“okay...okay. im sorry, im just a bit overwhelmed,” you confessed.
“its gonna be okay, honey. it’s a lot to take in, i know. but you can hold me instead of teddy, and ill sing you to sleep,” he whispered, the takeout now long forgotten. before you could fall asleep, he pulled his iphone out of his back pocket and pulled you into his chest to take a selfie. “there. now we have a picture of us in our bed for the first time.”
“i love you, you sap.”
even though you called him the sap, the next day you went to the pharmacy to get the photo printed and frame it. when jinyoung came home from the market that day, he eyed the frame on your bed stand, smirking at you.
“oh, so im the sap, hmm?”
youngjae; picking up the tab
it was the first date the two of you had been on since youngjae had been on tour. he told you to get dressed up and that the two of you would go out for a fancy dinner and catch up on everything. this is why you loved him, because while you wanted to hear all about his stories of life and tour abroad, he always wanted to hear about everything that was going at home, to see if you were alright.
youngjae looked dazzling in a black checked suit, while you matched him with a little black dress that made him groan when you stepped out of the bathroom. “can we skip dinner?” he’d ask cheekily. you rolled your eyes at him before kissing him on the cheek. “we aren’t skipping dinner, and we definitely won’t be skipping dessert,” you winked before leading him to the car.
the two of you ate dinner together, him holding your hand and looking at you with stars in his eyes as you told him stories that had happened while he was away. you ordered appetizers, drinks, shared an entrée, and youngjae even ordered you a slice of apple pie for the two of you to share.
“baby, I’m going to go use the restroom,” youngjae said before kissing your hand. “’kay, don’t get mugged, please,” you teased him. he shook his head at your playfulness. you watched as he left before frantically waving your arms at your waitress. she ran over to you, checking if you were alright.
“I just wanted to wonder if I can pick up the cheque really quick? I wanted to pick it up for my boyfriend as a surprise,” you spoke in a hushed tone, making the waitress giggle. she nodded her head before handing it to her. you handed her your credit card, thanking her before your boyfriend had any suspicions of what you were up to.
youngjae came out of the bathroom as soon as the waitress set the cheque down. you were applying your lipstick so you couldn’t snatch it in time. you watched as his pretty brown eyes scanned the receipt, looking confused as ever. “is this a joke? what kind of waitress lets the girlfriend pay?”
“jae,” you giggled. “you don’t always have to pay for dinner. I wanted to treat you…I missed you so much,” you confided, watching his expression from anger into warmth.
“oh, thank you honey, you are so sweet and thoughtful, I love you so much,” you let him wrap his suit jacket around your arms before planting a kiss to your forehead. “but that will be the last time you ever do that.”
“shut up, i like doing nice things for you,” you pouted.
“since you paid for dinner tonight, i have to put out, right?”
he ran to the car before you could slap him in the chest.
bam; his s/o borrowing his clothes
remember how joey never shared his food? well that’s how bam was with his wardrobe. he was very particular about his clothing, not letting people borrow them at all. yugyeom used to steal his clothes just to be petty and piss his best friend off. he had never let past partners borrow his clothes, and nothing was going to change, it wasn’t his fault, it was an obsession. if you were sure of one thing, it was to not steal your boyfriends clothes.
but one day, while he was gone from work, you thought you would take pictures of yourself in only one of his blazers to tease him.
you weren’t expecting him to walk through the door while you were trying to take self timer pictures of yourself.
“baby? what are you doing?” bam asked, laughing as you let out a squeal of surprise.
“i..i wanted to surprise you...,” he tsked, pulling away to look at his blazer. “i know you don’t like me wearing your things..,” you stammered as he circled you.
“you have such pretty things, though, bam,”
“you look so sexy in this,” he purred. “you were trying to get me worked up while im trying to work?”
“u...uhhh,” you couldn’t think coherently with you boyfriend acting so domineering. you gasped as he slid his hand up to your cunt, rubbing your clit in little circles. “bam...please...,” you groaned.
“keep the blazer on,” he said as you writhed in his grip.
“its gonna get all sweaty though and then you’ll yell at me,” you teased him as you followed him to the bed.
bam just groaned. “baby, im sorry I haven’t let you borrow my clothes before but you look better in them than me. now, let me fuck you and i promise you can have anything you want in that closet.”
he knew exactly how to shut you up.
yugyeom; his s/o buying him flowers
yugyeom was always so stressed during comeback season. you always scolded him when he forgot to eat, or wasn’t staying hydrated enough, but you were so proud of him. seeing the smile on his face and the way he walked a little taller was so worth it.
he was still busy during comeback season, coming home late after all the videos he had to shoot for publicity.
one night, yugyeom had gotten home around midnight to a bouquet of pink roses and a handwritten note from you. it read; “I am so proud of you, my love. congrats on breath… I can always feel your love,” he blushed and giggled to himself, thinking, “isn’t the guy supposed to buy the girlfriend the flowers?” he wandered into your shared bedroom to see you sprawled into his side, with your book in your hands, a soft snore leaving your lips. he nudged you, not intending to wake you up, he could thank you in the morning. but he did accidentally. “yeom?” you whispered.
“shh, baby go back to sleep,” he shushed, changing into his pjs.
“did you like the flowers?” you asked, suddenly awake now.
“theyre really pretty, baby, but aren’t I supposed to buy you the flowers?”
you narrowed your eyes at him. “not my boyfriend being a sexist,”
“yah! y/n stop it, I didn’t mean it that way!! I love them, you remembered I said I love roses,” he was pouting now, pulling you into his chest to spoon you. his voice got quieter now. “no one’s ever remembered my favorite flowers…much less bought them for me,” he paused, kissing the back of your neck before closing his eyes and falling fast asleep.
he was whipped.
#got7#got7 scenarios#got7 reactions#got7 preferences#got7 writing#got7 imagines#park jinyoung#mark tuan#choi youngjae#kim yugyeom#bambam#jackson wang#im jaebeom#got7 writings
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quédate un segundo más (1/8)
@911lonestarangstweek day 8 - t is for...tumour, terminal, treatment
title from voy a quedarme by blas cantó, translates roughly to 'stay a second more'
thanks to @halsteadmarchs and @tarlos-spain for the beta!
as shown above, this will be eight chapters if all goes to plan, and i hope to finish it before season 3 begins. much of what is written both in this chapter and in future ones is ripped directly from life and i am only writing from my own perspective and experiences of losing a loved one to cancer.
ao3 | 1.6k | angst, hurt tk, cancer, terminal illness, more warnings to come in future chapters
A rare genetic mutation.
That’s what the doctors tell him when the results come back.
A rare genetic mutation that has rendered his cancer practically undetectable until its latest stages, until all that’s left to do is wait to die.
TK’s hands shake as various leaflets on Managing Your Diagnosis and What To Expect and Looking After Someone With Cancer are placed in them. He feels two steps to the side of himself, his entire world halting in its tracks the moment those words had left the doctor’s lips.
“I’m afraid it’s not good news,” he’d said, eyes wide and empathetic. “Your scans and blood results have come back showing evidence of a tumour on your pancreas. There are treatment options which we can and will—with your consent—pursue, however I have to inform you that your cancer is entering stage IV. It has begun to spread to your bladder and liver. I’m sorry to say that, at this point, treatment is more focused on managing your pain and making you as comfortable as possible; we do not anticipate recovery.”
It’s just… TK’s fine. He feels fine. Like, sure, he’s been a little more tired recently and he’s been getting these weird pains, but they always fade after a while, and he’s fine.
But he couldn’t deny the blood spotting his pee, the last straw which had finally sent him to the doctor’s office.
Too late, apparently.
A touch on his knee brings him back to reality with a start. TK looks up to meet the doctor’s kind gaze, and he wants to cry.
“I understand this is a lot to take in,” he’s saying. “If you have any questions, please ask.”
“I…” TK shakes his head, swallowing a couple of times before dropping his eyes to his knees, the words on the pamphlets blurred through his tears. “How long?”
The doctor hesitates a moment, then sighs regretfully. “I can’t say for certain. People frequently outlive their projected timeframes; equally, it could be less. However, given the way your tumour looks and the rate it appears to be spreading at, I would estimate around six months.”
Six months.
Six—six months.
“Oh,” TK says, and it feels wildly insufficient but it’s all he has. What even is there to say? He’s dying, and that’s...that’s that.
“Do you have a support system in place?” the doctor asks. “This is going to be a difficult process, and you are going to need other people to help you through it.”
TK nods slowly, not looking up. “M-My husband. Carlos. He was supposed to come with me today but he was called into work last minute. He’s a detective, so he couldn’t exactly refuse—not that that stopped him from trying.” He laughs wetly, remembering how he’d insisted that everything would be fine when Carlos had stalled leaving this morning. “And there’s my dad, and my team—my family. I’m a paramedic and I work in a fire station, so we’re all pretty close. I… Shit, I’m sorry. You don’t need to know all this.”
“It’s okay.” The doctor is still smiling, still so understanding, and TK wonders—just how many times has he had to do this? “I’m glad to hear you have solid support behind you; that’s going to be incredibly important for the coming months. I’ve also given you a few leaflets about support groups you can access, that your family can access, and, of course, your treatment team will be there every step of the way.
“Now,” he continues, returning to a semi-professional aspect, “I want to see you later this week to iron out how we’re going to proceed. For now, why don’t you go home and rest, allow yourself to process this? Does Friday at 10.30 work for your next appointment?”
TK nods absently, clutching the pamphlets tight enough to crease them. “That’s fine,” he whispers.
“Okay,” the doctor says, just as quiet. “Are you going to be okay to get home?”
“Yeah.”
But he doesn’t move. He can’t. In this room, he’s separated from the rest of the world—TK doesn’t want to go back into it, where he’ll have to tell everyone he loves that he’s… That he…
“TK.”
TK’s head snaps up at the doctor’s voice and he flushes a little at seeing his pointed look. “Sorry,” he mutters, scrambling to stand up.
The doctor stands too, much more gracefully than TK, and gets the door for him. “It’s okay. I’ll see you on Friday, TK, alright?”
He mumbles an affirmative then steps out of the office, taken aback for a moment by the bustle and noise in the corridor. It’s strange to witness it now, to see all these people who don’t know him from Adam going about their lives, while his has, in the span of thirty minutes, completely crumbled.
TK takes a deep breath (and how many of those does he have left?) and joins the flow.
*
He’s home.
That’s… He doesn’t remember it. He must have unlocked the front door because the keys are in his hand and he’s standing in the entryway, but TK has no idea how he managed to get from the doctor’s office to here.
He made good time though, judging by the clock on the wall.
Small victories.
With heavy steps, TK walks to the sofa, easing himself down and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. It still doesn’t feel real that there's this—this thing inside him, growing and mutating and killing him. He’s not sure when it finally will.
Maybe in a few months, when his skin is sagging off his bones and his hair is gone and even the very act of breathing is a challenge.
Or maybe in a few hours, when Carlos comes home and TK has to break the news. TK can picture his face now, the way his ever-present smile will crack and break, the shock and hurt and grief that will take its place.
He thinks he understands his dad now.
TK closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind, just for a moment, of everything that’s happened today.
Which, as it turns out, is a mistake, because that’s when he remembers the letter that came for them yesterday and the phone call they’re going to make after dinner.
The phone call they were going to make after dinner.
TK wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. They’ve been waiting for that moment for so long, the moment in which they found out they were finally cleared to adopt a kid. And now…
Gone.
Carlos is going to be crushed.
As if the universe is reacting to that last thought, the door suddenly swings open, marking Carlos’s return from his impromptu shift. For a moment, TK panics. He’s not ready, dammit, he needs more time to plan and to figure it all out, how he feels and what he’s going to say, but—
But, in the end, it doesn’t matter. He could have had the most detailed and well-thought out plan in the world and it wouldn’t have mattered.
Because all it takes is one look at Carlos’s smile for TK to fall apart.
Carlos is by his side in an instant, gathering him in his arms and sliding to the floor with him when TK can no longer support himself on the couch. TK fists his hands in his husband’s shirt and cries into his neck, all the emotion that’s been slowly building all day exploding from him all at once.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Carlos shushes, which only makes TK cry harder, because how is he supposed to tell him that it’s not?
He shakes his head and clings onto him tighter, feeling Carlos do the same to him in return. TK’s always felt safe in his arms and it’s no different now; he thinks that, if he can just stay here forever, maybe things will turn out okay after all.
But the moment ends, as they tend to do. When TK’s sobs have run dry, Carlos carefully pulls back from him, his hands rising to cup his face and wipe the tears from his cheeks.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, so much worry in those damn eyes that it hurts. “Is it… Did the doctor say something? Are you okay?”
TK opens his mouth, but the words refuse to come out. All he manages is a wordless shake of the head, and even that turns Carlos’s expression into the picture of devastation. He can’t bear to look at it, so he wraps his arms around Carlos’s waist and leans into him again, resting his head on his chest.
Carlos holds him and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “We’ll get through it,” he promises. “Whatever it takes.”
And it turns out that he does have a few more tears left in him; TK squeezes his eyes shut and breathes out shakily as a couple of lone drops fall down his cheeks. “We can’t,” he whispers hoarsely. Carlos stiffens and shifts as if to look TK in the eyes, but TK doesn’t let him. If he has to look at Carlos, he doesn’t think he’ll have the courage to say it. He hesitates a moment longer, a huge lump forming in his throat, but eventually he manages it.
“It’s cancer,” he chokes out. “Stage IV. Incurable. They think… I’ve got six months.”
It’s like time stops.
They’re both motionless on the floor of their front room, neither saying anything, barely breathing as the weight of it settles between them.
TK doesn’t know how long it lasts for, but suddenly Carlos sobs and grips onto him with a bruising strength. Carlos’s body heaves and shakes with the force of his cries, and it’s TK’s turn to hold him as tears drip down Carlos’s cheeks into his hair.
And, in that moment, it becomes real.
#911lsangstweek#911 lone star#911 lone star fic#tarlos#tarlos fic#tk strand#carlos reyes#lone star#911ls#tw cancer#fanfiction#my fanfiction#writing#my writing#userbones#userjillian#tuserjenny#tuserpaige#tuserjamie#reyeslonestartag#actuallysara
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Whatever Day it is Today Stumped Day 36
It’s another Sunday ?? Stumped Day!
Sometimes we straight out get stumped. So every few months we will pick a Sunday when we’ll post of a list of asks that we need your help on.
In this round, we are focusing on asks for specific stories. If your ask for a more general “type of” story is not included, it does not mean we are ignoring it, it just means we need more time to research and answer these asks.
If you know the answer to any of these asks please shoot us a message/ ask/ with the Post number and the fic details and we’ll add it and give you a shout out with our thanks. Any links you can provide will also be super helpful.
Thanks!
Post 1 , Post 2 , Post 3, Post 4, Post 5, Post 6, Post 7, Post 8, Post 9, Post 10, Post 11, Post 12, Post 13, Post 14, Post 15, Post 16, Post 17, Post 18, Post 19, Post 20, Post 21, Post 22 , Post 23, Post 24, Post 25, Post 26, Post 27, Post 28, Post 29 , Post 30, Post 31, Post 32, Post 33, Post 34 and Post 35 can be found here - and there are still fics we need your help with.
597. weepingmilkshakesandwich asked:there's a fic that I can't find where Peeta takes Katniss to the lake and Effie gives Katniss a bikini that becomes transparent in the water, but Katniss has no idea. Could you help me find it?
598. weepingmilkshakesandwich asked:any where k and p go to the hob and sae makes fun of them?
599. eversnarkly asked:Hey! I was wondering if you could help me find this story that focuses on Katniss only dating older guys and eventually dating Peeta's older brother, until she discovers that he's immature and then gets with Peeta, who's her age. I think it was posted on tumblr as a one-shot and also features Rue as her friend. Rue's brother is Thresh, who's older and dated Katniss in the past. Thanks!
FOUND! Closing the (Age) Gap - Savvylark (Thank you, @daydreamsandcaffeine!)
600. alwayseverlark asked:Hello!! As always thanks so much for your work! This is the best blog ever!!I am looking for a AU- modern setting, where Katniss returns to her town and Peeta is going to marry Delly, but Katniss still loves Peeta (I’m not sure if she never told him or broke with him), they have a conversation in the back door of the bakery (they are sit down on the stairs)Does it ring a bell?
601. myminemind asked:Hi! I was wondering if you'd help me find an everlark fic I think it's in ff . net where katniss and peeta's daughter was attacked when she played in the woods..? I think the daughter's name is Grace but I might mix it up with other fanfic I read.. it's been a long time but I'd love to rediscover it if possible thank you so much for all that you do!! :)
602. crazedfangirlofmanythings asked:Hi, Hi yall! Been a bit but I'm lost. I'm not sure we're i read it, but its where Katniss and Gale go out into the woods. The have to keep away and Peeta is taken in the Capitol. She finds out she's pregnant and has to lie to the world that its Peeta even thought she doesn't love him. Anyone got ideas? It's killing me!
FOUND! Could this be Spectator by FanficAllergy? (Thank you, @rosefyrefyre!)
603. acromioclavicular3 asked:Hi! I think I left an ask of this before but I kinda remember some more details.I was looking for this smutty fic where Katniss and Peeta are having dinner, possibly celebrating an anniversary or a birthday. Katniss gets jealous at a waitress.They go home. Katniss is upset and in their bedroom Peeta asks why. She reveals that it's because Peeta was giving the waitress a smile that was hers, that was only meant for Katniss. As they begin to undress Peeta reaizes Katniss isn't wearing anything underneath the dress the whole time.Peeta proceeds to make it up to Katniss by seductively removing her clothes for her and touching her slowly saying things like "these eyes are yours" as he looks at her, "these hands are yours" as he dips his fingers between her legs....Basically Peeta saying that everything he is is "yours" to Katniss.I thank you in advance!
604. stupidsatsuma asked:Hello! The fic I’m looking for is one that, if I recall correctly, was an angsty story with a happy ending. Pretty sure it’s a neighbors style AU, but one where Peeta is slightly older. Katniss always wanted him to be her first, but then he goes off to college and I think she ends up asking another one of their friends (maybe Finnick??) to be her first. I can’t remember if she follows through with this other guy or not, but I am sure it was everlark endgame (because of course!) it just was a bit of a trip to get there. Maybe I overlooked it on one of the master lists, or maybe I’m even getting my fandoms mixed up? (Entirely possible, there are so many to keep track of...) Either way, thanks in advance and have a great day!
605. allflowerscatchthesunlight asked:Hey! I’m looking for a fic that was on ffnet. Katniss gets pregnant with peetas baby between catching fire and mockingjay. Peeta I think was captured then returned. When the baby is born and after the war when they’re in district twelve katniss becomes distant and lives alone in her victors house. Peeta ends up taking care of the toddler girl. Katniss slowly rebuilds her relationship with them both. Really sad :(
606. sweetjentlehome asked:hey! im looking for this fic: it is about gale’s pov watching peeta comfort katniss after a nightmare at night. there’s no dialogue between katniss and peeta as gale cannot hear them, and i also remember that it was like snowing so peeta wraps his scarf around katniss neck and the next morning in the everdeen home prim comments on the scarf. im so sorry this sounds so confusing
FOUND! Gale’s Window - JavisTG
607. supreme-doritos asked:Hi! first off i just wanna say your page is amazing!! ive read so many ffics bc of it so thank you <3 i was wondering if you know of any catching fire fics where katniss isn't as naive and actually sorta knows whats going on/is more aware that her actions have consequences? also do you know of any fics where katniss is friends with the other victors (eg she won before the 74th games or she is just nicer etc lol)? thank you so much!! :)
608. luckyphoenix asked:Hi! Are there any fics where Peeta has a nickname (From family, friends, or K)? I’ve read some where he’s called peanut by his dad or angel by K but I can’t remember where?
His dad calls him Peanut in these:
See Right Through My Walls - HPfanonezillion
Catch Me As I Fall - HPfanonezillion
Katniss calls Peeta “Peanut” in this one:
Fifty Shades of Peeta - mrspeetamellark
609. makennalovessunshine asked:I know there are a lot of fics that show the affects of Peetas abuse from the capitol but do you know of any that show the effects of his moms abuse. Like flinching when someone makes a gesture cause his first thought is that there going to hit him or anything simialar?💚
Let Me Fly - FanficAllergy & RoseFyreFyre
610. emilythelegend asked:Any touch starved katniss fics??
611. atfhj asked:Hi! Do you know of the story where Katniss was dating Gale and Peeta was Gale’s apartment neighbor. I think it started with Katniss showing up in a trench coat (w nothing under) on Peeta’s door instead of Gale’s. Also, do you know one where Katniss is Peeta’s personal assistant? I remember one where Peeta was older than Katniss and they both went to Finnick and Annie’s wedding, which was back in Peeta’s hometown.
FOUND!1) Rain, come again - orphan_account (Thank you, @emilia206!)
- or -
This ficlet - atetheredmind (Thank you, @allie-rose!)
2) Baked - peetazeus (Thank you, @finnickfoxes!)
612. stonyspideypool asked:Hey! I can't remember what this fanfic is called but it is explicit. And katniss and peeta are in college I think they are best friends.. or it might be gale and katniss but she gives him a blowjob when he's trying to work or somethin and gale walks in but he doesn't know I can't remember what it's called.. there's also another one where she does it in the bakery. Sorry I can't remember 😅LOVE THE BLOG BTW❤💙❤💙
FOUND! Part of this sounds like the second chapter of Saint Peeta by thegirlonpeetamellark. (Thank you, @bellairestrella!)
Do any of these fics ring a bell? Please let us know!
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homecoming part 4
summary: Syverson has been medically discharged from the army after a suicide attempt. He’d been able to hide his deteriorating mental health for years from the men around him, but now he has to face it head on. Hopefully not alone.
word count: 1.1k
pairing: Syverson x OFC
warnings: males perspective, hospitals, mentions/descriptions of self harm, the suicide attempt
authors note: as i said in the warnings, this chapter is completely in sy’s pov! it’s also kind of a flash-backy chapter and its really short. also sorry it took me forever to update. i try not to be too heavy writing this story, but sometimes when my mental health isn’t good, i don’t want to write on this story for reasons <3 but here, i’ve finally done it! but this chapter is kind of weird and very short, but i blame how ive been lately <3 also its been a month since ive updated so im sorry, i feel like ive lost some new people who wanted to be tagged, :c
tag list:
@littlefreya @mary-ann84 @wondersofdreaming @forthebrokenheartedthings @geralt-of-baevia @dearlybelovedluke @promptandpros @mansaaay @vacant-writings @80scavill @kaatelyyynn @iloveyouyen @henrythickcavill @hell1129-blog @madbaddic7ed @xxxkatxo @titty-teetee
Blinding white lights, blurry circles around his vision, his lips were so chapped, they ached. Constant beeping by his ears. That was all Logan could focus on at first, but slowly, he began to feel his body. Heavy, sore, suffering.
"You're awake?"
The voice sounded like it was so far away, muffled like it was coming out from the hall or a completely different room entirely. He couldn't place who it belonged to. He barely heard it, Where was he? Logan flinched from her sudden touch like a little pulse of electricity. The touch was gentle and light, fragile and he wasn't entirely sure it was even real. He wanted to reach out to them, whoever the touch belonged to, but his body felt so weighted. As if his veins had been pumped full of cement.
Opening his eyes for another dull second, Logan saw the shadow of a person entering his vision. In his state of confusion, he looked up at the silhouette of the stranger and saw wings. A guardian angel?
"Syverson?"
Logan closed his eyes again and drew in a deep breath. He couldn't answer if he wanted to.
✦✦✦
His house had been how it always was. Dark and quiet. The only light inside came from between the gaps in the curtains and Logan couldn't stand it. That morning, he had stood in front of the window in his bedroom, taking tacks and pinning the black curtain to the wall, all while muttering curses under his breath. Another morning where the damned sun had forced him awake. Aika had watched him from the doorway, going on unnoticed. Even when she whined, Logan ignored her. The second his task was done, the veteran captain crawled straight back into bed.
Aika had been the only thing to get him out of the sheets that day, but maybe that was his first mistake. The dog had grown impatient and started to bite lightly at his hands and arms, whining and barking to force him to get out of bed. Logan groaned, tired of swatting her away and realizing she wasn't going anywhere. "What is it, girl?" One rough hand ran over his face, his other pushing him up off of the mattress.
Following Aika out into the hall and down the stairs, she led him to the backdoor where she propped one paw up on the glass. Another whine as she looked up at him with sad eyes.
"Need to go out?" Logan's face dropped, his eyes glancing at the clock on the stove. It was almost noon. "Don't look at me like that," Logan muttered under his breath, turning his attention back to Aika. He would normally always let her out around eight, when he woke force himself to get up and take a shower, make a pot of coffee. But not today. Sliding the glass door open, Aika darted out into the backyard and Logan's phone started beeping on the counter.
Appointment reminder with Dr. Bannon 1:30 pm
Logan scowled, setting his phone down back down on the counter-top. Just great. How could he have forgotten?
[Later that evening, after Penelope’s visit]
It had only been about two hours since his confrontation with Penelope and Logan was already downed half a dozen beers. The bottles were scattered around the bed, littered all around the floor. The room was completely darkened, Logan couldn't have even seen his hand had it been inches in front of his face. His chest felt heavy, his body felt sinking, and he almost hoped that at any moment his body would just disappear, melt away into the sheets of his bed.
The room was lightly spinning, even the slightest move from his head sent the room crashing around him in waves. "Phone," he slurred, talking to only to himself. Letting the bottle he'd been holding drop to the floor, beer spilled from it, soaking into the carpet around his feet. Logan didn't seem to notice as he patted his chest down and then his pockets.
The cellphone light blinded him, a searing pain shooting through his head as he closed his eyes tightly. "Fuck," he groaned, falling back onto the mattress, covering his eyes with his arm until the pain subsided. Letting out a deep sigh, Logan looked to his phone once more, noticing how badly his hands were shaking. Guilt was eating at him, gnawing at his insides as he thought about how he treated Penelope. All because he was upset over his appointment.
More medications that Logan didn't want to take. Medications that he was sure wouldn't work in the first place. None of the others had. He barely remembered sending the text, before his phone was falling out of his hand. Collapsing to the floor right by the bottle. He looked down to his hands, still not realizing he'd dropped the beer earlier. "Where'd my beer-" his face twisted and scrunched up in confusion as he pushed himself up from the bed.
He'd been on autopilot as he went downstairs to grab another one from the fridge. He barely remembered it. Now, Logan stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Is this what life would be for the rest of his time? Lonely, waiting for the end as he rotated pills? No, he decided.
Logan's breath hitched in the back of his throat. The feeling of the cold razor against his skin was a relief. It was a slicing pain but it soon became numb, he didn't even feel the blood trickling down his hand, leaving a trail of droplets on the floor, out into the hall, as he returned to his room. Instead, experiencing a sensation of euphoria. Logan’s body felt light, tingling all over. He shut the door to his room behind him tightly, wanting to make sure to keep Aika out. He needed to be alone, he didn't want to start panicking, feel any sort of regret.
Slipping down into his sheets, smearing the blood along with the blankets, Logan sucked in another breath through his teeth. Just wanted to let it all go, exhausted from feeling tired and desperate, sad. Eagerly counting down his last breaths. As far as he was concerned, he had nothing left to give this world. No family that would care, no friends that would miss him.
"Logan?" The voice cut through the thick fog in his mind, but it wasn't enough to get him to move. His breath caught in the back of his throat and suddenly, all Logan felt was a shame. “I got your message… Thought I’d come to check on you…”
A text he couldn't remember sending.
✦✦✦
"Logan?" That same voice from his room, from his dreams. "Logan?" It kept repeating over and over, like an alarm clock blaring in his mind. "Can you hear me? Are you awake?" The guardian angel.
His forced his large and sleepy eyes open, his vision still blurry like before. The bed under him felt stiff and he could feel the plastic beneath the thin sheet. That same beeping was back. His eyes fluttered closed once more, again wondering where he was.
"Am I alive?"
#syverson x ofc#captain syverson fluff#captain syverson fic#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill fics#homecoming
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Flower Child, Chapter 17: Fall
AO3 Link
i.
In defiance of every atom, of every primordial instinct that told her to run, Priyanka Maheswaran found herself in the slaughterhouse as the steel analog clock on the wall dragged her into the next minute.
5:55 PM.
But the hands of time were relentless. They kept moving, kept circling across the swath of smooth white. Seconds and seconds and seconds. Unthinking. Disinterested. Inexorable.
Seconds and seconds and seconds.
They piled upon the altar like dry kindling. One spark, and they would smoke; they would simply burn, and the reek of charnel would suffocate her where she languished and sat in the slaughterhouse, where all dreams crumbled—embers becoming charcoaled dust.
5:56.
In approximately two hundred and forty seconds, in four minutes more, Steven Universe’s guardians would file in through the door directly across from the nephrologist. She would implore them to sit with a terse nod of her head. She would not tell them that the medical staff who worked on the Truman Ward colloquially called the conference room directly across the nurse’s station—this very room—the slaughterhouse, where doctors brought the family members of patients in and didn’t leave them unchanged when they finally came out.
I’m sorry, they would say to someone’s mother, father, sibling, lover, friend, daughter, son.
We did all that we could, but the damage was too extensive.
We’ve tried everything, but your loved one is dead.
Your loved one is going to die.
I’m sorry, she would say.
She would adopt her best patient voice, which had only ever managed to be adequate. It wouldn’t be enough; her throat would strain against the sound, the crease between her eyes betraying that she was afraid.
They would see right through her.
I’m sorry, she would say anyway. She would plead. It would be the last defense against complete dissolution that she had.
She’d bring the cleaver down upon the smiles she’d wrought on their careworn faces only just that morning.
It would be quick and brutal.
Barbaric even.
I’m sorry.
She had not intended to come here—not for any patient if she could help it.
Not for Steven Universe most of all.
But life was perverse, and it was so damn unkind; it knew nothing of intentions and hopes, dreams and childish wishes. It cared little for found families and fourteen-year old boys who needed kidneys.
5:57.
Priyanka sat at the head of the long table, her hands clasped in a rigid temple upon its smooth, gray surface, knuckles white from the simple exertion of clenching them. And then, as the seconds ticked by, as they smoked, as they gathered, as they burned, the room dissolved beneath her, stolen into nothingness by the snatch of a memory, an echo from a ghost who died nearly fifteen years ago…
She had possessed a beatific smile.
Her hair fell across her gowned shoulders in flowing, pink ringlets.
Rose Quartz went into labor two weeks before her due date.
It was a starless August night.
Balmy.
The world outside slept, lulled by the susurrant hush of the wind.
Though her contractions were coming steadily, Dr. Howard’s parenthetically lined mouth grew thinner each time his hawklike eyes slid towards the monitor which registered the twenty-six year old’s increasing blood pressure. She’d been admitted the week prior for severe headaches, a symptom consistent with her kidney disease, sure, but her blood tests indicated that she was hypertensive, too.
They started her on corticosteroids to help the baby’s still-developing lungs.
Dr. Howard took Priyanka off of all her other cases.
Made it her priority to stick to Room 11078 and to page him immediately if Rose’s blood pressure spiked to 140/90 mm/Hg.
“Because we’ll have to deliver the baby right then and there,” he stressed gravely,“if we want any chance of saving them both.”
He was talking obliquely about preeclampsia, a birth condition which began with high blood pressure and often ended with damage to the livers or kidneys.
And Rose Quartz’s kidneys were already shit, so there was that, and here was yet another sordid item to add to the ever growing list of what was wrong with the poor woman’s body.
Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl had all gone back to the hotel room for the night—against their wills, protesting—but Rose had made them, had told them to go on ahead, to get some sleep. She would see them in the morning. She loved them.
Goodnight.
And Greg was in the hallway, making a call to an insurance provider, which left Priyanka alone with Rose, who was propped up against two pillows on her hospital bed, palming her stomach protectively as she idly watched whatever was playing on TV—some offbeat sitcom or another. Frankly, Priyanka neither knew nor care. Scrunched up in one of the hardback chairs off to the left of Rose’s bed, she scratched harsh notes on her chart for the want of something to do.
To combat the growing feeling clambering up the rungs of her constricted throat.
To drown out the laugh track.
Those nameless people, that detached crowd, they laughed and laughed and laughed.
She couldn’t see what was so fucking funny, and she intimated as much without ever realizing it, scoffing just as her pen decided to run out of ink.
(It wasn’t really about the pen.)
“You seem exhausted, Priyanka,” Rose Quartz said softly, and it was with a jolt that the resident realized that she had been caught out.
Discovered.
Seen.
She flushed as she felt rather than saw that familiar, dark eyed gaze settle upon her gently—like a blanket, warm and encompassing. She stared obstinately at her clipboard, trying to will her own scribbles to make sense in a world that had currently lost its ever loving mind.
“I’ve been working overtime all week,” she said shortly, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. The wooden armrest pressed stiffly against her back, an unwelcome hand upon her spine. “Of course I’m exhausted.”
“Then you should go home. Get some rest.”
“Dr. Howard assigned me to your case again.
“Excuses, excuses,” Rose clucked, teasing, fond, amused. “He can’t make you work overtime.”
Priyanka was simply furious with herself.
With a final click of her useless pen, she replaced it in the lapel of her scrubs and finally met her patient’s gaze with a steeliness that she hoped would wound, cut, eviscerate.
But nothing, not even the possibility of her imminent death, seemed to faze the woman, who stared at her evenly, with all the air of someone waiting patiently to explain the turn of the seasons to a child who wondered where the leaves had all gone.
Change was inevitable.
Winter became spring became summer became fall.
I want to leave them with roots, Priyanka, she’d explained in that tiny examination room, so many months ago. She’d taken the resident’s hand and intertwined it with her own. A faint floral scent wreathed her hair. Strawberries, maybe. Wild and sweet. I want them to have the chance to grow…
“It isn’t looking too good, is it?” Rose asked, her voice so casual that they could have merely been discussing a chapter from a really sad book.
And the princess didn’t get to live happily ever after. And the evil forces prevailed in the end. And Rose Quartz’s body was rapidly shutting down. And there was nothing they could do about it, or more accurately still, they were doing everything.
And nothing was entirely working.
Priyanka’s dark eyes flitted to the number she had just recently scrawled on her chart in stuttering ink.
132/90 mm/Hg.
“No,” she said flatly. She felt no need to sugarcoat a bush that was already burning. Her fingers were cold where they gripped the flat of her clipboard. Her entire chest ached. “Your blood pressure is too high. The antihypertensives aren’t working.”
“Oh, well… I figured,” Rose sighed softly, still rubbing her swollen belly. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, curly tendrils of pink hair clinging softly, like gossamer, to her pale temples. “That explains the headaches, doesn’t it?”
Priyanka stared at Rose Quartz incredulously.
Gaped at her wildly.
Like she’d never properly seen before.
(She’d seen her so many times in the past couple of months, flitting in and out of the hospital, Dr. Howard’s office, and then the hospital all over again; she’d done what she swore she would never do with a patient; she became attached; she cared; it would be her own undoing.)
“Of course it does,” she snapped. She didn’t care that she was breaking a hell of a lot of rules, all the studied lines of decorum. She slammed her clipboard onto her lap and couldn't bring herself to bring a shit that it produced such a violent sound. She wanted to shake this woman, wanted to break the calm in her face, wanted her to register the simple fact that she could very well die. “If you’re still suffering from headaches, then, of course , it means the medicines aren’t working. It’s common sense, Rose. Mere logic.”
Her shoulders heaved as though she had only just ran a marathon.
And Rose’s smile—that beatific, perfect, clandestine smile—slid, like melting ice, from her mouth.
Finally, Priyanka thought savagely, and she hated herself for it.
Guilt assaulted her, a new lump in her constricted throat.
“I’m sorry,” she said abruptly, dull color bruising her sharply drawn cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just… I’m—”
“No, Priyanka.” Rose brought one of her hands from the top of her belly, raising it firmly against the resident’s stammered apologies. If she was injured—if she was hurting—she didn’t very well show it, her expression as impenetrably smooth as the silver face of the moon. “Please don’t say sorry… not if you don’t mean it. You only said what you’ve been thinking, what all my loved ones have been thinking, really… what an entire fool I am.”
Her soft, brown eyes briefly flicked to the multiple IVs stemming from her lifted hand. The tubes swirled all around her arm, spiraling towards a multitude of brightly flickering machines.
“Crazy,” she laughed humorlessly, the sound without familiar melody. “Throwing my life away…”
A little less than nine months had elapsed since she had first announced her pregnancy, and now there was a grayness to her once milk white skin.
A lethargy behind that calm face.
The passion, the vivaciousness, the youth all gone.
Priyanka was scarcely two years older than her.
“Priyanka,” she whispered, the name somber in the movement of that once perpetually smiling mouth, “would you believe me if I said that this ”—she gestured feebly at the hospital bed, at the medical apparatus all around her—“isn’t living? Would you understand if I told you that this isn’t who I am on the inside—all these needles and lines and medicines and awful machines?”
Without waiting for an answer, not seemingly needing one, Rose gently replaced her hand on her stomach, her palm tenderly cupping its curve.
“I know what living is, sweet Priyanka,” she continued, closing her dark eyes against some invisible memory, “and this isn’t it… this isn’t all those days I’ve stood in endless protest for a cause that I so desperately believe in. This isn’t being able to play volleyball on the beach with my loved ones, watching Amethyst and Garnet and Pearl and Greg laugh in the sand. This isn’t the fish fries we’ve hosted, nor the long nights spent planning demonstrations on the deck. This isn’t the thrill of falling in love with so many people. Meeting Pearl. Coming to understand the strange cosmos of Greg Universe. Choosing to have this child with him. Choosing this path which may very well end in my own destruction… because this , Priyanka Maheswaran, from the moment I was first diagnosed at sixteen years old, was already my destruction. And I simply have been borrowing moments of living in the full acknowledgment of that terrible truth.”
Rose did not falter.
So strong, even to the last, she did not break.
But maybe, just maybe, she cracked… just a little, just enough so that Priyanka could see.
A single tear escaped the confines of her closed eyes, slowly slipping down her cheek and into the slightly rumpled collar of her paisley-studded gown.
“So would you believe me, Priyanka?” She asked again.
She begged.
She pleaded.
“Please?”
She was asking a lot of the twenty-eight year old, to whom belief had never come easily. Priyanka was constantly interrogating her own values, checking and double checking them against rationality to ensure that they fit the meticulous schema she had constructed of the empirically observable world.
But just as there was no rationality in a twenty-six year old dying, there was no logicality in belief.
There was only a leap of faith, fingers crossed that she wouldn’t fall into the abyss.
Landing was not a guarantee.
And that was what so unfathomable to her, so cruel and so disgusting.
But what more could Priyanka say? What facts and statistics could she throw in this dying woman’s face to make her see reason that wasn’t exactly there.
The answer was nothing.
Perhaps it had always been nothing.
This student of science had no more protestations.
And in the absence of protestation, all that was left was a single choice: to jump or not to jump.
It was simple, really.
It was so damn hard.
Rose Quartz finally opened her eyes then. They were bright with her tears, and yet, simultaneously, the sheer darkness of them gripped Priyanka like the hands of a drowning sailor. The screen on the wall which measured her blood pressure had incrementally risen since they had started talking.
134/90 mm/Hg.
There was no time to waste anymore.
To pretend like they had ever possessed.
“What…” Priyanka began, her own voice hoarse, tight, strained, on the very verge of the precipice it hesitated to leap.“… what do you need me to do? Name it, and I’ll… I can’t promise anything… but I’ll try. ”
The word felt paltry, insufficient.
Trying was not an assurance, just as landing was not a guarantee.
“I’ll do what I can.”
Rose’s face simply collapsed, tears falling down both sides of her cheeks in gentle lines.
“Thank you, Priyanka,” she whispered, relief in every word, redolent in all the syllables of her spoken name.
But Priyanka did not want gratitude; she wanted an answer, something solid to latch onto, a promise she could keep.
“What you need, Rose?” She asked again, shifting her gaze her away. Her voice was abrupt—it was always abrupt—but somehow, it was not entirely unkind. “Tell me.”
The woman’s answer was immediate, unflinching; she had been obviously been thinking about it for a very long time.
It was the answer she probably would have proffered to anyone who asked.
Who took the time to wonder what exactly it was that Rose Quartz wanted.
What she needed.
What she had kept so carefully concealed behind that calm veneer of a facade.
“Take care of my baby for me, please,” she whispered. “Be their advocate when Dr. Howard and Greg will be mine… I’ll have so many people in the delivery room. I’ll have so many people rooting for me outside of it, too… but, my baby, Priyanka… I need someone in their corner, too… to root for them… to be their voice… please..."
All things considered, it was a pretty damn unreasonable request.
If Rose had to have a c-section, then Dr. Howard would need Priyanka’s steady hands to hold a clamp or provide suction; in the battlefield of surgery, her only allegiance was to the brusque orders that the old man barked to her behind his mask. The obstetrician would handle the delivery. Their own resident would whisk the baby away to the NICU.
And she and Dr. Howard would try to save Rose’s life.
That was Priyanka’s calling.
Her solemn oath.
Her duty.
But...
.... Unreasonable though it was—and it most certainly was so—Priyanka reasoned that it was likely not unkeepable.
She could help keep an eye on the baby’s heart monitor.
She could even lend a hand in the delivery procedure if Dr. Howard didn’t need her.
She could try, dammit.
She could at least promise that.
“You have my word,” she returned tersely, dark eyes still averted. She played a little with her hands on top of her clipboard, twining and untwining them, as Rose seemingly sank back against her pillows, sighing softly.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Don’t thank me until it’s over—I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You heard me out,” Rose replied evenly. “That’s something.”
“No,” the resident heard herself say aloud. “It isn’t.”
The hands on the clock veered into 6:00 with all the bluntness of a collision and none of its explosiveness.
The door opened.
That was mundane enough.
And Amethyst and Pearl came in first, laughing about something that Garnet had apparently said.
And Greg followed, chuckling, lightly scratching his stomach.
And Garnet made up the rear, grinning, pleased with herself.
Oblivious.
They were all so happy, this extraordinary group of ordinary people—they had no idea where they were or what it all meant or what was about to happen to the smiles on their tired faces.
And Priyanka did not have time to recover her own face, to arrange it into some manner of professional acceptability, her mouth half-open, hands rigid upon the table.
And Amethyst caught her out first.
Because she was smart like that, perceptive.
And the mirth drained from her brown eyes as she perceived the nephrologist’s expression in the semidarkness of the room.
And the two women stared each other across its length.
They called this place the slaughterhouse.
“No,” she simply said. She croaked it. Panic violated the smooth youthfulness of her face, tearing it all asunder. “No, Doc.”
“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran whispered.
It wasn’t enough.
It had never been enough.
Garnet only stared at her, disbelieving.
Her mouth hadn’t quite untwisted itself out of the ghost of its last smile.
“I am so, so sorry.”
She said it again anyway, though, like it counted for something, like it meant anything, as tears began to flow down Pearl’s cheeks.
Greg Universe made a sound that was half-horror, half-agony, bracing his hands against the back of a metal chair to steady himself against the blow.
ii.
A doctor, a washed up rockstar, and three Crystal Gems walked out of a conference room.
And the joke, the cruel punchline, was that the boy they all loved wasn’t going to get the kidneys he so desperately needed; he was going to go back on the list, which had always been more of a desperate gamble than a guarantee; he was going to degrade in that hospital bed for however many days, weeks, and months he had more.
Dr. Maheswaran didn’t think he had a year.
She was blunt about it.
Professional.
But her eyes gave her away, the lines beneath them, the consumptive shadows.
(Mere hours ago, her face had been transformed by the simple action of a smile.)
There were no comforting words, nor bracing gestures between the coterie of broken people who limped their way back to Room 11037—injured, defeated, the wounds glistening across their bruised eyes, their shivering mouths. Greg took the lead, the rubber of his sandals snapping harshly against the tiled floor with each step, every guttural, convulsive movement.
They silently decided that he should be the one to actually commit the words aloud, knew that it was for the best. He could be soft where Dr. Maheswaran was brutal. Comprehensive when Garnet couldn’t muster words. Sage when Amethyst’s youthful clumsiness sometimes made it difficult to find the right words.
And he could hold it together long enough to actually say it.
Trailing behind him, pale fingers gripping the fabric of her sweater, Pearl’s horror took the form of sniffling that couldn’t quite be concealed. She was holding herself together—the news had cleaved her apart—and he wondered again, not for the first time since Steven’s diagnosis, whether or not she had been right all those years ago, when she had told him quite plainly, in that incisively logical way of hers, that she was better for Rose.
They’d come a long way since then.
They grudgingly tolerated each other now.
They coparented the best that they could.
Sometimes, he thought that they were even friends, sharing beers together on dusk lit balconies and spending so many sleepless nights side by side at the kitchen table, poring over bills and medicines and more bills because the bills, above all, were endless.
And perhaps in the end, he and Pearl were even family in the way that they loudly and silently and entirely loved the same dying boy.
(That was how they had loved the same woman, too.)
But still, maybe she had had a point.
Pearl always tended to have a point...
The hallway was painfully short; Room 11037 arrived far quicker than any of them had ever anticipated.
His breath coming in hitched gasps, chest seized with a sudden tightening, Greg palmed the wood of the door, splaying his shaking fingers against its smooth grains as though to steady himself against an impossible reckoning. He was minutes away, possibly seconds, from breaking his own son’s heart, and that was on him.
Hell, all failures when it came to his son’s happiness were on him.
He was the kid’s dad.
He was supposed to protect Steven, shelter him, keep him safe from every quantifiable danger that he could.
And here he was, about to deliver another slap to his face and call it kindness.
The contradiction was not lost upon him.
The unfairness of it all stung.
It stung his eyes, and it stung his heart, and it stung all over, simply undid the man. He was a pincushion falling apart in all the places where he had been needled over and over again.
But he felt a hand on the small of his back then—gentle, kind.
He expected it to be Garnet or maybe even Amethyst; that had always been their sort of thing.
But when he looked back behind him, his mouth half-formed in an empty, perfunctory thanks, he saw that it was Pearl, her big, blue eyes still edged with the remnants of her tears.
Her sweater, neatly pressed, seemed to swallow her entirely.
She stood perfectly within the lines of one of the tiles on the floor, feet poised like a ballerina’s. Rose had once told him that she’d been trained to dance—once so disciplined in the art that she could stand upon the tips of her toes for as many minutes as her tutors required.
Even when she was devastated.
Even when she was hurt.
“How… how do I do this?” Greg asked before he could stop himself. The words tumbled out of his mouth in an ungainly rush. “How do I… how can I… I mean… he’s just a boy… a kid, and I—“
And I don’t want to do this, Pearl.
I don’t want to see him go through this.
Pearl swiped delicately at her nose, and she swiped at her leaking eyes, but the carnage still remained. It was unlikely to disappear for a very long time. She wrung her slender fingers together and twisted them apart. She congregated them in a prim temple just above her stomach. She eventually let them fall to her sides. She glanced down. She failed to look back up.
Shoulders shivering.
Feet still in first position.
“I… I don’t think there’s any right way to do this,” she finally said. “Not really… but I—we’re behind you, Greg.”
“Yeah,” Amethyst agreed.
Garnet nodded her silent assent.
“We’re… always behind you.”
The weight of these words, the implicit meaning behind them, was not lost on Greg. He immediately understood how much it must have cost her to say such a thing to him, and yet, he simultaneously knew that she must have meant it—for Pearl rarely ever said things that she didn't mean.
She gave silent treatments, and she evaded tough emotional conversations with all the agility of a dancer; she shot people glares that she thought to be discrete from the corners of her eyes; she kept secrets to herself, kept them tucked away in the same places where she had invisible shrines to the woman they both loved.
But she rarely lied.
Or maybe, more accurately, she wouldn't lie now.
And so, choked, overwhelmed, grateful, he could only muster something like a vague sound of gratitude in the back of his throat that he thought she equally understood because she nodded at him primly.
And then, he turned to face the door again, palming the brass handle.
On the other side, he heard a snatch of laughter.
Steven.
Assuredly.
Perhaps he was watching one of his favorite shows, laughing at something a character had said.
Greg twisted his hand downwards and pushed lightly upon the door.
iii.
The door opened upon a scene that Yellow Diamond had always intended to flee before she could be caught out, but one anecdote led to another, and before she knew it, Steven Universe had started telling her about how he’d met Blue at the cemetery where their dead daughter lay. And the conjured image of her bathrobed wife, holding a hibiscus aloft in her gently curving palm, plucked an dusty chord in her chest.
So this was the flower that had been on the nightstand for a couple of nights now.
This was the story of a boy and a woman and a cemetery and a handful—a lifetime, really—of aching, miserable griefs.
“She told me that she married you so her name would be a pun,” Steven had said, grinning mischievously.
“Something to that effect,” Yellow dryly returned.
And he pressed for more stories, more memories, more chords inside her chest. How did she meet Blue? When did they fall in love? Who proposed?
He asked so many questions, his brown eyes alight with curiosity, that she was reminded so much of Pink that it almost hurt to even look at him. But, just as she had done with her daughter, she sighingly indulged him, groaning and moaning and making it out as thought she was doing him a massive favor by relenting. And he only smiled at her teasingly—like he was in on the secret.
It was the other way around.
She was the one at his mercy.
And so she told him the story of the princess and the knight in less than fantastical terms, laying out the bare bones of her and Blue’s first meeting with a halting voice as the memories slowly came flooding back: Blue Montgomery’s sweeping ball gown, the spidery chandeliers, the waiters swerving in and out of the crowd bearing silver trays loaded with champagne, her ridiculously dramatic mother waltzing through the ballroom with all the radiance of a sun.
God, how many decades ago was that now?
Years and years and years.
“Our daughter used to love this damn story,” Yellow murmured at the end, briefly flicking her eyes downwards. “We told it so many different times to her that she could repeat it word for word.”
“It’s a very good story,” Steven returned, laughing. “Did you really think about punching that guy?”
“Fleetingly, yes,” she almost smiled, “but—”
But then the door opened so abruptly, bringing reality back in with what appeared to be a collection of harried looking people. The businesswoman’s head sharply cocked towards the far side of the room to greet an assemblage of expressions that she was surprised to find in total strangers: anger and disgust.
Complete and total loathing.
Damn, at least buy me a drink first.
“You!” A slight woman in a sweater hissed furiously.
“Uh-oh,” Steven Universe said, shrinking slightly beneath his covers. “Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh...”
But Yellow Diamond wasn’t listening to him anymore, instinctive indignation rising to her aid and defense as she stood up from her chair and mustered as haughty of an expression she could for a woman wearing silk pajamas.
“Excuse me?” She asked venomously, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you are?”
“Pearl…” The balding man standing next to the sweater-wearing accoster tried to plea, placing a big hand on her much smaller shoulder. “Maybe we shouldn’t… uh—?”
“No,” The woman named Pearl snarled, jerking her arm away from him. Yellow could see that her pale eyes were bright with tears, which seemed like an overreaction if she had ever witnessed one. She didn’t know these people from Jack, Jill, or Harry on the sidewalk! “I want to know what she’s doing here! She has no business—“
“Pearl, wait!” Steven tried to interject, jerking upwards from his pillows. “It’s okay! She just wanted to vis—“
But his voice got lost in the shuffle as the taller woman behind Pearl suddenly stepped forward, her powerfully muscled arms clenched into fists by her sides. There was an indefinable air of authority about her that Yellow only recognized because she, too, possessed it. Her bicolored glare was a weapon in and of itself; the harsh florescence of the overheads glinted off the sunglasses folded neatly across the collar of her sweatshirt.
“Leave,” the woman said. “You’re not welcome here.”
“Garnet! No! She wasn’t doing anything wro—“
“Well, frankly,” Yellow shot back before Steven could complete his thought, “I’d perfectly well surmised that without your help. But forgive me if I’m having trouble piecing together the context behind this unwarranted rudeness.”
“You know what you’ve done,” Garnet growled.
“No!” The blood inside her head churned, simply boiled. She had never known when to leave well enough alone. “I damn well don’t!”
“1999—Diamond Electric vs. Hutchings,” Pearl began to tick off names on her fingertips. “2005—Diamond Electric vs. Davis. 2011—Diamond Electric vs. Bach. Are these names ringing a bell? Unsafe factory conditions! Unconstitutional wage gaps! Leaking waste reservoirs!”
“All settled in court!” Yellow returned with a cruel laugh that she did not remotely feel, raking her cold eyes over each and very one of her newfound opponents in turn. It had always been her against the world for as long as she could remember—she the trapped lioness cornered by the angry mob. (But the mob always tended to forget one crucial fact about exchanges between lions and men. Lions had claws and sharp, gleaming teeth; she would devour them and gnaw on their bones for sport.) “What are you all? Lawyers? Reporters? Protestors? Please, spare no sordid detail as to why I’m being read case names for events that happened long ago.”
“Yellow Diamond, please—” Steven’s voice was tiny by her side; she could not hear him; or perhaps, she didn’t want to hear him.
She wanted to fight.
“We’re, like, the Crystal Gems,” the smallest woman to Garnet’s left said emphatically. Her lavender bangs fell over one of her eyes, but she blew them back with a small puff of air.
“Never heard of you,” Yellow replied flippantly and untruthfully.
Because she had heard of them—several times, in fact.
They were some small activist group that had always been a vaguely minor nuisance at her side—especially a few years ago—but they’d never done anything more than force her lawyers to spend some time haggling in appeals courts.
A waste of time and money for everyone, really.
“Never heard of us?” Pearl spluttered wildly, her complexion whitening. “Never heard of—“
“Enough, you all!” The doctor who had been at the back of the group finally seemed to have found her tongue, and a pretty harsh tongue it was because her exasperated voice clearly cut through the melee. “We’re in a hospital for goodness’s—”
But the doctor was drowned out, too, lost in the onslaught of noise suddenly coming from one of the monitors above Steven’s bed—a shrill beeping noise that put an effective end to all the squabbling. The neon green line measuring his heart rate was spiking in short peaks, the numbers climbing, climbing, climbing… and beneath it all, clutching his chest, Steven was struggling to breathe, gulping in shallow bursts of air, his skin paling. Sweat beaded at his pale templed, hid eyes wide with fear.
“STEVEN! Steven!” So many voices yelled his name; it was all a jumble, a blur, a dissonant symphony.
The white coated doctor shoved past Yellow unceremoniously, nearly knocking her to the ground in her haste to get to her patient’s side. She pulled an oxygen mask down from one of the receptacles behind the bed, placing it over Steven’s mouth and nose.
“Breathe, Steven!” She commanded, her voice tight with obvious strain. The man and the woman named Pearl scrabbled over to the child’s bedside. Tears streaming down his ruddy face and into his beard, the man placed an arm around Steven’s back, steadying him. Pearl clasped one of his hands, her shoulders shaking violently.
“In and out,” the doctor continued. “Breathe. One… two… three. That’s it, honey. There you go…”
As Steven’s breathing evened out, the monitor’s beeping died down, nearly becoming regulated once more. Exhausted, overwhelmed, so quickly undone, the boy slumped against the man who was holding him, closing his eyes heavily as the doctor took the opportunity to more securely fasten the oxygenated mask around his face.
But what happened next, if anything happened at all, Yellow Diamond did not stay to find out.
Violently tearing her gaze away, the woman turned around and did what she should have done the moment she made the poor decision to come into this room in the first place.
Shoving past the remaining Crystal Gems, uncaring that she knocked Garnet in the shoulder, Yellow limped away as fast as her sore leg would allow her to go, nausea rushing up the column of her throat, her cheeks burning with shame.
What a pathetic creature she was.
A monster.
A lioness among men.
(The lioness always tended to forget one crucial fact about exchanges between lions and men. Lions had claws and sharp, gleaming teeth; she would end up destroying the people she cared about, too.)
iv.
Pearl only had eyes for one person in the entire world, and his name was Steven Universe. Both in the absence of Rose and in the lingering presence of her, he was the center of her universe, the sun which she orbited day after day after varied, sundry day. Weak, pale, cold, he shivered in his father’s arms, barely able to keep his eyes open as his heartbeat continued to regulate itself after that latest episode.
“Acute stress arrhythmia,” she heard Priyanka explain behind her. The nephrologist had her back turned to them as she read numbers on a nearby computer monitor.
She didn’t elaborate.
She didn’t need to.
Everybody in the room knew exactly who was to blame for his acute stress.
Shame colored them all; shame welled up in the corners of Pearl’s eyes as she continued to hold on to Steven’s hand.
Garnet collapsed into the chair that Yellow Diamond had just vacated, placing both of her hands over her eyes.
What children they had been.
What fools.
Pearl closed her own eyes in a useless attempt to stem the tears that were flowing freely now, unable to hold them back any longer. Shame wrapped a hand around her insides and squeezed.
Steven was… he was—oh, God, the word was too unbearable to even think, much less say aloud—and here they all were—fighting with someone who would never see reason.
How stupid.
How pathetic.
“Steven, wait, honey. You need to put that mask back—” But Priyanka’s soft admonition was apparently ignored; Pearl looked up just in time to see Steven feebly lifting the oxygen mask from his face, dropping it just below his mouth. Each movement looked like it took something from him; he couldn’t even lift his head from Greg’s chest.
So he stared straight at her.
Directly into her eyes.
He had his mother’s eyes.
Her dark and lovely eyes.
“S-she…” She had to lean forward to hear him, for his voice was barely a whisper, an echo, a ghost. “…she really wasn’t being mean.”
“Shh, Shtu-ball. We know,” Greg tried hoarsely, pressing a kiss into his son’s mass of curly hair. “Save up your strength…”
“Steven,” Pearl pleaded, barely able to discern him through her tears. She refused to let go of his hand; it wasn't as much for his sake as she would have liked to kid herself to believe. “I’m so, so sorry. We shouldn’t have squabbled with her like that. We just weren’t… I mean… I wasn’t… I was stressed—I-I wasn’t thinking.”
“Stressed?” Again, his voice was so small that it struggled to be heard over the hissing of the various machines he was hooked up to, and the fact of it nearly undid her right then and there. Salt coated her lips. It lacquered her tongue. “Why… why were you stressed?”
No.
No.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this... the news wasn’t supposed to come from her. It was supposed to be Greg’s job to do this; he was the one who was good at emotions; he was the one who knew how to have these sorts of conversations without completely dissolving into nothingness and rubble.
(He was the better person.)
(The one who Rose chose.)
Pearl could yell at a tyrannical businesswoman for longer than she could hold herself together in front of Steven; she could protest wars; she could hold demonstrations; she could plan fish fries; she could keep herself together on a day to day basis, bound by Scotch tape and glue.
But for him?
For Steven Universe?
Her eyes refilled with fresh tears, and she finally withdrew her hand from his, placing it over her mouth in the quietest sign of her incapacity.
Useless.
Pathetic.
Childish.
Fool.
“Oh,” Steven only rasped, understanding immediately. He was so smart like that; he never missed a beat. “The… the kidneys fell through, didn’t they?”
“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Greg said, wrapping his arms more tightly around Steven as gently as he could manage as Priyanka took the opportunity to replace the mask over his nose and mouth.
“The kidneys were damaged during the donor’s accident,” she explained dully, “and we couldn’t detect it until we were already in surgery… I’m sorry, Steven. I am.”
But Steven never took his eyes off Pearl, those dark and lovely eyes.
They were wounded eyes.
Bruised eyes.
Goddamn exhausted eyes.
"I'm sorry, Steven," she whispered. "I am so, so sorry."
The mask prevented him from speaking.
In place of his reply, there was only the steady hiss of oxygen and the dark-cloaked presence of grief, the seventh person in an already crowded room. They sat on the edge of Steven’s bed, simply taking up precious air.
Pearl couldn’t breathe.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
v.
Night descended upon the sky like a heavy curtain, unfurling its black velvet across the horizon with dark finality, the punctuation unmistakable. Sitting atop of the bulky air conditioning unit that stretched the length of the hotel room’s window, Amethyst gazed emptily at the spectacle, knees pulled up to her chest, her still-damp hair pulled over one of her shoulders. If she was back at home, there would be a roof to clamber onto and a vast canvas of stars to behold… but here, there were only skyscrapers that stretched their supplicatory hands upwards to an unhearing god. Here, there were stars made out of lit windows. Here, there was that familiar feeling of suffocation, of being cloistered in...
Cornered.
And unlike in a good alley fight, putting up her fists wouldn’t solve a damn thing.
Three hours had passed since they’d nearly given Steven a heart attack and then told him that he wasn’t going to get those stupid fucking kidneys. And still, the scene haunted her mind’s eye in the absence of anything else to think about, to obsess over, to grieve. When they had all left for the evening—Greg the only one staying behind for the night—he couldn’t even muster enough energy to tell them goodnight, simply blinking at them from over the top of his oxygenated mask before closing his eyes.
Merely twelve hours ago, they’d all been sickeningly happy because they had thought that the nightmare was over… but that sensation had long passed, a relic of time immemorial now.
Now, there was only darkness.
A feeling of falling.
The ground giving way beneath their feet.
Now, there was only Dr. M’s only consolation that wasn’t really a consolation at all.
He’s at the top of the list now.
The door opened and gently closed behind her. Amethyst swung her head around just in time to see Garnet come in, a towel slung around her corded neck, her white tank top damp with sweat. She’d gone to the hotel’s gym to obviously treadmill away from her feelings, which was a way more productive solution than Amethyst’s choice coping mechanism. She raised her half-empty bottle of wine in greeting—reckless, loose—accidentally sloshing a little over the top of the rim.
“Hey.”
“Where’s Pearl?” Garnet studiously avoided her gaze as she lowered herself to the carpeted ground, leaning against the wall. Her shoulders hunched forward, elbows braced on top of her knees, she almost looked like some kinda statue—still, beautiful, tragic.
“Tryin’ to drown herself in the shower, I think,” Amethyst shrugged before taking another hearty swig of Moscato. The tangy notes stung her tongue. “She’s been in there for an hour now, so you might not have hot water later.”
The gym trainer shrugged noncommittally as though this was all the same to her.
And the two of them simply listened to the hissing of the water beyond the thin door to Garnet’s left for a handful of seconds; the serpentine sounds lashed the ground. Lashed their skin. Their ears. Their chests.
Amethyst sniffed and took yet another drag of wine.
There was nothing else better to do...
... but the silence was unbearable now that it was optional.
She turned her bottle upside down again.
Liquid courage.
“I met the old lady, y’know,” she said softly, her consonants a little rushed around their edges, a little tipsy, a little unsure. “Blue Diamond. It was… yesterday, I think? Hell, I think it was yesterday. God, I don’t even know at this point. But she was in the lobby, waitin’ for her valet to pick her up…”
Garnet didn’t say anything, didn’t even look up at her, but Amethyst knew she was listening from the way that every line in her body was rigid with attention.
“She’s kinda snooty, I think. Kinda looks like she’s got a stick up her ass… but she’s got a good heart, I guess. She cares about Steven…” Amethyst remembered the way her accented voice broke when she spoke of him, all of the syllables collapsing upon themselves in the throes of her gentle tongue. And she remembered the woman’s eyes, how startlingly blue they were, haunted underneath by the ravages of grief and time.
“A lot,” she added. “That surprised me.”
“I… I shouldn’t have let Yellow Diamond get to me like that,” Garnet said, reaching up and gingerly holding her head. “I know. I know.”
“No, that’s not what I’m sayin’, G,” Amethyst immediately and fiercely returned, shaking her own head. “I mean, it’s kinda what I’m sayin’, but we all got caught up in her. She got under all of our skins. I’m just, I dunno, I’m trying to—“
But she broke off then, ripping her gaze away from her roommate and back towards the window.
To the darkness.
The absence of stars.
She raised the bottle to her lips once more but stopped short of taking another swill; the sickly sweet perfume nearly gagged her.
“It’s just… it’s difficult,” she continued, setting the drink down between her knees. “That’s all I’m sayin’. God knows why, but he likes the Diamonds, and the Diamonds like him… and we shouldn’t… I mean, we should try our best not to shit on him for that because—“
But Amethyst stopped short again as the natural end to that sentence reared its head off the floor of her stomach, striking just where it hurt.
Sick, ashamed, inconsolable, she covered her eyes with both of her hands.
“Because we love him,” Garnet proffered, her voice quiet, almost inaudible over the noises coming from the shower, “and we want him to be happy.”
That wasn't the end of the sentence.
That wasn't what they had both been thinking anyway.
“Yeah,” she croaked gratefully, wiping roughly at her eyes. “Yeah.”
They resumed their silent vigil together then, mostly because it kept them from commenting upon the fact that it wasn’t just the water they were hearing behind that thin bathroom door.
Garnet reached upwards and grabbed the remote from the edge of the nearest bed, turning the volume up on some stupid sitcom to drown it out.
The water.
The weeping.
And the weeping and the weeping and the weeping.
vi.
Blue Diamond had been on the balcony for hours now, long enough for the sky to bruise from peach to blue to purple, long enough to see the first stars ascend to their storied mounts, glimmering down upon the world in silvery, distant specks.
Long enough that the tear tracks riveting down her cheeks had dried upon her long face in stiff lines.
Long enough that she wondered passively to herself if she had been here forever, a statue carved out of flesh and bone and misery and blood.
Long enough to reflect upon the fact that she wasn't referring to the balcony... but to something more abstract.
Metaphorical.
A state.
A cycle.
A condition of perpetual mourning.
Her phone laid facedown on the tiny table between her chair and Yellow’s empty one.
The last text she had received had been from Steven Universe.
It wasn’t even a sentence.
Just a fragment.
No exclamation points, no abundant elaboration, no joy.
Tuesday, 7:09 PM:
Steven: kidneys fell through
Blue had seen the boy just this morning—dropping by after she had left Yellow’s room—and she could remember, quite distinctly, how radiant his face had been, utterly metamorphosed by its own happiness.
She’d been drawn in by it, magnetized.
Oh, how the two of them laughed and smiled and played.
How many years had it been since she had last played?
It was before Pink died assuredly.
But even then, the details were murky to her; she’d been so wrapped up in her school, that she had forgot what it was to be twenty-one, and that twenty-one year olds were still children in a way, that they loved to have fun.
She’d been so strict with her sometimes.
Forbidding.
Cold.
(Her own mother would have been proud.)
But she and Steven Universe? They played, and they played, imagining all the things that Steven was going to do once he had recovered from the transplant surgery. Some of these plans were simply extraordinary in nature. He was going to run all day just because he would finally feel like it. He was going to make a massive sandcastle on the beach with all of his friends. It would be palatial, obviously, so they could live in it together, making seashell necklaces and seaweed crowns. He was going to eat all the donuts that he wanted—his diet had been so restricted since he’d taken ill—and then some.
“And if I get sick,” he had said proudly, “it’ll just be a normal sick, and that’ll be perfectly okay.”
But it wasn’t the extraordinary inventions which had touched Blue, which had moved her to the quick.
Rather, it was the simple things.
The mundane ones.
He would get to go to school with all the rest of the kids his age. He could go to a theater without worrying that his symptoms might flare up during the movie's climax. He could ride a bike through his charming, little beachside town.
He could simply be a child.
And that would be enough.
That would be perfectly okay.
“And I could come over for tea and cakes on Fridays,” he teased as she had prepared to leave, running one last hand through his curly hair as she stood up from her chair. He smiled at her gently, his mouth tilting crookedly.
“Aye,” she returned warmly, returning the gesture with an almost easiness that still surprised her. “I would love that..."
But just as quickly as these fantasies had risen—entertained, explored, viscerally imagined—they had been wrenched from his hands just as immediately, and so Blue Diamond sat on her balcony for hours on end grieving for the poor boy.
But because she was selfish, because she was predictable, because she was broken, she gripped the arms on both sides of her chair, and grieved, too, for Pink Diamond.
(She was always grieving for Pink Diamond.)
Fingernails digging into the weathered wood, she thought herself a desolate fool for ever kidding herself into believing that she could go a day without being painfully aware of her daughter’s ghost.
She thought herself a masochist for inviting the same pain again in the form of Steven Universe.
She thought herself a coward for not daring to say three words to Yellow Diamond, three words that wouldn’t make everything between them right, but three words that needed to be said nevertheless.
And she couldn’t bring herself to utter them.
Not even when Yellow was in a hospital bed, covered in lacerations and bruises.
Because how could she say such a thing when she hadn’t said it in so many years upon years?
I and love and you.
And she kept thinking these things until they chased each other around her head in circles—dizzying, unceasing, senseless circles that gradually chipped away at the tentative hope she had held aloft in her chest ever since she had met Steven Universe.
Spirals and spirals and spirals.
Fool.
Masochist.
Coward.
Circles and circles and circles.
And somehow, every time, Blue Diamond concluded where she had first begun: alone in her own misery, drowning.
Fool, masochist, coward.
vii.
The walk to the parking deck that night was slow and laborious, one foot dragged after another, the styrofoam cup of shitty coffee in her hand doing little to perk her up for the long drive home. Priyanka couldn’t remember the last time she’d stayed past her shift so long, but she’d wanted to make sure that Steven remained stable… that he didn’t suddenly crash on them after such a long, hard day on his body… that she continued to try (and miserably fail) to keep Rose’s last request.
Take care of my baby for me, please…
Ever since his episode, Steven’s breath sounds had been decreased on the right side of his chest; she instructed the intern on duty for the night to keep him on a steady supply of oxygen and to page her immediately if his stats even shifted by a margin.
“Like, even a number or two?” Dr. Stephens asked, her brow furrowing.
“Yes,” she had snapped rather harshly. “Even a fraction.”
But somehow, even as Priyanka had said it, even as the poor intern had flinched, she had known to herself from the very beginning that she could quantify every little integer and it still all be for nothing.
Chronic kidney disease didn’t care about numbers.
It didn’t care about people.
“Hey! Priyanka! Wait up!"
Oh, hell and shit—she recognized that voice.
Wincing, she tried to arrange her features into an expression that didn’t completely betray her entire disinterest with humanity before she turned to face her colleague Dr. Reed. Maisie Reed, an ER doctor, had been at Empire Regional for about a decade longer than Priyanka.
She was a good woman and good friend, but frankly, she just didn’t know when to shut up, going off on long, rambling tales that were hard for Priyanka to weasel away from once she got rolling.
This was vaguely annoying on most days, but tonight, the nephrologist simply wouldn't be able to bear it.
“Hello, Maisie,” she returned brusquely as the older woman caught up to her. Her curly, flyaway hair was tucked back in a messy bun, her wire-rimmed glasses perched a little crookedly on the bridge of her nose. “How are you?”
“Exhausted,” Maisie rolled her eyes. “Did you hear about my star patient?”
“I think I actually met her,” Priyanka said, resuming her brisk walk. Maybe if she made it to her sedan before Maisie started a story, she could make a narrow escape. “She somehow made it to my patient’s room. Goodness knows for what reason. She and the patient’s family nearly got into a fistfight.”
“Ha! You're kidding! I didn’t think that part was true, but some of the nurses were saying—”
“It’s true,” she affirmed curtly, cutting across the woman. “All of it.”
They lapsed into silence then as they walked side by side on the harshly lit concrete. The nephrologist could see her tiny car near the end of the row. She pulled the key out of one of the pockets of her lab coat, clicked the unlock button, and hoped that Maisie would finally take the hint.
“I think we’re only parked a little ways from each other,” she said cheerfully, dashing all of Priyanka’s dreams.
Joy.
They continued to walk together, the heels of their shoes clicking reliably against the floor.
“I also heard… that you’ve got a bad outcome,” Maisie murmured, her voice soft, empathetic.
Pitying.
It was the pity that Priyanka hated most of all.
Her companion’s hazel eyes raked her over piercingly, like an X-Ray, and there was tenderness in her expression.
Understanding.
“I’m so sorry, honey.”
“It’s not a bad outcome yet,” she snarled, rounding upon the woman fiercely, not bothering with polite pretense anymore. Screw her. Screw everything. Screw this fucking day. “He’s still alive. He’s still got a chance. I’ve just got to find…”
“… kidneys, yes. I’ve heard,” Maisie finished gently.
Priyanka violently turned away again, increasing her pace so that she pulled ahead of the other doctor. Her entire body strained against the sudden burst of energy.
She was tired.
So fucking exhausted.
“Then don’t resign him to the grave yet, Maisie. I’m still fighting for him, dammit.”
“Yes, I know that, too… I’ve always admired that about you, dear. You never give up.”
“Yeah, well”—she didn’t exactly know what to say to that—“that’s what we do.”
“Mm, yes,” Maisie replied. “That’s what we do…”
She finally reached her sedan with no small feeling of relief, proceeding to the driver's side with the expectation that Dr. Reed would continue onwards to her little red Nissan at the end of the row, finally putting an end to this unpleasant conversation.
Infuriatingly, though, Maisie stopped, too, her eyes bright with kindness and warmth and all the other things besides that Priyanka simply couldn’t stomach at the moment.
“Yes, well, goodnight,” she said pointedly, making a motion to open the door of her car. She threw her briefcase in rather unceremoniously. It slammed against the passenger side door and fell feebly to the ground.
“What’s his blood type, Priyanka? I’ll keep an eye out for any patients that fit the description… you know what the ER is like. We get potential donors all the time.”
Yes, this was assuredly true, but Steven’s blood type being what it was, finding a donor so quickly would be a damn near miracle.
Priyanka exhaled harshly through her nose but relented anyway—anything to end this absurd conversation.
What the hell—it wouldn’t hurt.
“It’s a long shot… but O neg, so I need an O neg donor. Had any of those on your docket lately?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
And here was the part where Maisie’s kindly face would undoubtedly fall into dismay because of course she hadn’t seen an O neg patient in a while—only seven percent of the entire population had O negative blood, which was a startlingly rare number. So, of course, she would shake her head profusely and apologize and swear to keep her feelers out…
… but Maisie Reed didn’t exactly follow the quick script that Priyanka had constructed in her head.
In fact, her pink lips wobbled into a radiant smile.
“Honey,” she laughed, “sit down and take a sip of that damn black coffee of yours because you’re not going to believe this.”
#rose quartz#steven universe#blue diamond#yellow diamond#pearl#garnet#amethyst#greg universe#priyanka maheswaran#s: steven universe#mimiku#flower child#holy shit — with this chapter#we've reached 100K words
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Blue Dream VI
Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen
Rating: E
Chapter Word Count: 8, 390
Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.
Chapter I: Primetime
Chapter II: It's Cool
Chapter III: Anything
Chapter IV: Comfortable
Chapter V: The Way
Chapter VI: Say Yes; The action makes her look at him again and there’s something behind the playfulness in his gaze, something that sings like there is only one for me; you have made that a possibility, like we could take that step to see, mm; if this is really gonna be, like all she’s gotta do is say yes to whatever statement his eyes are making, to whatever question his fingers are stitching into her skin. (Read chapter below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)
Chapter VII: Brave
Chapter VIII: Blue Dream
Say Yes
There is only one for me
You have made that a possibility
We could take that step to see, mm
If this is really gonna be
All you got to do is say yes
On the following Thursday, Iris finds herself rushing down Main St., her glittery gold pumps making a rhythmic clack-clack-clack on the sidewalk. She barely had time to change from what she’d worn to work, into a long black maxi dress printed with gold feathers all over it. The dress has long sleeves and a modest neckline, though the right side split that rises near to her waist changes what might otherwise just be a pretty casual dress. She’s late, which is why she’s risking a broken neck by running down the street in these shoes, not wanting to hear Wally bitch about being late to his 21st birthday dinner.
She finally gets to the front of Golden’s, where her dad has rented out space for the dinner and later, some music and dancing. Barry is standing outside of the restaurant, in a pair of well-fitting black pants and camel colored desert boots, tugging at the neck of the white sweater that does only good things for those broad shoulders. He looks up from his phone when he hears her heels, and the smile he gives her pulls her up short.
“Hi, beautiful” he greets as he steps out from where he’d been leaning on the wall. “You look nice."
Iris waves a hand, still trying to catch her breath. “I look like I’ve been working all day.”
She touches self-consciously at her hair, knowing that the curls from her bantu knots have likely begun to fall. But when she looks up again, the word nice isn’t actually what she sees as he’s looking at her. It’s a misnomer, the word nice, because his gaze follows the curves of her body, the way the dress’s matching tie shows the deep curve of her waist, and how every time she moves, Barry sees one long, brown leg ending in the double straps around her ankle. Iris shifts under his gaze, at his blown irises, the color of them graying by the moment.
“Come here,” he says, reaching out for her.
“What? Barry, we’re late,” she attempts to argue, even as she’s letting him pull her into his arms. She tumbles into them, letting him wrap both his arms around her as she circles hers around his waist. She can feel the warmth of his palms through the thin material of her dress.
“Breathe,” he commands softly, and she inhales deeply before letting it go. Barry loosens his hold, but only enough that he can look into her eyes.
“Let’s try that again,” he teases. “Hi, Iris, you look beautiful.”
Her stomach flutters at the comment and she bites down on her bottom lip. “Thank you, Barry.”
“How’s your day been? We haven’t talked.”
“Barry, we’re…”
“Late. Yes, I know. And maybe I’m stalling because I’m nervous to meet your entire family at your brother’s party, but I also just wanna check in.” He lifts her chin with a forefinger. “So how’s your day been?”
She thinks that she fucking melts, just like that.
“It’s been good. Really good,” she replies softly, trying to hold his tender gaze. “I didn’t have to curse any undergrads. And I, uh, well,” she hesitates for only a moment, but she wants to tell him this, even if it’s news she’s been hoarding for the moment. “Well, my blog is going to be featured on Good Morning, Central City.”
His eyes light up. “What, Iris? That’s amazing!” He wraps his arms around her again and squeezes, even pulling her off of her feet. The sound of her laughter fills the air as she tightens her hold on his neck.
He’s the first person she’s told. She’d gotten the email after lunch this afternoon, about the morning talk show featuring some of Central City’s rising internet stars. She’s never considered herself an internet star, especially because her blog focuses primarily on others, with the exception of the occasional personal story, the occasional picture with an update about her life. But they’re taping the segment in a month’s time and she’ll have a ten minute spot talking to the hosts and answering questions about What a Life You’ve Lived.
“Baby, I’m so damn proud of you.”
And he is, which isn’t so much startling as it is noteworthy. Because he’s new here, but already he’s been so supportive of her and her work, reading and asking questions all the time. It’s a rush, really, and she has to hold on to him to steady herself.
“Thank you so much, Barry. It’s exciting and scary and, humbling, in a way.”
“See,” he says, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Good.”
She sticks her tongue out at him and he takes it as an invitation to kiss her. It’s a quick kiss, compared to the way he usually kisses her, but he still leaves her light-headed from the taste and the feel of him. She hums when he pulls away, closing her eyes briefly.
“You ready?” she asks when he’s in her sight again.
“I think I am,” he replies, but she notes that he seems a little dazed too.
“Don’t be nervous,” she grins. “You already know Dad. You’ve met Linda. You’ve likely met Cecile too.”
“Yes, but it’s one thing to talk to Captain West and DA Horton for work. It’s completely different to hang out with them as the man their daughter has been seeing.”
She takes his hand to squeeze once and lets go to run her hand across his chest, picking at invisible lent on his sweater.
“It’ll be fine. Just be your weirdly charming self.”
“Weirdly charming?” His eyes widen and he stands up straighter. “How am I weirdly charming?”
Ignoring his question, she grabs his hand again. “Come on. We’re really late now.”
“But Iris…?”
Iris isn’t quite sure how she got Barry invited to this dinner. She’d gone over to her dad’s for dinner on Sunday, and they’d been talking about Wally’s party, securing some last-minute details. Out of the blue, Wally had blurted about Iris’s “new boyfriend,” though Iris figures it was a calculated move on her brother’s part. But now they’re here, walking into Golden’s hand in hand.
The place has been decorated for the party: white, black, and gold streamers everywhere, a matching balloon arch, a tall matching photo booth set up on one side. The space has been cleared so that there is one long table for the group to sit together (to include their family, Linda and Daniel, Theo and Xuan, and several of Wally’s friends from college). On the other side of the table is a wide-open space where, in about an hour, a DJ will come set up in the corner and the remaining space will act as a makeshift dance floor.
Wally is sitting in the middle of the table, a black leather crown on his head, matching his black t-shirt and blazer paired with black trousers, a gold chain circling his throat. The color theme for his birthday party is black, white, and gold, and as Iris looks around the room, she sees her family and Wally’s friends all adhering to the dress code.
“Iris,” he shouts when he spots her. “Fucking finally.” He immediately glances back at their dad with a low “sorry dad,” before standing to greet her. Iris pulls him in for a hug, wrapping her arms tight around him.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she tells him. “Happy birthday, baby.”
“Thanks, big sis.” He gives her another big squeeze and then pulls back to kiss her cheek.
Joe West, tall and imposing-looking with deep brown skin and kind eyes, shakes his head at his youngest son and stands to give Iris a hug too.
“Good to see you, pumpkin.”
He looks at Barry, who’s standing behind her, looking a little bit pink in the face, his eyes wide. She shakes her head in amusement, thinking about how he’s always so damn confident when he’s with her, but he’s looking like he wants to turn and run at the moment.
“CSI Allen,” her dad says, expression unreadable.
Barry swallows. “Captain West. It’s, uh, good to see you.”
There’s a tense silence for just a moment as her dad seems to size Barry up. But before Barry decides to actually run away, Iris rolls her eyes and lightly taps her father’s shoulder.
“Daddy, stop.”
Her dad blinks once and then his face erupts in a wide grin. “I’m just kidding. Good to see you, Allen.” He reaches out to shake Barry’s hand, clapping his shoulder.
“You too, sir,” Barry nods once, and then again. “And please just call me Barry.”
The rounds are made. Barry greets DA Horton, a pretty woman with ochre colored skin and big brown eyes, who tells him to call her Cecile when they aren’t at work. Wally is next, who gives him a long look, not unlike their father, before reaching out to hug him, whispering something in his ear that makes Barry smile faintly as he looks briefly at Iris before turning back to Wally and nodding firmly. Xuan and Theo greet him with wide smiles, and then Linda gives him a kiss on the cheek before introducing him to Daniel, a tall, sun-kissed man with near black eyes, unruly dark hair, and an easy smile.
The table is divided with family on one end and Wally’s friends on the other, with Wally sitting in the middle on one side and Iris across from him. There are a couple of waiters, Allegra is here as the bartender, and just as Barry and Iris are sitting down, the waiters bring out several plates of appetizers featured on the menu: egg rolls, steamed buns, fried pork dumplings, ginger salads, edamame, baked sticky wings. There are several plates of each, enough for everyone to have some of everything and they all dig in, taking sips of Wally’s birthday cocktail, something that’s mostly champagne, in between.
Iris watches in fascination as Barry effortlessly makes conversation with people around him. It’s not that she’s necessarily surprised; Barry is an affable sort, her dad is an extremely good judge of character, and Wally and Cecile are generally easy-going people. But seeing it in action does something so funny to her that she can’t describe it. When her dad asks how they met, he shoots her a wink and replies, “I saw her out dancing one night and I knew I had to get to know her.” Only she hears Linda’s snort, but the answer does make her shake her head (and flush a little) in remembrance.
Then Cecile wants to know, inexplicably, about their first date.
“She invited me over for dinner,” Barry explains.
“No, I…” She turns sharply to her side, narrowing her eyes at the unmitigated glee in his. He knows that if she explains how he’d just shown up (because she’d invited him over for a one-night stand anyway), they’d both be thrown under the bus.
Iris looks back at the table, at her dad who’s got an eyebrow raised, and at Wally who’s obviously trying not to laugh.
“I don’t really count that as the first date,” she responds through clenched teeth. Barry leans into her, arm draped over her shoulder, fingers playing absently with her dress’s collar.
“So do you count hanging out at Fall Fest?”
She isn’t fooled by the casual tone of his question. “You were there with your friends. You ditching them had nothing to do with me.”
He reaches out and fingers the simple gold open circle studs she’s wearing. The action makes her look at him again and there’s something behind the playfulness in his gaze, something that sings like there is only one for me; you have made that a possibility, like we could take that step to see, mm; if this is really gonna be, like all she’s gotta do is say yes to whatever statement his eyes are making, to whatever question his fingers are stitching into her skin.
“Me leaving them had everything to do with you.”
And she’s, for a second (or for a minute, or for some infinite period of time) lost in it, lost in him, forgetting that this is not a private moment, that people are watching, that the goosebumps that are gliding up her arms and the heavy rise and fall of her chest are for everyone to see.
Linda lets out a cough, a way too obvious attempt to break the tension.
“But if we’re talking about our first official date,” Barry says, holding her gaze for a second longer before turning back to her family, “we went on a picnic.”
She can’t look at them, not yet, and she saves face by turning to Linda whose own eyes are filled with mirth.
“Oh, a picnic,” Cecile squeals. “How sweet.”
“Yeah,” he replies, smiling. “It was sweet: the company and the dessert.”
She thinks of the dessert, the way he’d licked at her like she was the sweetest thing he’d ever had in his mouth; Iris has to avert her eyes from them again, lest they see her suddenly widened eyes and her speeding pulse, her legs crossing and uncrossing again.
Wally, bless his soul, takes up the conversation from there, turning it to something he’d figured out in one of his classes. Iris leans into Barry.
“You do too much,” she tells him quietly.
He nods in concedence. “You’re probably right.” Then one corner of his mouth lifts again. “But you can’t tell me you don’t like it.”
She pinches him at that and he yelps, rubbing at his arm.
“I’m gonna hurt you later,” she threatens, stretching up to whisper it in his ear.
He licks his lips, eyes blazing. “You promise?”
She punches him lightly on the arm and he responds with a kiss to her cheek.
They fall into individual conversations after that. Plates disappear and more food appears; champagne glasses are taken away or refilled. Iris eats on most of whatever’s put in front of her, but she drinks slowly since it is still a school night. She’s half-listening to Linda and Dan tell her parents about some trip that they’re interested in taking to Vietnam, where all of Dan’s grandparents still live. Her dad and Cecile are flirting a little bit, she thinks, which, weird. Still, she’s got an ear to the conversations that Barry is having. He starts off talking to Jessie, one of Wally’s friends that have been around since Wally started at CCU, about nanotechnology, something Iris has zero interest in, and they geek out about it for long enough that Iris gets bored of it. But that leads them to a conversation about which professors are still at CCU, where Barry also went for undergrad and grad, finishing both eight years ago. That tells her that Barry is about five years older than her, which Iris guesses she can see in his mannerisms, in how comfortable he is in his career and in his thoughts and even in the way he carries his body.
Wally takes Barry’s attention away from Jessie after a while. Barry moves away from Iris enough that he can focus on whatever Wally’s saying. It takes his arm from her chair but he maintains contact by planting his hand on her bare thigh, thumb rubbing against her lightly. She can only hear snippets of their conversation, words their deeper voices, though whispered, can’t hide. She hears, at one point, “I think your sister is the loveliest woman I’ve ever known, in temperament and beauty, and I’m here for as long as she’ll have me.”
She doesn’t think she was supposed to hear that,
(although, she’ll wonder later that night if, purposefully, Barry had said it loud enough for her to do so).
Still, she does, whether he meant for her to or not. And she grapples with it for a moment. Because he’s said something similar before. He’s told her that he’s whipped and that he likes her and that he wants. The reality is: she’s wondered if it were true. She knows better than anyone the power of words, how they’re used to not only tell stories, but to tell lies, to manipulate, to coerce. And of course she doesn’t think that Barry would do any of those things, but she’d thought that his words had been just...words, pretty things to make her feel good.
(Okay, so maybe that it’s really true, either. But it’s been easier to take him at face value, to pen this story based on her own feelings, not always realizing that Barry’s just as much of a character here, that his dialogue matches the action, the imagery, foreshadowing whatever it is that’s really happening here.)
So saying this to her brother, however, privately and in the seriousness she knows is accompanied by his furrowed eyebrows and pursed mouth...well, that crystalizes it for her. Her reaction, though unsurprising in its intensity (because everything about this with him has been intense), is abrupt. Her entire body seizes up with, god, feeling, with emotions she’s been, apparently, cultivating since the moment he asked her to dance. She goes hot at the same time that she physically shivers, with her own words unspoken, with feelings suddenly realized, with raw passion, with all you gotta do is say yes; don't deny what you feel, let me undress you, baby; open up your mind and just rest; i'm about to let you know, you make me so...
She silently downs the rest of her drink, looking around the room to see if anyone has noticed her eyes darting to and fro, literally on the edge of a breakdown. She takes a big breath and wonders what she should do about this inconvenient revelation.
Barry turns to her, that same soft smile on his face. But, noticing what he perceives as her solemnity, he pulls from his conversation and slides his hand up her thigh and over her hip to settle on her waist. Her skin tingles at his touch.
“You alright? You’re not talking much.”
“Yeah,” she nods, lips turning up, hoping he can’t see the slight bit of panic she’s feeling. “Yeah. You? Surviving the interrogation?”
“They haven’t thrown me out yet, so I think so.”
She gives him a quiet laugh. But then he goes a little thoughtful too, licking his lips and staring at her. He reaches out to push a lock of hair behind her ear, and then he keeps his hand on her, running along the side of her face, down until he’s holding her by the back of her neck, his thumb still rubbing along the apples of her cheeks. He doesn’t look away, blinking as if to steady her features.
“What?” she questions, a bit nervously, wondering if he can see what she’s just realized in her features. He always looks at her as if he can, as if he can read her. He doesn’t speak for a moment, then,
“You’re really pretty.”
Iris scrunches her nose a little. “Are you drunk?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know, I just… you seem kind of far in your head right now and I know that compliments always make you blink back into the moment.” He gives a small grin. “Or make you blush.”
“I’m Black,” she counters. “I don’t blush.”
“Hmm,” he hums, grin widening. “Maybe you don’t get red like me, but you blush.” He runs his thumb across her bottom lip, tracing the plump curve. “Your eyes look sort of blown and you bite this lip and,” he leans closer, speaking close to her ear, “I can practically see your breathing get deeper.”
Iris decides that it’s only because of his thumb on her mouth that she doesn’t complete each of these steps he’s outlined. Instead, she circles her hand around his wrist and gives him a frown against his thumb.
“I feel like I’m at a disadvantage here,” she reveals. “You do make me blush, just like you said, but I feel like you’re always so, so…”
She lets the sentiment taper off, not wanting to truly acknowledge that she feels like she’s the one stepping out of her comfort zone, the one hanging off the ledge. But he chuckles, the sound connoting more incredulity than humor.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Her brows furrow, briefly confused. “Bear…”
“Do you think I’m composed, Iris?”
She snaps back, not liking his tone. “Well you’re always so goddamn smug and…”
His kiss cuts her off. Somehow, he’s still mindful of the mixed company, she assumes, because it’s a kiss like earlier: with some tongue, but still quick and nothing particularly distasteful. Even still, she tries to chase after him, to deepen the kiss, because she really just can’t help it where he’s concerned. When he pulls back, he resumes running his thumb along her mouth, and she knows that her lipstick is officially fucked.
“I’m not composed, Iris,” he tells her, eyes darting across her face. He, at least, lowers his voice so that they aren’t making a scene. “I’m, literally, a fucking mess around you. I don’t know, I'm just trying to make you think I’m confident, so you don’t think I’m too boring or, or before you realize that there’s someone better out there for you.”
He holds her gaze, blue-green eyes keeping her captive. It’s all she can do to keep from falling into him, from blurting out her newfound revelation. It’s all she can do to not weep at the fact that he’s apparently in this too, that she isn’t the only one losing her shit right now.
“Iris, you asked me what I was doing to you. And I told you it’s nothing that you aren’t doing to me. And that’s the truth. Whatever you got, I'm probably so far past that already.”
The words get stuck, then, the song that’s been playing in her head since she saw him this evening, since she’s thought of what it would be like to be desired by someone like this, since she was a little girl dreaming, the sound like loving you has taken time, take time; but I always knew you could be mine, the melody one that skips in tune with her heart every time Barry makes these grand declarations like he’s just done.
He gives her another peck on the mouth, likely figuring that she’s lost all mental function. He isn’t wrong, and when Wally calls for his attention again, he gives her one more caress before turning back to him.
Still dazed, Iris turns and locks eyes with Linda who’s gazing at her in concern.
“You okay, Iris?” She eyes Barry over her shoulder. “That seemed pretty intense.”
“Can we talk?” Because Linda and Dan had been like this, enamored with each other. And Iris just wants to get it right. “Not right now, but later in the week?”
Linda nods. “Yeah, okay. Of course we can.” She takes a hold of both of Iris’s hands and gives a good squeeze. “But I see you retreating right now. Don’t. We’ll talk later, but don’t space out here. Stay in this moment; stay in this feeling.”
She looks up at her best friend. Iris can admit that she thought she knew love. She’s seen it in others, she’s written about it. But feeling it, at least what she thinks might be the beginning of it, is overwhelming. So she attempts to do as her friend asks and stay in the moment.
The parents leave around 10, with strict instructions to not tear apart the restaurant. The Parks have offered the place ‘til about 1, likely even later. With the tables pushed back, white strobe lights turned on, and the DJ from CCU already set up, the place could almost be mistaken for a club. More of Wally’s friends, or at least, more people he knows from school, those who weren’t invited to the more intimate dinner part of the night, start to file in and an off-duty cop that their dad has hired is manning the door. Iris’s 21st birthday had consisted of her own dinner at Golden’s and a night out at some bar downtown, but she thinks that Wally has got the right idea, making it more exclusive like this.
In an effort to “stay in the moment” (and not freak out about the fact that she’s officially acknowledged that she’s fallen into some sort of infatuation with Barry Allen), Iris orders her second of the birthday cocktail and sits down at the bar alongside Dan and Linda to watch the younger adults dance to the music. A tall woman in a pretty gold dress has a camera looped around her neck and is taking pictures of her classmates, all in their white, gold, or black party outfits. She’d gotten a few family portraits earlier, some of Linda and Iris, and one of Barry and Iris that had been meant to be pretty simple, them standing next to each other with Iris leaned in close, Barry holding on to her waist. But he’s standing just slightly behind her, with his big hand spread over her hip, and he’s looking down at her as she smiles softly for the camera. The photographer had shown them the photo after and it was the first time she had seen them together, the first time she can maybe see what he means when he tells her that he’s so far past wherever she is right now. But, and Iris can see it now, is feeling it now: he may not be as far past her as he thinks.
Now, Linda and Iris are the de facto chaperones for the night, a task that Linda is taking seriously as she hops up every few minutes to make sure no one is tearing up her parents’ place. Barry, who’d been talking to her dad before he left, strolls over to her, expression calm. He walks right into her, positioning himself between her legs, planting his hands right on her hips.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
Iris, in the process of looping her arm around his neck, pulls back until only her hand is circling his throat. “What are you sorry for?”
“I told you that I would,” he waves a hand as he tries to find his words, “that I would give you the time that you need. And I told myself that I would take it easy, that I wouldn’t pressure you. But I think earlier, I, I was…”
“Wait, no.” She shakes her head, stopping him. She has to lean in closer, because the DJ has just started up and the music is loud in the relatively small space, in addition to her currently drunk brother and his friends singing along loudly to the song. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just trying to figure out what it all means. This is, this is new to me, and I’m just...”
He nods slowly when she trails off, flicking his pink tongue out to swipe across his mouth. Iris follows the action, eyes darting up when his lips start to curve up.
“I’m here until you figure it out.” He steps closer, closing the distance between them. Her legs wrap around his waist automatically, hands sliding up until they’re holding onto her hips. “And in the meantime, we can get a little tipsy and make out like we’re 21 again.”
“Oh, so you did a lot of drunk making out at 21?”
His eyes go big. “Of course not. Just maybe once or twice, you know.” He taps her hip. “And with no one as pretty as you.”
Iris barks out a laugh. “Nice save.”
He grins wide. “Yeah. I thought so too.”
He orders another drink too, and Allegra smirks at the both of them, her version of a smile, as she sets their drinks down.
Iris grabs her drink and raises the glass. “Let’s toast.”
“Okay,” Barry agrees. “What are we toasting to?”
“New relationships?” she tries.
“Sure,” he nods. “And to figuring it out.”
They clink glasses.
She doesn’t know how long it takes Barry to get her alone in a dark corner, grinding on one another to the music. They sit at the bar for a little while longer, until they finish their cocktails. They order another, though Iris asks for more of whatever mixers are being used than champagne. They don’t try to talk much since they can’t really hear one another without shouting at the other. Instead, they watch the younger crowd dance for a while. Iris turns her chair all the way around so that she can keep an eye, and Barry sits down beside her. He’s turned to the side so that he can crowd her, legs wide, both of his hands touching her.
At one point, Linda stands up and walks through the crowd in her tall black strappy heels and leather pants. She straightens the sheer white blouse she’s got tucked into her pants and grabs the microphone from the DJ.
“Alright,” she starts amidst groans from the crowd when the music is cut. “Oh hush it.” She searches out the crowd until she finds Wally and then she smiles at him. “So Iris and I really want to thank you all for coming out tonight; she’s not up here because speaking in front of crowds isn’t really her thing, but I know I speak for us both when I say that we’re so happy to celebrate my honorary baby brother. Get drunk, but don’t forget to tip the bartender. Have fun, but not enough that you tear my parents’ shit up. And as we’re drinking and dancing, let’s remember the beautiful man that we’re here to love on. I’m so incredibly lucky that you let me into your life when I made my way into Iris’s. Happy birthday and I love you, Wally.”
Wally blows a kiss at Linda and then turns to catch Iris’s eyes. She sees the sheen of unshed tears in Wally’s and he mouths an “I love you” at her that she immediately mouths back. Up front, Linda starts to move away from the mic and then comes back. “And one round of shots on me!”
The music starts back up and the partiers get back into the groove. Iris and Barry sit for moments longer, until the music changes to something lower, sultrier, the lyrics seductive, i-i recognize the butterflies inside me, ah; sense is gonna be made tonight, tonight; all you gotta do is say yes, the beat one that she can feel in every part of her. Barry must feel it too.
“Dance with me,” he requests, standing, and she nods, taking his hand and following him out. He finds them a spot off to the opposite end of the DJ, further away from where the crowd of dancers have also begun to pair off, to fall victim to the beat of this song. Barry stands with his back against the wall, near where a curtain hangs shadowed from the others, and he turns Iris until her ass is pressed firmly against his front.
She begins to rock, winding her hips in easy circles, letting her body learn the rhythm of the song, all you gotta do is say yes, letting her body get lost in the music, lost in the crooned commands as the artists sing, don’t deny what you feel, let me undress you, baby. He matches her, swaying with her, touching on her as he does. He holds onto her, one hand pressed just beneath her breasts, the other right above her pelvis. She lets her head fall back onto his shoulder, wrapping her arm behind her around his neck. Barry leans down and presses a kiss to her cheek, her ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth, with his tongue, sucking on her.
“Hmmm,” she purrs, grinding back against him, humming along, open up your mind and just rest; i’m about to let you know that you make me so, so...
“I’ve been watching you,” Barry tells her, whispering it into her ear over the music. “In this dress all fucking night. Do you know what it’s been doing to me?”
She shakes her head in response to his question.
“It’s been driving me crazy,” he responds. “Wally’s little friends have been watching you, probably wanting to touch you like I’ve been wanting to do all night.”
She doesn’t stop dancing, hips moving slow to one side, slower to the other, Barry moving with her. He grinds behind her, holding her tight against him. She can feel him start to swell against her ass and she closes her eyes at the feeling, at the sound of his voice, rough and arousal-soaked, speaking in her ear.
“You walked up to me on the street with this leg out.” He rubs down as much of her thigh as he can reach and then back up. “Your skin glowing and that sexy mouth of yours smiling at me.”
He tips his fingers back up her thigh and he reaches under her dress and across her pelvis. Her legs spread as she bends her knees, still in time to the music, but it gives him more access. The panties she’s got on are black and high cut, and Barry caresses her bare bikini line. Her grip tightens on his neck, bringing them even closer, making it easier to slide his fingers even further into her panties.
“Barry,” she whispers, and she knows he can’t hear her. But he doesn’t need to because he taps her on her pelvis, his longest finger catching on her clit.
“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not gonna finger fuck you out here.”
Iris realizes, as he says it, that maybe she wouldn’t hate it; because the singers are saying, you make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, and he does, make her so so so...and she’s feeling it, feeling him, wondering what people might see if they looked over, wondering why the thought of it makes her stomach clench, a little in embarrassment, a little more in something that makes the clench move lower, her sex clamping around where she wants his fingers, where she wants his dick.
She turns, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him. It gets deep fast, with Iris licking into Barry’s mouth and Barry returning her kiss with fervor. She grips at the hair at the nape of his neck, and he reaches down, gripping a firm handful of her ass to bring her closer. She moans into his mouth, catching his answering groan.
She pulls back. “Come with me.”
She takes his hand and leads him through the crowd. No one is paying much attention to them; Wally is still in the middle of the floor, dancing against a tall good looking dark-skinned man. Linda is out there too, Dan dancing his normal one-two step move as Linda leans close to him, her arms looped around his neck. Iris takes Barry to the back, down the hall that leads past the kitchen. The bathrooms are there, and Iris checks to make sure no one is coming before she pushes through the door and leads him inside. She takes him to the last and the largest of the three stalls, past the three gold circular mirrors above clean white sinks; her shoes are loud on the black marble floors.
“You know,” Barry says as she locks the stall door behind her. He grabs for her, clutching her hand. “You claimed it was me who got you to do stuff like this, but you brought me back here.”
She lifts her eyebrow at him, even as she moves past him to lean against the wall. “You saying you don’t want me in here?”
She positions herself so that her leg is peeking out from the long slit in her dress. She doesn’t know what’s gotten into her.
Except maybe she does.
The weight of her earlier revelation sits heavy on her, and the song that’s been playing, the you make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, sits just as heavy, pushing on her thighs, and on her heart too; and Iris needs to do something with it, needs to let go of some of this feeling, to get out the parts that might start to be too much, that are already beginning to flood her, so that she can make sense of what’s really there.
So she looks Barry in the eye, runs her manicured nails over her throat, down through her cleavage, over her belly until she can touch at the top of her thigh. She opens the skirt, showing him the panties he’d been playing with earlier, the lace around her waist, the thin fabric that shows exactly what it’s supposed to be covering.
“Bear?”
He’s over to her in two long strides. He plants both of his hands on the wall behind her, crowding her.
“I want you wherever you want me,” he tells her. “On your couch, on a blanket in the woods, in as many places in this restaurant as you’ll let me fuck you in.”
He licks his lips, but he doesn’t move to touch her. Instead, he thrusts his hips against her so that she can feel him, hard and solid against her pelvis.
“This is what you do to me, baby. I think about you and I’m like this.” He pushes against her one more time and then tells her to “turn around.”
She does. And the next few moments are like something out of a film, how rushed they are, how passionate. He presses her against the wall and touches her as he rubs his dick on her ass, slipping his hand into the top of her dress to play with her breasts. Her bra is made of the same thin material as her panties and he alternates between squeezing the whole of her breast and then pinching at the nipples, and then moving to the other to do more of the same. He kisses her wherever his mouth catches her: in her hair, on her cheek, on her shoulders when her dress starts to slide. They’re both breathing heavily; Iris is grinding back onto Barry where he’s so goddamn hard behind her, his sex swollen and his chest covering her. Her hands are clenching and unclenching into fists as she bangs lightly on the wall, moaning deep in her throat, humming her pleasure, you make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so...
Iris hears the clank of his belt unbuckling. And her pussy is ready for him, slick and throbbing as she looks behind her to see him shoving his pants past his knees, gripping and then tearing open a condom he’s gotten from somewhere, caressing his own thick dick as he rolls it on. He leans over and kisses her, wet and sloppy, holding her in this position until he’s done devouring her mouth. Then he turns her back to the wall and lifts her dress, draping it above her waist. The cool air hits her heated flesh, and that contact, and Barry’s fingers spreading her thighs, and Barry pushing her panties to the side, rubbing along her slit to make sure she’s ready for him, it makes her moan loud and long.
Barry pushing into her cuts her off.
Her heels put her at the perfect height to arch her back into him, to take him in.
“Shit, Iris,” he murmurs. He pulls out, pushes back in, pulls out to the tip, pushes back in, and Iris knocks her forehead against the wall. “All the time,” he tells her, “I, I think about being in this pussy all the time.”
Her pussy opens for him, when he says that, letting him in deeper. Barry finds a rhythm, short strokes first, shallow and brief; and then longer strokes that bury him in, that smacks his pelvis against her ass. She loves the feel of him behind her, even if she misses being able to touch him, but the feel of his kissing on her and touching on her and fucking so hard into her more than makes up for it.
And then the door opens. Iris hears the music grow louder for several seconds and the unsteady clack of multiple pairs of heels and the drunken laughter of the women walking.
Iris whimpers, the sound turning into a moan because Barry doesn’t stop, just keeps riding her, gripping her waist tight. She holds in the moan she wants to let out, holds in how much she wants to slap her hand against the wall since she can’t. Barry angles himself closer to her.
“I think you like it, Iris,” he murmurs into her ear. “As soon as that door opened, you got wetter, baby.”
“Ahhh,” she breathes heavily as he pumps into her.
“You like it when you could get caught, huh? When someone might hear you?”
Iris shuts her eyes tight, shakes her head, and then bites down on her lip to keep from yelling out. But he feels so good, so thick and hard, and the feeling’s curling thick in her belly, thicker in her walls quivering around him. And he might not necessarily be wrong, that she likes it, the possibility of being caught, the fact that she could be heard. The loud laughter she’d heard when the door opened has quieted to softer giggles now; maybe they think she’s so into this that she doesn’t notice that the door never opened again, but they’re still there, amused by what’s happening. And from the way she keeps tightening on Barry’s dick, the way she’s pushing back against him, harder and harder, she’s more than into this.
“No? You don’t like this?” Barry questions and he shifts her dress even higher up her waist, pressing her harder into the wall.
“Fuck,” she grunts at the contact.
He gives a short, breathy chuckle. “Don’t worry. I like it too.” He reaches up and pulls her lip from between her teeth. “Don’t hold back. Let them hear you. Louder, baby.” He keeps rocking into her, as he moves that same hand down her chin, down the line of her neck, until he wraps a hand around the base of her throat. “Moan for me louder. Let them know who’s fucking you in here, baby.”
“Oohhh, yes,” she moans, only a touch louder.
He rubs a hand over her exposed ass cheek, softly, reverently. And then he pulls her hand back and smacks her hard.
“Barryyyyy!” She yells. Her rhythm falters and her head falls back against his shoulder. The arch in her back deepens and it pushes him even deeper.
“Just like that,” Barry groans.
“Damn,” she hears one of the girls in the bathroom breathe.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” another says.
“After I’m done texting Chris to see if I can come over after this.”
There is another round of laughs and Barry laughs again against her throat. “They like what I’m doing to you too.”
There’s a light thin layer of sweat on her skin, the sheen on her face and her chest, down her thighs. She’s wet, (god, she always gets so wet with him), and she’s dripping out around his dick. Her dress is probably going to be ruined.
But none of that matters. All that does is the sensations she’s feeling. Sex with Barry always takes up every one of her senses, and this is no different: she can taste the champagne still on her tongue, the mint from his when he’d kissed her; she can smell the citrus of the lemongrass on his skin, the rose water on her own, the heady scent of their arousal filling her nostrils; she can’t physically see much, with her eyes constantly shut tight, but she can picture it, picture them, his pants down at his ankles, legs as wide as they can go, her dress hiked up over her hips, the long length of him sliding in and out of her soaked pussy from behind; the feel of her breasts pressed into the cool wall, his fingers pressed into her throat, her hand clutching onto that same wrist; the soft sound of their breathing, the girls speaking softly, the music still playing, matching her cries, singing ah, ah, yea-yeah, yeah, yea-yeah; oh right there, right there, right there; right there, right there; right there, oh, oh, mm, mmm.
“Tell me what you want, Iris,” Barry groans. “Tell me, tell them, fuck, baby…”
“Harder,” she says, wanting to come, needing him to get her there. “Harder, Bear, fuck me…”
He does. He shifts again so that he can push all the way into her, riding her ass, and he long strokes into her, knocking against something that makes her quiver, harder and harder, a little bit faster, but always good, so good, so good, so, so, so…
“Barry.” Her orgasm hits her just as hard as he’s been doing. She doesn’t even realize it’s coming, not until her entire body seizes up, even her toes curl in her shoes, and she pushes back on Barry, squeezing him tight. It triggers his own and he grips her waist as he spills into her, the feel of his throbbing dick prolonging her climax, making her fall back into him until she’s completely spent.
“Did you, uh, do a lot of this when you were 21 and tipsy making out?”
Iris stands against the wall of the stall, looking down at her dress for stains, holding her underwear in her hands because she couldn’t stand the wet feel of them on her. The bathroom is quiet now, save for the faint music still coming from the front. She knows that they should hurry before someone else comes in, but she can’t really move yet.
Barry laughs as he shoves himself back into his pants and buckles back up. He’s already tied the condom up and flushed it down the toilet.
“God, no. The most I could get was a little over the shirt boob action.”
Iris shakes her head, a little fondly. “Please never say boob action again.”
“No?” He rubs his hand down the front of his sweater. “That’s not sexy?”
Iris shakes her head again as he walks back over to her. “Not even a little bit. That’s probably why you weren’t getting any.”
“You’re probably right. But I’ve upped my game now.”
Iris laughs. “You’ve upped your game?”
He nods, a goofy little grin on his face. He stops in front of her and takes one of her hands in his.
“Yeah. We did a little dancing, a little touching.” He wiggles his eyebrows and grabs at the panties in her hand, holding them up. “And I got you to fuck me in a bathroom.”
“Oh?” Iris watches as he puts the panties into his pockets. “You got me to fuck you?” She looks down at herself, and then sticks her leg out further. The slit of this dress, the shoes, the way the dress drapes her frame is undoubtedly a tongue-tier. Barry nods, swallows, and meets her gaze again, those eyes doing that graying thing she’s found she loves.
“Y-yeah. We can, uh, we can share the credit.”
Iris laughs out loud at that. “Come on,” she squeezes his hand and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s get out of here. We’re already gonna have to sneak out. What if those girls tell Wally? I can’t believe you had me doing all that.”
They leave the bathroom stall, heading for the door.
“It’s my game,” Barry replies, and Iris hides her laughter as they slip back into the party.
She looks for Wally to tell him that she’s leaving. Luckily, he’s at the bar, laughing with Allegra and the man he was dancing with earlier.
“Iris!” he shouts when he sees her. “Barry!”
Iris laughs as she steps into his open arms. “Are you having a good time, baby?”
“I’m having the best time.” He squeezes her. “I bet you are too.”
He looks over her shoulder at Barry and when she turns too, she sees a bit of color in his cheeks.
“What are you talking about?” she deflects.
Wally’s shrug is not at all sly. “I heard that someone was in the ladies’ room screaming out ‘Barry.’” He winks at Barry who goes even redder. “You should probably be glad Xuan and Theo think of you as a daughter.”
She rolls her eyes, even as she turns her head to hide her embarrassment. “We just came to tell you that we’re leaving. I’ve got class in the morning.”
“Of course,” Wally says, nodding. “And you’re both probably tired.”
“Okay, bye,” Iris starts to move out of his arms.
Wally laughs and tightens his arms around her. “I’m only kidding, big sis.” Then his smile turns softer and he casts another glance at Barry, before reaching down and cupping her cheek.
“This man is gone over you, Iris,” he says softly. “And I’m so happy for you. Nobody I know deserves a love like this more than you do.”
Iris gives him a smile and then another quick hug. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He pulls Barry in for a hug. “So good to officially meet you.”
“You too, man.”
And with that, Barry takes her hand and leads him out, and Iris follows beside him, overcome with what she’s feeling for him. She’d thought the sex might give her some space to think, but it’s only really just heightened it. They are still in the rising action of this story, gliding higher and higher on a diagram, climbing towards a climax she’s becoming excited to experience.
She’s only scared of what might happen when they come down from it.
All you gotta do is say yes
(Don't deny what you feel, let me)
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Fanfic/Writing Updates!
I know I just put this in a mess of tags on my last post, but just an update for my readers:
Sorry for the delay in updating fics/writing stories! I was dying towards the second half of my semester so I didn’t have time to much other than some one-shots. Right now though, I’ve kicked it into high gear, lol. So here is what I can currently promise you to look forward to.
Obey Me
You Don’t Really Wanna Stay (Sequel to “Cause You Don’t Really Wanna Go”, now known as the Hot n’ Cold series): Chapter 2 has been finished since mid-April. I haven’t published it because I sort of screwed myself going off script and publishing chapter 1 before I wrote the entire fic (unlike how with CYDRWG, I wrote the entire thing in one week and then published it over a few days/like a week). I’ve had the entire story outlined in this case, but it was just a matter of writing it. Chapter 3 is also finished now, so I will be working over the next few days to finish Chapters 4 and 5 before I start publishing the rest of the work on a schedule. This was a story that was originally only meant to be 2 chapters, but as you can see, things have expanded. An epilogue may or may not be written later on (similar to the Mammon fic as well). I may or may not have plans for a third fic in this series.
Siberia: This story has had the entire plot and every detail outlined since I started writing it last fall. Again, it’s just a matter of writing it all together into a long chapter with scenes instead of plot points and summaries of events on a notebook page. Once the above fic is finished being written, I will immediately resume work on Chapter 8 of Siberia, and similarly, will try and get through 2-3 chapters before I start publishing again. At the earliest, I can guarantee an update by the end of May or June. I’m hoping to get ahead in my writing to help me out later on.
Designing in the Devildom (Series): There are SO many one-shots planned for this series still. I originally planned on having a loose chronological order for them, but as some of you may have seen, we’ve kind of deviated a bit. I have several documents with drafts for various stories that have been in the works for months, but am putting this series as less of a priority compared to the above works. I received an ask suggesting I continue the “M’Lady” fic with a follow-up of the actual fashion show the demons would participate in, and have drafted sketches of each outfit the characters would model, which I would like to publish alongside the work, so that is one of the projects that is taking some time.
gen:LOCK
I have so many stories still planned for gen:LOCK, and as I work on my other fandoms, I find myself itching to get back to this fandom that I love so much. I don’t want to give a lot away, but I have at least 3 ideas revolving around Yaz and 1 idea focused on the gen:LOCK team as a whole. They aren’t short one-shots or drabbles, so I ask you to be patient and promise by the end of the summer you will see something from me soon.
Cars gL AU: Believe it or not, I did plan a sequel to that joke fic. The idea came about after I wrote the ending to the story, and the response from the actual Cars fandom was so nice, it really made me want to write a follow up. It will be significantly shorter, but I hope everyone will enjoy it as well.
Miscellaneous
Omori: I have plans for a multi-chapter AU that if I nail it the way I want to, well it might not do anything but be self-indulgent for me, but I think it might obliterare the fandom (as I joke to my friend often). I won’t be working on this story until I finish Siberia, as there is a similarity between them and I wish to give each their proper attention.
SK8: I hate Adam but I love writing for Adam and Tadashi. I had another story idea floating around in my head but no concrete notes on it, so I can’t guarantee when this will be written, but know there are plans for it.
FF9: I’ve been promising my sister an FF9 fic for about 2 years now. I had an idea after beating the game but forgot half the location names in the game, and that’s what’s been holding me back. I planned for it to be more long winded and descriptive, but might go a more straight to the point approach. I’m hoping to try and finally sit down and write it before May 31st.
Genshin Impact: I have notes in my fanfic writing journal for a Xiao fic and a Dainsleif fic. Writing for Genshin Impact feels very volatile though and as much as I appreciated the response on my Albedo fic months ago, I cannot guarantee I’ll ever get around to these, lol.
Yu Yu Hakusho: ON GOD IVE GOT NO IDEAS FOR THIS YET BUT I DO HAVE THE DESIRE TO MAKE SOMETHING GOOD BECAUSE I LOVE THIS SHOW SO MUCH. SO SOMETHING WILL COME OUT OF THIS BRAIN OF MINE
Demon Slayer: SAME THING I AM DETERMINED TO DO SOMETHING, DONT KNOW WHAT YET
#my writing#writing#poland's thoughts#obey me#gen:lock#gen lock#genlock#sk8#ff9#genshin impact#yyh#yu yu hakusho#demon slayer
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i won’t hesitate (for you) ch. 11
Jo is happy, at least she feels like she is. When someone from her past shows up, will her and her daughter's world ever go back to normal? Or will things change for good?
This is it, my final chapter of Hesitate... I actually cried a bit finishing this off because I’ve been working on it since early June and we’re halfway through October now. I wanted to thank you guys SO MUCH for your continued support through comments, likes, reblogs, and just general support. I know that this has taken forever to finish but I’m grateful that y’all have stuck through it with me.
Thank you again and I hope you enjoy this final chapter.
xoxo Nina
Pull me close and I'll hold you tight
Don't be scared 'cause I'm on your side
Know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you
I will take your pain
And put it on my heart
I won't hesitate
Just tell me where to start
I thank the oceans for giving me you
You saved me once and I'll save you too
I won't hesitate for you
A Few Months Later…
“You look so handsome, I’d jump you right now if I didn’t have a surgery with Meredith to get to,” Jo grinned up at Alex as she straightened his tie, his eyes rolling as he grabbed her hands in his. “I for one am very proud that you got this office back. It’s been nice not having to fight for on call rooms when I need a nap.”
“You’re just using me for my office, you don’t even care that I’m Chief again,” Alex chuckled as Jo wore an offended look on her face at his accusation. “You sure you should be going into surgery? You’ve been pretty out of it the past day.”
Jo’s eyebrows raised, eyes narrowing at Alex as she glared at him, “Are you insinuating that I’m too pregnant to operate, Chief ?”
“No I'm telling you, as your husband , that you should take it easy,” Alex wrapped his arms around Jo, eyeing her as she continued to scowl at him. “I know you worked until your due date with Harper, but you’re taking care of a toddler and dealing with me. Maybe it’s time to take a break before you stress yourself into labor.”
Jo shrugged off Alex’s arm on her shoulder, her own arms crossed over her belly as she walked away from him. She knew she was only a week and half until her due date, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from working.
“I’m perfectly fine Alex, I don’t need you hovering over my shoulder at all hours of the day,” Jo called over her shoulder as she walked out of his office. “I’ll see you later, I have a surgery to get to.”
Alex watched as Jo left his office, sighing as he fell into his desk chair. He’d been Chief for two months now and had never felt a stronger need to kick his wife’s stubborn ass. Even Amelia had agreed to go on an earlier maternity leave, in fact she’d been grateful that he’d offered it to her. But Jo didn’t want to admit that she might need some help and some rest before their second child came into the world.
“She’s gonna be the death of me,” Alex mumbled to himself as he began to sort through the paperwork on his desk.
-
45 minutes after his wife storms out of his office, Alex’s phone dings with a text from Meredith:
Operating in OR 3. Jo looks like shit.
Furrowing his eyebrows, Alex decided to check out what was happening for himself. After walking down towards the operating galleries, he quietly slipped into one above Meredith and Jo’s OR. He watched with piqued interest as Meredith worked on one side of the operating table and Jo stood almost catatonic on the other side.
“Jo, will you please go sit down,” Meredith’s voice boomed through the OR and the gallery above, her eyes moving momentarily to the woman across from her. “I can see you wincing in pain from here.”
“They’re Braxton Hicks, I’m fine,” Alex could hear Jo’s strained tone of voice even from so far away. “Can you please stop badgering me about this? I’m fine, I’m going to work until my due date just like I did last time.”
“Last time you went into labor five days after your due date and you pushed your body so far that I had to hook you up to an IV for three days after you had Harper,” Alex’s eyebrows raised at Meredith’s words, not knowing exactly what had happened after Harper had been born. “You need to take care of yourself and your baby Jo.”
Jo’s fingers moved from her side to the operating table, gripping it tightly as she took slow and deep breaths. Alex left the gallery, moving quickly to the OR with only Jo on his mind. When he reappeared in the scrub room, he watched his wife’s body curl in on itself as she tried to remain standing upright.
“Jo, get out of there,” Jo’s head whipped around at the sound of Alex’s voice, one hand pressed firmly against her stomach as she looked at him. “Come on, I’m not gonna ask again. You can barely stand up straight.”
Without much protest, Jo walked out of the OR and into the scrub room, ripping her mask and gown off before beginning to scrub her hands.
“I told you I’m fine Alex,” one of Jo’s hands slipped down to the edge of the metal sink, knuckles going white as she gripped tightly. “They’re just Braxton Hicks. You don’t need to pull me out of surgery for this.”
Alex looked from his watch back to Jo, resting his hand against her back as he fixed her with a serious stare, “That’s twice in the past six minutes that you’ve had to stop what you’re doing and clench your fists. I’m pretty sure you’re having contractions. Go home babe, please I’m begging you.”
Jo groaned, turning to Alex with an angry glint in her eye as she stared him down, “I’m not going home, I am fine and I’m going to keep working. So stop nagging me.”
Taking a deep breath, Alex watched as Jo dried her hands off and turned to leave the scrub room. He grimaced as he said his next words, knowing he would piss his wife off with them, “I’m sending you on maternity leave, effective immediately. As the Chief, not as your husband.”
Jo’s entire body stiffened, stopping a foot from the door and turning back towards Alex. The angry expression on her face grew tenfold and she looked up at Alex.
“Are you kidding me? Alex you can’t do that! I’m perfectly fine,” Jo’s voice was bordering on a scream as she pointed at Alex. “You can be concerned as my husband all day long, but you can’t use your Chief powers just because you don’t agree with what I’m doing.”
“You couldn’t even pick up a scalpel to cut in there, I’m trying to make sure you don’t end up giving birth to our kid in the middle of operating,” Alex threw his hands up, eyes narrowing at Jo. “I was perfectly content letting you stress yourself out until you just passed out from exhaustion so that maybe you’d learn a lesson, but the second you start putting other people’s jobs and lives on the line it becomes my problem as the Chief. Go home Jo and don’t come back until you're about to give birth.”
Eyes watering, Jo stormed out of the scrub room, slamming the door behind her. Running his hands down his face, Alex let a loud groan out. The last thing he’d wanted to do was upset Jo, but her stubborn nature made things extremely difficult to work around. He knew what he’d done was a low blow, but he also knew that she wouldn’t have stopped until something happened to her or their child.
-
It was almost 7o’clock when Alex pulled into the driveway of his and Jo’s home. Harper was fast asleep in the backseat, soft snores coming from her as Alex debated how terrible it would be if he just turned around and left. He knew Jo was going to be furious with him and he didn’t want to deal with it, but he’d promised her he would come back. He was done running and ruining things between them because he couldn’t handle a simple conversation.
Carefully grabbing Harper and the dinner he’d picked up, Alex made his way into the house as quietly as possible. He set dinner in the kitchen and got Harper into bed before he checked on Jo. Their house, which they’d only been in for four months, was quieter than he’d ever heard it. There were no excited giggles, no music playing, no showers running. The complete and utter silence was driving him insane as he slipped into the bedroom he shared with Jo.
She was laying in bed, on his side he noted, curled in on herself and clutching a pillow tightly. While it pained him to see her upset, he was glad that she’d at least been able to sleep for once. Jo had spent the past two nights tossing and turning in bed, sleep evading her as the baby in her womb did somersaults. Alex toed off his shoes before settling himself behind Jo, his hands running across her back as she slowly woke up.
“Mmm what time is it,” Jo slowly turned around to press her face against Alex’s chest as best as she could with her belly between them. “I feel like I slept for three days.”
“It’s almost 7 now, Harper is asleep and I have dinner downstairs from the Chinese place you like,” Alex’s voice was low and soft as he ran his hands down to Jo’s belly, feeling the swift movements of the baby inside waking up with their mom. Jo let out a contented groan as her fingers came up to the curls at the nape of Alex’s neck, her body instinctively moving closer towards him. “I’m sorry about what happened today, you know I’d never use my power as Chief if I didn’t have to. I’m just worried about you, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. And I know you can handle it all because you're a superhero, but please let me look after you for a little bit.”
A pang of sadness ran through Alex as he realized just how much he’d missed as he watched a few tears escape Jo’s eyes. He knew this hadn’t been easy for her, the past couple months since he’d shown up throwing her whole life for a loop, but he wanted to make it up to her, he didn’t want to hurt her again.
“Are you okay, you know pain wise? Baby still giving you a hard time,” a hard kick met Alex’s hand at his question, both he and Jo laughing at the interruption.
“Better than before, I’m not contracting anymore,” Jo sighed, fiddling with her wedding rings as she avoided looking up at Alex. “I’m sorry… you were right about me pushing myself too much. I was in a lot of pain earlier and I shouldn’t have gone into that surgery. And… I do need to take it easy. I’m so used to just powering through all the shit that gets thrown at me by myself, I didn’t have help last time and I was with Harper for two years by myself. I love you, so freaking much Alex, but when it comes to parenting I’m not used to having someone here to help.”
His lips pressed against her forehead, Alex held Jo tightly as he relished in the feeling of her in his arms, “I promise I’ll be here to help as much as I can. I’ll wake up every night if this kid has colic, no complaints.”
Jo chuckled, finally lifting her head and kissing Alex soundly. Her fingers wound their way back into his hair, one hand trailing down his body to rake across his chest.
“You know, sex is supposed to help induce labor,” a grin spread across Jo’s face as Alex laughed, dipping his head down to her neck.
“You keep that baby in there, I have a little while before my leave starts,” despite his words, Alex’s lips continued trailing down her neck, fingers following the hot trail he’d created. “Dinners gonna get cold.”
“That’s fine,” Jo’s voice was a moan as she pulled lightly at Alex’s hair. “Keep going, screw dinner.”
-
Alex is rounding his way back to his office when he sees her in the hospital again. He’d sent her on maternity leave just three days ago and she was already back, instantly raising his blood pressure. His wife had been relaxing, napping as much as she could between her manic cleaning spurts, but he could tell that she was itching to get back into the OR armed with a scalpel.
“Jo!”
Her head swivels towards him, one hand settling on to her burgeoning stomach as she begins to walk slowly toward him. Alex can already feel his anger rising, knowing that he’d probably caught Jo trying to weasel her way into a surgery.
“Hey, I just got here,” Jo breathed out as Alex stood in front of her. “Why are you glaring at me like I just ran over your dog?”
“You need to go home, I told you that you can’t operate,” Alex placed his hands on Jo’s shoulders, eyeing her warily as she furrowed her eyebrows. “You’re not about to trick me into letting you work just because you bat your eyelashes at me.”
“Alex, I-“
“No buts, you need to go home and rest,” Alex tried to push Jo back the way she came, but her feet stayed planted firmly on the ground. “Jo, let’s go.”
“Alex!”
He turns then, Jo’s hands gripping his arm that’s still settled on her shoulder. Her eyes are narrowed and her breathing is shallow as she stares up at him, looking almost as if she might slap him.
“If you don’t let me talk to you, I will give birth to your child in this hallway,” Jo squeezed Alex’s arm as she took a deep breath, eyes closing as she spoke through gritted teeth. “My water broke half an hour ago, that’s why I’m here.”
Eyes blown wide, Alex finally takes in Jo’s almost disheveled state and the annoyed expression on her face as she glared at him. Her fingers were gripping his arm, nails sinking into his skin even through his lab coat as she tried to remain composed.
“Oh shit okay, well let’s go then,” Alex pressed his hand against Jo’s back, leading her toward the maternity ward. “Wait, did you drive here? While you were in labor?”
“Let’s talk about that later, I’ve been having contractions since you left for work this morning,” Jo stopped Alex from walking further, head leaning against his shoulder as her breathing became shallow. “Jesus, I forgot how terrible this is. No more after this one, screw the extra bedrooms. I can’t push out another gigantic Karev baby.”
They slowly make their way down the halls and to the maternity ward, Jo stopping every few minutes to breathe through a contraction as Alex rubbed her back comfortingly. His gaze continued to float nervously to his watch, noticing how close Jo’s contractions were as they finally got settled into a room. Carina stepped into the room, greeting them both as she set up.
“I swear if you tell me I can’t have drugs I might scream,” Jo pushed her face into Alex’s chest and let out a loud groan as Carina checked her, a laugh coming from the obstetrician. “What? Why are you laughing? That can’t be a good sign.”
Looking from Jo to Carina, a grimace quickly formed on Alex's face as he realized that she’d come to the same conclusion he had on their walk over. Jo was too far along in her labor, probably almost ready to push.
“Well your bambino has a full head of hair,” Carina smiled up at Jo, standing and motioning for the nurse standing by the door to come in. “Your baby is ready, I’m sure you will feel the need to push any minute now.”
Jo’s eyes moved to Alex nervously, her expression practically begging him to help her as she grumbled, “No way, I can’t do this again. I’m not gonna do it, Alex.”
Alex took in Jo’s teary eyes and her scared expression, his hand coming up to brush her hair away from her face. She’d told him last week that she hadn’t been scared to give birth again, but the expression on her face now read otherwise, he knew her well enough to see the fear pasted on her face.
“Hey, you got this, I know you do. You are the strongest person I know,” leaning down towards her, Alex pressed his lips to Jo’s forehead, fingers swiping away the tears staining her cheeks. “You kinda have to have this baby, but I’m here for you to squeeze my hand and yell at as much as you want. Okay?”
“Okay,” Jo sniffled, one hand coming up to caress Alex’s cheek. “Okay let’s do it.”
-
“Hey Harps! Come to daddy!”
Alex Karev didn’t think he’d ever been happier to see his daughter before, the bouncing three year old jumping from Meredith’s grasp on her and running full speed towards him. He hadn’t realized how much she’d grown just in the few months he’d been home, but feeling the solid weight of her in his arms made him realize that Harper was growing faster by the day.
“Daddy, baby?,” Harper’s hazel eyes met Alex’s own, the glint behind them the same curious look he’d seen in Jo time and again.
“Yeah mommy had the baby, you wanna go see them,” Alex asked, eyes floating to Meredith, who wore a wide grin as she looked at the duo. “Come on, mama wants to see you!”
Alex and Harper walked the short distance from the waiting room to Jo’s hospital room, both Karevs brimming with excitement as they neared the room. As he opened the door, Alex couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at the sight of Jo cradling their newborn, their oldest settled on his hip.
“Hey sweet pea, come here,” Jo’s voice was barely above a whisper as she beckoned Alex and Harper closer to the bed. “You wanna come meet your baby sister?”
Harper eyed the baby in her mom’s arms, a full head of dark brown curls peeking out from the pink hat she wore. The older girl wasn’t sure about the baby, but she still settled into her mom’s side contentedly, one hand reaching out to stroke her sister's cheek.
“This is your little sister Mila Alexandra, but you can just call her Mila. Can you say hi to her,” Alex looked on as Harper paid careful attention to Mila, her eyes watching the baby curiously as she stretched one tiny arm out of her swaddle to grab Harper’s finger. “I think she likes you.”
He hadn’t pictured this life, never thought he’d get a second chance to fix things with Jo. But staring at his wife and their two daughters, Alex couldn’t help but realize how incredibly lucky he was. He’d come back, he’d fixed things, and he knew that he was going to be leaving any of his girls anytime soon. Jo’s fingers reach up to brush back the already unruly curls from Mila’s face, her wedding rings catching the light from the window as she settles her hand on top of the newborn's chest.
“Why’re you standing over there? Come join us,” Jo motioned for Alex to come and sit with them, prompting him to settle Harper into his lap as he sat beside Jo. “You know, I’m happy you came back. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“Well now you’ll never have to wonder.”
#alex karev#jo karev#jo wilson#jolex#jo x alex#jolex fanfic#jolex fic#greys anatomy#greys fanfic#hesitate#nina writes
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I’m not sure if I’m just blindly missing something here, but do you have an update schedule for “From North to uttermost South”?
It’s just that I reread the entire series and the extra content in a weekend and am now addicted to the story❤️
Oh god, this is very sweet of you to say, I’m SO flattered and happy to hear you like it so much!! I’m also so, so sorry, but I do not have an update schedule, oof. I’m a mess, I know.
The proper chapters come out haphazardly, once they’ve been written, vetted, and edited (a three man job!), and the time between them can vary wildly for a lot of reasons. Sometimes I have the whole chapter written soon after the last and it takes a month’s worth of editing before it can go up, if you can believe it! (And sometimes I take months to write the damn thing and it gets edited in a day!)
Which is why I can’t give you a proper indication when the next chapter will be out, though I want to! I can promise I’ve made really good progress on Curufin IV this week, and I’m really buzzing to keep going. I can’t say ‘soon’, but I can promise we’re getting much ‘closer’!
Hope this helps, and thanks so much for asking!
#I want Curvo IV out soon so I can buckle down on my diss and reverse bang projects#I’m aiming for it#after that#I honestly might take the rest of the summer of writing North to South because of my dissertation#(and reverse bang)#but we’ll see#I’m so close to the end I kinda don’t want to#ask#everlasting song#tribble post
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Beautifully Misfit
SERIES; Hybrid BTS
‣ Genre: fluff, smutt, hybrid au
‣ Word Count: 2.08k
‣ Pairing(s): skunk!Jimin x reader, puppy!Taehyung x reader, bunny!Jungkook x reader
‣ Warning(s): very strong language, lots and lots of f-bombs so beware of that, bit of angst if you squint real hard, nothin else for this chapter so enjoy ;)
‣ to be aware of: sub!jimin, switch!taehyung, switch!jungkook, dom!reader, some kinky ass future happenings, BDSM themes, some heavy angst, and triggering themes.
Summary: you never really saw yourself as a hybrid person. that is, until your best friend introduces you to his hybrid, and you suddenly find yourself craving the companionship. you only intended to bring home one. somewhere between the lines you ended up with three beautifully misfit hybrids who craved nothing but your love.
part. i | ii | iii | iv | v | vi (coming soon)
A/N; this is my first post on here, so I’ll make this short… thanks for reading, I’m sorry, ily
Lonely.
It hit you all of a sudden.
You were lonely. For about four months, you’ve been living in you home, working as an editor for your aunt’s absurd gossip magazine, eating solitary meals, sleeping in your admittedly cold bed, and you were just now realizing how lonely you’ve been all this time.
This wasn’t completely out of the blue. You had been feeling a nagging sensation of emptiness in the pit of your stomach for a while now.
But it wasn’t until you had your best friend’s hybrid curled up in your lap, playing with your hair, and babbling about his love for food and pretty things that it settled in exactly what that feeling was.
“You know, you’re kind of cute. Your face is… decent, I suppose. But Namjoonie is much cuter and— oh my gosh you’re crying,” Jin squealed in surprise, shock lighting up on his features as an onslaught of tears suddenly poured from your eyes.
“Shoot, I’m s–sorry, Jin,” you softly cursed, gently pushing the angora hybrid off your lap as you jumped to your feet, hands feverishly working to dry your wet cheeks.
“Was it the cute comment? I mean, it’s true, but I wasn’t intending to hurt your feelings… didn’t realize you were that sensitive,” he grumbled, pouting at the fact that you’d just ruined the mood for him.
You quickly shook you head, “no– no it wasn’t that, I just— shit, I mean, fuck, excuse my language.”
“Y/n! How many times do I have to tell you to watch your profanity around Jin— holy shit, why are you crying?” Namjoon gasped in concern as he walked out of the kitchen before running to your aid. “Did Jin hurt your feelings? I’m so sorry he has no filter whatsoever and says thing without thinking and—”
“It wasn’t that, a Joonie,” you cut him off with a sniffle, “I just realized something.”
Namjoon stared at you for a moment with worried eyes, before turning to his hybrid. “Jinnie, you stay here for a moment, y/n and I need to have a quick talk, alright?” The angora rolled his eyes, not appreciating the secrecy but not arguing to Namjoon’s relief. He quickly guided you into the kitchen, urging you to take a seat while he made you a glass of water.
“What happened? What upset you? Was it really not Jinnie because I know that he can be—” your best friend in ten years began to ramble out questions.
Chuckling lightly, you shook you head. “No, Joon. I swear it wasn’t anything Jin said. He’s a sweetheart, really. A bit blunt, if anything but nothing extreme,” you reassured him with a soft smile. He nodded, eyes swirling with a mixture of relief and confusion.
“Then, what was it?”
You sighed, turning away from him. “I just… I realized how lonely I’ve been.”
Namjoon settled himself in the seat beside yours, gently placing his hand over yours in a comforting gesture. “What do you mean? Lonely how? You know you’ve always got me, and now Jinnie.”
“Of course I know that. And I am so lucky to have you in my life, seriously. You’re the best best friend a girl could as for… when your clumsy ass isn’t breaking my shit, that is.” He gasped dramatically, swatting at your arm, causing you to giggle quietly. “But, we can’t be around each other 24/7, you know? You have your life, your job, your responsibilities, and now your hybrid; and I have mine– minus the hybrid.”
“What’re you trying to say?” He asked, searching your eyes for further explanation.
“I– I just… I hate being alone all the time. Especially in that big house. I’m home all the time, the only places I go are your place and the grocery store when my fridge empties. That’s really sad, Joon,” you muttered, glancing at your intertwined fingers.
“You’re right… that’s really pathetic, y/n.” You laughed, lightly kicking his ankle to which he grinned and squeezed your hand, “but seriously, if you’re so lonely… why not find a boyfriend?”
You snorted loudly at that. “Me? Boyfriend? Please, let’s not get too crazy here, Joonie. Try to keep it realistic, yeah?”
Namjoon rolled his eyes heavily at your response, scoffing softly, “I’m serious, y/n! When’s the last time you even got laid?” His voice dropped to a whisper at the last word, knowing his impressionable hybrid with impeccable hearing was just the next room over. You gaped at him, taking that as your turn hit his arm.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to my loneliness in the least,” you countered sharply despite the glowing blush making its way into your cheeks, glaring at him pointedly.
He smirked, cocking a brow. “That long, huh?”
You scowled at him stubbornly for a moment. “…yes. Fine. That long, you asshole.”
“Thought so~” he sang, sticking his tongue out, “why don’t you get out there then, huh? It could do you some good, relieve some of that tension.”
“Because, Joonie,” you groaned, slumping forward onto the countertop, face dropping into your folded arms, “that’s not what I want. I don’t want a stupid hook up with some random guy I met in a germ infested bar. That won’t solve my problem, I’m lonely not horny.”
“Same thing,” he shrugged.
You decided it best to just ignore him, continuing, “but I don’t want a boyfriend either. Every time in the past that I’ve had a boyfriend, they’ve only caused me more trouble then they were worth. Either they found someone they found more attractive and ditched me or found someone more interesting and ditched me. Not to mention, guys are just all around dipshits.”
Namjoon pouted, pointing at himself and waiting for some kind of exclusion.
“Besides you of course, Joonie, you’re an angel. I’m talking about straight dudes. They’re the real problem in this society,” you confirmed with an angry huff.
Namjoon raised your half empty glass, “I’ll drink to that.”
“All guys do is cause problems. They will in no way help to solve mine. So now… I don’t know… I just don’t want to be alone anymore,” you groaned, slapping your palms over your face in frustration, “maybe I should just get a bunch of dogs. Become a crazy dog lady. That’d be fun.”
Namjoon was quiet for a moment. “Or… maybe… you could get a hybrid.”
You choked on air, eyes bulging out of your head. “What? No! You’re crazy.” You immediately shot down the idea, shaking your head rapidly.
You? A hybrid owner? Yeah fucking right. You can barely take care of yourself, let alone an entire other human– er, hybrid being. Not to mention you’d be a terrible influence, with your drinking and cursing habits. No hybrid would stand a chance in your home. Owning a hybrid is essentially adopting a child with animalistic appendages and habits. It was really a two for one. Which also meant two times the responsibility.
Responsibility you were anything but prepared for.
“What’s so crazy about it? You’re great with Jin, you took a course on hybrids in college so you’re well informed, and they make amazing companions,” he informed, hands waving around in emphasis.
You shook your head. “No way. I’m not a hybrid person.”
“Says who?”
“Says me! I don’t know the first thing about hybrids, I only took that stupid course in the first place for the easy grade!” You retorted quickly, before a sudden thought occurred.
“Well, personally, I think—”
“Shit what time is it?”
He glanced down at his watch, “almost ten, why?”
You lurched out of the chair, quickly gathering up your belonging, “I’ve got an article deadline at twelve is why, fuck.”
Namjoon nodded with a quiet sigh, following as you scrambled to his front door. Like the gentleman he was, he opened the door, only to stop you half way out it with a hand on your shoulder. You turned back to him with raised brows and a questioning glint in your eyes.
“Just think about it, okay? For me? I hate seeing you like this.”
For the sake of his sanity, as he had a tendency to over worry, you agreed, “okay, Joon. I’ll think about it,” giving him a parting hug before darting to your car, grumbling under your breath, “when you start eating pussy.”
In other words, you definitely would not be reconsidering your decision.
Okay. So you were reconsidering.
It had been a day since you had dropped by Namjoon’s place. A day since he’d made that absolutely ludicrous suggestion, which gradually looking less and less ludicrous.
It was almost… appealing.
A hybrid companion… that would definitely make the house feel a lot less lonely.
You even wondered about what type you’d get. A dog, maybe. You’ve always had a soft spot for puppies, and you can’t help but coo and swoon whenever you see one on the street.
A cat, perhaps. Cats could be annoying, but they also knew when to step back and give you space, which would be nice. A lot less maintenance than dogs. But dogs were cuddly as hell and you’d enjoy having a cuddle buddy, that’s for sure.
Now, this is all circumstantial depending on the breed.
Hell, you were really bad at making important decisions.
“Shit, focus!” You cursed, smacking your cheeks harshly enough to make yourself groan as the skin tinted a hot red. You were supposed to be working on an article your aunt had just sent to you for editing.
But god damn the only thing on your mind was hybrids, hybrids, hybrids, and… what do you know— more hybrids!
“Fucking mother fucker fucking bitch can’t mind his own god damn son of a bitch business,” you growled under your breath as you slammed your laptop shut and yanked your phone out of the pocket of your baggy sweat (perk of working at home; you never have anyone to impress) and aggressively typing in Namjoon’s number before holding it up to your ear, muttering angrily to empty air. After the third ring, he finally picked up.
“Hey, Y/n, what’s--”
“Fuck you, Kim Namjoon. Fuck you to hell.”
“Up,” a short pause, “okay, I admit, was not expecting that response, but okay. Any particular reason you’re fucking me to hell?”
“Hybrids.”
“Hybrids?”
“Yes, hybrids. I want a hybrid so fuck you.”
“Why fuck me if you’re the one that wants a hybrid?”
“Because you’re the one that put the idea of hybrids into my head in the first place,” you hissed in retaliation, slamming your fist down on your desk for emphasis.
He snorted loudly, “well, it wouldn’t be in your head if you didn’t want it a little bit in the first place. My suggestion just made you realize what was already a subconscious desire.”
It was your turn to pause, lips pursing together as you thought it over. Fuck, you hated logic and reason, always ruining all your fun. “Fuck, you’re right. In that case, fuck me, too. In fact, fuck everything, the world is bullshit and this is not what I signed up for.”
“When has the world ever been fair, babe,” he chuckled.
Groaning loudly, you slumped back in your chair, dramatically throwing your arm over your face. “I don’t know what to do, Joon.”
“Do you really want a hybrid? They can be a lot of responsibility, but they really do make phenomenal companions, especially if you get the perfect one for you.” His words were somewhat consoling for your brain, which was currently going on overdrive.
You pouted, tugging your knees up to your chest. “Do you think I could handle it?”
“I know you can handle it. You’re a lot more mature than you give yourself credit for. And even if it gets a bit overwhelming, I’ll always be there to help you out, you know that.”
You nodded to no one in particular, gnawing at your lip with furrowed brows, buried in your own thoughts, a back and forth battle going on in your brain. Do you really want this? A hybrid all your own. It would be nothing like going and visiting with Jin, you knew that much. It would be completely your responsibility, your companion, all yours.
For some reason, that thought brought a ghost of a smile to your lips.
Yours. That sounds surprisingly nice.
“Okay,” you murmured softly.
“Okay?” He repeated.
“Okay... it looks like I’m adopting a hybrid.”
#hybrid#bts#hybrid!bts#sub!bts#hybrid!jimin#hybrid!taehyung#hyrbid!jungkook#hybrid!au#bts fanfiction#bts hybrid!au#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader#sub!jimin#switch!jungkook#switch!taehyung#dom!reader
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The Beginning Chapter 1
Pairing- Bucky/Winter Soldier x Mutant Reader
A Winter Soldier/Reader Alternate Timeline Fan-fic. This is book 1 of my series, The Spring Soldier. Takes place after Captain America: The First Avenger but before the Avengers.
A/N: So, I started this fic in 2017, so when reading, please keep that in mind. It’s still not complete, but I’m working on wrapping it up!
Summary:
The reader is a mutant, who has been hiding her abilities since they manifested, she’s never told anyone, not even her parents. She was too afraid they would turn on her or register her and she’d be taken away. She’s a veterinarian living alone on her farm. Both her parents are dead, having left the farm to her. She lives in a small rural town outside New York City.
One night, she hears gun shots and assumes it’s poachers she knows she won’t find anything if she goes out during the night and also risks the poachers turning on her, so she waits til morning, to see if she can find the potentially injured animal. She goes into the barn, having followed her cat and finds an unconscious and injured Winter Soldier. Having a soft spot for injured strays, she decides she’s going to help him until he wakes.
When he does finally wake, everything changes and her secret is exposed. She never expected her life to go in such a drastic direction, but, now that she’s on this path, she’s determined to travel it with him.
First Meetings
She had heard the gunshots and the dogs late last night, which she assumed were from poachers. She knew there was no point in going out to find them, so, instead, she got up early to find the animal that more than likely got away. Hopefully she'd be able to find it and nurse it back to health, before releasing it. Worst case scenario, the animal had gotten away and been so wounded, it had died during the night, she hoped that wasn't the case.
While walking to her barn, her cat walked up to her, weaving between her legs. He always greeted her whenever she came outside. He was another animal she had rescued, he had been hit by a car and she found him on her way home one evening. She brought him back, fixed him up and he hasn't left since.
Who is she, you ask, her name is ___ ___, a veterinarian living in the rural area near Long Island, New York. She had a private practice on her farm there, she saw a few animals at her home, more often than not, she made house calls for the animals that were too large to be brought in. It was something she loved and had wanted to do her entire life. When her Father died from a heart attack, she moved back in to help her mother who had had a stroke a few months before. Her mother's health quickly began to decline and she died a few months later. Now, it was just her, alone on her farm and she wouldn't have it any other way. Of course, that didn't stop some of the local busy bodies in town, from trying their hardest to set her up with their sons and nephews. They just couldn't understand how such a young woman would be happy living alone without a man to help her.
Of course, there were other reasons as to why she preferred to stay single. She was what they called, a mutant. She was one of the lucky ones, though, her mutant power wasn't obvious, so as far as anyone knew, she was a normal human. She had even kept the secret from her parents, she knew that if they found out, they'd send her to one of the mutant camps to have her “cured”. She rather liked her power, it allowed her a lot of freedom. She was one of the mutants blessed with the gift of wings, but her wings weren't like the others. They weren't always exposed, she was able to absorb them into her body, the downfall to that, the mass of her wings had to go somewhere, so it would be distributed through her body as excess fat cells, which made her a little on the hefty side. There were many nights, when she couldn't sleep, on those nights, she would just fly around instead. She would fly to clear her head, to help her stop thinking about how her life hadn't gone the way she had thought.
Like now, here she was, out in the snow, getting ready to find the animal some poachers had been hunting last night. She followed her cat, who she had named, Lucky, not the most original, but he was lucky she had come across him, otherwise he wouldn't be here to greet her every time she came outside.
“Hey, Lucky, you're awfully affectionate this morning.” She smiled, bending down to pick him up. He nuzzled against her face, always happy to see her, he let out a small meow, then squirmed out of her arms and ran into the barn.
“What's wrong, Lucky? You're usually a little more affectionate than that.” She asked, following the black and white cat into the barn.
When she opened the door, Lucky was standing there, waiting for her, he let out another cry and ran further into the barn, towards the back door.
“Lucky, what are you doing?” She asked, continuing to follow her cat.
She stopped in her tracks when she saw where Lucky had stopped. He was sitting on the lap of a man. A very injured man.
“Oh, shit! Mister, hey mister! Are you ok?” She asked running over and kneeling next to the man who had managed to sit himself in the chair she left by the back door. She quickly grabbed his left arm to feel for a pulse, but it was cold and very firm. She pulled the glove off, gasping at the metal that was shinning back at her. Remembering she needed to know if he was still alive or not, she decided not to take the chance his other arm was also metal, she felt for a pulse on his neck. She found it. Faint, but it was there.
“I think we've found another Lucky.” She smiled down at her cat, who was still sitting in the man's lap.
“He doesn't look light. How am I going to get him into the house?” She asked, moving his hair out of his face, so she could get a better look at him.
“Handsome. Shit, I bet he's who the dogs were looking for last night. Whoever was looking for you, I sure hope you're the good guy.” She sighed, kneeling with her back towards him, pulling his arms over her shoulders, so she could carry him on her back.
It took all of her strength, but she managed to stand up with him on her back. Slowly, she made it into her house and to her bedroom on the first floor. Normally she would have given the guest one of the bedrooms on the second floor, but she knew she wouldn't be able to carry him all the way up the stairs.
Once she got the stranger situated in her bed, she took a minute to look him over. He was covered in blood, she assumed most of it was his. She went to her office where she kept all her veterinary supplies, grabbed a few things and headed back to her patient. She lay everything out on her dresser, the IV, needles, gloves, scissors, cotton swabs, iodine, and various other things she would use to clean him up. She was prepared to give him stitches, but once she got his shirt cut open and off, she found no open wounds, a few scratches and bruises, but nothing too serious.
“Wow, you really are one lucky guy. Got away with just a few scrapes and bruises.” She then looked at his metal arm and took it in her hand.
“I wonder if you were running from whoever did this to you? Don't worry, mister, you're safe from whoever wants to hurt you, here. What kind of monsters did this to a person?
” She sighed, gently placing his metal arm back on the bed so she could begin cleaning the few open wounds he did have.
It didn't take her long to clean him up and get him all set up with an IV, she figured he was dehydrated and since she wasn't sure how long he would be out, she didn't want to take the chance of his recovery not going as fast as it could because he wasn't getting the nutrients his body needed.
Now that he was fully treated, she began to take off his shoes. While she was looking up at him, she noticed a hole in his pants, it was wet, with what she assumed, was blood. Looking up at Lucky, who was laying on the man's chest, watching her, she sighed and asked, “How did I not think to look at his legs for injuries. Mister, I'm really sorry about this, I'm not trying to be a perv or anything.”
She got up and grabbed the scissors that she had set on the night stand next to the bed, then back to the bottom of his pants and began to cut them off. Lucky let out a little meow to remind her that he was watching.
“I know, don't worry, I'm not going to do anything. Damn, this is embarrassing!” She replied, thankful the man was out cold and couldn't see the inevitable blush that was forming. Sure, she had studied some human anatomy in school, but never on an actual person. There was a reason she became a vet instead of a doctor, besides trying to keep her mutant ability a secret, the thought of having to deal with naked people, made her extremely uncomfortable. More specifically, having to deal with partially naked men telling her about their ailments. Nope, animals would be much easier to deal with, no chance of embarrassment there, and no judgmental thoughts to worry about.
Once she finally managed to cut his pants away, that's where she saw it, there was a bullet hole in his leg. Sliding her hand under his leg, she felt for an exit wound, she didn't feel anything, which meant the bullet was still inside.
“Looks like I'm gonna have to dig that out. Lucky, don't let Lucky 2 get up.” She said deciding to give the stranger some kind of name. Running back to her office to get some foresnips to try and dig the bullet out. She wasn't gone long, Lucky was still lying on the man's chest, continuing to watch her.
“You know, we really should call him something other than mister or Lucky 2, how about we just call him Luke until he wakes up to tell us his real name?” She asked Lucky as she began to dig inside the wound for the bullet, Lucky just replied with a soft meow. As she was digging in his leg, he began to groan and squirm, she looked up, seeing the look of pain on his face, she felt bad, but there was nothing she could do about the pain. She could feel the bullet and didn't want to go back to the office to find the local anesthetic she had. It would take to long to wait for it to kick in, not to mention, she almost had the bullet out. He began to fidget his leg more, so she had to put part of her weight on it to finish pulling the bullet out.
“I'm really sorry, Luke, but the bullet is almost out. Just bear with me a little longer.” She grunted as she finally pulled the bullet out of the wound.
“There! Got it, now, let's stitch that bad boy closed.” She said, placing the bullet on a towel she had lying next to her on the floor. Once the bullet was out, Luke had calmed down and stopped moving, his breathing was slightly labored, but he seemed to be calming down. Looking back at the wound, she had a thought. “You know, maybe I should numb this first. Don't want to risk him waking up and freaking out on me.” So again, she got up and went find the cream of local anesthetic, she hoped it would numb the area just enough so she could get the stitches in without him squirming all over the place. If she was going to do the stitches right, she wanted him to be as still as possible.
“Ok, almost done!” She smiled at Lucky, who had jumped back on Luke's chest, he had jumped off when Luke started squirming while the bullet was being removed.
___ rubbed a fair amount of the cream into Luke's leg around the wound once she got it cleaned up and added a cauterizing agent so it would stop bleeding. She gave it about five minutes, before she started stitching the wound closed. Once closed, she wrapped his leg to prevent any infection from getting into it. She stood up and looked at her handy work, she was quite impressed with herself, especially considering she'd never done any kind of procedure on a human before. Then, realizing the man was half naked, she blushed again and turned away.
“Right, we need to get you some pants. I think I still have some of my dad's old sweats upstairs. They should fit well enough. Be right back, Lucky.” she said, leaving the room and making her way upstairs to her parents old room.
After their deaths a few years ago, she had decided to leave their room the way it was. She just couldn't bring herself to change it. Even though they were gone and she knew they were never coming back, it still brought comfort to her, knowing their room was still there, just as they had left it.
She stood in the doorway a few minutes, after opening the door, to look at the room. It had been a few months since she had last felt the need to enter. On the nights when she would have really bad nightmares, she would come in here and sleep. The room still smelled like her parents and she found it comforting when she would have nightmares, it was like they were still here, helping her.
She took a deep breath and walking into the room, straight to the dresser. She didn't have to look for long, since she knew where her father kept all his clothes. She used to help her mother put laundry away when she was still too small to help with the outside chores. Once she had a pair in her hand, she closed the drawer and walked to the door. She stopped and turned around, taking one last look before she closed the door and made her way back downstairs.
“You know, Lucky, maybe I should finally get around to changing mom and dad's bedroom. I've always wanted a library and I think mom and dad would like it if I turned their room into a library. What do you think?” She asked as she walked back into the room, looking at her cat, he just gave her a slow blink in response.
“Yea, you're right, maybe once spring rolls around, then we can consider turning it into a library.” She chuckled, as she struggled to put the pants on Luke. “Man, you're heavier than you look!” she grunted as she finally got them up to his waist. The she stood up and took a step back, looking over her work, smiling.
“That should do it for now. I'll be back in a few hours to check on you again.” She said, as she threw a blanket over him, covering Lucky, who didn't mind at all. He'd crawl out from underneath when he was ready. Now that he was all cleaned up and tucked in, she cleaned up the mess she had made, with everything in the bowl she brought in, she took one final look at the man, before shutting the door, leaving enough of a crack so Lucky could come and go as he pleased.
The next couple of days were quiet, she went about her daily routine, checking on Luke every few hours, changing his bandages as needed and cleaning up the mess from when he would urinate in his sleep. Now she was really wishing she had learned about catheters in school, but you usually didn't use them for animals, so she saw no need to keep any on hand. She made a note, that the next time she ordered supplies, she would definitely be ordering catheters. She doubted she would ever use them, but she'd rather have them on hand anyway.
It was early evening on the fourth day after she found Luke in her barn. She had come home from a particularly messy job and just finished her shower. Now that she was all clean, she made a fire, since it had started to snow and it was her main source of heat in the house. Once she had the fire going, she decided to cook dinner. She was reheating left over spaghetti. She had her favorite mix tape playing while she cooked, singing and dancing along with it. Completely oblivious to the movements that were happening in her bedroom.
Luke had woken up. He blinked a few times and looked around the room. This was definitely not a HYDRA installation. He sat up and cringed when he felt the pinch in his arm and pain in his leg. He looked at his arm first, seeing the IV, he quickly pulled it out. Though it didn't look like HYDRA, he wouldn't put it passed them to put him in a setting like this to test him, make sure he was loyal. He winced as he moved his leg, feeling the pain from the bullet he remembered being shot with. Even though he had been injected with the super soldier serum, it didn't do to much in helping him heal faster. It helped a little, but not as much as he would have liked.
As he tried to get up, he heard a meow, looking down next to his feet, there sat a black and white tabby. They starred at each other for a minute, before the cat got up and rubbed up against his legs. He smiled at the action and wondered what kind of HYDRA agent would have a cat as a pet. Then he noticed music coming from the other side of the cracked door. He slowly got up and did his best to limp over to the door, upon opening it, he was hit with something he wasn't sure if he had ever smelt before. Just what kind of HYDRA agent was this? They had a cat, listening to music and cooked their own food? His curiosity getting the better of him, he slowly and as quietly as he could, crept to where the music was coming from.
He was shocked when he saw her. She was definitely not an agent he had ever seen before. She was short in stature, with long (h/c) hair and a little on the chunky side. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt with shorts that came to mid-thigh and she was dancing and singing along to her music while she cooked. This was definitely not the normal behavior of a HYDRA agent, not to mention she would be considered unfit as an agent and would never be allowed in the field. Her guard was down and she was alone, this also went against all HYDRA protocol. Then he remembered how he had gotten injured. He had disobeyed a direct order during a mission and managed to get away. He remembered running through the forest and being chased, but the memory starts to get fuzzy after he was shot.
Though he doubted she was HYDRA, he couldn't be to sure and felt it best to keep his guard up. Lost in thought, he quickly looked up when she screamed and he heard glass shattering. His presence clearly startled her. Did she expect him to stay in bed after he woke up?
___ was definitely not expecting her patient to be up so soon. She thought he would have been out a few more days, so when she turned around and saw him standing in the doorway to her kitchen, she couldn't help but scream and drop her bowl of spaghetti, jumping back as the hot sauce hit her legs. She fell when her foot landed on a sharp piece of ceramic, falling on the food and shattered ceramic, getting a few more cuts as she tried to get up. He cautiously walked over to her and offered her his flesh hand. She looked up at it, then him and smiled.
“Sorry, you startled me. You'd been asleep for so long, I was beginning to think you weren't ever going to wake up.” She said, scooting back so her back hit the cabinet behind her. Once she had her uninjured foot stable and not on any sharp ceramic pieces, she took his hand and let him help her stand up.
“Thank you.” She said as she adjusted the weight on her good foot and placed booth hands on the counter behind her to help stabilize her. “How are you feeling?” she asked before limping over to her fridge and digging out the broom she kept in the space between the fridge and the wall. All Luke did was watch her, still certain this was a ruse to get him to drop his guard.
She stopped and looked at him, waiting for an answer, but all he did was stare back at her.
“You look better, that's for sure.” She still smiled as she hobbled back over the mess she had made, stopping to get something from under the sink, he tensed and was ready to attack, thinking she was getting a weapon of some kind, he relaxed a little when he saw her grab a dust pan and a towel.
“How's your leg? I did the best I could getting the bullet out and did a decent job on the stitches. You'll have a scar, but something tells me you don't really mind scars.” she said as she looked at his left shoulder, where metal met skin. He, too, looked at his bare shoulder, then back at her, wondering why she wasn't fazed by it at all. She had bent down and was picking up the large pieces of the ceramic bowl she had dropped.
“You can sit down, you know. I'll have this cleaned up in just a minute, then I can set up a bowl for you. I hope you like spaghetti.” She said, not even bothering to look up at him as she continued to clean up her mess. She did find it odd at how quiet he was. If she was in his shoes, she'd be asking all kinds of questions about where she was and who he was and what happened. She just figured he was still a little confused and disoriented from being unconscious for so long. She was sure he'd talk when he was ready.
She smiled a little when she heard the chair move and give a small creak when weight was added to it.
“My name's ___, by the way.”
He just looked at her quizzically and his brows furrowed. Was she expecting him to tell her his name in return?
“I didn't know your name, so I've been calling you Luke.” She said, sitting on her haunches and looking up at him.
“Luke?” He said, it didn't sound or feel familiar, so he was sure that wasn't his name. His concentration was broken by a small meow and something brushing up against his legs.
“And that's Lucky, he's the one who found you in my barn and he's been keeping watch over you while you slept. Only left to go to the bathroom and eat, otherwise, he was in the room with you the whole time. He doesn't usually take to strangers so quickly, but I'm glad he likes you.” She said with a small chuckle.
He groaned and clutched his head in pain, slamming his fist on the table as images of people quickly flashed in his mind, it was as if they were screaming to be remembered. ___ looked up at him, startled by the loud noise. Seeing the distress he was in, she quickly got up, forgetting about the pain in her own foot, and ran over to him, kneeling next to him. Her hand on one shoulder, while the other one ran through his hair, getting it out of his face so she could get a better look at him, trying to see if there was a wound she had missed that might be causing him pain now. She didn't see anything.
“Luke, are you ok? What's wrong?” She asked, her hand quickly moving down the side of his face, over his cheek and under his jaw, lifting it up to look at her.
Once the pain had gone and the images had stopped, he opened his eyes and looked straight into hers. They were full of nothing but concern. Not a look he was accustomed to seeing.
“I don't remember my name, but I know that's not it.” He opened his eyes when he heard her let out a small chuckle, the look of concern was gone and was replaced with a smile. Again, not something he was used to seeing on the people he worked for.
“I figured as much, but sadly, it's gonna have to do until you remember yours. Are you hungry?” she asked, standing up and limping over to the stove.
That's when he noticed the trail of blood her foot was leaving.
“You're bleeding.” He said, looking up at her. He watched as she turned to look at him, then at the floor, seeing the blood she left as she stepped.
“I guess I am. Well, let me make you a bowl, then I'll go patch my foot up and join you.” she said, returning to her original task of getting him something to eat. Once she set it down in front of him, she sat down as well, clearly forgetting about her foot again.
“It's been a few days since you've had anything solid in you. Make sure you eat slow, so you don't throw it up right away. You're stomach needs to get used to having solids in it. If this is too much for you to handle, I have some soup that I could heat up instead. I probably should have tried that first.” she mumbled the last part more to herself than to him.
He looked at her, still smiling at him. He was a little weary of the fact that she wasn't eating anything. It made him think she had put something in his food. Even though he watched everything she had done, and didn't see her add anything, he couldn't be too sure. She was a stranger and for all he knew, she wanted to kill him.
“Is it too hot? Should I heat up the soup instead?” She asked, worried as to why he wasn't eating.
She went to get up, but he stopped her by grabbing her wrist, looking at the contact, she sat back down and looked at him, that look of concern gracing her features once again.
“Why are you being so nice and helping me?” he asked, his grip on her wrist tightening, she winced at the increase in pressure.
“I don't know.” She replied, trying to pull her wrist out of his grasp, only causing him to hold it tighter.
“Did they order you to help me? Is this some kind of test?” He asked his voice harsher, his grip tightening still.
His eyes never left hers. He watched as they began to water. Watched for any indication she was HYDRA, that this was a test of loyalty, a test to see how he would react if he thought he wasn't being monitored, if he thought he had truly succeeded in escaping them. He watched as panic took over her features, as she struggled to free herself.
“Ow, you're hurting me! Let go!” She said, her voice laced with the first signs of panic and the look on her face quickly changing to that of fear. He watched as she tried to pry his hand off her wrist, but she was no match for his strength.
“Who are you working for!” He demanded as he practically yelled at her.
She could feel the panic as it began to bubble up to the surface. She knew that if she let it take over, she wouldn't be able to keep her wings hidden. The last thing she wanted to do was expose her secret to him, but the tighter his grip got and the angrier he looked, the harder and harder it was to keep the overwhelming feeling of panic under control. Then, when he yelled at her, demanding to know who she worked for, she lost it.
“I SAID, LET GO!” She screamed as wings exploded from her back.
Luke was bowled over and pushed across the floor by the wind that her wings created as they burst forth from her back, hitting the wall behind him. Eyes wide, he looked up to see the girl standing in front of him, her shirt barely hanging on to her shoulders, her shorts in tatters on the floor. She was panting and her eyes conveyed nothing but fear and panic as she crossed her arms over her chest, cradling the wrist he had been holding and also preventing her shirt from completely falling off and exposing all of her to the stranger laying on her kitchen floor.
That's when he knew. He knew there was no way she was a HYDRA agent. If she was, he would have heard about her, he would have gone on missions with her. He would know if HYDRA had an angel on their side.
Luke never took his eyes off her as he eased himself up into a sitting position. Leaning against the wall, letting it support him as he tried to process what had just happened. He let his eyes wander up and down, noticing how her appearance had changed. She was slimmer now, her face still held that look of panic and fear. He had seen that look many times in people before he killed them. She was afraid for her life.
“I'm sorry.” Luke said as he finally moved to stand up. Once he was stable, he went to take a step towards her, but she only limped back.
“I thought you were trying to hurt me.” He said as he bent over and set the chair he had been sitting in, up right, then sat in it. Trying his best to show her that he wasn't going to hurt her.
“Why would I fix you up, just to try to hurt you later?” she asked, after a few minutes of silence and once she was sure he wasn't going to try and hurt her again.
“Because that's the kind of thing the people I work for would do.” He answered, letting out a heavy sigh as he did.
“The people you work for are messed up.” She scoffed as she took a few hesitant steps towards one of the chairs sitting at the table.
“I know. It's ok, you can sit down. I'm not going to hurt you.” he said as he looked down at his metal arm. He really hated that arm.
“Are the people you work for the one's who gave you that arm?” she asked, finally sitting down in the chair. Luke just nodded.
“Are they also the one's who shot you? And the reason I found you passed out in my barn?” She asked, pulling the shirt up on her shoulder, as it had slid down a little when she walked to her chair.
Again, he just nodded.
“The people you work for really suck!” she huffed.
He couldn't help but give a small smile at her words, the smile quickly disappeared as he realized they would be looking for him. Which meant, she wasn't safe and if HYDRA found out about her and her ability, they would stop at nothing to have her.
“I should go, you're not safe if I stay.” He said with a scowl as he stood up.
“What! No, you can't go! You're not fully healed.” She almost yelled as she did her best to run towards him and grab his arm.
“It doesn't matter, as long as I'm here, you won't be safe.” he said, not bothering to turn around and look at her.
“I don't care who you work for! You're not leaving here until you're fully healed. Besides, I'm sure they would have found you and captured you by now if they were still looking for you.” She said, stepping so she was now in front of him and giving him a small smile as she blocked his way to the backdoor in her kitchen.
He really did want to stay. He couldn't remember anyone ever having been this caring towards him. It made him feel almost human.
“Come on, at least stay until that wound on your leg closes up. Then, once it's all better, you can leave if you want. Besides, it's snowing outside. How far do you think you're going to get, dressed like that.” She smirked, looking down at his sweatpants and bare feet.
He looked down, realizing she was right and sighed.
“You're right.”
“I know. Now come on, sit back down at the table and I'll heat your dinner back up.” She said, grabbing his hand and turning him so he was now facing the kitchen. He had almost forgot that she was hurt until he saw her limp to the table and grab the bowl she had made for him, then quickly looking away as it dawned on him that her backside was completely exposed, parts hidden because of her wings. He was fascinated by her wings, they were almost as long as she was tall and they reminded him of a Raven, the color a deep, glistening onyx. He wanted to touch them and see if they were as soft as they looked.
“Your foot.” He said, remembering her limp and forcing himself to not focus on her wings, as he was still standing there, now staring at the floor.
“Hmm, oh yea.” she said as she looked down to see how she was favoring the injured one.
“Guess I forgot with all the excitement. But, hey, at least it's stopped bleeding.” She joked as she walked to the microwave and put his bowl in.
“You should go take care of it. I can heat my dinner.” Luke said as he walked to where she was standing, he wasn't quite sure how to address her shredded clothing, Trying not to get to close, as her wings were a little intimidating.
“No, it's fine. What kind of host would I be, if I let you heat your own food?” she chuckled, then gasped and stood rigid as she felt a hand run across the edge her wing.
“They're beautiful.” Luke whispered, not able to contain his desire to touch them. Then, noticing her stiff reaction, he quickly removing his hand. “Sorry, I didn't mean to...”
“No, it's ok, it just surprised me, is all. No one's ever touched them, let alone seen them. You can touch them, again, you know, if you'd want to.” She said, almost in a whisper, relieved he couldn't see the heat that was spreading across her face. She opened the microwave door and gave his food a few stirs, before placing it back in the microwave for another minute.
“How did you get them?” Luke asked, allowing his flesh hand to reach back up and run along the edge, then over her soft feathers, he couldn't help but stare as he did. He didn't see that she had placed her hands on the counter, supporting herself as she went weak in the knees. She appreciated how gentle his touch was. Wanting him to touch more, she let her wings expand as much as they could in the kitchen. Understanding what she was asking, he brought his metallic hand up and ran it along the arm of her other wing, she hung her head forward as she let out a low moan. The sensation wasn't sexual in nature at all, it felt more like when someone lightly massaged aching muscles.
“I guess I was just born with them.” her voice light and airy after letting a few minutes of silence pass, before answering him, allowing herself to enjoy the sensation of his touch. It was a completely new experience, hands gently caressing her wings, she had no idea they would be so sensitive.
“What do you mean?” he asked, reluctantly pulling his hands away and letting them fall back to his sides. It took a moment for her to realize that he had removed his hands. Once she did, she took a few deep breaths, clearing her throat as she focused her attention back on heating up his food.
“I'm what they call a mutant. Mutant abilities don't usually manifest themselves until puberty. So, I didn't know until I was about fourteen. Um, can we talk about something else? I'm not very comfortable talking about them. Like I said, you're kind of the only person who's ever seen them.” she couldn't help but feel embarrassed at the pseudo-affectionate moment they had just shared
The microwave beeped, signaling it's job was done. ___ took out the bowl and stirred it a few more times, then turned to hand the bowl to Luke.
“It should be hot enough, if not, just pop it back in the microwave for another minute or so. I have to go take care of my foot.” she said, avoiding making eye contact with him, her voice still very quiet.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry.” He said, taking the bowl from her.
“It's ok. Like I said, I've just never talked to anyone about it.” she turned to leave, but then stopped and added, “If you'd like something to drink, there's cups in the cupboard next to the fridge. I'll be back in a minute.” Then she limped out the door and headed to what he assumed was the bathroom. He watched her go, realizing her shirt had been shredded by the exposure of her wings. He also noticed the scars on her back, he assumed those were from when she drew out her wings and he couldn't help but wonder if the process was painful or not. Coming out of his thoughts, he stirred the contents of the bowl a few times, then set it down on the table before getting a cup and filling it with water. He felt bad for asking about such a sensitive subject, but he couldn't help himself.
Luke was washing his bowl and cup when she came back into the room. He noticed that her wings were gone, her mood seemed to be brighter and she was fully dressed.
“How was it?” she asked, sitting at the table across from where he had been, acting as if nothing had happened.
“Good, thank you.” he answered as he walked back to the table and sat down.
“I'm sorry about earlier.” She said, looking down at her hands that she played with nervously.
“It's ok, I'm the one that should be apologizing.” he said, watching her fidget.
“Let's just say we're both sorry and leave it at that.” She replied with a nervous smile, hoping he would drop the issue and they could talk about something else.
She was relieved when he nodded in agreement and let out a heavy sigh.
“So, where are you from?” She asked, trying her best at making small talk.
“I don't remember.” he replied, looking to the side.
“Then how do you remember who you work for?”
He let out a heavy sigh, deciding to take the chance and trust her. If she really was a HYDRA agent, the worst that would happen is he would be beaten and wiped before being put back in the cryo-freeze.
“Before you found me. The people I work for, after my missions are complete, freeze me until I'm needed for another mission. I have no idea who I was before or how old I am. They have a way of erasing my memories after every mission before I'm put back to sleep.”
___ listened in horror as he told her of the things he's remembered doing and the people he works for. She listened as he told her about the events that led up to her finding him. Once he was done talking he looked up to see her hand covering her mouth and tears falling down her chubby cheeks.
He was surprised by her reaction. The sorrow that was written across her face was not the look he was expecting to see when he looked at her. He expected to see disgust and disdain, not sorrow and sympathy.
“Oh Luke, that's absolutely horrible! No wonder you ran away.” She said, reaching her hand across the table and resting it on top of his flesh hand.
“I want you to know, you are welcome to stay here as long as you want. I will keep you as safe as I can, for as long as I can.” She gave him a gentle smile as she looked up at him.
“Thank you, but like I said before, they'll be looking for me, if they aren't already. If they find me here with you and they find out about your wings, they will take you.”
“Why don't you let me worry about that. Like I said, you can stay here as long as you want. I mean, I could use some help with some of the outside chores.” Her smile got a little bigger as she sat back in her chair. He couldn't help but give her a small smile back. The chance to do some normal tasks was very appealing and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of feeling somewhat like a normal human being.
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No Country For Heroes - Part 2
Last week @justsimplymeagain gave me the prompt ‘beg’ and I wrote a one-shot. I am sorry to announce that I decided to turn this one-shot into a full story. You can find the previous chapter here on Ao3.
I raised the rating to an M for the subject matter and following chapters.
Summary: when Gotham is cut off from the mainland, the GCPD decides to turn Jim in in exchange for the Penguins protection.
It’s fitting, in a way. They dragged him in half-dead, they are keeping him half-alive now.
Jim isn’t sure how long he has been there. He only knows his entire body is burning up while his teeth won’t start clattering. The blanket they gave him is not big enough to cover him entirely. Not that it would do anything anyway to keep him warm, sweat-sodden as it is.
Now and then, a doctor comes. At least Jim believes he’s a doctor. He can’t even tell if it’s night or day when he arrives, for the room he’s being kept in has no windows. It’s a small cell - only big enough for a single bed, a toilet, and a sink.
The medic arrives and tends to Jim’s wound. By this point, the detective barely whimpers when he carves out the puss with a sharp scoop. He tells Jim he’s sorry and that they ran out of antibiotics. Jim takes a good look at his face, notes the eerie smile, and doesn’t believe him for a single second. He looks somehow familiar but before he can figure out who it might be, he passes out.
Small blessings.
When he wakes up, Jim thinks he can hear Harvey’s voice and Cobblepot. “Now you’ve seen him,” the Penguin snarls, clearly exasperated. “It’s not due to my men’s doings he’s in this dire condition,” he adds. “I’ll keep my promise, I’ll keep him alive,” Cobblepot finishes solemnly and Jim shudders. It sounds like a threat.
He makes it to the toilet the next time he regains consciousness and even manages to drink some water from the tap before collapsing again.
When waking up again, he’s hooked to an IV, and his head is spinning.
Oswald is watching him from the door, a wide, toothy grin plastered all over his face.
“Itsy bitsy, toothy teeth,” Jim thinks in his half-delirious state. He starts laughing. ‘Toothy teeth’, that sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? They are sharp like daggers, though, and oh so pearly-white. Jim remembers when they used to be yellow, and full of stains. Oswald hadn’t had the money for a dentist back then. Now, they look like rows and rows of knives carved from ivory.
Jim waits for him to unhinge his jaw and swallow him whole.
He blinks, sits up, and shakes his head in an attempt to sober up enough to deal with the gangster.
“What do you want from me?” he snaps, more harshly than is probably wise. But then given his current state, he’s as threatening as a kitten hissing at a snake.
As expected, Oswald’s smile merely widens in response, mocking him. “What I want?” he drawls, studying the detective intently.
Pushing himself from the wall, he limps closer. The bed dips under his weight, and just like that, he’s sitting next to Jim, so close he can feel the other man’s warmth. The detective tries to move away, to get some space between the two of them, but Oswald is having none of it.
He catches Jim’s bruised hand in his gloved one, inspects the blue and black marks blossoming on his knuckles. Pressing down in a silent warning, he halts the former cop in his tracks.
To an innocent bystander, they’d look serene, like two old friends united in worry for each other’s fate.
Jim gasps softly when Oswald increases the pressure. The motion could be comforting.
“What I want,” he repeats pensively. “There are a lot of answers to this question, detective,” he ponders. “So I’m sorry,” he says, directing his gaze at the man next to him, “this might take some time.”
“Then go on,” Jim urges through gritted teeth and Oswald smirks.
“So much bravado,” the mobster acknowledges. “Even now.” Leaning in closely, he whispers, “I can see the fear in your eyes.”
Jim wants to jerk away from his grasp but Oswald’s fingers clench around him like a vice.
“Do you think someone will save you?” he asks haughtily. “Do you think someone will bust through that door, knock me out, and carry you to safety?” He yanks the detective closer, until he’s all but breathing into his face. “I’ll tell you a secret, Jim. All these good people, those honest Gothamites you kept safe for months didn’t hesitate to sacrifice you. That freedom, that justice you offered them, meant nothing to them. Even Harvey couldn’t deny the temptation of exchanging you for a chance to have his old life, his old comfort back.”
Jim’s eyes widen in shock before he finally pulls his hand free.
“Liar!” he growls.
The Penguin tilts his head and sighs, pity written all over his features. “He couldn’t wait to take the bribes off my hands once they appointed him Captain, don’t you remember? I promised him to keep you alive, and that I did.” He nods, obviously pleased with himself.
Getting up from the bed, Oswald starts pacing the room. “I have been this city’s mayor before,” he mutters. “I did good, kept the crime-rates low and the streets safe. I built hospitals and renewed the streets, staffed schools. The moment Ed shot me it was all forgotten,” he reminisces bitterly.
“They couldn’t wait to toss me back into the gutter, to depict me as a monster. Do you think it would be different with you?” he scoffs, turning to Jim. “I had been their hero and their villain and so have you,” he challenges.
“They will carry you on their shoulders and praise your name as long as you benefit them, James. And when I demanded you, they decided that indeed, you have always been the villain to keep them from getting reconnected with the mainland.”
Shaking his head fondly, he walks back to the bed. “This city makes or breaks you,” he whispers, placing his hands on Jim’s shoulders.
“So, pray tell, why do you want me?” the cop urges.
Oswald opens his mouth and closes it again, seemingly staring at a point in the distance.
“I want revenge, Jim,” he admits softly. “I need retaliation for Arkham, for every time you betrayed me, rejected my friendship…” His voice breaks off and Jim feels a cold shiver running down his spine.
Tilting his head, he inspects the former detective. “I never wanted your death,” he confesses. “Not even when I put the bounty on your head. I dreaded the possibility of someone dragging your cold, lifeless body into my house.”
Unshed tears glisten in the mobster’s eyes. Reaching out, he touches Jim’s face hesitantly, starts following the lines of his features with long, cold digits. The cop lets him, frozen in fear by the implications of the Penguin’s request.
“You were the rare exception in this city. The good, good man. Sure, you’d make your hands dirty, turn to me when there was no one else to turn to, but once you had gotten what you wanted, you’d betray me to my face.”
Swallowing heavily, Jim tries regaining his voice. He’s still feverish, weak, can feel the cold sweat dripping down his forehead. “And you allowed it,” he rasps out. “Every time. And you always knew right from the start that it would end that way.”
The Penguin smiles, sadly, longingly. “I had always so much hope,” he whispers. “So much hope you’d realize how much I used to love you.”
When leaning forward, Jim thinks he’ll kiss him again. The cop’s mouth drops open. He knew, of course, he knew. What kind of detective would he be if he didn’t realize what had been obvious for so long? It would probably be a good moment to remind Oswald of that fact, of him being a detective - or of all the times he looked the other way when the Penguin committed another crime.
His mouth runs dry though when the other man starts running his hands down his torso. “I had a stepmother, briefly,” he shares. “I had also stepsiblings,” he carries on. “They poisoned my father. So I cut them into little pieces and fed them to their mother.”
The smile contorting his features when sharing this tidbit of information will haunt Jim Gordon forever.
“That was after Arkham,” he declares. “They made me good there, Jim,” he adds, directing his gaze back at the detective. “They took apart my entire being, my personality, my very core, and pieced it back together according to their vision.”
Jim wants to protest how they obviously didn’t achieve anything there but keeps his mouth shut for once. This time, he’s smart enough not to taunt the mobster even more.
“Grace, my stepmother, in a way she helped me becoming myself again,” he muses. “When they released me, I felt sane - but never just quite.” His lower lip quivers and Jim wonders if he should offer some comfort. Finally making a decision, he places a slightly trembling hand above the one still laying on his torso.
Gratefully, Oswald squeezes his fingers lightly.
“There was always something off with me though, when they released me. Did you ever dring rotten milk from a box? It tastes normal at first, but then you smack your lips, and it’s there, this slightly sour, rotten taste. You need a moment to catch on, because your body wants to taste this regular milk so badly. At some point, you have to swallow, though. And there’s the clump, and you can’t continue pretending.”
With a sigh, he lays down next to Jim. “My father was a good man, like my mother. They could have never harmed anyone. So, so good...just like you.”
Burying his head in Jim’s neck, he inhales deeply. The cop stiffens, before awkwardly patting his back, unsure how to answer all that.
“Grace, she accused me of being a rapist.” The criminal shudders in silent disgust. “I protested, of course. Yet she looked at me that way, as if I only hadn’t committed this particular crime yet.”
Oswald’s voice is full of desperation when he speaks again. “Who would be as pathetic as to take love by force. But looking at you,” his voice breaks off when reaching again for Jim, hunger written all over his face. “I want you so much.”
The cop swallows. Whatever he says now, whatever he does, is crucial. Somehow he knows that even a false movement could end him for good.
Suddenly, Oswald jumps from the bed as if something had bitten him. Straightening out his suit, he narrows his eyes at Jim. “I could make you want me to,” he blurts out. “I learned everything I need at Arkham, I watched Victor doing his magic,” he shares. Working himself up into an excited frenzy, he starts pacing the room and Jim has had enough of it.
“You want to what?” he snorts, appalled. “Brainwash me into loving you?” The words come out too harshly, and Jim realizes his mistake instantly, but nevertheless too late.
Oswald halts in his tracks, eyes wild and as feverish as Jim feels. “Yes! Yes!” he exclaims. “Exactly that.”
Jim Gordon had been afraid of the Penguin before. When he had only been an overeager little umbrella-boy, a creep who used to lurk in the dark, stalking him and his then-fiancée, he had been repulsed, disgusted even with him, yet now, he learns what true terror means.
With a shudder, he pulls the blanket around his shoulders, presses his entire body against the bed-frame. He feels like a child, hiding in his bed from the monsters, too terrified to get up and turn the lights on. Except, this monster is standing before him in broad light, entirely unwilling to go away.
But there’s not only fear. Even if he rarely admits it, Jim knows somewhere deep inside of him that he helped to shape this particular monster that came to haunt him today. This beast had been molded from grief and betrayal. The cop recognizes a broken heart when he sees one, and a part of him wants to reach out, give in, and grant him his wish.
And there’s another part, one Jim keeps hidden even from himself. It would probably be wise to speak about it right now, but just like his gangster, he is a fool, full of hope.
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More Time - Chpt.16
Summary: In the wake of Bucky’s accident another unexpected hurdle is thrown into their lives. Stronger together than apart, the three grow closer as they face this new reality together. Master list can be found HERE.
Warnings/ Content: A little angsty, lots of feels.
Word Count: 2.9k
Author’s Note: I’m so sorry for that last cliff hanger, lovelies! I really am. Be patient though, we need to get through the woods in this chapter so our three main characters can move forward in their lives together. XOXO - Ash
Chapter Sixteen
So they waited. Neither Steve nor Emma was willing to leave the ICU waiting room so they alternated between sitting huddled together on an assortment of love seats and sofas, and pacing around the room. Pepper, Happy, Bruce, and Helen all urged them to consider getting some sleep or a shower or a decent meal but it fell on deaf ears. What sleep they got was leaning on each other in their seats. The food they picked at with disinterest was from the vending machine or what someone brought them. Steve would tell Emma stories from their childhood, good memories he had of Bucky when they were young, before the war started. Sometimes he’d get so lost in a particular memory his eyes would glass over and he’d trail off mid-sentence, the rest of his words caught by the lump in his throat. Emma told Steve about all the nights Bucky had come to visit her solo at Matty’s. How his smile had charmed her even when she had tried to ignore it. The way he was so easy to talk to because he genuinely listened and cared about what she had to say.
For two days they waited, the time passing feeling both too long and non existent. It was like they were trapped in the same moment in an infinite loop, frozen in time by their fear. The only thing keeping them from completely falling apart was the comfort they drew from one another’s presence. The one time when Emma had run off to the bathroom Steve looked around the empty waiting room realizing if it weren’t for her, he would have been all alone there waiting for Bucky to wake up. The pain in his chest doubled and he pushed past the thought, unable to think about how unbearable that would have been. And if Steve had clung to Emma a little harder after she returned, she didn’t mention a thing.
It was Bruce who came to get them after Bucky woke up. It was like a dam breaking as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Tears streamed from both their faces anew, relief and joy washing over them in waves. Steve started asking Bruce questions but he told them that they didn’t know much yet. Helen and the other doctors were busy running a series of tests and scans now that he was awake. They wouldn’t know much until the doctors had the results. As much as the pair wanted to see him right away, Bruce made them slow down as he led them back to Bucky’s room so that the doctor’s had time to finish up.
A tall, grey haired man came out of Bucky’s ICU room to let them know the scans were complete and they were free to go in. His only request was that they go easy on Bucky who was not entirely out of the woods yet. Steve and Emma nodded in unison, eager to get in Bucky’s room no matter what. When they finally were allowed through the large white doors it was like they could finally breathe again.
Bucky was reclining in a large white hospital bed, IV’s coming out of his right arm. His left was removed, sitting off on the far side of the room in a case for safe keeping. They had cleaned him up a bit but his hair was still disheveled and his beard had grown out a bit to the point where it was a proper beard, not just the scruff he usually kept it as. The bruises hadn’t all faded and he looked paler than usual, deep purple-blue crescents under his eyes.
“Buck.” Steve choked out, his voice breaking.
Bucky looked over at Steve, his brow furrowed, “I’m sorry,” he said, “Do I know you?”
Emma felt like she’d been punched. She barely got her arms around Steve as he started to collapse.
“Stevie no!” Bucky cried, eyes wide. “Shit, I was kidding!” he tried to scramble out of the hospital bed but two nurses immediately put their hands on his shoulders to keep him down.
“Fucking punk.” Steve panted. He pulled his inhaler out from his pants pocket and took two long puffs with shaking hands.
Emma was caught between wanting to hug Bucky and smack him. “You can’t do that to us!” she scolded him.
Once Steve was steady on his feet and breathing better, he and Emma made their way over to Bucky who gave them each a one armed hug, letting them hang on as long as they needed. He apologized to them both repeatedly for his ill-timed attempt at humor. They talked with the doctors for a while once they returned from the lab. Bucky would be okay, his brain scans were all fine, the bruises were healing, he just needed to wait out the break in his leg and be careful around the stress fractures along a few of his ribs on his right side. His right leg was going to be in a cast from his hip to his ankle for at least a month, maybe longer, and then he’d probably still need a brace after that for a little while. It was hard to gauge his healing ability but a normal person would be looking at six months in a cast and then a long road of physical therapy. Bucky was dreading every moment of his recovery.
After he woke up the hospital only kept him another day for observation before Steve and Emma were allowed to take him home. They were all restless by the time they got the all clear and couldn’t wait for a decent meal and their own bed. Emma had taken time off from the bar, letting them know there had been a family emergency and she would be out for a little while. She was thankful for her saved up vacation time and her savings account. Nothing was more important than being there for Bucky and Steve at that point.
Bucky was forced into a wheelchair to leave the hospital despite vehement protesting. It was policy, super soldier or not. At least they let him put his arm back on when he had gotten dressed. The trio felt, and looked, pretty grungy as they blinked against the midday sun; seeing the outside the world for the first time in three days. The sidewalk was packed with people. Some holding signs of well wishes and others holding cameras and microphones. Steve and Emma helped Bucky into the back of the car while Happy did his best to shoo the reporters away. The hospital staff intervened, making the crowd disperse so they could safely navigate the car out and away. It was frustrating but Steve and Bucky just sighed, resigned to the fact that this was life in the public eye. Avengers didn’t always have the luxury of peace and quiet.
Bucky sat between Steve and Emma, wincing every so often when the car bounced over a pothole. It wasn’t a terribly long drive but it was enough to wear Bucky out and they got him into their enormous bed as soon as they got home.
Emma offered to call in a food order and Steve was doing damage control with Pepper over the phone. He understood that the public was worried about Bucky and wanted to know how he was doing, that was okay. What worried him were the photos. The world didn’t know what had happened in Bruce’s lab yet and he was reluctant to have the news break just yet. He liked living in relative anonymity now that he was back in his smaller body. No one stopped him on the streets anymore, he could come and go as he pleased. He knew it was only a matter of time but he just wasn’t ready yet. Pepper promised to do her best but let him know that it was likely already circulating.
It only took an hour for the news to hit the internet. An hour after that, it was on TV. Pepper called apologizing but Steve knew she had done her best. There would need to be a press statement released. Steve gave her the okay to give a blanket “we’ll do an interview soon” statement and they would have a trusted reporter come to the apartment soon for an interview that could be taped and aired later. Steve was used to seeing the best and worst of humanity, he was still considered a hero and a criminal in turns. What he didn’t expect was for Emma to get drug into their mess. A few of the reporters had snapped pictures of her with them, the affection between all three clear as day. Stories circulated, most painting ugly scandals but some just asking “who is the mystery woman”.
Bucky came limping out on his crutches to find Emma and Steve sitting together and watching the news, their hands tightly entwined. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Steve jumped at the sound of his voice, not having realized he was up out of bed. “Oh, you know, the news.” Steve tried to play it off but Emma’s stricken face told the whole story.
Bucky could easily guess what happened. He saw the reporters at the hospital as they were leaving and he was well accustomed to being smeared in the media. “They saw you didn’t they. They know.” he guessed.
Steve nodded, “Yeah, they know. I couldn’t hide forever.”
Bucky crutched over to join him, sitting on Steve’s side to wrap an arm around the smaller man. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be in the news for a while but it’ll die down eventually.”
“They got pictures of us, and Emma. There’s… There’s a lot of speculation about the three of us. Especially about you and I.”
“Well, we figured that would get out eventually anyway. It’s not like we’ve hidden what we are to each other since I got out of cryo.”
“We’ve never confirmed anything either though. And now Emma is wrapped up in this too. They’re making it sound like we’ve abducted her into some type of polygamist cult.”
“Hey!” Emma protested, “I don’t care what they’re saying in the news. I knew the risk I was taking the minute we agreed to give this relationship a try.”
“But you shouldn’t have t-”
“Nope, stop it right now Steve. I knew what I was risking. And you’re worth it. You’re both worth it. I wouldn’t give a minute of what we have just because some online bullies think what we’re doing is wrong.”
Bucky was grinning ear to ear watching Emma’s temper flare. She was so brave even in the face of their quiet little world exploding around them. He knew then that she’d be fine no matter what the outside world threw at them. Bucky had to let himself give her the same trust that he gave Steve. “So what do we do next then?” he asked.
Steve still looked torn but continued with a small huff. He was a master strategist, after all, and the moves were the same dealing with the media as they were in a war zone. “Well, we have to get a head of this thing before it blows out of proportion. If you’re feeling up to it we’ll get Diane from NBC to come over tomorrow and do an interview. We show them that you’re alive and well, talk about our plans for your recovery, make it abundantly clear that yes we are together and that Emma is a new addition to our lives. We’ll have to address my lack of serum somehow but we’ll be vague and keep the conversation moving. Pepper will make sure we control the dialogue so we can get the right message across the way we want it.”
“That sounds like a plan.” Bucky agreed.
“I need to run home and get some clothes if I’m going to be on TV.” Emma told them nervously.
“You don’t have to be on TV unless you want to be. We can confirm you exist without giving up your identity.” Steve offered, giving her one last out.
Emma shook her head, “No, I’m in this now. I won’t sit in the shadows and let you two do this alone. I just never thought I’d be on TV. It seems kinda daunting.”
“You get used to it.” Bucky shrugged.
Emma couldn’t imagine ever getting used to it but she knew she would manage with the guys by her side.
xxXxx
Bucky was like a whole new person the next morning after a full night’s rest and a few good meals. The shower helped the most, though he hated having to let Steve and Emma wrap his leg in a garbage bag so he could go in. He tried to be as self sufficient as he could but Emma and Steve were like a pair of mother hens fussing over him. A small part of him enjoyed letting them fuss, it was sweet and who would complain about being loved on by the two most amazing people in the world? It was love, he knew it for certain. They hadn’t said the words to Emma yet but the feeling was there. It was unmistakable in the little looks she and Steve gave each other as they moved around the kitchen cooking breakfast, the way she insisted on taking care of Bucky’s hair for him so it would be shiny and nice on TV, the sweet words of apology she gave General when she had to move his cat condo to make room for the camera crews equipment. Spoken or not, the love was there and he was going to make sure she knew it sooner rather than later.
Diane Hastings showed up at their apartment at eleven o’clock on the dot. She was a statuesque whirlwind of polished professionalism but who often let them drive the conversation in interviews. She was a bright woman who knew when to push and when to back off, happy to get exclusive interview rights even if it meant she had to bite her tongue from time to time.
Steve greeted her warmly, welcoming them into their home. She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow when Steve said “our home” but didn’t ask. Bucky stayed put on the sofa, as much as it pained him to be impolite he knew the interview would be draining and wasn’t going to push himself. Diane was solicitous asking if he was comfortable and letting him know if they needed to stop or move to a different spot they could. She didn’t quite know what to make of Emma but she was polite, shaking her hand and making small talk. It was clear questions were flying through her head but Diane, ever the professional, kept them to herself.
Steve was seated between Bucky and Emma, holding each of their hands in his own. They could do this, together. With one last long look between the three of them the cameras started rolling and started the chain of events that would change all of their lives irrevocably.
xxXxx
The interview aired at 6pm that night after a few rounds of editing by the station’s crew and representatives for Steve and Bucky. It was condensed into a ninety minute broadcast despite taping much longer. They had mixed feelings about watching but agreed it was good to see how it played out after the editing. The three of them curled up on the sofa together in their usual spots sharing an assortment of Chinese food right out of the cartons. It was better than they expected in the end. The world was going to be a very different place for all three of them, for better or worse.
The world knew Bucky would be out of commission for a few months until he was healed enough to return to work full time. He gave a moving call for aid to help the areas impacted by the earthquakes. It was explained that Steve’s serum was gone and it was permanent. They skated around the issue by claiming the details were classified. They spoke about their lives together and their joy about having moved back to Brooklyn. Diane was smiling with genuine happiness for them when Bucky confirmed that yes, he and Steve were in love and had been for a very long time. They clarified that he was bisexual while Steve was pansexual. Emma was brought into the conversation at that point, the three of them sharing an abridged version of how they’d met. Both men were impressed with how poised and composed Emma stayed under the scrutiny of the video cameras. She was well spoken and witty, making sure the world understood that they were just like any other couple trying to live their lives quietly together. They all knew there would be more questions but for now it was enough. Pepper could release statements as needed after that.
Steve and Bucky’s phones lit up with congratulations from their friends shortly after the interview ended and Emma was surprised a few of her friends sent her well wishes too. It was a strange feeling having her life on display for the world but she was more than willing to deal with it if it meant she was able to stay together with her guys.
Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder @remilupin22 @supraveng @hiddles-rose
If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!
#more time#stucky#stucky x original character#stucky x original female character#stucky x ofc#steve rogers#preserum steve rogers#bucky barnes#post winter soldier bucky barnes#original female character#original character#shrinky clinks#shrinkyclinks#stucky fanfic#stucky fanfiction#marvel#marvel fanfiction#marvel fanfic#post endgame#post avengers endgame#endgame fix it#endgame fixit
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Why Us? Why Now? Why Ever?
In a post apocalyptic world where walkers took over the living, Era realised that she was different from every one else. Wanting to uncover the reasons to her differences, she embarked on a journey to the West where she met a few Strays,, including a man named Hwang Hyun Jin who, just like her, was cold, hot headed, and full of distrust. She thought they would never get along, but what happens when the two cold hearts start to melt?
STRAY KIDS ZOMBIE AU // WUWNWE MASTERLIST
Chapter 2 ~ “Stalker much?
prev // next
“FUCK!”
I knew I was doomed the minute my eyes landed on the walker through the slightest gap between the wooden planks. The corpse, with all its anger and glory, was now squeezing its way through the broken plank, clawing its arms towards me.
I shook the metal chains around my wrist, trying to break out of it. Luckily for me, Han was nice enough to tie the chains tightly, but loose enough for me to squeeze my hands through it. Painfully and forcefully
The walker grabbed hold of my ankle, dragging me towards it. My elbow grazed along the rough cement floor and I kicked it right in the jaw, sparing me more time to pull my hand out of the chains.
I yelled in pain as I pulled my hand out, not caring about the possible sprain I was causing my wrist to have. Heck, I didn’t even care about possibly dislocating it. The walker was waist deep into the attic, and the wooden planks were no longer going to hold. It was either my wrist or my neck and I would rather live with a dislocated wrist rather than die from the savage walker.
I kicked it once more just as my right hand finally got free, and I immediately stretched to grab the crowbar from the table across me. On cue, the wooden plank snapped in half and the walker launched itself towards me, snapping onto my face.
With my legs I pushed it away before lunging the crow bar in between its eyes. My stomach churned as its decaying smell filled my nose. I would have hurled if I was not trying to fight for my life against it. With my left hand freed, I pulled the crowbar for another hit, only to realise that it had stuck in the corpse’s skull.
I kicked it once more, scanning around for anything that I could use. Just above the walker was a sharp plank that had gotten loose upon its entry, allowing a new idea to enter my brain.
I panted, letting out a shriek as the walker attacked once again, barely missing my face. I pushed it back with both hands, feeling my hands sink into its meat. With the last ounce of strength, I pushed it back, driving its head through the sharp plank. I watched as its body went limp, and the sound of its spitty hiss silenced.
The door to the storage attic burst open, revealing three shocked men.
“Holy shit.” Han gasped.
That indeed. I let out shaky breaths, panting uncontrollably as I finally managed to take a break from the event that had just unfolded.
“Im. Still. Not. Bit.”
I tried to catch my breath but it only felt like my breath just got slower. Louder..? My body began to feel heavier with every breath I took and my vision clouded, causing the three guys that appeared in front of me to disappear.
And then nothing.
————————————————————-
I woke up to find myself in a bed. In a small, tiled room lined with shelves of medical supplies. It smelled similar to that of the hospitals I used to visit with my parents before the apocalypse. Like alcohol. I sat up, immediately feeling the ache shoot through my entire body. My arm and wrist were nicely wrapped in bandages and a needle with embedded in the back of my palm, allowing me to be attached to one of those IV drips I had only seen in movies.
I immediately looked away, not liking how to needle looked in my skin and how it felt. I was always afraid of them. So much so that I refused to get injections when I was younger.
The door opened and two boys entered. The two of them brought something special with them. Like the mood in the solemn room immediately lightened the minute they stepped foot in it. I looked at them, noticing the bright cheeky smile on one of their faces, while the other boy had a much shyer smile.
“You’re awake!” Cheeky smile boy exclaimed, rushing to me, “I heard your name was Era from Han. My name is Jeongin. That ‘quiet’ boy over there is Seungmin.”
Slightly taken aback by his sudden friendliness, I flinched back, giving him a weird look which he immediately noticed and apologised for.
“In just one minute you managed to scare her already, Jeongin.” Seungmin shook his head, causing the other to pout, “We got you all stitched up and we cleaned the rest of your wounds. You’re lucky Hyunjin found you.”
I couldn’t help but let out a small scoff, is that what he’s been telling people? “Yeah, I sure am.” I replied, my sarcasm wasn’t left unnoticed.
“You’re IV drip is finished, so Jeongin can take you to eat. You must be starving.”
It was true. I was extremely hungry. Like Seungmin said, Jeongin walked me to the ‘cafeteria’ outside with his non stop cheerful talking. I had to admit, he was cute. As in baby brother cute as he was probably a year or two younger than me. As we walked the halls, Jeongin told me about how him and 8 others found the camp not long after the apocalypse hit. Ever since, they’ve been focusing on trying to establish a walker free zone and strengthening the barricades around the camp.
He stated that it was a great place to start with, especially since it was already equipped with separate rooms, bathrooms, infirmaries. The ‘cafeteria’ was placed outside, where the campfire was set to cook food. He pushed open the double doors of the school, allowing sunlight to hit my face.
“Welcome to Camp Miroh, Era.”
Jeongin passed me a tray, before leading me to walk to a woman managing the pot at the bonfire. She appeared to be in her mid 30s, giving me a warm smile as she scooped my ration into my tray.
As we walked towards one of the tables, I realised that the camp mostly consisted of guys my age, elders and children. Children played with one another, oblivious to the terrors in the world around them while elders watched over them as they stitched or washed clothing. The teenagers were having their lunch, watching every move of mine as I walked with Jeong In.
“Don’t mind them, we never find girls your age.” Jeongin explained, settling down on a table with a couple of boys, “Speaking of which, how old are you, Era?”
“19.”
“Oh cool, were the same age!” Another guy whom we sat on the same table with exclaimed. “I’m Felix, by the way.”
“You’re not very chatty, huh?” Jeongin asked, finally noticing my awkward short answers. It almost felt too overwhelming. I’ve been stuck alone for the past two months with nothing but walkers and deers which I’ve hunted, and now I’m surrounded with plenty of extroverted men who never ran out of conversation starters.
Felix nudged Jeongin at his side, shaking his head, “I think you’re just too chatty, Jeong In. Let her eat.”
Jeong In and Felix began talking more about the camp, which I didn’t mind. Turns out, Chan was the leader who ran the camp, while Han, Hyun Jin and a guy called Chang Bin were his ‘right’ hand men, the three would run the camp should Chan be absent. Though, Hyun Jin was mainly focussed in ensuring the safety of the camp through training men who were skilled in weapons.
Just as I scraped the last bit of my food off the plate, Han jogged towards us, the same smile I had seen on his face the day before,
“Hey. How are you feeling?”
I nodded, “Better.”.
“She’s not very chatty, Han.” Jeongin announced, earning a hit from Felix.
Han let out a low chuckle, glancing towards me with his head tilted, doubting Jeongin’s previous statement, “Really? I’m sure Hyunjin would think otherwise.”
I rolled my eyes, recalling the loud arguments that had occurred the day before.
“Are you done? Chan wants to see you.”
I nodded, standing up as Jeongin and Felix waved to me.
I followed as Han led the way. Han gave off a different aura from the rest of the group. He was quiet, but friendly. It was comforting. Warm. A feeling I hadn’t felt in a while.
“I’m guessing Jeongin told you about our camp?” Han asked, attempting to start a conversation,
“And more..” I replied, earning a chuckle from Han.
“Yeah, he’s like that. He’s the youngest out of the 9 of us but he brings sunshine wherever he goes.”
I nodded, agreeing with Han’s statement. It was true, Jeongin’s charm was just too hard to ignore because he simply was able to lighten any of the darkest souls. Including mine, possibly.
“I’m really sorry for leaving you out there, Era.” Han apologised, the smile on his face being replace with a guilty frown, “We left you with a dog bite and you came back having been almost bitten by a walker, a sprained wrist, a grazed elbow and almost dying from excessive blood loss.”
I gave him a look, finding his rambles funny, “Stalker much?”
Han shrugged, brushing me off with a smile, “Nah. I did have time to examine you on our way back though.”
Right. How did I get back?
“Hyun Jin carried you all the way back,, kinda his punishment for being strongly against helping you.”
I let out a small chuckle, earning a bigger smile from him.
We reached Chan’s so called ‘office’-- A room with a small table and guns, flashlights, crossbows placed at another table stationed at the corner of the room. A large map was taped up to one of the walls, scribbled with many red and blue circles. My eyes landed on Hyun Jin, who was leaning against the Chan’s table with his arms crossed. The cut I left him was still visible on his cheek.
“We’re glad you’re okay, Era. I think we didn’t get to introduce ourselves properly.”
Hyunjin scoffed, muttering a soft, “I wonder why.”
“I’m Chan.” Chan said, ignoring Hyunjin’s unnecessary comment.
“Han.”
Hyunjin frowned when the two guys turned to him, awaiting for his own introduction. Han nudged him at his side, causing him to flinch, sighing, he finally introduced himself
“Hyunjin.” He greeted, clearly unamused with my appearance.
“Can you please be more cooperative now that we’ve saved your life?” Chan asked, a hint of firmness in his attempted soft voice.
“By saving, you mean saving my life only after putting it at risk? Sure.” I replied, catching the three of them off guard by my direct response.
“Okay about that, we’re really sorry. We really just couldn’t risk bringing you back. Locking you and tying you up.. we were just scared.”
I nodded, taking in my surroundings one more time. They had a big camp established which served as a safe haven for many people of different ages. They had to take precautions. Be selfish. Finally, I was able to understand their mindset, “Its alright, I would’ve done the same.”
Chan smiled, “So, how’d you get this far?”
I sighed, tired at the same question being asked. Realising that I haven’t actually answered it, I finally gave in, “I don’t know.. I ran, hid. Just the normal shit.”
“You do know having her around is just gonna worsen our food situation right? She’s just another mouth to feed.” Hyun Jin commented.
“Does everything that comes out of your mouth always have to be shit?” I shot back, “Besides, you don’t have to be worry about that.”
Han straightened out, glancing from Chan and then turning back to me with his eyebrow raised as realisation dawned onto him,
“You’re not staying?” Han asked, eyes immediately widening with some kind of emotion I couldn’t decipher. Shock? Worry?
I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t remember asking you guys to take me in.”
“But you really should. You’ll be safe here. We’ll protect you.” Chan explained, sending tingles down my spine as I recalled the last time I heard that sentence.
The last time someone had claimed they’d protect me, I was thrown to the walkers after they took everything I owned. My gun. Food. Water. Everything. I was a vulnerable 17 year old who found ‘safe haven’ at the wrong place.
“No thanks. I don’t do people.”
Hyunjin cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes on me, “Why? Some boyfriend waiting for you at another base?”
I rolled my eyes, “I already said, I’m not with people. The last time I was with a group I was fed to a group of walkers.”.
Chan nodded, appearing distant and deep in thought. He wasn’t listening to me.
“You’re good with the bow and arrow?” Chan asked, bringing up my bag onto his table. I sighed in relief, seeing that they didn’t leave it behind when they decided to lock me in a cabin.
“I guess. I’d be happy to just take that and go.”
“I’m guessing you can hunt.” Chan added, disregarding my eagerness to leave as he earned the attention of Han and Hyunjin,, as if a light bulb went off in their heads.
I raised my brows, observing the change in their attitudes.
“You can’t?” I realised, “What have you guys been surviving on, then?”
“Non perishables.” Han answered, slumping against Chan’s desk as he sighed, “The camp came along with canned foods which lasted us about a year or so. But then we’ve been running short in supply despite our daily ‘supermarket’ visits.”
“..We’ve tried hunting but none of us are any good with it. It would be really great if you could help us, Era.” Chan continued.
I crossed my arms, stepping back to think about it. I had no intention of staying. I had to be somewhere else. Staying would mean having to work as a team, and I hated the fact that I would have to be fending for others other than myself. But they looked at me hopeful, and I knew that these guys were doing their best to help the others. I pictured the elderly and children who saw this place as their safe haven. These guys were thinking beyond themselves and what they needed.
“I don’t know. Having just another mouth to feed might be too much for you guys.” I remarked, clearly targeting the man who immediately avoided my gaze, “How about we chain you up in an attic and see in the morning?”
The guys sighed, almost in sync.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know you’d be this useful.” Hyunjin ‘apologised’, earning a smack from Han as I scoffed. “Keep talking and I’ll show you what useless is, asshole.”
I let out a breath, letting sympathy take over. One thing was obvious. All of them, including Hyunjin whom I thought was incapable of caring for others, had the same look in their eyes. Desperation. They knew they wouldn’t last with just canned foods, and they needed to learn how to hunt fast if they were to keep the camp alive to protect the people who lived in it.
“Fine. I’ll teach you how to hunt. Just promise me you don’t throw me to a hoard of walkers.”
#skz#skz imagines#stray kids au#stray kids#stray kids fanfic#han jisung#hwang hyun jin#hyunjin#bang chan#seungmin#skz writing#skz au#skz scenarios#skz fanfic#jeong in
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