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deiliamedlini · 3 years

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Whumptober 2021- The Darkness I Know

Chapter 4

No. 4- Trust fall

“Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

Fic Summary: After the world as she knew it was destroyed by the corruption of Malice, Zelda allies herself with her saviors from captivity: a disgruntled former governor, an alert paramedic, a cocky pilot, an excessively overt optimist, and a blind strategist. While the corrupted, malice-filled Yiga Clan looks for revenge on them, Zelda has to learn how important it is to find family in others... and how much more dangerous the stakes become if she fails to protect them.

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Zelda’s room was an absolute prison.

There was no way that someone built this room for comfort, or peace. No one would find a sense of calm and relaxation in here. It was built to inspire fear, and that’s exactly what it did.

The door was locked, of course. No amount of jiggling the handle would do anything to help her. But when she turned, she was met by a sickening, neon orange wall, with white floors; her eyes hurt simply from looking at it all.

There was no window in the small room, but she hadn’t expected it. She figured they were in the middle of the compound, just based on what little information she’d managed to gather. But there was nothing on the walls, nothing but the painful color. It left the room feeling barren and empty; a cold place rather than somewhere warm and inviting.

The bed was small and set on a metal frame, and when she sat on it, she sank into an uncomfortable gap that had been left by an apparent, numerous occupants. And the sheets didn’t appear to have been changed in the time between people either, given their frayed, tattered, and—to Zelda’s utter dismay—odorous state.

No, this room was not meant to be lived in. This was another tactic, another measure for her to overcome. This was to scare her out of joining the Yiga, as if she had any other choice right now. Joining was the only way out.

She sat in the corner of the room on the floor, hoping that was a safer bet than the bed was, and pictured just how many people were gathered in that room. Not one of them tried to defect? Every one of them was here of their own volition?

Zelda shuddered. What if there was a ploy, a twist? What if somehow, they really could convince her to become a Malice-loving zealot? Who would she even be?

Perhaps the room was meant to test her in more ways than one, because the only time the door opened was for someone to drop off food that she was too afraid to eat, and then they’d leave with the tray and Zelda would wander the empty room trying to keep herself entertained.

She’d been in the Yiga’s hideout for a week now: three days in the cells, and four in the room.

Four, right?

She’d lost count, honestly.

On day… two—she believed—she accepted the food with caution. They wouldn’t try to pull the same trick twice, right? Besides, she’d need her strength if she wanted to have a chance of fighting.

That was what this room really did: broke people until they no longer had fight left inside them.

Before the Malice had taken over, Zelda was fresh out of school. She did some sports in high school, and she ran in her spare time, but athleticism wasn’t her forte. After, however, Zelda had become proficient in fending off the more annoying crazed creatures, and the occasional human. She could use a bow, a knife, and herself to throw an enemy off balance. But here? Here she was surrounded and completely alone.

Zelda loved rulers, but there were none in the room.

She took her arm and placed it beside the pillow she refused to use on the bed she wouldn’t sit on. The pillow was about 1 ¼’s of her arm. The blanket was 5 arms in length, and 3 wide. The door was 2. The room was 14.

Goddess, there was little else she could do to keep herself entertained.

She took her place on the floor, stretched out and groaning as her bones snapped and cracked, begging for her to be kinder to them. She flipped onto her back and let out a heavy sigh as her back thanked her.

“Let me out,” Zelda said to no one in particular, and in a very normal voice. She didn’t shout or call for help, but she needed to speak. “Please, just let me leave this stupid room!”

Her stomach growled. Weak. She was weak with hunger. Her legs didn’t want her to stand back up, and she was okay with that.

How many fibers were on the frayed end of the blanket, Zelda wondered?

It was faint, but Zelda’s ears perked up at an unfamiliar noise outside her door, causing her to sit up faster than she ever had before. It was quick, and gone in an instant, but it was there.

She crawled to her door, staying low in case… well, she didn’t know why. Just in case.

With her ear to the door, she closed her eyes to block out her other senses, and listened.

Boom!

Zelda shrieked and fell backwards as the sound of something hard and heavy connected with her door, shaking it with her head still against the wood.

There was the unmistakable sound of a scuffle, and the door shook with several thuds, occasionally followed by a grunt or two.

Then, it was silent.

Zelda ran to the door and pressed her ear there once again, but she heard nothing.

“Hey!” she finally called, banging her palm on the door as hard as she could, a surge of adrenalin bursting through her tired, sore, and hungry body. “Hey!” She tried, banging incessantly.

Zelda had hoped it would get someone’s attention. She hoped someone would open the door, and allow her to escape.

She didn’t expect to hear a man’s confused voice on the other side.

“Yes?”

Eyes bugging out, Zelda banged the door again. “Hey! Who’s this!? Let me out!”

She heard the man grunt. “Who is this? Why should I let you out?”

“Aren’t you a Yiga?” she asked jokingly.

“No.”

No?

“No?”

“No.”

Zelda let her hands slide along the wood, trying the door handle one more time, fruitlessly. “My village was massacred, I was betrayed, and they’re trying to kill me! Please let me out!”

“I don’t know you,” he said with a scoff.

Zelda banged her fists on the door. “Please! Let me out! It’s locked from the outside!”

“Stop doing that and maybe I will!”

She saw the doorknob jiggle before it stopped. “Hang on,” he said, just before she heard retreating footsteps.

She wanted to beg him not to go, but she simply held her breath and waited, trying to think of the best way to attack. There were literally no possible weapons in the room, so she imagined the door opening, and her coming out swinging instead. Of course, if they had a weapon, she’d be done for and back in the room.

Footsteps were on the other side again. “You in there?” he asked.

“Where did you think I went?”

She could hear him chuckle. “Help me out,” he said to someone else.

A woman muttered something that she couldn’t hear, but there was a thud, and the door shook.

“Back up!” the man called.

Zelda did, wondering what they were doing.

And she yelped when a giant metal sword pierced the wood.

Then again.

Another sword, and the wood was splintering.

“Goddess,” she mumbled, watching the wood be torn to pieces in random places.

It didn’t make sense until there were a few more thuds, and the center of the door was a hole just big enough for her.

“Hello?”

Zelda waited, unsure if they were just going to stab her when all was said and done. But that was probably too much effort.

“Damn,” a woman said, her voice deep and authoritative, but also melodic and charming. “That was fun.”

“Good thing we cleared this area,” the man said, his voice moving, as if he were looking around.

“Hey,” the woman said, peering at Zelda in the room. She was hunched over, so she was very tall, and her red hair was long and wild and wavy as it hung in front of her face. “Coming? We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Yes,” she breathed, rushing toward the gap.

The woman disappeared. “Can you help her out? I’m going to go find Daruk.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Zelda watched the woman run by the door, and a new figure replaced her.

The man was not nearly the same height as the woman, and Zelda wondered if they might actually just be the same, judging from where he stood. His partially gloved hand ran along the gap just before he shoved his whole arm inside, ready to take Zelda’s hand.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze. I’ll help pull you out.”

“How do you know I’m not really a Yiga?” she asked. “How do I know you’re not a Yiga? Am I supposed to take you at your word?”

“That would be silly. Let me prove it to you instead,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

Hesitation was not something Zelda liked experiencing, so she fought past it and gripped the man’s hard, calloused hand. His fingers closed tight around hers. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to pull.”

“I will,” she said, getting her leg up, but then getting stuck. “Oh, this is just going to hurt a bit.”

“What is?”

“I’m stuck. I think… just pull me. I just want to get out of here.”

“We don’t injure people for no reason, he said with an exasperated sigh. Come on, let me help.”

His hand didn’t move, waiting for her permission. “Fine.”

“What are you wearing?”

Zelda’s heart was already racing from the nerves, and the excitement of getting out of here. But this man… was something. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t see well. What are you wearing?”

“Pants and…”

“Good enough,” he said, reaching forward and sliding his hand quickly down her back before grabbing her by the waist of her pants and pulling her with him.

She didn’t land on the ground, but instead, found herself out of that cursed room, and in the arms of a total stranger.

Sudden tiredness washed over her. “Why did you even let me out? Do you trust me, or something?”

“No,” he snorted, letting her go when he felt she was solid. “No, but we’re already on a rescue mission. Let’s just add one more.”

“A rescue?”

“Yeah, a man with blue hair should be prisoner here. We’re here to break him out, but we’ve been scouring this place.”

“Wait, blue hair? I think I know where he is.”

The man’s blonde, messy mop hung in front of his eyes. It must be annoying, Zelda figured, but she wasn’t going to voice that opinion. Some of his hair was tied back, but not enough to be neat or helpful.

“You do?” he asked, his interest piqued.

“I believe so.”

“What’s your name so I can thank the Goddess for you at night?” he laughed, before picking up a long staff he’d leaned against a wall.

“Zelda,” she said, instinctively holding out her hand for a handshake.

“Zelda? Good to meet you. I’m Link.” He held his hand out beside hers. She stared at his hand like it were doing a trick before simply sliding her hand into his.

Smoothing her hand through her hair awkwardly, she looked around, getting her bearings. “Okay, let’s go.”

#legend of zelda #loz #loz au #breath of the wild #botw au #whumptober #whumptober2021 #whumptober 2021 #whump #no. 4 #Do you trust me #Link #Zelda #zelink #urbosa #Yiga Clan #malice #writing

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

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The Howling of Wolves pt.1/3

Summary: After wintering with the witchers at Kaer Morhen, Geralt and Jaskier are back on the road. Only it appears someone has taken notice of Geralt's strange string of companions. Jaskier finds himself in trouble and it's up to the wolf pack to save him before it's too late.

TW for the whole story: Angst with happy ending, kidnapping, mentioned previous child abuse, mentioned torture (but off page), Major character injury and recovery, canon typical violence

Previous Stories - Shifter!Jask AU

Jaskier was bored. Geralt had gone out to hunt a werewolf and Jaskier hadn’t really felt like joining him. He found hunts for werewolves a little too close to home but he understood why Geralt was asked to hunt them. Werewolves were very rarely in control of themselves when they turned. They became overwhelmed with bloodlust and rage when they got too close to humans.

Still.

Jaskier couldn’t help but feel sorry for those he viewed as a sort of cousin. Geralt tried his best to cure the werewolves of their lycanthropy when they wanted it, and he would avoid killing them at all costs. Jaskier had been thrilled to learn this had been the case even before Geralt had met Jaskier.

Jaskier smiled soppily at the thought of his friend and lover as he adjusted the peg on his lute. One of the strings had snapped the night before whilst he’d been playing and left him with a rather nasty slice to his palm. Luckily he healed faster than your average human so the wound hadn’t bothered him all that much but changing his lute strings was always a fiddly inconvenience.

He sighed as he plucked the string, testing it against the others until he was satisfied that it was all tuned correctly. He strummed the strings one last time to check the intervals between the notes. The chord rang out in the small tavern room that he shared with Geralt. He smiled and then dampened the sound with the palm of his hand and put his lute away.

The good people of this settlement only knew Jaskier as the bard that travelled with Geralt. They hadn’t yet met Mister Fuzzball or Dandelion the dog so Jaskier had played a set before and after his dinner and then retired to his room after the string had snapped. He had hoped that Geralt would have returned at some point during the night but he’d woken up just as alone as he had the night before.

“Stupid witcher.” He grumbled to himself. “Should have left with Lambert or Eskel. Serves him right for taking too long.”

He sighed.

That wasn’t fair. He knew it wasn’t but it was easier to be grumpy at Geralt than to consider the fact that his partner had been injured whilst he wasn’t there to help.

That and he was lonely.

After a whole three months of being hauled up at Kaer Morhen with a whole pack of witchers and not a moment alone, he was finding the silence disturbing, and he missed the others.

At least he still had Geralt. The silver-haired witcher and love of his life didn’t appear to be getting sick of him yet which was, in itself, nothing short of a miracle. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d anyone who’d stuck around for so long. Apart from maybe his nurse as a child, but then his parents had been paying Lila so did she really count?

He frowned.

Of course she counted. She’d been his only friend in that godforsaken castle. He was just being sad and dramatic.

“Right. Breakfast.” He muttered and ran a hand through his hair. “Come on, Jask. Stop moping about.”

And maybe Geralt would be waiting for him downstairs.

That thought put a smile on his face so he pulled on his shimmering turquoise doublet and made a half-hearted attempted to do it up before heading downstairs. He took the steps two at a time, not caring that he was only setting himself up for disappointment. He had hope and he was clinging onto it like a dog with a bone, and he would know about that.

He’d never quite understood the bone cravings he had when he was a dog but like most things about his animal forms, he didn’t really question it.

He stopped, frozen solid, when he reached the bottom step and his eyes spotted a familiar figure in the corner.

Geralt.

With a coppery coloured ferret sat on the table in front of him.

Jaskier gaped at the sight. That imposter didn’t even look anything like him!! Geralt was seemingly talking to the ferret and was so focussed on the creature that he didn’t notice Jaskier sneaking around the outside of the room until he could hear what his witcher was saying.

“Would you stop biting me?” Geralt rolled his eyes and poked the ferret on his head between the ears.

Jaskier. Was. Offended!

Yes the slithering bastard had blue eyes which was strange in normal ferrets but that didn’t look anything like his ferret form!

He snorted and crossed his arms.

The sound finally drew the attention of Geralt who stared at him with a furrowed brow and then looked back at the ferret on the table.

“You’re not Jaskier.” He said rather bluntly to the ferret. It chattered and bit Geralt’s hand, enough to draw blood.

“Shit.” Geralt cursed and pulled his hand away sharply before picking the creature up by the scruff of its neck and dumping it on the floor.

Jaskier tilted his head at his partner and smirked. “Hello Geralt.”

Geralt swore again and pressed his palm to his forehead. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier licked his lips and flicked his fringe from his eyes. At least Geralt had the decency to look ashamed of his mistake. “Making friends are we?” He let out a peal of laughter as the absurdity of the situation of the situation hit him.

“Shut up.” Geralt grumbled and stared unrelentingly at his drink.

Jaskier grinned and slid down onto the bench next to Geralt. He leant against the witcher and pulled the drink away from him.

“Get your own.” Geralt tried to pull it back and ale slopped over the edge of the tankard.

“Oi!” Jaskier shook his hands, droplets flying onto the table, then he grinned and smeared the ale down Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier!” Geralt growled.

Jaskier pouted and kissed Geralt’s cheek. “Yes, dearest?”

“Fuck off.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Fuck off.” He mimicked his partner’s gruff voice and then patted the witcher on the shoulder. “You, sir, are just grumpy because I caught you talking to a ferret, which, I might add, looked nothing like me.”

“He was brown and had blue eyes. It looked exactly like you.” Geralt snapped.

Jaskier smirked and cupped his witcher’s face. “I’m sorry for laughing, love, but you have to admit it is amusing.”

Geralt’s frown softened and his leant into Jaskier’s touch. “Just don’t tell Lambert.” He mumbled.

Jaskier pressed his lips to Geralt’s forehead and grinned. “No promises!” He jumped and ran from the tavern before Geralt could catch him.

“Jaskier!” He heard Geralt’s shout from behind him.

He laughed gaily as he ran from the witcher. He wasn’t in any serious danger from Geralt, that would be ridiculous but Geralt was not above wrestling him to the ground and tickling him.

And he was fucking ticklish.

Of course, if he’d stayed put in then Geralt probably wouldn’t have acted. Around other people he still acted like the stoic witcher that everyone else seemed to think he was. Jaskier scoffed. Perhaps it was because of his animal side but Geralt had always been more than that to Jaskier. He’d been so desperate for the soft affection from the cat he’d met on the fence and allowed Jaskier to travel with him for weeks as a variety of animals. Geralt had been aching for companionship.

How anyone could think he was an unfeeling monster was beyond Jaskier, then again people would think he was a monster too if they knew what he really was.

There was a sharp pain in his neck and Jaskier reached up with his hand. HIs finger tips brushed against a feather. He pulled at the dart and peered at it carefully.

“Fuck.” He grumbled and tried to shift but he couldn’t. His magic was trapped. “Oh no, no no no.” He closed his eyes and tried harder but it was useless. He was useless and his muscles were getting heavier. “Geralt!” He called but his voice was weak already.

He stumbled and fell against a tree. It would be ok. Geralt would chase him, he always did. Even if Jaskier fell unconscious then he wouldn’t be taken. Geralt would make sure of it.

“Geralt…” He mumbled as his vision started to darken around the edges. He hugged the tree as he knees buckled. Whatever was in the dart was acting quickly, the effect it had on his magic was troubling. Whoever was attacking him knew.

“Bollocks.” He slurred as he fell to the ground.

_________

Geralt snarled at the human in front of him. No sooner had Jaskier taken off than Geralt had been cornered by a snivelling scholar who was begging him to take a contract. Geralt had tried to decline politely, or at very least postpone until he could get Jaskier back. He knew the shifter would be wondering where he was, he always followed Jaskier when he ran off like this. It was a sort of game, Jaskier liked to lure Geralt into the light especially when he was being moody and Geralt had a habit of forgetting how to enjoy himself.

He was getting better at that with Jaskier’s help.

“Please, witcher.” The man grabbed onto his hand.

Geralt pulled away with more force than necessary. “I said no. Now excuse me, I have to find my bard.”

To Geralt’s surprise the man laughed. “Oh you won’t find him.”

Geralt spun round and glared at the man who was no longer a snivelling mess. He’d straighten up and was now smiling a sinister grin that made Geralt’s blood run cold.

“What the fuck?” He looked back at the door. “Fuck! Jaskier!” He ignored the man in favour for charging after his partner, but sure enough Jaskier was nowhere to be seen.

Geralt focused his senses to search for Jaskier’s footsteps running away from the tavern. Geralt pulled his sword from its scabbard and followed the light-footed prints in the dirt until something else drew his attention. There was a bright blue and green feather on the floor by the edge of the trees and he caught a whiff of Jaskier’s chamomile scent pressed against the bark. He sniffed again to be sure. He could almost see Jaskier’s form pressed up against the tree, on the floor were scuff marks around the feather. Something, or someone, had been dragged. The feather had almost been buried in the dirt.

Geralt reached down to pick it up, the tip was glistening and had been coated in some kind of poison.

“Fuck.” Geralt said again. “Why didn’t you fight back?” Geralt asked Jaskier as if he were still here. “Unless the poison stopped you from shifting…” He considered, “but no one else knows.”

“That’s where you’re wrong witcher.” The man from before laughed and Geralt saw red.

He had the man pressed against the tree and his sword to his throat before the man could even blink. “What have you done with him?” Geralt growled. “I swear to all the gods, if you’ve hurt him.”

“Not I.”

Geralt pushed the blade harder against the man’s neck until a bead of blood oozed under the edge of his sword. “I would be very careful about your next words.”

“Your bard got careless, witcher.” The man mumbled. He didn’t even smell of fear which was not a good sign.

Geralt stayed silent and narrowed his eyes at the man.

“We’ve been trying to find him for years but there wasn’t a trace. Changing his name was clever, but recently there’s been reports of a witcher that sometimes travels with a cat, sometimes with a dog that can turn into a wolf, mutant witcher dogs?” The man scoffed. “Does anyone actually buy that shit?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Geralt growled.

“And sometimes you travel with a bard.” The man finished with a serene smile. “Young Julian always did love poetry and music.”

Geralt scowled. “Julian?”

The man laughed. “He never told you his true name? Oh and I thought he cared.”

Geralt snapped. His blade slashed and blood splattered and the man crumpled to the ground.

“Fuck!”

_____

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #shapeshifter!jaskier #the howling of wolves #angst alert #proceed with caution #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #shifter!jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing #shifter au

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mimik-u · 3 years

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Flower Child, Chapter 17: Fall

AO3 Link

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.

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.

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

43 notes · View notes

prose-for-hire · 4 years

Text

Fear Factor

Pairing: Oz x male!reader

Request: Could I request "Nah I dont get scared" for Oz and Male reader where the reader is trying to see if they can scare Oz plz 💖

Requested by: Anonymous

Warning: Violence. Use of a weapon. Blood mention. Reader gets injured.

You and Oz were lying in bed, your boyfriend had a rare weekend off around Halloween and you had decided to lounge around in bed. He was usually playing gigs all weekend or travelling to said gigs, so being able to spend this time with him was bliss.

The morning stretched out before you, the chill that had been in the air making you move closer together in bed. He enjoyed that you liked Halloween in the way you did and that subtle half smile was on his face while he attentively listened to you babble about your interests. He always listened.

You were spooning him, you arm around his torso, rubbing your hand ever so gently in hopes to bring him extra comfort. You pressed a kiss against his shoulder from your position behind him. He was always so sweet to you and you loved spending time with him like this.

Talk had turned to your favourite game at the moment, which was trying to guess what Oz was scared of. You insisted that there had to be something and seeing as he knew all about you and your fears you were intent on finding out.

“Bats?” You questioned, to which he just shook his head as he moved to clasp his hand over yours that was still holding his torso softly, “What about skeletons?”

“Inside or outside the body?” he asked, looking upwards as if he was really thinking over his response.

“Outside” You offered, to which he shook his head no. So you rolled your eyes and pondered, “Inside then?”

“That’s a hearty no” He said which made you smile that he had bothered to specify.

“You’re telling me there’s nothing that frightens you? Not even on Halloween?”

“Negative”

“There has to be something!”

“Nah, I don’t get scared” He just shrugged and rolled over in bed to face you. He moved in to wrap his arms around you. He clutched you to him, making you feel so

As you nestled in closer, enjoying the warmth of his body, you proclaimed, “It’s my mission, no, my Halloween wish this year to find out what you’re afraid of” as he just shook his head.

Throughout the next few days, there had been a multitude of pranks played on your poor, unsuspecting boyfriend. Although, in fairness by the end of the week the pranks were expected in the same way he expected the sun to rise in the morning. Some were good, some were bad and some were just ridiculous.

Today was Halloween, so you had tried to step it up a notch. You dressed up in the most hideous costume you could find. With some adjustments you made yourself, to make it extra horrifying. Even Willow had helped cast a little extra horror for you. With some luck, Oz may mistake you for a real demon - making you a real threat. You just wanted to see him flinch. Just once, you wanted to test what it was he was scared of. You had jumped out of an alleyway, your scariest posturing and noises barely registered as he raised an eyebrow slowly at you.

“How do you do that? You didn’t even flinch”

“Long, arduous hours of practice... and I kinda wasn’t scared”

“Come on, there has to be something!” you squinted, “The moon! You’re so worried about your werewolf side that you fear… The moon!” You pointed as if you had caught him out but he just smiled a little and shook his head.

“It’s more the hair and the… murder” He gestured with his hands towards his face, gesturing the hair growth he still wasn’t accustomed to properly. As if that was the most horrifying part of the sentence.

You had decided to keep your costume on as you walked through the streets hand in hand. You had a back up, but decided this one was too cool to change out of. You met up with your friends, the scoobies, and you all walked through the town to get to your Halloween party together.

You had to stay behind however, half way there. You needed to double back on yourself and find something you had dropped along the way. Probably in the alleyway trying to scare your boyfriend. Oz offered to stay by your side, but you insisted he went ahead with the others and that you would catch up. He stared at you for a moment, wanting to protest. But eventually nodded and walked on.

The street was packed with families trick or treating, it was so busy and you were starting to worry about your outfit choice. Toddlers were crying. You were ducking your head as you walked, trying to shield your outfit from the youngest kids.

You stopped abruptly, a figure in your path. The only feature you could see were his eyes. You felt a chill, which was unusual as it hadn’t been cold a minute earlier. Goosebumps raised on your skin as you stared directly into his bright red eyes. They were so luminous, you knew your own face must now be lit up in a red light.

“Cool contacts. Excuse me” You said, hoping the compliment might end whatever this was. Your head was screaming at you to run, but you tried to stay calm.

“Don’t you want to play?” He moved his head to the side as he spoke. The voice came out harsh, emphasising the last word. The threatening nature of the exchange not allowing you to keep quiet. You just shook your head, starting to move away but you were cut off.

“Whatever. Try again next year” You muttered, gesturing at the costume. It was starting to get annoying. Your costume was clearly better anyway. But the figure stepped into your way again, this time shoving you hard. You stumbled, but regained your footing.

You turned to look at the figure, who was too menacing to just be some demon you had run into. He dropped his arm and from his sleeve, a long knife was released that he easily caught and started swinging in your direction. He sliced into your arm as you tried to block the blow, but you managed to match him with a swift kick to the gut. He staggered back and you turned to run but there was now something blocking your way.

There was a crowd forming all around the pair of you, boxing you in. Several children were crying louder in the crowd than earlier on, so much for saving their feelings. There was now a more pressing worry: who would save yours?

You gave as good as you got, blocking the knife and trying to get your own blows in. You stumbled backwards, now managing to part the crowd. The knife swinging dangerously close to you. It was as if none of your blows even made an impact. He hadn’t blinked since you had first met him and you were starting to think this definitely wasn’t a costume. You ran at him, taking the mask and yanking it off his head, to reveal an identical replica of the mask attached to his neck. You squinted: why bother with the mask.

But this question would never be answered. You hadn’t realised you were being backed into a corner until you were in it. An alley. Ironically, the one you had hidden in waiting to scare Oz was now going to be the site where you died of fear. If the knife didn’t take you first.

He snatched the mask out of your hands and used his palm to connect with your nose, hitting your head against the wall behind you. He repeated this as you managed to land your own punches back.

You had started to become dizzy, your head being hit so many times. A warm liquid was now running into your eye and down the side of your face. You heard a woman’s voice. A slayer’s.

He stopped, one last hard smack against the wall and you were on the ground. The demon turned, seeking out the slayer as the crowd shrunk away from him as if they could be next.

“That’s my boyfriend!” Oz muttered, trying to get past the crowd who were all stood, rooted to the ground in shock. Staring back into the alley hopelessly. The collective psyche trying to come up with the latest excuse for what they had all just witnessed. It was Halloween, after all. Perhaps it was an ultra-realistic amateur dramatics performance. Where you had method acted your way into a coma.

Oz managed to weave his way towards you, crouching by your side and gently pulling you head to rest on his lap. He wasn’t ready to check your pulse yet, just in case his fear became a reality.

“Shit” He muttered, “Y/n” Was all he said. His voice cracked and his expression broken.

However, you weren’t ready to become another number on the Sunnydale mortality rate. Not today at least. Not on Halloween.

His voice made your eyes open slightly, a dizzy and bemused grin on your face when you saw you were waking up to your boyfriend’s face. Although, tonight his face had drained of all colour.

“You found me” you wheezed slightly, trying to get up but he just shook his head once. And it was what made you notice. His face appeared to have aged a hundred years since the last you saw him and his brow was permanently furrowed. The others were stood around too, with Buffy taking care of the demon.

“Yeah. And you got your Halloween wish”

“I did?”

“You scared me” He murmured and you turned, your disbelief evident. You. Your safety, it was the one thing that scared him. And he told you this unashamedly.

He helped you get to your feet, taking on your weight despite your insistence that you were fine. The blood was still trickling from your forehead but you couldn’t feel it so much anymore, it was more of a dull ache. He was going to walk you the short distance to your house and to safety. He told you this, in case you were confused what with the head injury.

He kissed you on the cheek ever so lightly. He always wanted you to be safe and he insisted from this moment he wouldn’t let any harm come to you.

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

Note

Anakin/Obi-Wan 22, please and than you.

Ohhh! Sorry I didn’t finish this yesterday but it got, uh, a bit out of control. Written for the meme (#22 “What do you mean by leaving?”)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean by leaving?” Obi-Wan asked, looking up from the last grave, the one they’d just got done filling with their bare hands. The soil was heavy and caked over the blisters worn into his palms, caught under his nails, torn now and ragged. The ground had been frozen and didn’t want to give. He looked over at Anakin, feeling exhausted, beyond exhausted, from the cruel labor of the last few days.

“I mean going somewhere not here,” Anakin said, not looking at Obi-Wan. His jaw was clenched beneath the stubble growing across his skin. His face was smeared with dirt, his hair matted down by blood and sweat.

Obi-Wan stared at him. Exhaustion and pain were making his thoughts slow. His ribs ached so fiercely. They had since the crash. He’d been ignoring them. There’d be so much else to do… The injured to tend to, to keep comfortable, until they finally lost the fight to keep them alive. The dead to bury, out here in this hard, frozen earth….

“Where?” Obi-Wan asked, pushing slowly to his feet, wincing and curling an arm across his ribs. There was no one to put on a brave face for, just Anakin, and he looked like he was hurting just as much.

They were the only survivors left from the wreck. Cody they’d lost the night before. The others…

Well. Obi-Wan looked over the row of neat graves and felt something inside his chest aching that had nothing to do with his ribs.

“I don’t know,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “There’s got to be some way off of this rock. I’m going to find it.”

“There’s nothing on ‘this rock,’” Obi-Wan said, limping back towards the remains of their ship. It had sheared in half on the way down. They’d made a crude shelter out of what was left, more a lean-to than anything. R2, badly damaged, warbled at him as he approached. “We saw that much before we crashed.”

“So, what,” Anakin said, a snap in his voice, “we should just sit here, then, that’s your plan?”

“When you’re lost, you wait where someone will find you,” Obi-Wan said, sinking slowly down onto the area of ground that he’d claimed as his bed. He hadn’t slept, really, since the crash four days ago. There hadn’t been time. “If we go off into the woods, no one will know where we are when the rescue ship comes.”

“And if we stay here, a rescue ship may never come. There’s a whole planet out there, Obi-Wan. There’s got to be technology somewhere. I’m going to go find it.” He looked at Obi-Wan, briefly, and then away once more.

Obi-Wan winced, gingerly stretching out his legs. “Anakin, there’s nothing out there. We need to--”

“Stay here, then,” Anakin snapped, turning on his heel, radiating hurt and anger and a hundred other emotions. “I’ll come back and find you when I’ve found a way to get us off of this kriffing rock.”

Obi-Wan called after him, but Anakin didn’t turn back, didn’t even hesitate. And Obi-Wan could have ran after him. Might have, once. But he was so tired. So very tired, and hurt inside, and he was right, anyway.

Someone had to stay with the ship, for when rescue came.

“It’s just you and I now, R2,” he said, and the droid warbled back at him, going staticy halfway through.

Rescue didn’t come. And it didn’t come. And it didn’t come.

Obi-Wan kept busy, waiting for it. He drove off the scavengers that tried to disturb the graves and did his best to patch up the still functioning systems in their ship. He’d never had any skill with mechanics, but R2 helped. Obi-Wan carried the damaged droid into the remains of the cockpit every day, plugging it in as it requested, listening to it speak a language he didn’t understand.

Between the two of them, they managed to set up something that Obi-Wan believed would serve as a distress beacon. He had no idea how long the power source would last, but surely they’d be rescued before the cell could run down.

Surely they would.

While he waited, he researched the surrounding world. He had little choice. They’d lost most of their supplies in the crash and starvation held little appeal. They’d landed in a temperate area, at least, with a variety of plant growth and even some animals, returning as the winter began to fade.

He tested different plants, eating them sparingly, trying to determine which ones were edible. Some things he ate left him ill, vomiting over and over, until there was nothing left inside him to come up and still he could not stop. He considered, seriously, that he might die from eating a poisonous plant, all alone, and laughed hoarsely.

He carefully noted the plants that made him ill, when he recovered, and avoided them in the future.

The days he marked on the inside of the ship, drawing a little hatch mark for each sunrise that he lived to see. He shivered on the day he finished a row of a hundred, looking into the cockpit, at the blinking light of their rescue beacon.

Someone had to come for them.

Sooner or later.

When Anakin came back, there were almost two-hundred hatch marks on the inside of the ship. Obi-Wan felt him coming; he’d felt Anakin’s increasing exhaustion and despair no matter how far Anakin wandered across the planet’s surface.

Obi-Wan stared at the ceiling, feeling Anakin drawing closer. He’d made changes, over the weeks and months, cut down trees and dug out rocks, building a proper shelter onto the ship. It had given him something to do, and it kept the animal life away while he slept.

He sat up, anticipation and worry mingling in his head. R2 had stopped working almost a month ago, going quiet in Obi-Wan’s arms as he held the droid close and felt his vision go blurry, sure he was going mad for the heartbreak in his chest.

Obi-Wan scrubbed a hand over his face and rose, moving to open the door.

Anakin stood on the far side of the area Obi-Wan thought of as theirs. The area he’d carved out. He’d plowed up the ground around the shelter and planted seeds from the plants that didn’t make him ill. He’d laughed, his hands dirty and his back aching, thinking of the agricorps and another life that he might have had.

He’d thought the plants wouldn’t live, but they sprouted, growing towards the sun, healthy and strong.

Anakin wasn’t looking at the plants. He wasn’t looking at the shelter. He stared dead at Obi-Wan, radiating sadness and defeat so sharply that it drew Obi-Wan a step forward. Anakin looked terrible, his eyes dull and his cheeks sunken under a ragged beard. His clothes hung off of his frame, torn and stained.

Obi-Wan took another step towards him, reaching out, calling, “Anakin,” with a cracking voice. He had not spoken out loud since R2 stopped functioning.

Anakin made a gutted sound at his voice, moving all at once. He seemed to fall into motion, to fall down the path, to fall into Obi-Wan, drawing him close, hugging him so tightly that it hurt. Anakin breathed unsteadily against the side of his head, his fingers clenching and unclenching in Obi-Wan’s shirt, shaking.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, his voice a rough croak, “Obi-Wan.”

“Sh,” Obi-Wan said, holding him back. It had been almost two hundred days since he saw another person. He rocked Anakin back and forth, the way he’d used to do, when Anakin was so much smaller than him. “It’s alright,” he said, curling a hand around the back of Anakin’s neck, “it’s alright, you’re back.”

“There’s nothing out there,” Anakin told him, later, sitting slumped at the small table that Obi-Wan had crafted. He had made it large enough for two people, hoping. Anakin held one of the few cups that had survived the wreck. He’d already had two cups full of something like soup. He looked too thin by far.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, and was. He had hoped, as the days passed, that Anakin would find something out on his journey. He’d known it was unlikely, probably impossible, but he’d hoped.

“There hasn’t been a rescue ship?” Anakin asked, his eyes following Obi-Wan each time he moved. He was otherwise still, so very, very still.

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan said, holding onto the hope that there would be one. Someone would come for them, sooner or later. It made no sense that they’d been left so long. Surely their disappearance had been noticed. They’d been on their way to rescue Coruscant, for the Force’s sake…

Unless, Obi-Wan considered, turning away from Anakin’s piercing gaze, things had gone poorly with the war. Unless there was no one else to look for them. He swallowed. “Eat the rest of your soup,” he said. “And then, well, there’s a spring not far from here. If you want to get cleaned up.”

Anakin didn’t seem to care one way or another about getting cleaned up, but he let Obi-Wan shepherd him down the path and into the water. There was blood and filth dried to his skin. HIs ribs showed through his skin and the knobs of his spine pressed out, terribly.

He climbed into the water after a moment’s hesitation, and made a soft, hurt sound. Obi-Wan’s head snapped up. “Anakin?”

“It’s warm,” Anakin said, sounding wondering, confused. He looked back at Obi-Wan, expression open and shocked, as though he’d been unaware of the heat in the air, the sun beating down over them.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, crooking a smile at him, and took his clothes to the side of the pool, kneeling and scrubbing at them.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said, when night fell. He’d eaten all the food Obi-Wan felt he could spare, and half of Obi-Wan’s rations for the day. He hadn’t seemed to notice Obi-Wan slipping them over. They were alone in the dark of the shelter.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started, rolling to face him in the dark, “it’s--”

“I never should have left,” Anakin said, all in a rush, as though he’d been waiting for the darkness to speak. “You were right. And I missed you, so much. I thought I’d die out there, and never see another person again, and--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out to touch his hand. “I under--”

Anakin moved fast, always had. He shifted across the distance between their bedrolls, curled close all at once. He was shaking again, grip too tight around Obi-Wan, so tight it was difficult to breathe, a shaking in his limbs.

“You’re going to be here when I wake up,” Anakin said, like a question, like a plea, like maybe he’d imagined Obi-Wan there in the night before.

“I’m going to be right here,” Obi-Wan said, carefully covering one of Anakin’s hands with his. He might have protested, but he had been alone for so long, as well. It felt good to be held, even so tightly, to be sure that someone else was there, that Anakin would be there when he woke up.

“Good,” Anakin said, voice ragged. “That’s good.”

“How’d you do all this?” Anakin asked, the next day. He was standing too close, really, and kept stretching a hand out, like he intended to grab Obi-Wan’s arm. He’d gazed around the shelter and the garden with an incredulous look.

“I had time,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging, a bitter smile touching his mouth. “Do you know, I might have been a farmer once? I almost got sent to the agricorps.”

Anakin blinked at him and said, “No.”

“Oh, yes.” Obi-Wan laughed, just a little, shaking his head. “Of course, I decided I’d run away before doing that and nearly got killed and Master Qui-Gon agreed to take me as Padawan, but…” He gestured at the gardens. “Apparently, I would have been quite good at the work.”

Anakin stared at him, quiet for too long, and then looked away hurriedly. He said, “How have you been keeping your beard trimmed?”

Obi-Wan froze, pain slicing down through his chest. It never went away, most days he was just better at living with it. But a stray thought brought everything back. He cleared his throat, looking to the side. “Cody… had a razor. I’ve been using that.”

Anakin reached out, fingertips brushing the back of Obi-Wan’s hand, comfort in the touch. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. He said, to move past the weight in his chest, “Would you like me to give you a shave?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Anakin said, and sat very still when Obi-Wan took him back to the stream and gestured at a rock that was about the right height to serve as a chair. Anakin watched him, eyes sharp and bright, as he carefully worked the razor over skin, taking off months of tangled and matted growth.

Anakin’s face was familiar, underneath, but thinner, all his sharp angles made sharper.

“There,” Obi-Wan said, dragging a thumb over Anakin’s cheek without thinking, seeing the familiar face he’d missed so much. “Much better.”

Anakin swallowed, loudly enough that Obi-Wan heard him, and said, “Thank you.” He leaned into Obi-Wan’s touch, and neither of them moved for a long moment, not until Anakin said, “I could trim your hair, too. You’re looking pretty scruffy.”

Obi-Wan snorted, reaching up to tug at his hair. He’d kept the beard trimmed, but abandoned all attempts to keep his hair in order months ago. And the thought of having an excuse to sit out in the sun, to feel fingers through his hair, was too nice to pass up. “I’d appreciate that,” he said, and they swapped positions, Anakin leaning over, carefully lifting hair, the sound of the razor and their breathing mingling with burbling water and the distant sounds of birds.

When there were 368 hatch marks on the wall, Obi-Wan rose early, ignoring Anakin’s murmured protests. The weather had grown cold, since Anakin returned. Sleeping close together allowed them to share body heat, chasing away some of the aches in Obi-Wan’s body from old broken bones.

He washed his face in the basin by the door and combed his hair with his fingers, tugging on his robe for the first time in months. He walked down the path to the graves in silence and stood in front of them, remembering the name of each man, watching his breath steam in the frozen morning air.

He turned, slightly, when he felt Anakin coming down the path. Anakin didn’t visit the graves as often as Obi-Wan did. Obi-Wan didn’t begrudge it. They had been his men, not Anakin’s. It was Obi-Wan’s job to remember them.

He glanced at Anakin, grateful for his presence, only for the cold in his chest to spread as he saw Anakin’s expression. He was staring at nothing, blank-faced, his hands tucked into his robes. Obi-Wan blinked at him as snow swirled around them both, the first flakes landing on the ground.

Anakin came to a stop at his side and said, quietly, “I was married.”

Obi-Wan blinked, taken so off-guard that for a moment he couldn’t think of a thing to say. He managed, finally, “What?”

“To Senator Amidala,” Anakin continued, still staring forward at nothing. Obi-Wan felt his mouth hanging open and could do nothing to stop it. “She died,” Anakin said, agony radiating out of him, fast and sudden. “The day I left. I felt it and - and that’s why I - I had to just - I --” He trailed off, breathing shakily, covering his face with one hand.

Obi-Wan stared, trying to make the pieces of the world make sense again. He felt snow melting into his hair, felt the cold eating at him by the time Anakin finally said, “Are you going to say anything?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Obi-Wan admitted, and barked out a laugh. He was trying to mourn his men. He was trying to -- of all days -- He dragged a hand back through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Anakin grimaced. “You’d have told the Council,” he said, voice cracking. “I would have had to leave the Order, and--”

“Why didn’t you leave the Order?” Obi-Wan interrupted, because nothing in the world made sense. Everything he’d thought he knew had tilted sideways. Anakin had been married. Married to Padmé, who had never said a word, both of them keeping this secret. “If you wanted to - to be married, why didn’t you just leave?”

Anakin was quiet, for a long moment, his expression blank as he stared out at nothing. He said, voice cracking, “I - I don’t know, anymore. I thought I had reasons. Good reasons. But…” He shook his head. “I should have left.”

Obi-Wan imagined a war without Anakin at his side. It would probably have been much shorter. But… He swallowed, pain digging deeper into his chest, taking a step back. “So you lied to me. For how long, Anakin?”

Anakin grimaced, closing his eyes. “Since - you remember, I went back to Naboo with Padmé. After Geonosis, we--”

Obi-Wan turned on his heel, the weight of almost five years of lies pressing down on him like the weight of the world. He walked, numb, back towards their shelter, his mind terrible and empty inside. Almost five years. A year with just the two of them on this world.

And over all of that time, lies.

A few days passed in silence. Obi-Wan made his marks, went through his routines, practiced katas. Meditated. He didn’t speak, and neither did Anakin, moving around him like a ghost. He thought perhaps Anakin would leave again, but he remained, though he did not curl close at night.

Obi-Wan laid awake, shivering, thinking about lies.

On the third day, he washed his face, turned to Anakin, and said, “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“I know.” Anakin leaned his back against the wall of the shelter, expression miserable. “I’m sorry, for whatever it’s worth.”

Obi-Wan stared at him. He’d been angry, briefly, but mostly hurt. Hurt held onto would do nothing. He had to let it go, move on. He’d always believed so, and that hadn’t changed. He rubbed a hand over his face. Besides, Anakin might be the only human face he ever saw again, though he still held out hope for their beacon.

It would be foolish to let this destroy them. “Alright,” he said, because what more could he ask than an apology? Anakin couldn’t undo what he’d done. He shifted, discomfort climbing up his spine, and said, softly, “I am sorry. That you… lost her.”

Anakin flinched, chin dipping down and to the side. Obi-Wan took a step towards him and another and another, until he could sink down the wall, their shoulders pressed together. “Can you… tell me about her? About you both?”

Anakin swallowed, hard, and nodded. And he spoke of a life Obi-Wan had never known, secrets kept dear and close, until the sun was high in the sky. It wasn’t like they had anywhere pressing to be. And it was cold outside.

The day Obi-Wan drew his 512th hatch mark on the wall, the generator powering the emergency beacon failed. Anakin had nursed it along since his return, but the system had been damaged to begin with. “That’s it,” Anakin said, after working on it for most of the day. “She’s shot.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, looking at the dark machinery, feeling cold and hopeless inside. He said, “Someone may have already picked it up.”

“Sure,” Anakin said. He felt oddly at peace, these days. Obi-Wan barely understood it, but there was a contentment in him, strange and deep. They��d both been so tired, both fought so long. Making a life on their planet was not easy, but no one was trying to kill them.

They slept through the nights, more often than not. They even woke with fewer nightmares, these days. Obi-Wan could only vaguely remember the last one he’d had, the horror of it fading as Anakin had rubbed his back, hand warm across Obi-Wan’s skin, murmuring soothing nonsense to him.

Anakin meditated with him, most days. At first he had begged off, claiming the disinterest he’d always had for the process. But it was one more thing that provided them with some kind of structure as they went about their days, and Obi-Wan grew used to Anakin sitting at his back, both of them breathing slow and deep, reaching out to the Force.

He taught Anakin lightsaber forms he would have shared earlier, had not the war disrupted their training, practicing movements out below the spring sun, working until they were both covered with sweat, his gaze lingering too long on the line of Anakin’s shoulders or the movement of muscles down his back.

That happened more and more frequently, as the days passed. He found himself staring. It was difficult not to, especially as the day’s warmed and Anakin left his shirt behind more often. He said it was only to preserve the fabric as long as possible, for the colder months, and Obi-Wan hummed along agreement, watching his skin go tan and golden.

Obi-Wan avoided so much direct exposure as best he could. The sun only turned him red.

He focused on the freckles rising over his forearms, when they bathed off in the springs, instead of the sound of Anakin moving through the water, swallowing heavily. His own body he found to be increasingly full of wants.

He supposed it was only natural. He’d always loved Anakin. That love had changed shape over time, before. Why shouldn’t it change, again?

The morning Obi-Wan made his 716th tally mark, they walked together down to the graves. Anakin put an arm around his shoulders as they stood there, breath steaming in the air before them. Obi-Wan spoke, sometimes, to his men. But it didn’t feel right that day to do anything more than apologize.

He leaned his head against Anakin’s shoulder; they’d gotten thoughtless about touching one another. It just happened, as easy as breathing, and there was comfort in the way Anakin rested his cheek against the side of Obi-Wan’s head and pulled him a little closer.

“I don’t think anyone is coming,” Obi-Wan said, the following day, when he woke up, cocooned in warmth. He’d wept the night before, for his men, for all the loss in the war, for two years of time on this planet, and felt he had no more tears left.

“They might be,” Anakin said. He had his palm pressed flat over Obi-Wan’s chest, over his heart. The shelter was dark around them. Outside the wind howled and roared, bringing with it the first major storm of the winter. “But they’re probably not.”

Obi-Wan nodded, swallowing. “The war must be over, one way or another,” he said, speaking quietly. They never spoke of the war.

“Do you think Coruscant fell?” Anakin asked, shifting closer as he did, lips moving across Obi-Wan’s shoulder, knees tucking back against his, thumb stroking back and forth across Obi-Wan’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said, shutting his eyes. “Maybe.” Probably, he did not say, because he did not know and that was vanity, anyway, to assume that it must have fallen because they were not there.

“I hope…” Anakin said, and went quiet, his voice hitching. “Do you think Ahsoka…?”

“You trained her well,” Obi-Wan said, because it was the truest comfort he could offer.

Anakin let out a shuddering breath. He had not wept the night before, but did, then, the tears coming all at once, held back for months - for years - as he held Obi-Wan close in the dark. “We trained her well,” he said, through the storm of it. “She’s got to be fine.”

There were 923 hatch marks on the wall the day they got caught in a rainstorm while down at the spring. It was a warm rain, winter’s cold grasp on them finally lessened. Obi-Wan looked up at it - the day was almost clear - and laughed as the rain fell down over them in the water.

Anakin made a little noise - it sounded hurt, to Obi-Wan - and Obi-Wan looked over to find him staring. “What?” he asked, reaching up to touch his face, unsure what was making Anakin’s expression look that way. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Anakin said, his voice strange as he waded closer through the water - it barely came up to his chest.

“Well, something--”

“You’re beautiful,” Anakin interrupted, close, but Obi-Wan barely registered that closeness anymore. They were always in one another’s space. Anakin took his hand, put his other hand on Obi-Wan’s face, and leaned down. Obi-Wan gasped, surprised, at the brush of his mouth. A kiss.

He had not kissed anyone in such a very long time.

“Anakin,” he said, pulling back, just a little, watching the rain come down on Anakin’s shoulders, listening to the sound of it on the water. “What--”

“We’re going to be here the rest of our lives,” Anakin said, but softly, without any anger, as though he were only stating a fact. He slid his fingers back into Obi-Wan’s hair. “Together.” He leaned closer, brushing another brief kiss across Obi-Wan’s mouth. “So. I think we should really be together.”

Obi-Wan had gotten so used to touching him. To watching him. To wanting him. He’d wanted for so long, now. He swallowed and nodded, cautiously raising a hand to touch Anakin’s chest, his shoulder, his neck.

“Yes,” he said, shifting just slightly onto his toes, enough to kiss Anakin’s mouth again. “Together.”

There were 2,348 hatch marks on the walls the night they laid out under the stars, staring upwards. Anakin’s head rested on Obi-Wan’s chest. The air was warm around them, quiet except for the noises of the night animals. The sky was so perfectly clear Obi-Wan could see every star, the ones with names he knew, the ones they’d named themselves.

He stroked Anakin’s hair, absently, removing any tangles from the day with his fingers. Anakin felt heavy with contentment, but not exhaustion. There was a tinge of want in his thoughts, one that Obi-Wan was well familiar with by then. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Anakin shifted against him, pushing closer to kiss his mouth.

But there was no rush. They had all the time in the world.

He stared at the stars and asked, quietly, “Do you still think about leaving?”

Anakin shifted, rolling so his cheek rested over Obi-Wan’s heart. Lit by the stars, he seemed ethereal, other-worldly. His small smile was only just barely visible. “Not really,” Anakin said, and moved, putting a hand by Obi-Wan’s head, leaning down, kissing him under the wide open sky.

#my fic #obikin #standalone fic #glimmer replies #ask me anything #pre-the battle for coruscant #mentions of past anidala #off screen character death #not the main pair

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my-soul-sings · 3 years

Text

just my luck: chapter 13

Fandom: Wannabe Challenge Characters: Taehee x Reader

|| chapter 13: a fresh start ||

Read on AO3!

full chapter

***

It took only one more day for Taehee to be discharged. The doctor had been amazed at the rate of Taehee’s recovery, and the both of you had said nothing, only nodding in agreement while exchanging sheepish, knowing glances.

Hansol drove the car to pick you both up from the hospital, and when he arrived he was cheery as ever. It looked like he hadn’t been worried about Taehee at all, which made you wonder if getting injured like that was a common occurrence for this man. Or maybe it was simply the fact that it was impossible for Taehee to die or get gravely injured in the first place. Thinking back now, it made sense that Hansol and Biho had been more concerned about you than Taehee when they came to visit that day.

Once everyone was back at the apartment, the first thing Taehee did was make two announcements to his friends.

The first was that you now knew that they were all goblins. Biho and Hansol’s eyebrows had both shot up at that, but otherwise they looked like they had expected something like this to happen eventually.

The second thing was that you would be staying with them longer than expected. When Biho asked why the change of heart (none of them were unfamiliar with your stubbornness by now), all Taehee did was interlock his fingers with yours. The man didn’t know the meaning of being discreet or subtle.

Hansol and Biho instantly understood, brightening with smiles and words of congratulations. Embarrassed, you had pulled your hand away from Taehee, who only laughed and rested his hand against your warm cheek.

Hansol had complained loudly, wondering if this would be the amount of PDA he and Biho would have to put up with from now on.

Biho had been more opportunistic—while Taehee went to unpack in his room, he pulled you aside to request you to distract the clean freak while they tidied their rooms and did the pile of dishes in the sink. Apparently, they thought they would have one more day with the house to themselves, so they hadn’t bothered cleaning up after last night’s dinner.

You had agreed easily—Biho wasn’t the kind of guy people could say ‘no’ to without feeling a prick of guilt.

However, the plan backfired quite quickly when they weren’t able to clean up in time, and even you were powerless to stop Taehee from going on one of his tirades once he started. Soon, the house was filled with the sound of Taehee’s scolding, Hansol’s defiant retorts and Biho “accidentally” dropping a few dishes while washing them, adding to the heightening noise levels.

It was just another day of living in a house with three goblins.

The funny thing was, you had grown used to it. You liked it even—the bickering, the nagging and the bantering.

It was starting to feel like home.

***

Taehee was happy.

It had been a long time since he felt like he could breathe without feeling heavy iron chains around his chest. He couldn’t recall the last time he could smile so much without realising it until his cheeks hurt.

Actually, he did remember. Somewhat. His memory had weathered, chipped away slowly like rusted metal as time went by, and now all he had left were scattered bits of the time spent with her back then.

But the memories were slowly coming back to him as he spent more time with her. They had to stay at home for a week or so, since he was still on medical leave and she had to work from home while the office was being fixed. And as the days went by, Taehee was quickly learning that she was the same woman that he had come to know and love a long time ago.

Things were completely different now—the era they lived in, the world that had changed so much from the conservative town he had grown up in—but he was relieved that some things could withstand the test of time.

For one, she still had that habit of saving her favorite food for last—and that applied to his cooking now. Cooking was only something he had picked up after becoming a goblin, and for the longest time he had regretted not learning sooner and cooking a meal for her when she was alive. It was why he had nearly cried when he got to cook for her for the first time after meeting her again. Fortunately, no one had noticed.

She also still found the most peculiar things amusing, even when he didn’t mean to make her laugh. There was one time he almost wore his apron to sleep by accident and she had laughed for a full minute, bending over and clutching her abdomen while he scrambled to take it off.

Then there was her caring side. Occasionally she’d forget that he was a night goblin and chastise him for staying up late instead of resting. Sometimes he would be engrossed in cooking or reading something, and when he looked up, he’d find her staring at him with a curious smile playing on her lips. While she wasn’t usually the one to initiate hugs or skinship, she would do it sometimes when she thought he was sleeping—running her fingers through his hair, patting his head, pressing a kiss to his forehead and whispering, “Sweet dreams”...

It really did feel like a dream. Everything did. He couldn’t remember the last time he dreaded sleeping and was excited to wake up.

And so it was ironic when Taehee remembered one day that soon, his time would start running again. Falling in love with a human and pledging to love her for the rest of his life meant that he would now have a limit on his life—one that he had wanted to lose for so long and was starting to cherish and desire again. The thought of death now scared him rather than relieved him.

But then she would hold his hand, and the worries and fear would scatter. He would notice the lines on the palm, the ones on his, and imagine the wrinkles that would form in years to come. The one thing that he didn’t want to change was their intertwined fingers, her hand held tightly in his.

And Taehee decided that he finally had a new goal. This time, it wasn’t to be the top scholar of a national examination, nor was it to place a flower crown on her head.

This time, the goal was far more pressing and urgent: he had to find a way to protect her from her misfortune… or attempt to change it entirely.

***

Two weeks later, your wrist healed, which brought your recovery period to a total of seven weeks. The three goblins were ecstatic on your behalf and Taehee cooked up a feast that evening to celebrate. This time, you were able to help them out with the cooking and the washing.

It wasn’t until later that night that you realised Taehee was being unusually shifty and restless around you. He seemed to be making rounds around the house, walking from his room, passing by the couch where you were, drawing near but then taking an unnatural turn towards the kitchen, before returning to his room. The process repeated quite a few times until it became too obvious not to notice him circling you like a scared shark.

Eventually, you called his name to get him to talk.

“Do you need help?” he asked, eyeing your recovered wrist as you set up your “bed” with the blankets. You had vehemently refused to move into his bedroom despite your new relationship status—it was more out of embarrassment than anything else, especially with Biho and Hansol around. Making things awkward was the last thing you wanted in this house, especially when you were perfectly happy with the way things were at the moment.

“I’m fine,” you smiled, waving that hand around to show that it didn’t hurt anymore. “The exercises you told me to do were very helpful.”

A small breath escaped him. You couldn’t tell if it was a sigh or a laugh. You continued setting up the blankets while he watched quietly. Something felt off; he clearly had more to say than ask if you needed his assistance with a piece of cloth.

“Taehee.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay? You’re being awfully quiet and you’re just staring at me.”

“Oh…” He looked away sheepishly, as if he hadn’t realised he had been boring two large holes in your head. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“I, um… Well, your wrist has healed, but you’re still going to stay here, right?”

You blinked at him, confused. “What? Didn’t we already talk about this? I’m not leaving, unless… you want me to?”

“No! No, I didn’t mean that.” He exhaled in relief, almost as if he had been holding his breath for a long time. Then without warning, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, squeezing you until it was hard to breathe. “Thank you,” he said, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

He was acting like a puppy with abandonment issues—probably because of all the things he had been through before. You hugged him back, a hand running up and down his back.

“You worry too much.”

He nodded in agreement. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Were you pacing up and down the house for the past thirty minutes because of this?”

“...Yes.”

The reluctant admission made you chuckle. It was tempting to tease him further, but you decided to cut the poor man some slack.

“If that’s all, you should go to sleep now. You have work tomorrow.”

“Actually... there was something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

Your brows arched as he released you from his embrace, although he held on to your hands. You had learned over the past two weeks that Taehee was much more clingy than he appeared to be—not that you disliked it.

“It’s not confirmed yet and it’s just a theory for now, so I don’t want to get your hopes up for nothing, but I thought you should know.”

“Okay…”

He sounded serious, in the same way he did when he shared about his past that night in the hospital. Goose pimples began to rise on your forearms, but you couldn’t make any likely guesses as to what he was about to tell you.

Taehee stared at you hard for a moment, as if to assess if you were truly mentally prepared for this. Conflict was written in his eyes and it was making you nervous as well. It was hard to tell if this was even good or bad news based on the constipated face he was making.

Finally, he spoke. And it was the last thing you would have ever expected to hear in your life.

“There might be a way to get rid of your bad luck.”

#wannabe challenge #wannabe challenge fanfiction #wannabe challenge taehee #wannabe challenge fanfic #taehee fanfiction #taehee fanfic #kim taehee #my writing #just my luck

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izzielizzie · 4 years

Note

Could you write a one shot in Bronwyn’s POV for directly after the bomb went off? And how she’d be when Nate gets out of surgery? Up until the events of the wedding?

Yes, more angst let’s do it. (I am in such a weird mood good grief) (Now would be a good time to request more angsty stuff since clearly I’m in the mood to write sad stuff) Also, sorry this is so long, but there are notes at the end because of course I need to make it longer. Enjoy!

Nate and I are walking hand in hand behind the restaurant when we hear something fly over our heads and land a few feet away.

“The fuck was that?” Nate asks, interrupting himself. He had been talking about just how much of a dork my little sister Maeve is around Luis, who apparently is her boyfriend now. I have no clue how that happened.

A voice rings out in the night, sounding terrified: “Nate, run! This is Maeve. That was a backpack with a bomb inside, from someone who’s been threatening Eli. You have to run toward the restaurant, now!”

We both freeze and look at each other. “MAEVE?” I call back.

“Bronwyn?”

Nate squeezes my hand and tugs me forward. A new voice can be heard, and I’m even more terrified when I hear it’s Knox. He’s never sounded so scared before. “This isn’t a joke, you guys! Run!”

For some strange reason, it’s Knox, not Maeve, that spurs us forward, and we start sprinting. I can see Knox with his arm around Maeve from a distance, and he’s pulling her back. She has her arm outstretched towards me, and I can see the fear in her eyes. As I’m running, I’m struck with the sudden realization that if there was anything I could do make that fear in her amber eyes, the ones I love so much, disappear, I would. Maeve has grown up too fast. Finally, Maeve does what she should and turns and runs to the restaurant. I hear Knox call to the people on the deck, and they run into the restaurant.

For one crazy moment, I think we’re safe, and I look at Nate. He’s looking down at me, and I feel I could sink, float, fly in those blue eyes. When he dives at me, for one crazy second I think he’s going to kiss me.

When I come to, I can hear someone groaning next to me, and when I put my palms on the ground I’m startled to find that the ground is slick with blood. It can’t possibly be coming from me, nothing hurts other than my head. I look to my right, in the direction of the groaning, and I almost scream when I see Nate laying on his back, covered in blood. “Nate! Oh my god Nate!”

“Bronwyn,” he groans.

“Oh my God, Nate.” I can feel tears sliding down my cheeks. I crawl over to him, and I bend down to kiss him, my hands on either side of his face.

“My arm.”

I look at his arm and nearly scream again. It’s torn up pretty badly, and his leather jacket, the one he’s had for years, is beyond repair. I grip his uninjured hand and squeeze it tightly. I know, beyond a doubt, that this is my fault. If I hadn’t stopped, he wouldn’t have had to dive for me.

I push his dark hair away from his forehead. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” I say it over and over again, like a question, answer, and promise all in one. I don’t know how long I’m sitting here, pushing back his hair. I don’t look away until I hear my sister calling my name. I call hers back, and she comes flying towards us, her dark hair, so identical to mine, streaming behind her. She’s covered in blood and her favorite jeans are ripped at the knees. She crashes to the ground next to me. I don’t look at her. I can’t. If I wasn’t so busy making sure she was okay, then this never would have happened. We would of been okay. This thought makes me cry harder. I clasp Nate’s hand in both of mine. Maeve strokes his hair back. We sit like this for a few minutes before the EMTs arrive. The sight of them makes me cry harder and I barely register that they’re lifting Nate onto a stretcher, and I have no idea how I’m still holding his hand.

“Are you two family?” an EMT asks me.

I shake my head between the sobs. “No. His only family is his mother.” I don’t even mention his dad.

“Okay, can you answer some basic questions for me?”

I nod.

“Okay, that’s good honey. Just take some deep breaths.” I’m following the stretcher now, and Nate’s hand is still in mine. “Okay, can you give me his full name please?”

“Nathaniel Macauley.”

“Does he have a middle name?”

I glance at Nate, who’s looking at me. He shakes his head slightly. “No.”

“Okay. Date of birth?”

“March nineteenth, two thousand and one.”

“Age?”

“Nineteen.”

“Okay. Any prevalent medical history? Does he take any medications?”

I glance at Nate again. His eyes are closed. We’ve reached the back of the ambulance, and before they lift him in, I can see him shake his head. “No.”

“Okay, will you ride with him?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to stay here and make sure everyone else is okay. Is anyone injured that you know of?”

I’m about to say no when I remember the blood on Maeve’s arm. “Yes. My little sister. Her name is Maeve Rojas, she’s wearing black jeans and a grey Yale hoodie. Her right arm is bleeding.”

“Okay, thank you. Please try to contact Nathaniel’s mother on the ride over, okay?”

“Okay.”

Nate’s mom beat us to the hospital. As did my parents. All three of them are standing together in the waiting room. Mrs. Macauley looks incredibly plain next to my parents, who were dressed up for their charity event. My parents pull me into a hug the minute they see me, and I’m surprised when I realize I’m shaking. My father takes off his suit jacket and wraps it around me. The smell of aftershave and peppermint surrounds me, and I’m instantly calmed. If there’s ever one thing Maeve and I agree on, it’s that safety is synonymous with our father.

A doctor approaches us. “Nathaniel's arm has shrapnel in it,” she tells us, “We have to take him in for surgery right away. If you four want to wait in his room with him while they prep him, you can.”

“Yes. Please,” my mother answers for all of us. She puts and arm around Mrs. Macauley, and I exchange startled looks with my dad. My mother has never liked Nate, or his mother. But I guess when someone might be dying, prejudices don’t matter.

I watch them walk away with the doctor as the sound of pounding feet approach, and someone charges into me wrapping me in a hug. It’s Addy. She’s crying on my shoulder, and I momentarily wonder if my father is cringing at the sight of his suit jacket being cried on. Addy pulls away, and I can see who else she’s with: Cooper, Kris, Ashton, Knox, and Eli. Panic surges through me when I can’t see Maeve. I grip Addy’s shoulders tightly.

“Addy. Maeve. Where is Maeve?”

My dad turns to me so quickly I’m worried he’ll get whiplash. “Maeve was there?”

“Yeah. We were the ones who found the bomb,” Knox says.

Oh boy. Knox clearly does not know what to say and what not to say to avoid a parental freak out. My dad stares at him, and based on the look on his face, he’s way passed freaking out. The last time he looked like that was when Maeve was diagnosed with Leukemia for the first time. He opens his mouth to say something when my mom comes running down the hall, her red curls coming out of their bun. She barrels into my dad. “Nate said Maeve-” She looks like she’s going to start crying.

“Mrs. Rojas, she’s okay,” Cooper says. We all turn to him. It’s clear we all forgot he was there, along with everyone else who just arrived. “She’s with Luis. They’re driving over right now.”

“Who?” My mother asks.

“Luis?” My dad adds, sounding like his usual overprotective self.

But I sag with relief. If Maeve is with Luis then she’ll be okay. “Maeve’s boyfriend.” Addy supplies. My parents adore Addy with all their hearts, but clearly their love is being tested right now. Don’t shoot the messenger is not a saying they live by.

“Boyfriend,” Mom says faintly.

“BOYFRIEND?” My dad echos.

“For like five minutes. He’s nice. You’ll like him.” Addy is unaffected by my parents. Good for her, but the mention of Nate makes me impatient.

“Mom, forget that. How’s Nate?”

My mom grips my arm. “He’s going into surgery in four minutes. He’s asking for you.”

“WELL THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU START WITH THAT?”

I don’t wait for a response, I just take off running in the direction my mother came from. “ROOM TEN!” She calls after me.

I barge into room ten, and I see Nate laying on a bed, there are nurses around him, and his mother is sitting on a chair. Nate reaches his hand towards mine, and I take it.

“You’ll be okay,” I tell him as a few nurses talk to each other. He doesn’t respond. He just closes his eyes, his face turned towards me. Part of me wants him to open his eyes. If is the last time I see him, I want to look into those deep blue eyes I love so much. My parents come into the room a few minutes later, right as Nate’s being taken into the operating room. My dad wraps his arms around me as my mom hugs Mrs. Macauley, who has started crying.

“He will be alright, Ellen. Don’t worry.”

“How can you know?”

“Because he’s a fighter.”

Those simple words bring tears to my eyes. Maybe my mother has finally come around to Nate. Mrs. Macauley hugs Mom harder. “How can people just sit and wait around for their kids? How can you protect them?”

Mom pulls away and looks at Mrs. Macauley. “I watched my daughter battle cancer for seven years Ellen, and every moment killed me. What type of mother am I if I can’t protect my child? But the best thing you can do is just be there. You’ve done great, Ellen.”

I’m bawling my eyes out now on Dad’s perfectly pressed shirt, but I don’t care, and neither does he. There isn’t a dry eye in the room.

Mrs. Macauley recovers first. “I should tell my husband.”

“I’ll tell him. I can drive over. You should stay here.” My dad sounds surprised that he’s offering this, but I guess tonight’s all about forgiving and changing.

Mrs. Macauley nods. “Okay.”

“You’ve got a good kid Ellen,” Mom says as Dad heads out.

“And you’ve got two.”

The waiting room is filled with nearly everyone I love, and my mother and I both make a beeline to Maeve, who’s fast asleep on Luis’s lap. Luis looks up at my mom and smiles.

“Hi, you must be Mrs. Rojas.”

“And you must be Luis.” My mother does not sound nearly as friendly as Luis. I exchange amused glances with Addy.

“What she means, Luis, is thank you for taking care of Maevey.” I say, putting my hands on my mom’s shoulders.

“No I don’t,” Mom mumbles.

“Yes you do,” Mrs. Macauley says, leading my mother to a chair. I pause only for a moment to kiss the top of Maeve’s head and thank Luis again before following them.

Three hours later, Nate’s still in surgery and the news people still keep showing up. The explosion has made headlines, and all reporters keep asking for the boy and girl who saved the day. The boy is curled up on the ground with his back against Eli’s legs, staring into space. The girl is slowly awakening though. She finally sits up after another few minutes and she seems really disoriented.

“Luis?” she asks.

“Yes Maeve?”

“Where-”

“The hospital. Don’t you remember?” Addy asks, placing her hand on Maeve’s knee. Maeve shakes herself a little and sits up straighter.

“Where’s Bronwyn?” she asks in response. Kris points behind her. Maeve turns, sees me, and practically leaps off of Luis’s lap in her haste to get to me. I stand and hug her with all my might, and I think she might be crying. I know I am. I pull away and shake her.

“Oh my God are you trying to scare us?” I practically shout, shaking her again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Maeve says, her eyes shining with tears.

“Oh really! You stalked a potentially dangerous person, you followed him to God knows where, you crawled into a tiny space, you opened an odd looking bag, you threw a bomb in an arboretum, and then YOU RAN TOWARDS IT!”

“Don’t forget the hiding leukemia thing,” Mom adds sleepily. She and Mrs. Macauley are leaning against each other, and they’re both nearly asleep. I think that’s the weirdest part of my night.

“Oh Mom, we’re over that,” Maeve says. She seems unaffected by my words. “And anyway, no one’s told me about Nate!”

“He’s in surgery. There was shrapnel in his arm.” I say simply.

Maeve blanches. “Is he okay?” There’s real fear on her face, and I’m suddenly sorry I yelled at her. She must feel in over her head right now.

“He should be. There’s no nerve damage, which is good.”

“Oh thank God,” says Maeve right as a nurse walks towards us. Everyone in the room turns to look at her.

“Mrs. Macauley?” she asks.

Mrs. Macauley half stands. “Yes?”

“Your son is out of surgery. He’s stable, and family is allowed to visit, however, I must warn you that he’s a little goofy with the pain medicine.”

Everyone in the room lets out a collective sigh of relief as Mrs. Macauley follows the nurse. I turn back to Maeve, and she’s grinning at me.

“Coffee,” we both say unanimously, and for some reason, we’re laughing so hard we can hardly breathe. There’s something so wonderful, I think, about laughing with someone you love so much when everything is falling apart around you.

Nate is released the next morning, and his mom and I are there to drive him home.

“Is the wedding still on?” is the first thing he asks when he sees us. He hugs his mom awkwardly with one arm. The sight of the sling around his shoulder would make me cry if I wasn’t fresh out of tears. Maeve had told me all about the texting game last night, and watching my sister break down had killed me. After she told me, she locked herself in her room and was on the phone with someone until three in the morning. I think it was Luis. I hope it was, my sister deserves a guy like Luis. Even if he does have a questionable dating history, but Nate told me yesterday that he was planning on having a little chat with Luis about that on Maevey’s behalf.

“Yes, but if you’re too tired, you don’t have to go,” Mrs. Macauley says as she unlocks her car and helps Nate into the front seat. I climb into the back.

“No, I want to go,” Nate insists.

Mrs. Macauley glances at me in the rear view mirror, and I shrug. “Okay Nate. Sure. I need to check in on your father, so I’m not sure who’s going to help you change out of that shirt.” That shirt is the same one from last night. It’s covered in blood.

“I will,” I say. “I’ve already gotten dressed. And Dad’s going to pick up Luis on the way there, he’s Maeve’s date. I’ll just call him and ask him to pick us up too.” My parents had a real conversation with Luis last night while Addy, Kris, Cooper, Maeve, and I went to get coffee. Turns out they love him as much as Maeve does, which is good. But I can’t help feeling a little annoyed that it took five minutes for my parents to fall in love with Luis, and five months for my parents to even acknowledge Nate.

“Well, if that’s alright with you Nate.”

“Of course it is, Mom.”

“Bronwyn I can not get a button down on with this sling. I can’t even get a regular shirt on.”

I’m in Nate’s room, looking through his closet. My parents will be here in ten minutes or so. “Okay, okay. What about this?” I pull a pale green shirt out of the closet.

“Fine.”

I turn and let Nate change, but turn again when he mutters, “stuck”. I laugh and help him de-tangle himself, but somehow I manage to make it worse.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say, and then suddenly I’m crying again. Through the tears, I manage to fix his shirt, and he grabs me by the waist and pulls me into his lap. He doesn’t say anything as I sob onto his shoulder and grip his shirt like a lifeline. His good arm is strong around my back.

“Shh, Bronwyn, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I know, but I was just so scared.”

“I know, honey.” He kisses the top of my head, and for some silly reason, I think of Luis and Maeve. “And worst of all, I blamed Maeve.”

“I know you did.”

I pull back and look at him.

“You did?”

“I did. I mean, I guessed that you blamed her. You wouldn’t look at her last night.”

“If I hadn’t stopped then-”

Nate puts a finger on my lips. “I am okay. As is Maeve. And you’re okay too. That is all that matters, okay? All that matters is everyone is safe and it’s a beautiful day and two people we love very much are getting married. Okay?”

“Okay.” I pause and laugh. “Nate, your shirt is soaked. Want a new one?”

“Bronwyn Rojas, I am not changing my shirt again,” Nate says with mock severity. We both start giggling, and we still are when Dad’s car pulls up and we drive to the wedding.

Okay, time for some notes!

I have no idea when Nate’s birthday really is, but the month was mentioned in the first book. I did some math (ew) to figure out the year, and I chose a random date.

The whole Bronwyn/Maeve tension was made up as well, but it kind of felt right? understandable? for Bronwyn to be so worried about her sister that she gets a little angry.

There was no mention of Mrs. Rojas and Mrs. Macauley supporting each other, but I just couldn’t resist

Also, there was no Rojas Parents/Luis interaction before the wedding, but as mentioned in the previous note, I just couldn’t resist.

Okay, I think that’s it, I hope you liked it!

#bronwyn x nate #izzielizzie's fics

29 notes · View notes

evien-stark · 4 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ 💙 Chapter 176💙

Sleeping in until ten in the morning was a luxury you were well aware of. However, waking up next to a still sleeping Tony? That was beyond luxury. One the both of you hadn’t had in a long while. It was why you didn’t wake him immediately, instead admiring the deep sleep as it still held him. The steady rise and fall of his bare chest. The peace that had enveloped him.

It was an accident, of course, but when you settled your hand over his heart, he stirred. Perhaps ready to not be asleep any longer, even if unconsciously. It was instinct, you were mostly sure, that drove his own hand up, moving to cover yours. He then lifted, breathing out a long, low noise as he dragged his lips along the inside of your palm until finally pressing a real kiss at the center of your wrist, and you felt the curve of his smile against your skin.

“Good morning.” You’d already disturbed the moment, so there was no harm in getting the first two words in.

They caused a wider grin, and the drift of his lips from your palm to your wrist. “Good morning.” Echoed back in a rumble. Not fully awake. “Does that look as good on you as I think it does?” Surprising you with his sudden coherency, though his tone hadn’t changed.

What he meant, of course… It was your first morning as a newly engaged couple. What an exhilarating feeling.

So much so that you let it propel you. He was asking a question. You were keen to answer. Moving the blankets aside, you sat up and then settled yourself atop him, hands in a slow wander over his chest. His eyes strayed, as they always did. First to you, down to your chest, appreciative smile widening as his hands touched over your hips- but then they moved back up, same as his eyes.

He captured your hands in his, fingers twining, and held them low and center. Squeezing first, then he let go, his touch falling back to your waist. Your hands held in the air for a moment, confused what to do without him, but you got a very good idea- at least he seemed to think so, as you lifted your hands, running them down over your chest.

Ring on full display. That’s what he’d asked about. So… why not show him? His sleepy smirk got the better of you. Easy to tell, as your hips shifted down against his, and his moved in turn. He sucked in a small, warm hitch from his parted lips. And after, “Looks even better.”

“You think so?” Playing at coy as you gave your breasts a little squeeze. Not minding putting on a little show for him, eyes going purposefully half-lidded.

His brows lifted quick and then back down, eyes growing dark. “I know so. But…” The tip of his tongue swiped out across his lower lip before he drew it between his teeth. His hands held you a little tighter, keeping you in place while his hips pressed up against yours again. “-I don’t think I’d mind testing the theory… if you’ll stay right there…”

“Mn…” Less of a show now and more just… unable to help yourself from enjoying him. Your head fell just a little back, hair moving, a few stray pieces falling over your eyes. You couldn’t help the grin that went with the tease, “Right here?” Punctuating the statement with an impression of your hips.

He huffed out a noise just short of a groan, eyes fluttering closed for just a second and then opening again to look up at you. “-alright, maybe not right there.” His grin was lazy and damnably handsome. “Maybe just up a little-” Fingers drawing a little tighter around your hips, helping you by propping you up. It was too much to ask that you not ogle while his biceps flexed. But once he had you right where he wanted you…

The positioning was easy, and you almost thought about not giving him what he wanted.

Reveling in the feel of him teasing himself against you. Enough to throw you for a loop. Enough to make you unable to wait as long as you wanted. With an easy roll forward you sank down, filling yourself with him. The feeling overwhelmed you, your senses, and you hadn’t realized that your hand had shot down to clutch his until the slow brush over the backs of your fingers brought you forward.

He was admiring you, when you remembered to look. Smile warm and hazy. That was when you realized you couldn’t bear to be that far away from him, and eased forward, hands landing at the sides of his head against the sheets, mouth finding his in a deep kiss. His hands roamed up your back, holding you there as he pumped lazily into you.

This was what you wanted. It was what you needed.

Him. Always him.

---

While you wanted to stay away and pretend like it would be like that forever, you and Tony weren’t completely divorced from everyday life- a lot of which still had to do with The Avengers, much as you’d been trying to get out. And even more of it had to do with Stark Industries which was… sort of the same amount of taxing but in a different way. And very soon you became to appreciate just how stupid a request you’d made. Asking to keep things quiet was hard. Harder than you’d expected.

June began with meetings and annoying little things that you were capable of handling. Easier things than saving the world. The clean-up of it, though… that was something else. And every other moment you had to catch yourself from staring at the empty space on your finger. Hiding the engagement meant taking the ring off every morning before heading downstairs to your office. And it was like taking a piece of you off every time.

Maybe it was silly, but you just couldn’t help yourself. It especially didn’t help at all when Tony gave you those sad puppy dog eyes. It was no surprise he wanted to announce it. Show you off- show off your engagement to each other. Announce to the world here we are, and we’re not going anywhere. Only forward. That was what he wanted to do, and maybe in some parts you did, too. But… it was also nice. Coming back up to the Penthouse (the both of you having decided not to make the Facility a mainstay until the Tower was emptied out of all things Avenger… and maybe it’d make the transition easier, too, if everyone had actual time apart)-

When the days came to a close you’d come back up.

And Tony would be waiting. With the ring. And it was almost like proposing all over again. He’d slip it onto your finger and give you one of those smiles that melted your heart. Then the two of you would get lost in each other. With an energy and affection like that…

All the more incentive to power through the day to keep your privacy. To keep the feeling of just being only each other’s alive.

One of the days you found needing that extra strength came in the middle of the month, on an unassuming Tuesday. The 16th, to be exact. You had a meeting with Damage Control. The staff that had swarmed one of your conference rooms were buzzing. Talking amongst themselves. At least until you entered. You sat at the front of the table, folded your hands together, and let Maria Hill-

Who seemed less like the Maria Hill you remembered- In that weird way that you wanted nothing to do with- -Maria took control of the meeting. She turned on the holograph display. Went through statistics. Numbers. Tallies on casualties and injured. Still missing. What the scorched earth that Ultron had left behind looked like. You sat there. Quietly. Holding yourself together. And when the silence came, when the lights went up, you pretended to be in control.

“Tony sent out final tallies of assumed Sentries- we can’t be sure. Let’s overestimate. They should be in everyone’s inboxes. We need groups out scouring a twenty mile radius outside ground zero. I don’t want another meeting until we’ve hit quota. If a single one of those bots gets into somebody else’s hands, it’s trouble.” Your first priority was always the people. Well. That ask was going to take a long time.

This wasn’t a situation like New York. Sokovia had been obliterated. And its people were now struggling to find places to be. Governments weren’t being as cooperative as you would have liked, something else that you were going to have to strongarm an initiative over. But that would take more time than you had in regards to clean up. So this time it had to be the other way around.

“The world was privy to what Ultron had been doing. What he was. His scrap pieces will be sold to the next highest bidder. And the chances of them being kind are nil. From now until we get a final count, I want Damage Control working on reclaiming all his missing pieces. We don’t stop until there’s none of him left.”

Yes, ma’am. It rang from every throat in that room. If this was any closer to something you didn’t want to be responsible for any longer, they’d have given you a salute, too.

A headache was forming. The agents left. All except for Maria who stood with her arms crossed at the door. Waiting for you. And when you approached, she tilted her head. “Fury wants to speak with you.”

“Which one?” This came out of you before you could stop it. This was not a discussion you wanted to have right now. And her shocked expression told you all you really needed to know. “He’s-”

“I don’t have time for this. Whatever this little game is. And I really don’t care. Not anymore. So if it’s not urgent, let’s all just stay out of each other’s way, alright?” That was part of the life you didn’t want to have a foot in anymore. Fury- Talos- whoever this one was- you wanted none of it to matter.

Maybe if you kept telling yourself it didn’t, eventually it wouldn’t.

---

Selfishly, among the other more important things, you started drawing up NDAs. Started working on the bid for land development. Started work to find a good developer. A great architect. An even better interior designer. All of whom were bound to the highest form of legal secrecy. And if that wasn’t enough… when you met with a handful of people, you let your presence dictate you were not someone to fuck around with.

If a shred of any of what you were talking about somehow leaked to the press, they wouldn’t have to worry about fines or jail time. They’d have to worry about you. And there was no telling what you would do if they jeopardized your secure future with Tony. That was what you imparted to them. And they took it very seriously.

Smart people that they were.

House building wasn’t really your forte, so they’d have to draw up some plans after the land was reworked and just run them by you and Tony and keep working on them until it looked like whatever picture the both of you had in your heads. That was going to take a while. Which was fine. You and Tony weren’t in a rush to greet the new dawn. Not yet, anyway.

But even more secret than private world building…

You had a jeweler meet you for lunch after a downtown meeting. You’d been doing some very private research. On if… women were allowed to give men engagement rings. If that was a thing that even existed- well- sure it did- but. After a man proposed, were they still allowed to give a ring in return?

...were you? You kind of wanted to. And you were keen to find out if you could perhaps make some sort of slim stackable. An engagement ring that suited his eventual wedding band.

Tony, of course, could absolutely not find out about this. Half the fun of it would be surprising him with it. And, of course, not even the dumbest jeweler in the world would tell you no that’s not a thing that’s done. You were who you were, after all, and it was clear you wanted to do this-

But even clearer than that was money. And you were willing to spend… whatever a proper engagement ring that matched with a wedding band cost. Something of which you had no idea. However, you at least didn’t get the sense that the guy was trying to pull one over on you. No. Instead he seemed genuine and delighted to be able to help you. He said he’d draw up something, and have it to you by tomorrow based on your babbling at him over what you thought might look good.

You’d let him leave fifteen minutes ahead of you, so as to not be suspicious. And you were busy tucking the freshest NDA of the bunch into your bag as you stepped out onto the curb. Happy was waiting for you.

And so was Ms. Christine Everheart.

A true shame. You’d almost made it to July without any real incidents to speak of.

“Can I get a quote from you?” She already had her recorder out.

“If it’s something important, Pepper will forward it to me.” You were almost in the car. Happy had the door open for you. He was eying Christine down pretty hard-

Not that it fazed her at all. “I’m blacklisted from your office. We both know that. Why don’t you tell me how you feel about being directly responsible for the deaths in Sokovia? If not that, can I get your reaction to a series of polls WHiH has been releasing- on the general public’s opinion on whether or not vigilante superheroes should be held accountable for the kind of destruction the Sokovians suffered?”

“If it wasn’t this, it’d be something else.” You were half in the car.

“Excuse me? Hey- maybe you’d care to comment on how dangerous Bruce Banner is- and talk about the deaths he caused in Johannesburg?”

And half back out. Mistake. Huge mistake. But you just couldn’t help yourself. “I said- if it wasn’t this, it’d be something else. Because that’s what signs your paychecks. An editor over you who tells you to go out and bother people. Maybe for causes you don’t even believe in. But that doesn’t matter as long as the cash keeps coming in, right, Christine? You’ll blame everyone and anyone just to try and get a front page story- or- get something with a high click-rate, anyway. Have I mentioned how terrible it is that they pulled your daytime show? Must make you really desperate to get something juicy. Well, here’s a quote for you, you can go fuck yourself. And be grateful for the people bigger than you who would risk their lives to save you no matter what you said about them. Because I sure as hell know I could never count on you to do the right thing. Not since 2009, anyway. It’s been a long fall from grace.”

Happy couldn’t get the door closed fast enough.

---

Tony was there, right as you got off the elevator. Welcoming you home with an arm around your shoulder- and a soothingly tight hug after that. “Long day, honey?”

There was only one reason he’d ask something like that. Not that it wasn’t obvious. “What’d she put up on her website?” Mumbling into his shoulder, hands reaching up to clutch at his shirt.

“Who knows? Seems like somebody DDoSed it.”

Tilting your head up, you tried to give him an unsatisfied look. “Tony…”

“Yes, dear?”

“We can’t suppress the media.” Really, that was the last thing you needed. To get Stark Industries in the middle of some giant conspiracy about suppressing stories. No. No you weren’t sure you could deal with something that huge.

But his slight smirk made you feel almost okay with it. “Are you insinuating I had something to do with it?”

“I’m saying I know you did. She bothered me. And she brought Bruce into it. Now her website doesn’t work. That has you written all over it.” That was about as much common sense as it got.

He readjusted, putting an arm over your shoulder, walking you slowly into the kitchen. “It actually doesn’t.” Waving his other hand in a little shrug. “-not in a traceable way, anyway.”

“Tony-” He had the best of intentions, all done with love, of this you had no doubt. But he was an idiot sometimes.

“If you want me to say I’m sorry, I won’t.”

“I don’t. I know you’re not. I’m not either.” Stopping at the kitchen island, you pressed your hands a little more against his chest and peered up at him. “But- don’t do that again. We don’t need that type of backlash and… I’m not scared of Christine. Or her readers- watchers. Whatever they are. Her fans.”

His next smile was an easy one as his hands settled on your hips. “I know you’re not. And, for the record, her whatever they are don’t seem to get along with her, either. So you’ve got that going for you.”

You couldn’t help the tilt of your head. “How do you mean?”

“FRIDAY, pull up those polls Ms. Everheart was talking about.” At his direction, the tablet implanted in the counter lit up and he tapped his fingers on it and then drew it upwards into the air. “Seems like the general public is still on our side.”

It was a little too much to ask that your eyes not glaze over those numbers and questions. The graphs were a little friendlier to read. All pressing questions though… things like are you in favor of the regulation of superheroes? And who should pay for the damages caused by superheroes? And… do you feel safer with superheroes?

All in favor of your people.

And perhaps a very telling one…

Asking people if they felt like you were being responsible with your resources and time… if people felt like you were genuine.

Overwhelmingly yes. 98%. In favor of you.

The people were still on your side. That was… very very good.

You raised a hand up, pushing the graphs out of the air until they disappeared completely. Tony then caught that hand, reaching into his pocket with his other so that he could retrieve your ring. As he slid it onto your finger you couldn’t help your smile. Feeling that same sense of completeness that you’d come to crave.

“Let’s keep the public on our side, shall we? And not squash media we don’t agree with.” You moved your now ringed hand to cup his cheek in your palm. He just kept on smiling. “Like I said. Doesn’t have me anywhere on it.”

“It better not.”

“It doesn’t.”

Leaning up on tiptoe, you pressed a light kiss to his lips. And- when you were mostly finished, though not by his say-so, “Do you think it’s too late to do something for the 4th of July?”

“A date?” Mumbled out as he kept trying to kiss you.

“Sure- but- also-” Having a hard time speaking, as kisses grew more frequent and urgent. ...and suddenly you’d been lifted up onto the counter. “-how about some fireworks? From the Tower- just a little something for people-”

“We can arrange that-” Somehow his shirt had been taken off.

Probably by the same mysterious force that had your legs wrapped tight around his waist. “-remind me when we’re finished to make some calls-”

“You remind me-”

“-I’ll remind you to remind me-”

“-sure- sure- sounds great-”

When the two of you had gotten naked was beyond you. And not important.

The only thing that was important was that you were home. You were his. And he was yours.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Seventy Six

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starscheme · 4 years

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Change My World

Chapter Sixteen: Don’t Say It

Steven and Spinel waited several minutes in cautious silence after everyone had left, making sure that none of them came running back into the room. When it seemed they were in the clear, Spinel barely had time to smile before Steven wrapped his arms around her, practically lifting her from the ground as he swung her around with a joyful grin. "My Stars, I was so worried about you!" Steven exclaimed as quietly as possible given his excitement.

"I was worried too," Spinel admitted in a hushed voice, simply allowing herself to lean into the embrace. "I'm so glad she hit her head."

Steven laughed lightly and released Spinel, letting her feet touch the floor once again. "I'm never leaving you alone again."

With a blush, Spinel glanced towards the washroom, "I—I handled it."

"You smashed your hand against a mirror," he reminded her before taking her injured hand gently between his own.

"I wanted to be prepared," Spinel explained again.

Steven stared down at Spinel’s bandages. With the dust settled, he finally had a moment to think. Spinel had injured her right hand and just before he sprinted back to the Inn, he'd felt a sharp pain in his right hand without any cause. Did he somehow feel it when she hurt herself? Perhaps that binding spell did connect them in some way. Not that he was keen on mentioning this. After all, Spinel would only use this fact as more ammo to insist that his feelings weren't his own.

"Steven...it was just a few cuts. It doesn't hurt." Spinel tried to reassure him, worried that he was blaming himself again.

"You're beautiful," stated Steven suddenly.

Spinel flinched, her heart jumping against her chest at once. "Wh-that was sudden," she pointed out, quite aware that Steven was still holding onto her injured hand.

"I hated it. Every time she insulted you, I felt sick. I wish you didn't have to hear those things."

Glancing up at Steven's face, he looked truly troubled. "I'm used to it. Most humans are afraid so they lash out. ...it's not like I forgive them or anything I just don't expect to hear any different."

"Then...I'll say it more than you've ever heard anything hateful," he insisted.

"Steven, you don't have to—-"

Spinel was cut off when Steven lifted her hand to his lips, planting gentle kisses against her bandaged skin. Her heart stopped and she could feel her cheeks burning at once.

"You're beautiful," he said once more.

With a nervous smile, Spinel averted her gaze off to the side. She could feel the heat of his breath against her skin as he spoke and each kiss sent shivers bristling down her back. This really wasn't good for her heart. "Th-thank you..." she replied finally, hoping that accepting the compliment would make him happy.

It did. Steven smiled and slowly released her hand, but didn't turn away. Instead, he stepped forward a bit closer and reached over to place his own hand against her cheek, feeling the heat of her flushed face against his palm. "You're gorgeous," added Steven before leaning in and kissing her cheek just as he did before he left earlier.

Spinel's breath hitched lightly. His words alone were enough to make her heart pound, but he seemed intent on testing the extent of just how much that heart could take. "Thank—thank you..." tried Spinel again, praying that would be the end of it before her heart burst. His kisses were so tender and the warmth of his breath left a gentle burn along her cheek.

Steven had honestly expected Spinel to push him away at this point, when she didn't, he just couldn't bring himself to pull away. He couldn't stop thinking about what would have happened if Elaine had gotten her family to believe her. How many more times was he going to see Spinel in pain, nearly caught, unconscious for days, or called a monster? She could have been dragged away from him today and what if he couldn't stop it? Surely Spinel would say most of his fear came from the spell that bound him, but Steven knew better. He was simply terrified of losing her.

"St-steven..." whispered Spinel in an attempt to get his attention when she noticed his shoulders begin to tremble.

"Sorry," Steven began, his voice cracking slightly as he wrapped his arms around Spinel, pulling her gently against his chest.

Spinel didn't say anything right away. Instead, she closed her eyes and returned his embrace, letting her hands rest at his back. "I'm safe, Steven..." said Spinel finally.

"What about next time," asked Steven suddenly, tightening his hold on her. "I knew that at the end of this I was going to have to say goodbye to you, but how can I accept it if it happens so soon? I haven't said everything I want to say and I wanted to show you a lot more of this world."

Spinel began to panic now. The way Steven was talking, she worried that he was going to say something he couldn't take back. "I-I'm right here," she began, attempting to cheer him up. Not that she didn't understand his trepidation. Garnets warning of Steven's death had made her fear the exact same thing. Being separated suddenly, it felt too unfair.

Steven loosened his hold on her and pulled back to see her face. What was the point of holding himself back if she could vanish tomorrow? When he thought about never seeing her face again, suddenly that line he was trying to keep between them seemed so stupid. Even if he was scared that Spinel might be troubled by his words, it was nothing compared to the thought of losing her without being honest. "Spinel...I-"

Before he could continue, Spinel had clamped her hands over his mouth, staring up at Steven in a panic. It was like she knew what he was going to say. "D-don't say it," she pleaded.

Steven took a breath and pulled her hands from his mouth gently, "why not?"

"Because you can't take it back! Because...you don't even know if you mean it for real. Because..." trailing off, Spinel realized she could list every logical reason for Steven to keep quiet, but the main reason she didn't want to hear it, was because of the inevitable goodbye. Wouldn't it hurt so much more is she heard him say something like that aloud?

"I don't care if I can't take it back," insisted Steven. "Even if you think it's about the binding, I'll just do what I can to make you believe otherwise."

"You haven't even known me that long," Spinel tried again. This time, stating something that applied to them both. She kept trying to remind herself that she didn't have time to fall for Steven like this. It had happened so fast that it couldn't have been real, right?

"I never said this was logical," he replied, feeling his cheeks begin to burn. "I can't help it."

"You just can't say it. ...please..." pleaded Spinel again.

"Why?" Steven insisted again. Not willing to accept the same answers as before.

Spinel felt as if her heart was in a vice. Why was he doing this to her? Didn't he know just as well as she did that this was going to end badly? "Because no matter what you say, it won't change the fact that we have to say goodbye in the end!" Spinel answered finally, feeling tears begin to burn her eyes.

"Doesn't that make it more important now? I know my time with you is limited...but I can't lie to myself the entire time, not when I could lose you at any given moment," continued Steven as he reached over and cupped her face in his hands, using his thumbs to gently brush away the tears that clung to her eyes. "If you really want me to pretend that I feel nothing...I'll do that for you. I just...I didn't want to regret anything."

As if she could ask him to pretend now. Not after all this. After all, there was a part of her that was really happy to have Steven care so much. He wanted to be honest with her because that’s the type of person he was. She just wasn’t as good as he was. She couldn’t allow herself to admit anything like this. As long as she held it in, perhaps it would keep her from falling apart near the end. "You're so unfair!" Spinel shouted suddenly, alarming Steven a little. "...and you're an idiot..." she continued, jerking her head from his hands and wiping her own eyes before she stared back at him. "...I'm not so cruel...that I'd ask you to lie. I know you can't do that..."

Steven smiled wide. Spinel was awfully stubborn. He hardly expected her to give him permission, but she wasn't asking him to stop anymore. He figured that was the most she could muster right now. He took her hands again, being careful not to grip too hard against her injured one. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, "I love you, Spinel."

As Steven finally confessed what had been weighing on his heart, just outside the Inn, Garnet was standing out in the rain, tucked away in a small alley between buildings. She pulled a small pink sphere from her cloak pocket; and waited for it to light up, projecting the faint image of a slender woman with a rather triangular nose and a large Gem on her forehead.

"Finally," the woman groaned impatiently. "Why haven't you checked in?"

"I found him," replied Garnet simply.

The slender woman seemed stunned to silence, at least before her eyes began to overflow with tears. "A-are you sure?! Is it really him?"

Garnet nodded her head, "yes. I'm certain."

"W-well when are you two going to arrive?" The projection asked as she wiped her eyes, clearly overjoyed by the news.

"Pearl, he's not alone," started Garnet, "he's traveling with the Mermaid named Spinel. I don't think he'll be willing to leave her behind."

"Wha—?! Garnet, they weren't supposed to meet! I thought we set it up so that—-"

"—his power is growing too fast," interjected Garnet. "Spinel will be able to keep him calm."

Pearl said nothing at first, taking in the news. "Can we trust that she won't set him off?"

"I think you're aware that trying to separate them would set him off more."

"...So it's already too late," sighed Pearl. "...Then I suppose there is no point dwelling on it. All we can do now is make sure they both get here safely. Even with the girl, the plan won't change. We don't have a lot of time left."

Garnet nodded her head and closed her fist around the pink sphere, ending the projection and their conversation.

A/N: I want to thank everyone for the wonderful comments over this story! It really motivates me to write more and more. I’m so glad that you all enjoy it!

#steven universe #SU #spinel #mermaid spinel #change my world #stevinel #stevinel fanfic #spineven #stenel fanfic #chapter 16 #stevnel #steven universe au #Mermaid au #SU AU

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moonstruckbucky · 5 years

Text

Made to Suffer [one-shot]

Summary: In a world where you’re surrounded by death, you just want to feel something.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, graphic violence, death, SMUT EXPLICIT 18+, please don’t read if under 18!, major character death

Notes: Probably one of my favorite crossovers to ever write. The Walking Dead is my favorite show besides Game of Thrones and when Fatima (@revengingbarnes ) came up with a Marvel/TV crossover challenge, I had to enter! Congrats on the milestone and thanks for hosting such an awesome challenge!

Forewarning you all, this will be graphically violent. I’m a sick bitch who loves writing gorey scenes and, come on, it’s the zombie apocalypse. There’s nothing tame about it. It’s also long as hell. Enjoy and let me know what you think! x

P.S. - For those who don’t watch TWD, “walkers” are the zombies; they don’t use the term zombies in the show.

When Bucky, Steve, and Nat were sent into a Hydra base with the intent of extracting biological weapons, they hadn’t been counting on that weapon being rigged to the entire facility, set to be released into the air upon the decimation of the building itself.

The changes weren’t immediately known. When the bomb Bucky rigged had gone off, there were no strange colored clouds dissipating into the air, no inclinations that something sinister had occurred. So how could they have known?

Patient zero was a thirty-three-year old woman from Queens, who displayed symptoms of the flu, intensified by chronic vomiting and a fever that never dropped below a hundred and five degrees. Her temperature had continued to rise until her body merely burned out and succumbed. No one, least of all the doctors assigned to her case, expected her to reanimate and escape the morgue.

Even less expected was her attacking the morgue attendant and sinking her teeth into his jugular. It only snowballed from there; hospitals and care centers rapidly filled with the sick. The military was dispatched to contain them. Sanctuaries and refugee centers were erected in all major cities.

The Avengers were outnumbered. Bruce and Helen Cho worked tirelessly on a potential cure, experimenting and testing and recalibrating until both of them were overtaken by the sick—the dead—and Steve and Natasha were forced to put them down.

It had been discovered by accident, the way to kill them for good. Destroy the brain, destroy the monster.

Bucky couldn’t believe his eyes, couldn’t believe what he was seeing on the news as images and videos of burning houses and buildings flooded the screen. The news anchors couldn’t keep the terror out of their voices as they narrated what was happening behind them. He sat in the common room, eyes red-rimmed, glassy, and focused as his leg bounced anxiously. Bruce and Helen’s deaths hit everyone hard, especially Nat and Tony, and the two of them fell into a deep depression while at the same time working furiously to recreate some kind of serum that would reverse the effects of the illness.

It was a dead end.

Eventually, Steve, Nat, Bucky, Tony, and the others were forced to leave Avengers Tower. Not even Tony had enough resources to keep them fed through this. With everything they could carry on their backs—changes of clothes in Nat and Clint’s packs, the entire Avengers pantry in Bucky and Steve’s, and the notes on a serum in Tony’s—they left the city.

It was tough, those first months out on the road. Tony insisted heading south towards Georgia, where the CDC may have held answers. They never made it. The freeways and main roads were so congested with cars and the dead that they were forced to head west instead. They ran into trouble: other, less friendly groups, hordes of the dead, packs of dogs who’d forgotten how to be the family pet.

Tony was the first of their group to die. Tetanus, if you could believe it, after scaling a building in an attempt to get their bearings. His footing slipped as he climbed, and a sharp edge of the rusted ladder sliced the inside of his forearm wide open. Sam had stopped the bleeding, but none could have predicted the symptoms that followed.

They buried him in the trees somewhere in Illinois. Nat and Steve weren’t the same. The two of them became harder, colder, more ruthless. A dangerous duo that began taking unnecessary risks in order to keep them all safe.

It cost Sam his life. It gravely injured Clint, which only caused Nat to spiral further. With the loss of Sam, Steve was inconsolable and hard as steel, so far gone that Bucky saw no trace of his best friend anymore. He and Steve butted heads; Bucky questioned every choice Steve made as the unofficially appointed leader of their group. Nat took Steve��s side every time, often resorting to physical blows when Bucky stepped out of line. He’d forgotten how lethal she could be.

It’s what inevitably led him to leaving the group. He waited until nightfall, knowing neither Steve nor Nat would willingly let him leave. Steve wouldn’t be able to handle losing his oldest friend, but Bucky could hardly be pressed to care. Steve was no longer the boy he grew up with or the patriotic, self-righteous hero who fought for Bucky’s innocence all those years ago.

He had a feeling Nat’s super spy instincts knew when he snuck out of camp, one pack slung over his shoulder full of pilfered goods from their stores, but she either saw it coming or didn’t rightly care. He’d bet on the latter.

Survival took a toll on his body. He did his best to keep himself in peak physical form, using fallen trees as weights to bench press and jogging here and there, but he knew he was far smaller than he was. Still well-muscled and still gazelle-graceful, but thinner, paler, face sunken in with the lack of nutrition. He had trouble sleeping, nightmares flashing in his head. Only this time, they were images of his dead friends—Tony, succumbing to tetanus, unable to move a muscle; Sam, overcome and taken apart by the dead when one of Steve’s suicide runs went awry; Bruce and Helen, pale, milky-eyed, with snapping jaws and dead fingers reaching out.

He didn’t sleep much after those started, took to moving from place to place at night. He stayed in abandoned houses, raided cabinets and closets and garages for any food or weapons, slept in a storage unit once after picking the lock. His super-soldier senses aided him in avoided the dead; he could hear, smell, and see them before they saw him, giving him ample time to hide either in a building or up in a tree if he was in the wilderness.

It became routine, hide, eat, move. The loneliness didn’t bother him so much as the silence did. He didn’t have Sam’s stupid jokes or nicknames to annoy him, didn’t have Steve’s chastising voice in his ear, did have Nat giving him advice on how to combat the nightmares. Hell, he’d take Tony’s cold indifference to him over the silence. It gave him too much room to dwell, to think about anything other than survival.

Somewhere near the border of Missouri, he stopped in a gated neighborhood. His body was running on empty despite the racing of his mind. His stores were depleting, and he desperately needed to sleep. He’d risk the nightmares, just this once.

He chose a house with its door wide open. A knife in each hand, he crept through the doorway, icy eyes searching each room thoroughly for danger. Furniture, covered in layers of dust, lay tipped over in the living room. The kitchen was in a similar state of disarray, but his sharp eyes didn’t miss the disturbance of dust on the counter. The marble was stark white where something had brushed the dust away. Immediately Bucky was on high alert, ears straining for any noise.

There it was. The creak of a floorboard upstairs. Fingers tightening on his knives, he crept up the stairs on silent feet. He steadied his breathing, jaw clenched as he ascended. He rounded the corner of the stairs, gaze flitting between the three doors of the second floor. The first door bore a bedroom, a kid’s if the posters and toys was any indication (Bucky had to swallow down his unease). The second was a bathroom, revealing further evidence that someone was staying here.

He stalked to the final bedroom, poised like a predator hunting his prey. Bucky allowed just a sliver of the Soldier in, just enough to keep his focus. His body went rigid as the Soldier crept to the forefront of his mind, attention firmly on the task at hand. Shoulders straight, Bucky inched forwards, gently pushing open the door and hovering just inside the frame. His eyes swept the room, settling first on the unmade bed that looked recently slept in and continuing on to the closed closet door.

Eyes narrowing to slits, Bucky stepped forward until his nose nearly touched the door. He could pick up a heartbeat behind it, surprised to find it steady and strong. Not a dead one, then. Bucky inhaled, ready to throw the doors open, but he startled backwards as they flew open of their seemingly own accord. Before he could blink he took a boot to the chest, sending him backwards into the bed, where he collapsed and bounced upon the soft mattress.

As he sat up, he grunted as a body landed atop his chest, knees pinning his arms and a gun held to his forehead. Eyes wide with surprise, he took in the figure straddling him.

Your breathing was steady as you glared down at the man trapped beneath you. Your grip on the gun was firm, index finger hovering just over the trigger. The man’s icy eyes were wide but without any trace of fear. Instead, he looked mildly annoyed at having been bested.

“What do you want?” you growled, voice hoarse from disuse.

The man’s eyes flickered yours before they took in your gun. Jaw muscle twitching, he moved like lightning, knocking you off balance enough to wedge his hand between his head and the gun. His gloved palm pressed, disengaging the slide and rendering the gun useless. With a growl the man twisted his body, pinning you to the bed and knocking the gun out of your hands. It clattered to the floor, forgotten as you lay helpless beneath him.

Bucky held your wrists in his hands, barely having broken a sweat, and as he looked down at you, he caught a brief flash of fear behind your eyes. Coming back to himself, he loosened his grip on you just a little.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’ll let you up, but please promise me you won’t go for that gun and shoot me.”

You stayed silent, watching him closely as he released your wrists and straightened up off the bed. A small part of your brain felt saddened by the sudden loss of his weight on top of you, but you shut that down quickly. Now’s not the time.

You sat up as the man backed away, hands raised in front of him. Now that there was some distance between you, you took time to appraise him. Tall, muscular form, long-sleeved shirt that only just hid his physique. Glove on one hand, the left, long legs supported by thick thighs. Your eyes traveled up. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones that were slightly sunken in, a sharp, straight nose, deep circles under wintry blue eyes. Long, greasy dark hair hung limply in his face.

Well, he was certainly the most attractive visitor you’d entertained recently. Another glance at his face revealed his smirk, as if he could hear your thoughts, see where your mind had gone. It hadn’t helped that you’d subconsciously tugged your bottom lip invitingly between your teeth.

Bucky was no stranger to desire, though he had to admit it hadn’t been the first thing on his mind as of late. But now, as he stood before you under your scrutinizing gaze, he couldn’t deny the rush of heat as his blood warmed beneath his skin and his heartrate increased just slightly. His own eyes roved over your form, took in the shape of your body, the curves of your waist, hips, and legs clad in tight dark pants. You wore unlaced boots.

“Who are you? And what do you want?” Your voice pulled him from the recesses of his mind, where images of you underneath him had him shifting his position as his pants grew tighter.

“Name’s Bucky. I was looking for somewhere to lay low for a bit, recharge.”

His voice was smooth like honey with a smokiness that made you shiver. The sound curled over you, warming and filling your body with want. His mouth quivered with a smile, detecting the rise in your heartbeat.

“I can find somewhere else, if you’re uncomfortable,” he offered, eyebrow raising a little. With the way your eyes were devouring him, the hitch in your breathing, he knew it wasn’t what you wanted, but he put it out there.

“N-No,” you stammered, clearing your throat as your voice was a raspy croak. “You can stay. I have some spare supplies.”

“What’s your name?” His voice made you pause in turning around to head downstairs. You told him quietly and he nodded, stepping forward to follow you.

You shared a few canned goods with him after warming them in the fireplace, the two of you dining on opposite sides of the room. Bucky’s eyes found you in the fire light, dancing across your form as you scraped the last of your Spaghettios out of the bottom of the can and set it aside.

“How long have you been alone?” he asked, almost hesitantly. Your eyes lifted to the flames, glossing over just a bit as you thought.

“Not long,” you eventually replied. Your sister was the last to die, only about three weeks ago now. He didn’t press further. “You?”

“Few months, I think. Gets hard to keep track of time.”

You hummed in agreement but froze as footsteps on your porch pulled your attention. Bucky was on high alert, back straight and shoulders rigid, eyes flying to the door. A muffled gurgle made you relax.

“Just a walker. It’ll go away,” you muttered, shoulders sagging against the chair. Bucky took a little longer to relax, wanting to make sure one wouldn’t turn into fifty.

When the walker wandered off, its interest pulled somewhere else, Bucky sat back with a sigh. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tipped his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. It allowed you a moment to look him over again. He was a specimen, that’s for sure, even with his slightly-sunken face. Your body warmed again, flushing deliciously. You shifted on the floor, attempting to quell the sudden ache between your legs.

When he shifted and straightened again, you averted your eyes to the fire, trying and failing to hold back a yawn.

“Get some sleep,” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence. “I’ll keep watch.”

You thought about arguing, took in the darkness under his eyes, but his strong, insistent gaze tied up your tongue. You nodded, sighing as you stood and stretched. You bid him a quiet goodnight before heading upstairs to your bedroom.

You hadn’t been asleep long when the nightmares began. They were always the same: your family, falling victim to the dead one by one. Your father, taken by surprise on a supply run; your brother, shot by accident when your sister tried to save the two of you; your niece and nephew, far too young to experience something as agonizing as starvation; your mother, so overcome with grief that she walked herself into a group of walkers; and finally, your sister, killed by another group, hostile and barbaric.

Downstairs, Bucky dozed lightly, brain still very much awake. A quiet whimper jostled him awake before a louder shriek spurred him into action. He took the stairs two at a time, just as you let out another scream. He slammed into the bedroom door, nearly taking it off its hinges, and his eyes found your body on the bed, sheets twisted around your bared legs, sweating shining in the moonlight streaming through the window.

He said your name, winced when all he received was another painful whimper.

“Mom,” your voice cried out. “Please, no!”

No stranger to nightmares, Bucky walked to the bed and grasped your shoulders in his large hands, shaking you gently. He repeated your name.

“Hey, wake up, doll, wake up! It’s a dream!” he implored, jumping back when you awoke with a gasp. Your hands came up to grasp his wrists, your brow furrowing when the gloved one didn’t give under your grip.

“Bucky?” you asked breathlessly, and, damn it, if that wasn’t the sexiest sound he’d ever heard. His body reacted, stomach clenching, cock twitching in his pants. He swallowed down the desire welling up within him and licked his dry lips.

“I’m here. Are you all right?” he whispered, gloved hand reaching up towards your face before he rethought it and pulled it back.

Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, damp with sweat and tears. Wordlessly, you reached out for him, fingers curling around his forearms to pull him down closer. Noses brushing, he could feel your breaths on his lips, his muscles straining with restraint.

“I need you,” you pleaded, the words hovering between you before you could rethink it. You could see the slight hesitation in his eyes even as his pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the icy blueness of his irises. “Please, just let me feel something.”

Your lips swallowed his gasp as you surged upwards off the bed and you gave him no time to pull away. Your mouth opened under his, tongue gliding along the seam of his mouth. His brows furrowed in momentary confusion until your tongue licked into his mouth, tasting him. His moan was muffled by you and he let himself fall forward onto the bed, propped on his elbows.

His mouth was pliant against yours, filling you with a warmth you haven’t felt in....years. Curling your fingers into his shirt, you tugged him down, causing him to nearly lose his balance as his feet slipped along the floor. He adjusted, lifting a knee onto the plush mattress, and settled above you.

His hands lit a fire under your skin wherever he touched, your waist, your hips, your breasts. When he gently squeezed the soft mounds, you mewled into his mouth, back bowing to arch into his touch. He squeezed his eyes shut when your hands splayed against his chest before diving low to the hem of his shirt. Stomach clenching as your nails tickled him, his mouth dropped open and he sighed.

His head felt fuzzy yet awakened as you pressed yourself against him, lifted the shirt from his torso and bodily rolled him over. Your lips carved a path down his scruffy jaw, to his neck, where your teeth nipped at his pulse point and his cock twitched inside his jeans. He felt your smirk against his skin as you continued to map out his body, hands and lips and tongue combining to nearly make him combust.

It had been so long since he’d been touched, and with the way your hands and mouth were working him over, he was momentarily worried this would be over far sooner than he wanted it to be. Your deft fingers tugged his belt buckle free, slid the zipper on his jeans down. He lifted his hips, blushed crimson at your smirk to find him bare beneath the denim.

You nipped at his inner thighs, sending pleasant shivers right up his spine. He was harder than marble, his cockhead purple and leaking and begging for your touch. Yet you continued to dance around it, pressing kisses to his hip bones, dipping your tongue along his Adonis belt, driving him mad with want. He gasped, head thrown back against your pillow when you suckled at one of his balls, the wet warmth of your mouth nearly his undoing.

“D-Doll,” he whimpered, his flesh hand drifting down to tangle in your hair. “Please. Please touch me.”

Your eyes flickered up to him, pupils wide and wanting and full of mischief. Minx. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Bucky would swear he died and went to heaven when you finally, finally put your mouth on him. Eased down his length inch by slow, agonizing inch, and it took all of his super-soldier strength not to thrust upwards and bury himself down your throat. His mouth dropped open, a deep groan wrenching from his throat when he hit the back of your throat and you swallowed around him.

Sweat beaded across his forehead, bottom lip pinched painfully in his teeth as he rocked his hips to the rhythm of your mouth. Fire gathered in his belly, electricity zipping up his spine, and he strangled out a protest, fingers tightening in your hair.

You pulled off him with a wet pop that had the muscles in his thighs clenching. Climbed up his body to settle yourself on his lap. Fire radiated from your core, and he could feel your wetness, itched to bury himself to the hilt. But he took his time stripping you of the sleeping clothes you wore, admired each reveal of bare skin.

Finally, naked on top of him, your wetness allowing him to glide along your folds. Nails carving crescents into his chest as he arched his hips and slid seamlessly inside you. Head thrown back as your body found a rhythm. Bucky danced his hands along your sides, watching as goose flesh rose in the wake of his metal one. When a silver fingertip circled a nipple, you whimpered and pressed your breasts closer.

With your velvet warmth engulfing him, he released embarrassingly fast. But you continued to rock even as his warmth gushed inside you and reached for his metal hand. Brought it to the apex of your thighs where he wound tight little circles to send you careening over the edge with a sharp cry.

Jesus fuck, he nearly came again with the sensation of you tightening around him, fluttering around him as your body went lax above him. You leaned forward over his chest, eyes glassy and completely blissed out. Brushed a wayward lock of his hair behind his ear and kissed him once. Head tucked under his chin, him softening inside you, it was peaceful, quiet, the sounds of your breaths the only sound in the room.

He swept a hand over your back. The metal one, and you shivered, nudging closer with a hum. You fell asleep like that, and after a few moments of your soft breaths, Bucky followed.

The next morning, he was woken by a buzzing. A steady, but rising hum that had his eyelids fluttering. He was on his side, curled around you as you slumbered away. He lifted his head from the pillow, blearily looking around the room. Nothing.

Rising from the bed, padding to the window, a moment of silent shock before he was thrown into action.

He shook you awake at the same time he tugged on his pants, a sense of urgency pulling you out of your deep sleep. Took in his panicked eyes, mouth moving, telling you you need to move. A herd outside, bigger than any he’s ever seen.

Must’ve been walking for days, gathered numbers beyond countable, made its way here.

You insisted you could wait it out, stay silent and let it pass. But Bucky wasn’t hearing it, countering that the herd would take down the whole house and end up inside anyways. He tossed you your belongings, nearly knocked you out with a boot, and you hurried to dress and gather your weapons.

You led him out the back, quick and silent and through the trees surrounding the yard. There were stragglers out here, not enough to be cumbersome but enough to keep your alertness on high. Bucky’s assassin training went into overdrive, ears and eyes straining for any sign of the massive herd. A deafening crack as it no doubt nearly leveled a house with its strength. He wouldn’t say it, but he was scared, especially since you weren’t as silent as he was, and more and more walkers appeared out from behind trees like some kind of Halloween walk.

Sweat poured into his eyes, hair plastered to his forehead, he went cold when he heard your shriek. Three of the dead around you, dead fingers had your arms in a vice. Bucky saw red. Disposed of them with a brutality he hadn’t seen since his Winter Soldier days while you looked on in a weird combination of pride and horror. Arm gripped tightly in his metal fist, he pulled you along. It wasn’t a mission this time driving him, it was fear. For you.

In a day he’d found you wormed inside him, inside his heart, and instead of a mission to kill, he was on a mission to save. The thought would have been amusing had he not turned into a tightly-clustered copse of trees and barreled straight into five of them.

He went down, two of the dead following him while the others went right for you. With the strength of ten men he bashed their dead heads together, grimacing at the explosion of decayed, viscous, black brain matter that probably would stain his clothes. He pressed his mouth in a tight line as it dripped onto his face, and your shout of agony filled him with both ice and fire.

He turned, body stilling completely as he took in the jagged shape of teeth in the junction of your shoulder and neck. Blood seeped into your clothing, leaked from the wound in angry red torrents, and you pressed a hand uselessly to it. It oozed between your fingers, dripped down your arm like something out of a horror movie. Your complexion was paling quickly. The snarling of more walkers made you turn, resigned. You turned glassy, shining eyes to him when he approached, hands hovering over the wound.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt so helpless. Not when he was strapped to that machine in Siberia. But this was a new sense of helplessness, watching you bleed out in front of him. The new walkers stumbled closer, driven by the scent of blood, and you pulled a gun from the waistband of your jeans, usually a last resort, and he knew.

“You need to go,” you said, voice quiet and hoarse and barely restrained with the fear that was so obvious in your eyes. Your fingers racked the slide, thumb flicking the safety. Rolled up on your toes to press a deep, salty kiss to his mouth before you wrenched away and began yelling, leading the walkers in the opposite direction of Bucky.

Bucky, who still hadn’t moved an inch. Only watched as the small group stumbled after you. One at the back strayed off, was put down by Bucky’s metal fist, and then he ran.

He could hear you yelling, urging the dead after you. Then the shots started, your yelling punctuated by a gunshot then.

Silence.

No more shouting, no more gunshots, and Bucky wanted to go back for you, though he knew it would be for nothing. He let himself cry as he ran, weaving in and out of trees until a lone hunting cabin loomed in the distance.

It was free of the dead. Cleared of anything living, dead, or otherwise, and he laid low. Mourned for you, threw a few of the cabin’s belongings in a sorrowful rage.

He spent a few days there, gathered a couple of squirrels and a fish from a nearby creek, and then he moved on. It was all he could do.

Move on.

#fatimas10kchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader smut #the walking dead #crossover #the walking dead x marvel #writing challenge #bucky barnes angst

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ddaenqu · 5 years

Text

Slow Motion

pairings: yandere monster!hoseok x scientist!reader

themes: Angst, Mature, Mythical monsters AU, Fantasy AU

tags: possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, toxic behavior/relationships, unhealthy behavior/relationships, manipulation, threatening, cussing, dom/sub undertones, graphic depictions of violence, implied sexual content

based on the prompt: “I need you more than I need to breathe.”

a/n: hobi can take my girl n i would be honored and i gotta just say monster!bts is the hottest thing ever. am i right or am i right? obviously, i had too much fun with this au and as you can tell, a lot of this science stuff is based off of my own imagination. i tried to do some research but idk, i kinda like it when i just go off on my own

You’re frantically pulling the sterilized, white lab coat on with shaky fingers. The narrow room is flashing, with a blinding white. The sudden change of light making you disoriented, it was uncomfortable compared to the hallway: a vintage white, a gentle dim that wasn’t too dark nor too light, and pleasant to the eyes.

The keypad near the door with a small scanner resting above it waited for the form of accession. You quickly pulled the ID card with your name and a picture of you plastered on the front of it, you turned it around where the barcode sat and almost placed it on top of the scanner. Your hand hovering over the device.

What were you getting in to?

You knew now better than anyone, that beyond this door was a line—the unknown behind it.

I can leave, you think, I can leave and go home and go back in my warm bed. This wasn’t working hours for you. Why were you even here? You had every right to be at home resting and not scrambling into your car at four in the morning, pulling yourself away from your one comfort and safety. This wasn’t your problem.

You pressed the plastic card down, the weight in your arm was heavy and unbalanced, as if it hadn’t planned to move at all.

You heard two consecutive beeps shortly after placing the lithesome-like plastic onto the scanner, a high-pitched yet small beep, indicating that security had granted access and the door was unlocked.

Not your problem, you remind yourself as your hands reach for the silver, pristine door handle, it’s cool surface pressed against your feverish palm.

The idea of leaving was tempting, tempting to the point that your own hands loosened on the handle multiple times, but only returning a stronger grip from the one thought that had picked your mind apart by the time you parked in the parking lot of this nightmare.

Was it selfish? Was it selfish to want to go home and call it a day officially and to not set foot in this godforsaken lab? Was it selfish to leave millions of undocumented work, untitled organisms laying around in glass tubes and boxes?

Was it selfish to leave them—in there—with it?

Yes, you concluded solemnly, it was

Swiftly, you pulled the handle and the door opened revealing the inside of a madhouse; the wide hallway had employees of all running back and forth between crossing rooms, some stood in one place talking with urgent hand motions to others, and there your supervisor stood.

His face was nothing short of tired, almost exhausted to the point of death.

Bags under his eyes, his skin a sickly pale, although his skin has always been paler than average, the deep, blackened circles hanging around his raging orbs really defined how pallid he was. If anything, the white lab coat pulled onto him matched his complexion more than anything at the moment. The frown on his face only seeped more into his face upon seeing you, giving him more prominent lines.

“Sorry for calling so late,” he said with a genuine tone, you could tell he was disturbed and more disoriented with the predicament.

He motioned you to follow him, walking beside him wasn’t a likely option. His stance and expressions already were a warning sign to any passing employee, even you. You followed after him blindly, staying close to him in order to hear his words—he often talked in jargon with a small voice—talking to him was more than awful. It was stressful.

“What the actual fuck happened?” you said to him, making sure to keep your voice at minimum.

The whole hallway was tense, palpable that you could almost taste it, it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He let out a sigh, his whole body vibrating to that one guttural huff. “Don’t know. One moment it was fine, BPM and all,” he began and weaved himself through and around people as he passed doors. “Sent one of the crew to do a test, like usual—then—”

He had trouble finishing the sentence as if he hadn’t got his head around it either.

“It attacked him.”

The world stops.

No—it doesn’t stop, it slows down in accordance. Minutes ticked like hours, and seconds blinking away like minutes.

The people around you moved like giants. Slow and messy moves, blurs instead of outlines.

The hair on your body raised, goosebumps appearing like magic all over your body, and your eyes widening to the statement. Your breath hitched in your throat, and momentarily, you thought you were going to choke, nearly forgetting how to breathe.

While the world slowed, your brain formed jumbled words and sentences, words that weren’t words.

It attacked?

It couldn’t be possible, you denied.

You spluttered grossly, “HBi? That one—attacked? Are you sure?”

You continued to follow the man until you entered a room with people all around, looking at screens and papers, and the most surprising scene yet—a man’s whole shoulder being bandaged up as blood seeps through the fabric. His mouth agape as hoarse screams come out, his body flinching every time someone touched near his shoulder.

“I’m sure,” he replied curtly as he passed the doctors and nurses crowding around the injured young man.

He looked about in his 20s, still fresh. You won’t see him again, you knew that anyone new around here who gets too easily swayed loses it before they can understand everything. The deep wound on his shoulder, too deep for saving.

A mark that’s going to be ingrained in his skin and memories forever.

“It’s always been good, I don’t understand—a docile creature, that’s what it was,” he rambled on, and you’re sure by this point, you have had lost your focus on his words.

Anything he says fly pasts you, you don’t acknowledge a word, and you know you should be listening, but you can’t bring yourself to listen about it anymore. Your body feels numb yet sore, your stomach stirs uncomfortably, your own body begging for you to find a pillar to lean on.

To anyone, you looked impassive to the situation at hand, while everyone is running and yelling amidst the chaos, you’re standing there with an apathetic expression, body lax—almost sagging.

But inside, you’re terrified. Terrified.

Leave, your body tells you and it even goes as far to making your pace slow down, creating distance between your superior. You bite down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to stop yourself from crying.

You can’t help thinking this was all your fault.

God, you need to leave.

“Yoongi—I think—” You stop yourself once you see the room you’re in.

All too familiar. The sets of computers, screens, TV. Most were only security footage, real-time, of hallways and rooms, while the other few screens displayed the insides of white, enclosed cubicles. Immaculate rooms, with glossy tables and chairs, sinks and more. The beds were different, depending on who or what was accustomed to.

“What is it?” he says with an acrid tone, he was busy talking to one of the security guards working the screens, only then did you notice how irritable he really was.

You knew not to take it personally. He was always a harsh person, even after becoming buddy-buddy with someone such as him. But you can’t stop yourself from stiffening to his tone, your hand bunched into a fist and your nails digging into the soft flesh of your palm. Tears were threatening to fall from your eyes, blinking them away only worsened it.

You gulp, “I just—why—did you call me?”

He met your eyes, his eyebrow raised, expecting you to answer your own question. Then, after a few deprecating moments of silence, he clicks his tongue and decides something with a tilt of his head.

“I know it’s wrong for me to say this—It wasn’t my idea, please don’t—you know I would never put you in danger.”

Your heart squeezes, you think your palm is bleeding by now by how hard your nails are digging crescents into them.

“It’s just that, Namjoon was thinking that—after the incident—we needed to administer the test,” he lets out a deep sigh, one that seemed to be with forced calmness, “and it never reacted this way, not until we changed who was giving the test to it—to that thing.”

He refers to the subject with evident hatred, spitting it out as if it was a curse.

Horror is what courses through you, pure unadulterated horror. He can’t possibly be implying what you think he is.

No, no, no, your head screams, and suddenly the world comes to a slow again as the words from his mouth come out emphasized. Your hands shake and your mouth dries, a sore bump appearing whenever you swallow air.

“We need you to administer the test.”

He seems to notice your reaction, taking the gray and small briefcase from one of the passing employees with a hesitant grip. He holds it by his side, for now, knowing fully well that it had the items inside of it are the ones you have to use.

“Please, you have to,” he begs whilst keeping his tone at minimum, “otherwise it could die from the temperature change. It’s too weak, still not adapting to our—”

“I got it,” you interrupt timidly and unclench your hand, raising it outward and waiting for that god forbidden suitcase to come into view.

You’re terrified, close to throwing up, your heart hurts and your breathing feels labored, but you know you won’t get out of this.

It wasn’t his choice, you remind yourself—it was Namjoon’s and his words were never up to suggesting, it was a command. Defying him was the equivalent to getting fired—you and Yoongi.

Yoongi watches you on the monitor with a steady gaze as your body trudges towards a certain hallway, and stopping at a steel door.

You can read the glass plaque next to the door frame. You’ve read it every day for the past month. “HBi-1” it read, horrible memories come flooding in, and the possible scenario appearing in your head, one he has depicted so grotesquely that it doesn’t feel like reality. None of this feels real, it all feels like a dream.

Your body moves mechanically like a stressed wind-up toy, the gears in your body are slow and unresponsive for seconds as you’re still thinking about what you were about to do. Your hand is clammy against the silver-like handle, the door is already unlocked manually from security, no keypad or ID card needed.

In other words: you can’t leave when you want to.

You let out a shuddering breath, pushing the door open, a small click, and snapping shut with a screech that made your ear strain to hear anything after.

It was a dark room, it was uncomfortable in light and didn’t cooperate for the first few practices with it. The temperature was a significant drop from the outside, although, it felt quite dry. It was as simple as all the other inhabitant's rooms; white beds, white floors, white bathrooms—the basics of what you can make out from the silhouettes right now, your eyes trying to adjust in the darkness.

Your heart is beating to no avail, you can hear it vibrating off the walls like waves—you’re almost sure that it can hear it too. Shaky hands wrapping itself around the handles of the case with a vice-like grip.

Sounds of fabric shuffling and harsh feet hitting the marble floor tease your ears, and your breathing quickens within moments. You can hear it, but you can’t see it. And maybe on the monitor it shows, maybe it shows the monster right behind you waiting for you to turn around. Maybe.

Then, you feel it, a sensation so normal and familiar from all your previous visits. Like a greeting to him, torture for you. Sharp claws running across your skin through layers of fabric, gingerly, you note. Goosebumps rising on your skin.

It’s behind you.

Too afraid to look, your body eminently frozen, you stare at the camera in the corner of the wall, flashing a red color to signal its recording. That people were watching behind those tiny glass lens. The only thing giving you any sense of relief or protection.

Soft breaths hit your neck. “You’re back.”

The sharp nails dig scantly through the fabric of your clothes, you can feel the sharp edge pinching the soft flesh almost. You try to ignore it and watch the camera as it is watching you, counting the number of times it flashes red.

A silence overcomes the room once again. The soft breathing ceases, and a more sinister growl rapes at your ear causing your heart to drop.

It digs its nail further into your skin, prompting a reaction from you.

“Speak,” it demands. Your back is scorching, something hot pressed up against it with violent breaths hitting the nape of your neck.

“Test,” you manage to whimper out, “I’m only here to do the test.” Squeezing your eyes shut.

It goes quiet. The silence feels suffocating, the first time you’d ever think of quiet as too much.

You’ll be fine, though, right? If anything goes wrong, they will come, right?

You look towards the camera once more, waiting for it to flash red.

It doesn’t flash red.

Panic instills in your body, ready to turn around and bolt at the door. The original task for being here was long gone by now, it was now you almost near to crying as you wondered where Yoongi was, and why they weren’t here, why wasn’t anyone coming for you.

Did something happen? Did it do something to them?

Powerful hands clamp down on your wrist, cutting your circulation and pulling you back with immense force. The room grows with light, still murky in a sense, but enough for you to see everything if you focus hard enough.

“Did you like my present?” it asks. “My surprise, in better terms.”

You can feel it’s erratic heartbeat against your own, it’s chest pushing against yours as it keeps your hands bound with his own. You force yourself to not look at the monstrosity, which only angers the monster more.

“Look at me,” it emphasizes each word with a hushed voice, “when I speak.” its claws are digging into the skin of your hand.

You wince, instinctively pulling away, only to be pulled back into the uncomfortable position. Your head moves up, following its order, afraid of what he would do if you didn’t listen again.

The first thing you notice is dark brown eyes and the artificial skin that looks too real. Prominent cheekbones that were high and prominent, sculpting his face in a long oval-like shape. It’s pixie nose and Its lips, thin from the corners, leading into a defined cupid’s bow with a strong jawline, as well as a tiny mole on its upper lip.

The creatures beauty was astounding as much as it was tempting. It made you wonder if it had stolen the skin of another or if it was completely original, stemmed from its own imagination.

It looked human, but the two sleek black horns attached to the sides of his head told otherwise.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen your face, darling,” it mumbles with adoration present in those eyes, a content sigh that hit your face, that awful smile placed upon its lips. “Much better than that awful boy who came in here.”

It, again, smiles, but it didn’t quite reach its eyes, not folding into small crescent moons as it should be.

Minutes past and you’re wondering why nothing has happened, why the camera isn’t recording anymore. Why aren’t they unlocking that door? Why?

“The test,” you whimper, not knowing how to respond, and your eyes wander to the case fallen on the floor. You hadn’t even noticed you dropped it.

Its eyes darken into a void of black, a frown appearing as the eyebrows scrunch. “I know about the fucking test, love,” it scowls, for a split second, you can see the pointed canines, it’s skinny and long tongue gliding across them in a tantalizing manner.

You cower in his hold, however, you keep the gaze. A pathetic attempt to stay rooted, to have some power—defiance.

“You’re lucky I didn’t rip off his fucking arms,” It spits, “or maybe I should? Should I? Angel?”

You shake your head. “Please—don’t.”

It chuckles.

“And why shouldn’t I? It seems as though whatever I say you never listen,” it seethes, the amount of heat it is emitting is abnormal. “Tell me, angel, what should I do?”

Its head tilts from side to side with a delusional look in its eyes, his eyes brows still furrowing, but its lips hanged into a lopsided smirk.

What were you supposed to say? Opening your mouth and closing it multiple times. Any word you say could be taken literally, could be altered, could be used against you.

It clicks its tongue when you don’t reply immediately, getting impatient with the lack of answers.

“Should I rip them all apart? Everyone here?” it speaks up. “Make it so every breath they take will feel like all their limbs snapping in half? Breaking each of their fingers by pulling them back? Or peeling their skin off as they’re still alive? Is that it?”

It requests, lifting every scenario after another with almost too much excitement in its eyes, glittering as though its already made up its mind. It’s a matter of seconds before you’re begging for it to stop and holding onto your stomach for dear life, the sickening thoughts making you gag.

“I’ll make you watch as I do so, all pretty and obedient for me when I’m done. How beautiful it would be to have you wrapped around my arms begging.”

“No, no, no, please—” you cry helplessly, unrestrained tears are pouring down your cheeks. You can feel its claws coming away from your hands and up to your neck, drawing a line up to your chin. “Why are you doing this?”

It grins, it’s orbs flick into slits, much like cat eyes, a dark green surrounding them before it blinks, and the normal brown returns.

“Simple, I need you,” he whispers so softly, that it has your body responding with warmth and comfort, “I need you more than anything, more than I need to breathe. Do you understand, angel?”

No, you don’t understand. You only feel its nails digging into your skin and forcing you to look up at it, and it’s enough pain for you to understand it. You can feel his gaze burning into your head.

You nod numbly.

“Good,” he smiles, his pointed teeth appearing and his grip on your chin retracts, his hands falling to his sides.

From the corner of your eye, you see something flashing red in the corner of the room.

“Let’s start the test now, shall we, love?”

(feedback is greatly appreciated! 🧸❤️)

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her-world-on-fire · 4 years

Text

Patience {Zuko x Reader}

MASTERLIST

REQUEST HERE

Word Count: 3,625

“Again!” I rushed forward and struck with my fists, the flame narrowly missing. Zuko blocked my fist and swung his own, I dodged and slid under him. As I stood back up I sent a gust of fire on him. This time he couldn’t move and the flame burned him. He showed no emotion as he continued to run at me. “Why did you stop?!” I backed up and missed the fireballs being hurled at me. I had let my guard down for a second because I had hurt him. I was showing weakness. I jumped and threw a kick, he caught my foot and slammed me down. “Taken down again-” I growled and flipped him so that now I was on top. I pushed myself up and sent flames rushing from my palms. I held the flame just above his face so that he wasn’t seriously burned. “What was that?”

Iroh cleared his throat, “I’m glad to see you two finally getting along!”

He stood up, pushing me off of him. “Enough for today. You’re just as hopeless as I thought.” I cracked my knuckles but didn’t breathe a word. It was not my place to test him. “I don’t know what Iroh sees in you.” He walked away, looking directly at Iroh. But as he did I couldn’t help but notice his limp. I had injured him more than he cared to admit. I smirked, he could say all he wanted but a week ago I couldn’t have injured him. I was making progress. I sank down into the mat, my body now feeling every inch of pain. My body was burning, I sighed and tried to distract myself from the pain. I closed my eyes and breathed in and out, steadying my heart rate and relaxing.

Iroh walked closer, and I stood. He looked over me, he pulled up my sleeves. “Are you sure you want to continue training?” Now the only person who actually believed in me was starting to lose faith. I rolled down my sleeves. “I can handle it. I have to, it’s in my blood.” I gave him a bow before departing. I didn’t need anyone else to see me at my worst. Iroh placed his hand on the doorway, “Just because your father-”

“I know you think I have nothing to prove Iroh. It’s not for him, I don’t care about proving myself to him when he’s never been anything to me.” I wanted to prove to my family who had disowned me, that I was worth something. To everyone in my childhood who pushed me into the dirt and told me I would never be anything. I needed to prove to myself what I should be. I walked to get some medical supplies. Burns are hard work, you have to keep them dressed and disinfected. I took what I needed and walked into my tent. I zipped the fabric and sighed. I began taking off my shirt. I was careful with previous injuries as I slid it off. I grabbed the gauze and wrapped the new wounds. These wounds are nothing compared to what happens if I am not properly trained. I have to be able to defend myself. I had confidence in my abilities before I spared with Zuko. No one has proved to be a harder opponent. I had been able to take down anyone besides him.

I heard a voice outside my tent and sat up. Zuko came in, he looked at me seeing all the bandages. “I need you.” I grabbed my shirt and put it back on. I grabbed my sword off the ground. “What’s up?” I asked sliding it into its sheath at my side. “I have something I need to do, and I need you for cover.” I raised my eyebrows. He had never asked me for help, he considered me useless in combat. I wouldn’t be able to hold up to his standards he said. Now things must have changed if he was trusting me to be his cover. I wanted to prove myself and this was my chance so I decided to help him.

“So what exactly are we doing?” I asked looking to him. He continued looking forward. I rolled my eyes, I don’t know how I am supposed to help if I don’t know what’s happening. Or what to be prepared for. We had been on a path in the woods for almost half an hour. Zuko stopped, “Hide your weapons.” I tucked my sword in my shirt and watched him do the same. “Don’t draw any attention and stay next to me.” I nodded, and he pulled back some bushes. There was a trail to a nearby village, “I need Intel so listen.” It was a small earth village, occupied by the fire nation. As we walked in Zuko kept his head down, making sure he wasn’t recognized by the fire nation, and cause problems. He pulled me into a small tea-shop. We just narrowly missed a group of soldiers. He had grabbed my hand, and he still hadn’t let it go. An old man appeared from behind the counter. He looked at us. We were dressed normally, nothing too flashy. We were safe if we didn’t act suspiciously. “What can I get you two?”

I knew Zuko didn’t have a plan. He would draw attention by not getting anything. So I figured I would take some control. “Well I was hoping to find something to help him sleep better.” I looked at Zuko, my eyes telling him to play along. He didn’t say a word but he understood. “He’s quite restless and has trouble sleeping,” I whispered at the shop keeper, making Zuko roll his eyes. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. His tent wasn’t too far from mine and I could hear him pacing at night. When he wasn’t consumed by his thoughts, he was plagued by nightmares. “I don’t-” I looked at him, pressing my lips together. The shop keeper just chuckled, he came from behind his counter. “Ah, young love. Don’t worry, there’s nothing to be ashamed of young man.” He looked around his shop, my grip on Zuko’s hand tightened. I laughed and leaned into his shoulder so I could whisper. “Play along, so we don’t draw attention. Your face is plastered on wanted signs in neighboring villages. If he recognizes you, soldiers will be here in seconds.”

He growled slightly but complied knowing I am right. I followed the shop keeper tugging Zuko along. He looked around, mumbling to himself the names of the tea as he did so. “Here it is! A Chamomile & Valerian root blend ought to do the trick.” He handed me the blend and I looked over it. “Will that be all for the lovely couple?” He asked I decided to get some tea for Iroh. I was a little rough and snapped at him. I owed him an apology, he had faith in me and I was being respectful. “We’ll take some ginseng and then we’ll be on our way.” The old man rang us up and we left the shop. Zuko’s hand was getting warmer, I could tell he was beginning to lose his patience. We thanked him and then left the tea-shop. Zuko being on autopilot had taken the bag, making the old man call him a gentleman. I couldn’t help but laugh as a little bit of heat rose to his cheeks. He tried to hide it but I still got a glimpse.

Zuko tugged me along with a set destination in mind. As we passed by the vendors there was chatter, something must have happened because the streets were buzzing. I tried to listen in but Zuko was walking too fast. We stopped in front of a shop, just looking in I couldn’t tell what kind it was. It was secluded and looked differently. “Stay close.” He let go of my hand and opened the door for me. As I walked in eyes snapped at me. Men were gathered in groups at tables. The room smelled like alcohol. I wasn’t sure we were even supposed to be in here. But Zuko seemed convinced. There was a small table in the corner of the room. He sat me down there, “Stay.” He went to a specific table and bargained a few coins. As I sat I listened around us. Most of the men were fire nation soldiers.

“Everyone in town has been talking about it. The avatar is spreading hope and rebellions across the kingdoms.” My ears perked up, but before I could listen to any more, someone placed a drink in front of me. An older man leaned in on his elbows. “What are you doing in a place like this?” He slurred, I took a deep breath. I clenched my knuckles under the table. He was being so loud I couldn't hear the other conversation, and he was trying to make passes at me. He was really starting to get on my nerves. I looked over at Zuko, he still was enveloped in his conversation. He didn’t even look in my direction. I don’t need him, I told myself. I decided I was done listening. “How about we get out of here then?” I looked up at him. His eyes lit up, he finished his drink, and then went back to his table. He told whoever would listen he was leaving with me. I walked out, and the man followed. I rolled my eyes, “Where are we going?” He asked hopefully, he was trailing behind me. I rolled my eyes, “To have some fun.” I led him deep into the woods. Once I felt I was in deep enough I stopped. “Out here? That’s-” I jumped on him, I knocked him to the ground so that I was on top of him. He groaned, “You’re a little rough, but I don’t mind.”

I pressed my lips together, I reached for his sword and tossed it aside. I made it so that I was running my hands across him, but I was really disarming him. I put my fist to his neck, making the fire dangerously close, “So what do you know about the avatars whereabouts?” He jumped and tried pushing me off. He eventually was able to and tried running. I threw my sword, his arm caught on the tree. “I’d really prefer if you didn’t run from me, I have a schedule.” I whispered in his ear, “But by all means please try, it’s quite entertaining.” He stammered, “I-uh- it’s just that- I can’t s-seem to recall uh-” My fingertips were encased with fire, as a danced them across his face. “Go on.”

“I don’t know! I really don’t. I can’t remember!” He pleaded. “Great then you’re useless to me.” I knocked his head against the tree. “Now think about this the next time you go an bother someone.” I did it once more and watched as he grew limp. I took my sword back and tucked it back into my shirt. I walked back to the shop we had been in. Zuko was sitting at the same table. “Where did you go?” He growled in a low whisper. “To take care of a pest, can we go now?” I asked eyes were still on me. They had seen I left with someone and the fact that I came back alone was a little odd. He groaned and got up, we both left. “I told you to stay close.” He hissed at me, we walked gradually faster and then into the woods. “Well you got what you wanted, and I am back so drop it.” We walked in silence. After a few minutes Zuko stopped. He put his arm out in front of me and pulled his blades out. “We’re being followed.” I took my sword and put my back against his.

Footsteps came closer, three men came charging at us. I recognized them they were sitting at the table with the man before he approached me. I didn't think they were going to put anything together. “Look what you did.” I rolled my eyes and pushed forward. I spun around and kicked out at the men. A ball of flame rushed toward them. Zuko followed up with three successive blasts of his own. He used his swords to disarm them. One of the men tried swinging at me, I moved to the left, dodging the fist. I grabbed it and knocked him into the ground I sent fire trough my fists for good measure. The other two were on Zuko. He was doing fine, but we needed to leave. I ran at one of them and jumped on his back. He collapsed instantly, his face hitting the ground hard. I felt something in his pocket, and reached for it.

“Seems it wasn’t just me after all.” I shoved the flyer at Zuko. His face was plastered on it, with a reward. “They were bound to go after us.” I decided to take their gold and we were on our way. Zuko said nothing for the remainder of the walk. Once we got back to the camp, I sighed. I had left behind the tea, and didn’t go back for it. “What?” Zuko looked at me confused. “The tea.” I pouted, he raised his eyebrows then shook his head. He dug into his pocket, revealing the bag with the tea. My eyes lit up, “You got it!” He rolled his eyes, “Well I wasn’t going to leave it there, we paid for it.” I took the ginseng for Iroh and handed it back to him. he just stared at the bag, “You didn’t need to buy tea for your narrative.”

“You know, I can hear you at night Zuko. You really should get some sleep.” He didn’t say anything. I decided to leave him and go to Iroh. I grabbed a tea-pot and began brewing the tea. I sat on a log as I waited. I put my sword by my side and relaxed. I was going to be sore in the morning. I closed my eyes and rubbed my neck. I sighed deeply as I continued to stretch. “What did I go too hard on you?”

Zuko’s voice came from behind me, I looked back at him. He took a seat by me. I shook my head, “I actually think I slept wrong.” I joked, he laughed just slightly. “Oh, he laughs.” He rolled his eyes. He placed his swords by mine and looked over at me. My shirt had gotten messed up in the struggle and you could see some of the scars and bandages now. There was a look on his face, I couldn’t quite place. It seemed a little bit like guilt. “It’s the best way to learn,” I reassured him. If he went to easy on me, then I wouldn’t be prepared for real combat and I would be in even more danger. He nodded, “I know.” We sat in silence for a bit. “You mind if I use it after?” He questioned gesturing to the teapot. I smiled, he was actually going to listen for once. I wasn’t going to let him second guess himself. “Go for it.”

“Thank you. It wasn’t necessary but you did it anyway.”

“Of course, I need you sharp.” I grabbed the teapot than a tin cup and poured in the tea. I went to leave, but Zuko grabbed my arm. I turned back and he cleared his throat, “And I’m sorry for underestimating you. I didn’t mean it, you’re not useless. I see now why Iroh chose you, and what makes you special.” I hadn’t heard Zuko apologize often. I was in complete shock. He really warmed up. He let go of my hand. “I appreciate it Zuko. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” I kept the tea steady as I walked. I made my way to Iroh’s tent. Before entering I asked for permission. He gave me confirmation and I pulled back the fabric of the tent. “I smelled ginseng.”

⮩

“We need to get going. We drew too much attention yesterday.” We packed up and decided to move north. “How about we settle in one of these villages for now?” I looked at Zuko. We both figured we go could farther. “Maybe we should move a bit further?” We walked for as long as we could. We had put a lot of distance for now. This village was relatively small and farm-oriented. It was dark now and we just needed to find a place to settle. I made sure to grab Zuko and Iroh’s wanted posters to help minimize recognition. We grabbed some supplies at small vendors and continued looking.

“Hey look.” I pointed to a more secluded building, it looked run down and dark. “No one will notice us here.” Once inside my suspicions were confirmed. The building was empty, and had no signs of life. I sighed and threw my things down. “An actual roof over our heads.” It had been a while since we had slept in an actual building. I was more than content to sleep on the smooth ground. “I’m going to have a look around,” Iroh said before disappearing. There were a few rooms and I was curious but resting for a moment seemed better to me. I spread out my sleeping bag and decided to just lay down. I set a small fire to keep us warm, but not enough to light the room and draw attention. Zuko just sat there, with his knees close to his chest. He was deep in thought. I turned to him.

“What are you thinking about?”

“His trail is cold.”

I had noticed he had less of an effort to find out information about the avatar. There were some bursts of motivation, but he seemed more confused lately. Ever since the attack at the North pole he seemed more subdued. Before then there was a drive stronger than anything else. Now there were moments he didn’t look for any signs of him for days. “What happened?” He separated from us when he was there. He got into the city walls to try and bring the avatar himself. He was cold for a long time. I knew he had gotten caught in a blizzard, it was a miracle he made it out. “He spared me. He could’ve left me in the snow but he didn’t. He has spared me on more than one occasion.”

It seems he was beginning to have a change of heart. He was slowly letting go of his grudge. “So now what?” He sighed, “I don’t know anymore. I have dedicated so much of my time trying to find him. But now I don’t know anymore.”

“Let’s just settle down for a bit and catch our breaths then. Just while you figure things out.” Iroh must’ve found a room to settle into. He stayed there for the rest of the night. I was too tired to move and I had already settled in. Zuko kept close to the door. He was always ready to move. I knew he wasn’t going to settle into a room. It was unlike him. He didn’t really speak for the rest of the night. I drifted off and got some rest.

In the morning we all decided to head out. “I’ll see if I can find some work.” Iroh of course decided to go to a tea shop. Zuko insisted he was sick of tea and would rather do anything else. We didn’t have too many options. finally a blacksmith’s caught my attention. We walked in and saw a single man. “What can I do for you?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the weapon he was sharpening. “We were hoping to find work. We’ve been traveling for a long time and we just need some money.” He looked between us. We looked the the part. Our clothing wasn’t in bad shape but we looked beaten down. Our shoes were worn from walking.

He sighed, “Well, just be aware this isn’t the job for everyone. There is sharp objects everywhere, as well as the fire used to forge the weapons.” Zuko broke his silence. “We are able to handle ourselves.” There was a slight edge on his voice. He didn’t like being underestimated. I put my hand on his shoulder, “Please?” I added in for good measure, trying to be as gentle as I could.” He reluctantly agreed. He showed us around and made sure we knew how to work everything. We had our share of experience, in weapons but we didn’t want to make it obvious.

He left us in the back of the forge, while he traveled to the front. “Tsk, what makes him think this is dangerous?” Zuko held his hand over the flame. I grabbed his hand and moved it away from the flame. “You know we can’t do that here.” He unclenched his fist, and relaxed a bit more. “I know.”

“Let’s just get through the day.”

⮩

Part 2

#zuko x reader #zuko #avatar #atla #atla imagine #prince zuko #alta zuko #zuko alta

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myheroaizawashota · 5 years

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[Southern wives part 2??? Heck yes!! I think Toshinori would be the CUTEST with a small little southern lover. A small little five foot southern woman who’s a spitfire like Reba McEntire who can cook like Paula Dean and who’s got sex appeal like Dolly Parton! Haha someone who just grabs Yagis heart and makes him weak in the knees! Maybe we’ll finish the trend and do a Present Mic x Souther wife reader haha @heroes-r-us ]

America, a land of grest diversities. The country always appealed to Toshinori, even from a young age. Spending his glory years between the great states of America, he often found himself compelled with the culture. It always astounded him how vastly different each state was. He’d spent time in California and in states like Michigan. From New Hampshire to Texas, the man had traveled to just about every coast of the widely known country, praised for their blend of strong traditions. Though out of every region he’s visited, even the west coast, one of his favorites was the south. It held such a deep heritage and held some of the richest subculture. From the flavor driven foods, to the charming atmosphere each of the southern states held, the man was captivated. It was no shock that when he returned to Japan, he’d bought a little piece of the states back with him. It seemed like the culture of south wasn’t the only thing the Japanese hero had fallen in love with while visiting over seas. All those years ago, he fell in love with you.

You were patient and sweet as the pies you crafted while also being headstrong and as fierce as a coyote in a chicken coop. His love for you was passionate and wild, like driving 90 down the freeway with the top of your car down and the radio blasting. If you asked the symbol of hope and peace, he’d tell just about anyone he knew from the first time he met you that you were the girl he would marry. Even after all these years, it still made you blush. It was moments sweet like those that made everything you’ve gone through worth the while. Holding such a high price on his head, the number one pro hero always kept your love hidden away from everyone. ”I would never be able to forgive myself if a villain came after you because of who I am Y/N.“

You could understand your husbands protective nature. Being seen out with him would cause a far bigger problem in your relationship than anything, so you agreed to keep your love under wraps. You were understanding when the pro left home without his wedding band daily, and when the pro acted as if he was unattached to anyone romantically. It hurt, but you understood it was all only to protect you. Though when the keepers of fate wrapped their stings around your husband, claiming the entirety of his left side and an immense amount of his power, things began to change. Soon enough being All Might became a different face from being Toshinori Yagi. Unable to maintain a steady body weight from the devisteting wound to his body, the pro hero quickly became unnoticeable to the public while his quirk was dormant in his body. This man put you in constant worry every time he left the house. Knowing that his quirk ate a massive amount of energy, weakening his body and injuring him, you couldn’t help but worry constsntly.

You never just sat by with your hands under your rear waiting to know he was okay though. Hell even if you were as quirkless as a new born baby, it didn’t stop you from helping your husband out the best you could, supporting him on all fronts. You’d make sure he didn’t over push his limits and giving him one hell of an ass chewin’ when he did. In these days, you were his rock. Some days he couldn’t believe that you still loved him as much as you did. He was proud to have you as his partner. Long after his looks had faded, the face of all might being nothing more then a costume for the crowds, you remained. Well after his strength had left him, the little embers of his quirk fueling the short burst of power he could scrape up, you still stood by his side. You never stopped caring about that foolish reckless man, he was your husband after all.

That’s why when he was late to dinner, you couldn’t help but stand an inch away from a duck fit. “It is nearly seven at night, where in the lords good name is that man? He is really tryin’ my patience tonight” you mumble, undoing the apron around your waist and draping it casually over the back of your chair. You wandered your way over towards your phone, you giving his a ring.

After the thrid or so he picked up the phone, his tone soft and hushed. “I know i know I’m late for dinner, i lost track of time with Young Midoriya. He’s making great progress, I guess I kind of lost my head about how late it was getting.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose you gave a tested sigh “you are one blessed man Toshinori Yagi, you’re lucky I love that rump of yours. Hurry up and get yourself home, dinner is done. I made your favorite.”

You could all but hear the smile in his voice when he responded back with “chicken fried steak?”

You couldnt help the grin that tugged it’s way across your lips. “With all the fixings. Biscuits and gravy with tatters on the side.”

His stomach all but growled at the thought of that, well if he had one he was sure it’d be growling at the idea. He watched as midoriya continue to swing his leg out, winds tunneling around him from the strength of his kicks. He was proud of that boy, every day he worked harder to reach his goal. He’d make a fine hero one day. “I’ll wrap things up shortly dear, I’ll be home soon, I’ve got to before midoriya notices me on the phone.” He whispered quickly hanging up.

You rolled your eye. That man was something else. As time continued to roll past, it now seven thirty, your husband still wasn’t home. You were madder than a box of frogs. Huffing up a storm, you packaged the food up, setting it into three nicely kept bento boxes. “When I get down there, that man better be prayin’ to Jesus. He’s about ready to get my damn boot up his ass...” you grumbled as you gathered the food and left your home.

It wasn’t as if Toshi was near home training either. You dragged yourself all the way down to the beach, those typically sweet lips of yours pulled into one fierce pout. Lord help this man, for he was about to be begging for forgiveness. It was late at night, no one else was around but you your husband and his predecessor. Storming the beach, you couldn’t help the heat bubbling in your stomach. Never mess with a southern woman, and never be late for a meal. “I’m so mad with you right now I could chew up a whole box o’ nails and spit out a barbed fence.”

Toshinoris shoulders hunched as he slowly ran a hand through the messy strands of blond hair that stuck out at the back of his head. “I’m in a lot of trouble aren’t I?”

“Oh you bet your bottom dollar you are.” You looked fiercesome. Hell you looked madder then a wet hen. You had a look on your face that could scare even the rowliest of bulldogs. “Your fixin’ to find your rear end on the couch tonight. You’re lucky I love you so much, or I would let you starve” you huff handing the rail thin man a box of food. “Since y’all clearly won’t be done anytime soon, please don’t rush on my account.”

Toshinori couldn’t help but feel guilty. He knew dinner was an important part of the day as a family. It was were the two of spent time together discussing your days and enjoying each other’s company. He looked at the meal in his hands, those hollowed blue eyes of his apologetic as he stared back at you. He was about to say something when the child claimed by your husband as his successor spoke out, pulling the attention toward him. “all might- hey all might!” He shouted running his way closer from the distance, panic setting into his eyes when he saw you standing there. “uH UH IM JUST KIDDING THIS ISNT ALL MIGHT” he nervously laughed looking up at his mentor with large eyes begging for forgiveness.

“Kid, relax...its okay..” your husband sighed, his frail but large palm resting on the boys shoulder.

The small boy balled his fist, tucking them to his chest as he looked between you and your husband. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he sensed that you were someone his teacher knew. He listened and watched as you folder your arms across your chest, shifting your body weight as you glared your lover down. “You drive me up crazy some days ya know...I spend all day frettin’ over if your okay or not. If ya weren’t gonna be home for dinner you could have gave me a call. God went and gave ya ten fingers and two hands. Coulda’ used them to let me know you’d be running late.”

The boys eye went wide, his stomach dropping as shock spread across his features “all might do you know this woman?” He asked, teeth digging into his lip in anticipation. Was this all mights wife! He couldn’t believe it! An American girl, how long have they been married? Did they have kids! No he’d have known that, the world would have, but if he was married wouldn’t the world know that too? Midoriya babbled to himself, unaware his inner thoughts soon became outter thoughts. It wasn’t until his teacher slammed the side of his hand down on the top of his head that he stopped his frantic speaking. “Sorry....”

“Gez, we gotta work on that kid. That never gets any less creepy. I want you to listen closely to me Young Midoriya. What I am about to tell you can never be shared or repeated. As my successor, our lives are now connected as one. Much like the secret of our shared quirk, promise you will never speak this to anyone. It’s dire that you agree.” Now that toshinoris power was nearing its end, it was important more than ever that no body else know the knowledge that was about to be passed on to the child in front of him.

Lips pressed together, fist clenched now at his side, midoriya gave a solid nod in agreement. Toshinori could tell by the look in the boys eyes he was serious about this bond of trust, he releasing the breath he’d been unintentionally holding. Softly sliding his free hand into yours, he innertwined your finger together squeezing your hand softly. “Midoriya i would like you to meet my wife, Y/N.”

Shocked by your husbands full trust in the boy, you stood blinking for a moment. Never before had toshinori introduced you to anyone as his wife. It fluttered your chest. The small boy all but fell to the ground in shock, he bowing immediately “ITS VERY NICE TO MEET YOU IM SO SORRY I KEPT ALL MIGHT BUSY” He apologized, words flying past his lips at a million miles an hour.

He was a bit high strong, but he was cute. The passion in his eyes, the way he looked so determined. It reminded you a lot of your husband. You couldn’t help but give a soft laugh, shaking your head. ”Aw hell, I guess I can’t be too mad. It ain’t exactly your fault. Someone shoulda kept a check on that time, not that I’m gonna go throwin fingers at anyone.”

Toshinori couldn’t help but smile, eyes casting down at the floor as he rubbed at the back of his neck. You smiled and handed one of the remaining boxes over to Midoriya “now I ain’t to sure your gonna like it, but I figured with the way this one trains you’ve gotta be hungrier than a hippo right now. Why don’t you two take a break and we get our feed on. I hear quite a bit about you young man, but I think I’d like to know a lil more about you myself.”

The boys cheeks flushed red, as did his mentor, you giving a laugh. The three of you walked back towards a set of benches, eating as your husband explained how the two of you met, how you fell in love, and his reasons as to why you’ve been hidden from the public. The boy was inquisitive, his eyes bright as he learned more about his idol than he’d ever hoped to know. You watched as both boys scarfed their food down, toshinori giving you a soft kiss to the lips. “I won’t be out much later, I promise this time. Thank you for bringing us dinner.”

Midoriya face was red, as he pulled the brim of his shirt up past his nose. This was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. “Yeah yeah, don’t get all used to it. Next time I’m draggin’ your ass home by the ear if I gotta. Don’t y’all make me come back out here! It was nice meetin’ you Izuku. Don’t be a stranger, now that ya know the truth, feel free to drop on by and say hello! You’re always welcome at ours anytime. Maybe then I won’t have to drag dinner all the way to the beach” you laughed. “You two enjoy yourself now, ya hear? I’ll see you at home Toshi, I love you”

You made your way back to the car, humming at your lovers response, snickering to yourself. “I love you too....come on kid, let’s get back to work. We’ll go for a little while longer and then we should get you home or I’m going to get myself into trouble all over again...my couch isn’t comfortable.”

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #my hero academia #toshinori x reader #toshinori yagi #hizashi x reader #yamada hizashi #bnha requests #eraserhead #bnha aizawa #all might x reader #my hero academia request

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endof-theline · 5 years

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AU Yeah August | Day Eleven: Body Swap

Loki decides to help their relationship along by doing a little body swap magic, no one's sure how Loki's mind works...

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209528

The past week, the phrase 'I'm going to kill Loki' was one thrown around constantly as the trickster god was staying in the tower with his brother and was causing havoc for the residents. The rest of the team were already annoyed at Bucky's and Tony's strained relationship as the pair were constantly bickering or avoiding each other but then staring at each other like they hung the stars, and then Thor invited Loki to stay with him to give them an even bigger headache.

Bucky woke up to see someone that looked just like him, slamming the door open and winced at the noise, which made him bolt up in shock. His chest started to hurt straight away and when he pressed his hand down on his sternum, his hand immediately hit metal making him gasp in shock.

"Yeah, woke up have we?!" The him that wasn't him shouted furiously as he charged over, Bucky jerked himself out of bed and stumbled when he had to look up to himself "Really? Metal in your chest and you still don't know what happened"

Bucky looked down at himself and then whirling around the room to realise he was in Tony's room, catching the mirror to see a very familiar face that wasn't himself "Tony?!"

"Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!" He exclaimed slightly hysterical, the metal arm glinting in the morning sun coming through the curtains "Somehow, and I'm guessing Loki, we've swapped bodies"

"What the fuck do we do?" Bucky snapped back as he stepped up to Tony who instantly stepped back, Bucky's eyes roamed over his own body to inspect his entire body "I can't be you!"

"No, you can't! And I can't be you, we're going to have to tell the rest of the team and Bruce should probably run a couple tests on us to make sure we’re okay, make sure this hasn’t messed us up too badly” Tony rambled on anxiously and Bucky frowned at himself, not used to seeing all of the emotions of his face and slightly worried still at the pain in his chest.

“Fine, let’s go” Bucky just waved his hand before yelping slightly as Tony grabbed his wrist and pulled him “Ow! Lemme go, that hurts!”

“Oh shit, sorry. I’m really sorry, Bucky, I didn’t mean to I usually can’t even begin to move you or Steve” Tony let go and jerked back from him like he had been the one in pain, god Bucky hated himself looking so fearful “I know how much that can hurt and-”

“What?” Bucky spat out again, rage fueling his words “What do you mean you know how much that can hurt? Have I hurt you before and don’t lie to me Tony, I know what I look like when I lie”

“Only once, you were really mad and I didn’t want to go to debrief so you dragged me there, I didn’t want to say because you were already upset and I knew if I told you, you were going to get madder” Tony explained and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, flinching a little at the feel of his longer hair as pain flashed in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have gotten mad at you ” Bucky pointed out as he took charge and started to lead Tony down to Bruce’s lab, ignoring Tony’s weak protests in the background.

“Hey Tones, what can I help with?” Bruce chirped as soon as Bucky came around the corner and then as he spotted Tony, he cocked his head to one side curiously “Oh and Bucky, need me to finish a fight?” He teased them making Tony huff a laugh which made Bruce look shocked.

“‘Bout that Brucie Bear, Bucky and I have seemed to have swapped bodies” Tony said as he walked past Bucky and when it was on a different person, Bucky realised how much Tony swung his hips as he walked “I’m Tony in Bucky’s body and that’s Bucky in my body”

“Wish he was lying to ya” Bucky shrugged when Bruce turned to look at him, he hated the hidden excitement in Bruce’s eyes while Bucky was living one of his worst nightmares, after not feeling like he owns his own body or feeling out of control of it, being in a completely different body while seeing his run around with someone else in side it.

“We need to run some basic tests so we know if you both are okay according to your swapped bodies normal results” He explained before leading both of them to the hospital beds he had set up in case someone on the team got injured, Tony settled easily while Bucky stayed tensed up and feeling cagey.

“Is it normal for you to have chest pains?” Bucky asked as he palmed his chest, trying desperately to make it stop or at the very least to dull the pain.

“Well yeah, I’ve got an arc reactor pressing against my stomach and lungs constantly” Tony looked over to him with a look on his face that told him he should have probably known that about him “Thought you knew? It’s why I can’t spar with you guys all the time, plus if it gets damaged there’s a pretty high chance I’ll die since it’s keeping shrapnel out of my heart”

“Well I didn’t, guess you know already about my arm pains?” Bucky huffed out and Tony just held the metal arm out to him with a raised eyebrow “Yeah, yeah, genius”

“It’s fine, can you do me a favor though? While we’re swapped, could you tie my- your hair back for me? I never got the hang out it and I kept messing Pepper’s up while she taught me” Tony asked nervously and Bucky looked at him confused before nodding as he sat up, Tony was sat up straight away and flinched a little when Bucky slid the hair tie off of the metal wrist.

“You don’t like my hair?” Bucky teased to try and distract Tony as he saw the man cringe and jerk the second Bucky touched Tony’s hair.

“I like it on you” Tony laughed awkwardly before whimpering when Bucky ran his fingers through his hair to gather it “I- I just have bad memories of having longer hair”

“Got pulled around?” Bucky guessed easily as he had had the same experience with the HYDRA handler’s but he actually prefer the longer length, Tony shook his head and stayed silent until Bucky had finished tying it back into a small bun.

“Ten Rings grabbed my hair to keep my head under water while they drowned me, wouldn’t let go of me until I was on the floor gasping and coughing out all the water I had breathed in” Tony said in a very dull voice, his face blank, and Bucky realised how terrifying he looked when he did that, no wonder people avoided him when he stared at them like that. Bucky was just about to speak up when Bruce charged back into the room with a bright smile on his face.

“Okay, so both of you are perfectly healthy and the bodies you are in haven’t been affected by the swap at all. It seems that your minds have swapped bodies but left the rest in tact” He declared and Tony slid out of the bed with ease while Bucky stumbled very slightly as he overcompensated for his weight that wasn’t there anymore “You’re both free to go!”

“Time to find us a Loki” Bucky growled and once again stamped out the room, leaving Tony to chase after him, the picture of the pair made Bruce laugh as he rolled his eyes.

Loki had been expecting visitors all morning and was quite surprised that they didn’t turn up until around lunchtime. He laughed when Bucky, in Tony’s body, tried to pick him up only to realise that he didn’t have the height or strength for it but almost screamed when Tony lunged for him instead, now that he definitely had the height and strength for it.

“I should throw you out the window now I’ve got a chance” Tony snarled as Loki scrabbled at the hand around his throat, Bucky very quickly realised that the god couldn’t actually breathe while actually needing to do that action quite desperately “Change us back!”

“Let him go, Tony, you’re hurting him!” Bucky shouted as he rushed over and tried pulling at Tony’s arm, only getting pushed back with ease.

“I don’t care, I want to be back in my own body!” Tony shouted angrily as he let go of Loki’s neck but moved to grip his chin instead and held him up against the wall like that “Why the hell would you do this? You know Bucky has a problem about controlling his own body and then you give me his body! You give him a weak, old, chronically pained body that’s nothing like his actual one, just to fuck with us?!”

“Bucky!” He heard Steve yell and only Bucky in Tony’s body turned to look at the Captain who was rushing to the scene, about to shove Tony off of Loki. Steve crashed into Tony and pinned him down with an ease that only Steve had, Tony fought against him furiously and panted through his anger and upset.

“Steve, let him go. You don’t understand!” Bucky tried and pulled at the back of Steve’s shirt, only to get swatted at making Bucky frown and smack Steve’s back hard “Let him up, asshole!”

“Tony, what the fuck are you on about?” Steve growled over his shoulder and Bucky actually swallowed and stepped back as Steve loomed over him, Tony getting to his feet with a huff and glaring daggers at him and Loki equally.

“If you get my body fucked up by Steve, I’m jumping off the roof!” Tony told him annoyed and already bitter.

“You better not!” Bucky growled past Steve making the blonde look between them confused “We swapped bodies, punk, I’m Bucky in Tony’s body and he’s me”

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry Tony” Steve rushed out embarrassed making Tony laugh at Bucky’s offended face, the rest of the team came down and to avoid any other fights or confusion Steve explained to them what had happened as the body swapped pair braced for teasing.

Loki informed them that the swap would tomorrow morning before they woke up just like it had started this morning before disappearing for the rest of the day to avoid getting attacked once again by the furious genius turned super soldier. The team teased the couple for the first hour or so before giving them sympathetic looks and trying to help out for the rest of the day.

Bucky and Tony had decided to fall asleep on the sofa together just in case and if it worked then they could wake each other up and go to their normal bedrooms, so if Tony woke up before Bucky in his normal body but laying over Bucky, he wouldn’t tell as he settled back down to rest.

#au yeah august #eotl writes #buckytony #winteriron #Bucky Barnes #tony stark #body swap #fanfiction #stories

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distressedpanda · 4 years

Text

Her Song (Loki x OFC) Part 11

Warnings: No real warnings, mentions of blood maybe?

A/N: I am just going to preface this with the fact that I am not a scientist, lol. I did do quiet a bit of research and just followed it the best I could. (Trust me if anyone has any knowledge what so ever on the subject, you will know what I am talking about.) Also this chapter is fairly short compared to my previous chapters. Soooooooo. . . . . . . . . you get two chapters today!

I know I did this last time I posted but please don’t get used to it.

As always if you wish to be tagged just let me know.

Tags: @whosaidididthat @thenatallie

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Iloa had to admit as she made her way down the hall to the lab, she did feel much better. Still grinning after daringly challenging Loki with her kiss, she entered the airlock leading into the Biochem Lab.

Banner sat hunched over a microscope, at a table near the back of the lab. Running her fingers through her now wind swept hair from the sterilizing blast in the airlock, she waited until he lifted his head from the scope. He leant to write something in a notebook and she cleared her throat softly, hoping she wouldn’t startle him too much.

He spun on the stool to face her immediately. Smiling broadly, he spoke in a concerned voice, “You are awake already.”

It wasn’t a question but Iloa nodded slowly in response, “Yeah Doc, I was kind of awake before you left. Or at least I was waking, or something like that,” she stumbled over the end of her sentence, hoping she made some sort of sense.

Banner’s smile grew impossibly wider as he chuckled, “I understand,” he raised a reassuring hand, then turned it palm up, asking, “Is he ready?”

She sighed heavily, feeling suddenly bone tired again, “Honestly, no. But I have to find Thor and figured now would be better than later. That way you can do what you need to with privacy,” she felt the heat return to her cheeks, remembering Loki’s comment about maintaining his dignity.

Banner shook his head at her, chuckling lightly again, “Sounds good. Let me finish up here.”

Grabbing a small glass dropper with a translucent yellow liquid inside, he lent back over the microscope. He squeezed one drop on the slide, to join the crimson liquid already there. Gazing into the lens, he clicked his tongue making more notes in the notebook.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Iloa stepped closer, “What are you working on?” she asked, watching the liquid mix, temporarily becoming a clear red before returning to its earlier crimson.

Banner sighed watching the reaction through the lens, “I am trying to find a pain medicine that will be effective for one of your kind,” He lifted his gaze to hers, adding, “Unfortunately, I am not having any luck. This isn’t really my area of expertise.” He admitted with a shrug, before continuing, “Your chemical make-up attacks any drugs introduced and kills it immediately. I have been lucky with the ointment I use for Loki’s treatment. The silver stops the spread of infection, but it still isn’t absorbing enough to stop pain as well.”

Iloa scrunched her nose up at this, “Is that my blood?” She couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten it.

“No, it’s Loki’s,” Banner clarified.

“Oh,” her face relaxed before she added, “But Banner, Loki isn’t one of my kind.”

Banner clicked his tongue, “True, but your blood seems to work in the same ways. I have tested Thor’s blood as well, with the exact same results, unfortunately.” He slid the chair back, gesturing toward the microscope, “Would you like to have a look?”

Iloa eagerly stepped forward in front of the scope. She licked her lips nervously, “You are going to explain what I am looking at, right Doc?”

Banner chuckled nodding, “Of course,” he reached forward, fixing a fresh slide. With the fresh drop of blood placed carefully in the center, he switched slides explaining, “This is an unaltered drop of Loki’s blood. Go ahead and take a look.”

Banner leaned back and Iloa lent forward, pressing her eyes against the lenses. She watched with rapt fascination as Loki’s blood cells danced on the slide before her eyes. She was certain there was another name for the movement, but to her it was simply a beautifully elegant, graceful dance made visible to her eager eyes. She couldn’t help but think how much this inside specimen matched the outside him as well.

“Wow,” she breathed. She couldn’t say that she would ever be one to go into the field of medicine, but she couldn’t deny the appeal.

With her face still pressed against the lens, Banner reached around her for another dropper. This one contained a clear liquid, “Watch this,” he instructed, squeezing a drop onto the slide.

She watched the cells dance as the new substance was added to their space. Immediately their movements became panicked and erratic, attacking the liquid until it disappeared leaving them to continue their before steady pace.

“What was that?” she asked tucking her hair behind her ear and pulling her gaze to the man at her side.

“That was morphine. Which should have made the cells calm or even still. Instead,” he waved his hand at the scope as his explanation. “I have tried codeine, fentanyl which is what I was using when you came in, hydromorphone, meperidine, and even choose something as mild as acetaminophen. All with the exact same results.

“I am honestly at a loss. I can’t seem to find a way to ease Loki’s pain, nothing works. With him awake now, it is imperative that I find a solution. Changing those bandages and applying a fresh treatment will be excruciating otherwise,” he threw his hands up in exasperation, “But I have nothing.”

He sounded so defeated that Iloa didn’t even think about stopping the words suddenly slipping from her lips, “That’s not true.” Banner quirked an eyebrow at her. She sighed heavily, knowing she should have just kept her mouth shut. Fighting a losing battle to keep her trap shut this time. She wasn’t ready to see Loki any more vulnerable than she already had. But knowing that he would indeed be in agonizing pain without her holding him through the experience, made her heart clinch and twist violently in her chest. If she could provide him comfort, she knew she would. She had been so scared that he would never wake up. That even if her ears finally healed, it would end up being too late for him. She knew what she had to do. Blushing fiercely, she finally whispered, “You have me.”

“But Iloa. . .”

“No,” she cut him off quickly. “It’s the only thing I can do for him right now. With my ears injured, I can’t heal him. But I can keep him from feeling pain.” Banner stayed silent, obviously awaiting further explanation.

“When I fell asleep with Loki earlier,” she began, casting her eyes down to her feet, hair falling around her face. Her hands wringing together frantically in her embarrassment. “He said he no longer felt any pain. I don’t know why that is, but I know I can use it.” Her cheeks heated to an uncomfortable temperature. She had one more detail she needed to add, “It just. . . umm. . . has to be. . .” she swallowed thickly forcing the last words past her lips quickly, “Skin-to-skin contact.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look up at him, but she still caught his hand fly up to his mouth. He covered his lips with the back of his hand, an obvious attempt at hiding his amusement. After a moment of silence that was quickly slipping into uncomfortable territory, he cleared his throat. “Al. . .” he made a noise like a hiccup and cleared his throat once more before trying again, “Alright, you go find Thor and come back down to the recovery room. I will get everything ready and I could honestly use Thor’s help, if you are okay with that?”

Iloa nodded, finally looking up at the man that was still very obviously trying to hide his mirth. Spinning on her heels, she made for the airlock quickly. Her mind, just as tired as her body now.

She found Thor in the living room on the first floor of the building. Talking animatedly with Steve about something she didn’t care to pay attention too. As soon as he caught sight of her, his story immediately died on his lips. He jumped up from the couch he had been lounging on, his before boisterous features turning stony and worried, “Iloa?”

Her name a simple inquiry that held so many different questions without needing any further words. She smiled cautiously, “He is awake,” she stated, answering every unvoiced question.

Thor bonded to her, wrapping her tightly in a back breaking embrace, “Is everything alright. Why are you crying?” he whispered into her hair.

She was unaware of the tears that streamed steadily down her cheeks, “He is fine, well as fine as can be expected.” Her lips quivering, voice shaking, she shook her head against his shoulder, “I don’t know why I am crying.” She sobbed quietly, burying her face in his chest. Now that she had been made aware, the tears poured freely. Unrelenting sobs ripping from her chest, she clung onto Thor’s back, fisting her hands tightly in his shirt.

“Relief,” Steve’s voice filtered into her ears. She chuckled wearily, turning her face to see him now standing beside her and Thor. He reached out placing his hand gently on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

She nodded at him, the sobs calming to small hiccups, “I think you are right,” she whispered. He smiled and she returned the kind expression. Letting the hiccups fade, she let her two friends comfort her for a moment longer, before leaning back from Thor, “I am ok, really.”

Reluctantly, Thor dropped his arms grasping her hands in his instead. “Actually, Banner and I need your help changing Loki’s bandages.”

Thor nodded eagerly, “Of course, I would be happy to help.”

She freed her hands, rubbing her eyes and cheeks trying to clear the evidence of her tears. “Let’s go then,” she turned making her way back to the elevator.

“Do you need anymore help,” Steve called.

Iloa stopped abruptly, Thor almost barreling into her. Her cheeks heated and she tried to push down her chagrin when she answered, “I think we should be fine with just Thor,” her voice quavering with her unease.

Thor reached for her arm trying to turn her around, “More hands could always be helpful. If your voice is any indication you still aren’t fully recovered.”

She flinched at the mention of her altered voice. He was still trying to turn her to face him, but she stubbornly fought his hold. She knew her face was as red as a tomato, “I just think the fewer people the better right now, Thor,” her voice a low warning.

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would the doctor need my help if fewer hands are better?”

“It’s not Banner making this request,” she snapped, finally spinning to face him. She let her irritation light to anger, as she spit out, “I have to do something with Loki that feels extremely intimate to me and the less people to bare witness, the greater chance of me keeping my sanity and decorum intact.”

Thor’s brows met with his hairline and glancing over at Steve still across the room, she saw the mirrored effect there. Burying her face in her hands, she groaned loudly in humiliation. Thor chuckled, “Oh I have to know what is happening now.”

Spinning around again, she yanked her hands back to her sides, forming fists as she stomped away from him. “I will explain in the elevator.” She continued her spite filled exit, feeling much like a petulant child and not caring in the slightest. She didn’t even bother to wait and see if he was following her.

#loki fanfic #loki x ofc #tom hiddleston loki

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