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solinarimoon · 3 years

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Fields of Wildflowers , Chapter 13

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 13

A Sihtric x OC story

Previous chapters. | My masterlist

AN: Firstly, apologies for not updating or posting any original content for a few weeks. I was on vacation and taking a small personal break. But rest assured that this story will be concluded and that I have other content and other OC’s I will write for when this story is done. So thank you for your patience and continued reading and support! My timeline for events during the siege in Winchester is different from the show. I almost combined this chapter with the events for the next one but they would have been too long. Also, this chapter still does not feature much of Sihtric, but he will be in the next chapter! I promise! And the beautiful moodboard is from @serasvictoria. Check out her blog - beautiful and original work.

Warnings: non-con, male on female violence, self-defense violence, assault, sexual assault, I think that is all.

Word Count: 3553

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Since learning of Eardwulf’s presence in Winchester and the disturbing images in her dreams, which had continued nightly, Cwen’s composure had begun to falter. Shadows in lonely corners continually leared in the edges of her vision. A loud noise or commotion was enough to startle a gasp from her lips. While returning to the kitchens one evening, a dark haired man with a slim frame similar to Eardwulf rounded a corner, reeking of ale and stumbled into Cwen and Eadith grumbling to himself. The encounter was enough to leave Cwen shaking like a leaf in a gale. For the rest of that evening, Eadith couldn’t coax a word out of her friend.

Eadith was truly worried about Cwen and tried not to leave her alone when possible. The two women continued working in the kitchen and waiting for chances to sneak words to their friends. Although there was no real news to relay to them.

The siege continued. Sigtrrygr still had the upper hand and for all intents and purposes appeared to ignore Edward’s attacks on the walls outside. Cwen and Eadith had managed to speak a few more words through the door to Lady Aelswith and were confident they were managing as well as they could. Although held as prisoners, they were fed and given water. They were not ill treated.

A bit shockingly, Stiorra was being treated with even more dignity and respect. Cwen had managed to volunteer to bring Stiorra food a second time from the kitchens. All had gone smoothly and it had done Cwen some good to venture on the errand without the comfort of Eadith’s presence.

Stiorra had embraced her and assured her of Sigtrrygr’s kindness and courtesy towards her. And it was true that the young woman Cwen saw looked refreshed and lively. Cwen thought that Stiorra seemed quite taken with the conquering Dane. He, apparently, spoke with her as an equal and conversed with her, challenged her. And Cwen felt glad for the young woman. Seeing the blossoming of a potential young romance did make her heart ache to feel herself once more in Sihtric’s arms. She wished to move beyond the hard words spoken between them when they left one another.

When she had returned from delivering Stiorra’s food, Cwen felt a bit more like herself. Eadith had noticed the change in her friend as well. That one errand on her own had brought back more of the determined and confident woman Eadith knew.

Cwen still was watchful. She still steadied herself and her breathing regularly. But she had stopped her quaking and stuttering movements or being startled at every noise or turn. Her nightmares had also lessened.

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The chance to bring Stiorra her afternoon meal presented itself again several days later. Frig had yet again barked an order to any kitchen maid available to bring bread, cheese, and water to the woman, Stiorra. Careful to not seem too eager, Cwen had moved to gather the items and a basket in which to carry them all.

She paused just outside the door of the kitchen and gathered her breath. She could still see Eadith through the doorway and managed a small smile before taking a steadying breath and moving on her errand. Along the hallways, Cwen strode with confidence having become accustomed to walking the halls now occupied by Danes. She held her head down to avoid unwanted attention but walked with purpose to avoid unneeded questions. No one usually disturbed her or Eadith while they were about their business but all the same, Cwen thought it best to blend in and become unassuming.

As she turned the corner, Cwen heard muffled voices coming from the room where Stiorra was kept. Still several paces down the hall, she slowed her steps and strained her ears to better hear who was within. Thus far, her path had not crossed with Sigtryggr while he visited Stiorra. It might be best to completely avoid arousing suspicion that they knew one another.

But if Sigtryggr knew food should be on its way and she delayed it’s arrival would that not also be suspicious?

Cwen kept her head down and decided she would simply walk into the room and deliver the food. She could then see how events unfolded casually. Cwen was startled from her thoughts when the door to Stiorra’s room opened. And a voice she recognized spoke.

“I would always choose fear.”

Eardwulf backed out of the door and turned after closing it again, leaving whomever else was inside shut away.

The man appeared haggard and dejected. Fearful even.

As he turned, Eardwulf’s glare caught Cwen. She stood transfixed. A deer frozen after hearing the snap of a twig.

“What are you doing here?” Eardwulf sneered in a low voice as he stalked towards Cwen.

He reached a hand out to grasp at her sleeve, but it snapped life back into Cwen’s blood and she stepped to turn and run.

But he was himself too quick and easily grabbed her from behind and pushed her into an alcove of the hallway.

Eardwulf was quick to muffle Cwen’s cries with a hand over her mouth.

“If you are here then it means my whore of a sister must also be here. What is the plan then, eh? Have you two in here to spy and to snoop?” Eardwulf prattled on about the injustices and failures he continually faced all the while never removing his hand from Cwen’s mouth.

She stared, terrified at the man and his condition. Dark shadows rested in the hollows underneath his bloodshot eyes. His eyes themselves appeared deranged.

Finally, Eardwulf paused while bringing his head to rest against Cwen’s brow. His hand still clamped across her mouth making it hard to breathe. The pressure of his fingers was bruising.

“I will show them,” he whispered, not speaking to Cwen any longer but to some unknown collective.

“They will watch in fear as I show them what will become of those who threaten me.”

He drew back from Cwen, catching her eyes.

His breathing was haggard. Matching her own.

Cwen cursed herself for having Sihtric’s knife hidden strapped to her calf. Out of her reach.

Not like the knife Eardwulf now drew from a sheath at his waist and held up to her, the tip grazing along the dip in her clavicle.

“Not a word, Cwen. You are coming with me.”

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Cwen could not help but comply as Eardwulf led her, knife pressed against the small of her back, at the kidneys. The same place Sihtric had instructed her could incapacitate an attacker.

Her mind worked feverishly trying to find a means of escape from him. Or to even determine what he meant to do with her. How and who was he planning to strike fear into?

But realization soon struck her as Eardwulf escorted her up a set of stairs and out into the rampart. Facing Edward’s army on the field below. Facing her friends. Sihtric.

“Edward!”

Eardwulf’s voice grated as he shouted for the king’s attention.

“Edward! My Lord King!”

Eardwulf’s focus was now on garnering attention from the king, his grip had shifted, clasping an arm tight around Cwen’s throat and the knife held in his free hand. Braced against the stonewall of the parapet.

Cwen clasped her hands onto his arm desperately trying to break some of the hold he had on her. But his strength and size overpowered her. She watched as his fingers flexed and then gripped the knife repeatedly as he waited for any sign of reply from the king.

And then she heard him. Crying out to her with such fear and anguish that it almost broke her.

“Cwen!” Sihtric called, rushing forward from the base of the tree in the field. Osferth and Finan were quick to restrain him, to stop him from coming in range of any archer's arrows. What sounds followed in the next few moments we’re not words but the sounds of a man crazed. An animal desperate to act and protect what was his.

“Is that your man now, Cwen?”

Eardwulf’s words were hot against her cheek. Cwen could do nothing but watch while Sihtric struggled and fought against Finan and Osferth.

“I have struck fear in him. The rest will follow,” Eardwulf paused, scanning the crowd assembled to watch on the field. Edward had stepped out from the ranks of his men but had made no move to reply to Eardwulf. Seeing this, Eardwulf shifted his focus.

“Lord Uhtred!” He now called. Taunting.

“Lord Dane Slayer! Come forth Uhtred!”

Cwen watched helplessly as Sihtric finally stopped struggling against his brothers. He stared up at her, panting and flexing his jaw. Then Uhtred was beside them and striding forward several paces in front of them.

“We have your daughter, Uhtred.”

Eardwulf’s words stopped Uhtred in his tracks and caused the rest of his men to still.

“She is almost as good a hump as this one here,” Eardwulf yelled the words while releasing his grasp around Cwen’s shoulders to shove her forward by the nape of her neck.

Finding courage from his deception, Cwen yelled, “He lies! She is treated fairly and with respect,” but Eardwulf’s hand shoved her forward so that her head connected with the stone wall, dulling the last of her words.

Feeling dazed, Cwen could hear shouts from the men below. Sihtric’s voice was chief among them.

Then Eardwulf’s voice rose again over the shouts and protests.

“Now do I have your attention?” He paused while the soldier’s voices died down. “We hold the city. And we will continue to hold the city. Do you know how Sigtryggr took your city? I told him it was left undefended. It was me!” He paused here scanning the crowd and breathing hard. His hand still held Cwen bent over, braced against the stone wall.

“Too often I was overlooked or underused. Swept aside and discarded. But no more!” His words were coming out desperate now, pained. “Now you would have cause to fear me.”

Struggling to push herself upright, Cwen retorted, “you are nothing but a snake in the grass. A coward. That is why you will never rise. You will never become anything more.”

Cwen could feel the anger radiating off of Eardwulf. His entire body quivered with malice. She knew she needed to keep him off guard. Keep him impetuous if she was to find a chance to save herself. It was a dangerous game to play, to goad him on, but if she did not then she was sure this would end badly.

“Shut your mouth, whore!” Eardwulf snapped while dragging Cwen back upright against him.

“Sigtryggr has the power here, Edward! I have the power.”

Cwen flinched at his words. He had brought the knife back up to her torso, pressing against her breasts. But it was clear his attention wasn’t truly focused on her. Chaos and rage were emanating off of him. Cwen could feel his breath catching and the sobs seizing in his throat. The turmoil and fury he battled had won.

“And you will watch as I wield that power! I will hump this bitch now and then I will find your daughter, Uhtred, and I will hump her too. And you will not be able to do anything to stop me.”

Eardwulf’s final words were bellowed at the crowd below. It was then that Cwen felt the buzzing in her ears once more and time felt sluggish.

She could hear the shouts from the men gathered below. The din of the noise and the buzzing were too loud for her to pick out Sihtric’s voice, but she knew the anguish he would be feeling.

She felt as Eardwulf shoved her body forward once more, discarding his knife and bodily pressing himself against her. He fumbled with the bundles of her skirt, reaching down to grab handfuls of the fabric.

Cwen felt herself desperately try to push her body backwards, to gain any sort of leverage or purchase. In her struggle, Cwen brought her leg up bracing against the wall. And her hand brushed the handle of Sihtric’s knife.

With no hesitation, Cwen grasped the handle and pulled it from the sheath. Bellowing, she drove the blade back with an upward thrust from her hip with all the strength her arm could muster at such an odd angle. And she felt the weapon sink into flesh.

Immediately, the pressure holding her against the stone eased. Cwen ripped the knife from Eardwulf’s gut and whirled around.

Eardwulf’s hands were grasping at his abdomen where blood had begun to seep through his fingers.

Cwen was vaguely aware of boots clamoring up the stairs to her left. But she was more focused on the rush of adrenaline coursing through her body. Eardwulf turned his eyes back up to meet hers and lurched forward, hand reaching for her throat. And upon instinct, Cwen brought the knife up between herself and Eardwulf. She felt the tremor of the blade sinking into flesh once more as she pushed the blade outward and Eardwulf’s own momentum came crashing against it. The knife ripped past the flesh and scraped off of the bone, then tearing into his vocal cords. Cwen felt as slick, crimson gore seeped over her hand.

The buzzing had stopped. The running feet had stopped. The sounds of the shouts and yells from the field below were still slow and distant to Cwen’s ears. Slowly, she pushed Eardwulf’s body away from hers and let go of the knife.

Stepping to the side, Cwen watched as he dropped down on his knees and his head lolled forward. Fresh blood pooled out of his mouth. Cwen’s heart hammered in her chest and she felt a tingling moving along her body. First in her toes, then along her fingers, and traveling up her arms. Adrenaline roaring through her veins.

It was after a few more moments that Cwen became aware of the other person on the ramparts. Raising her eyes, Cwen saw that Sigtryggr stood only a few paces away, surveying the scene before him.

He lifted his hands in a gesture of peace and slowly walked forward. His eyes never left Cwen. Not when he closed the distance between himself and Eardwulf. And not when he stooped to grasp the knife handle, ripping it from Eardwulf’s neck. The gesture brought a new spurt of blood and elicited several choked coughs from Eardwulf.

Slowly, Sigtryggr grasped Eardwulf by the shoulders and pulled him up to his feet. The man’s life was slowly ebbing away. Cwen listened as Sigtryggr spoke to Eardwulf.

“Do you see what ruling through fear has earned you, Christian? I doubt there will be any who mourn your death.”

With those final words, the Danish conqueror grasped onto Eardwulf’s shoulders. He moved to the stone and shoved the man bodily over the parapet to crash on the hard earth below.

The shouts from the Saxons died on their lips. And Cwen watched as Sigtryggr held out his hand to her. The knife laid flat in his palm. An offering to her.

“He can hurt you no longer.” Sigtryggr’s voice was calm and low. It was collected and composed. And Cwen studied his eyes before she reached out to take the knife. They showed only sincerity.

Once she had taken the knife and stepped back a pace to have some space, Sigtryggr turned his attention towards the Saxons.

“King Edward of Wessex,” he shouted, “That man did not speak for me. And he is of no concern now.” Sigtryggr paused here, searching the crowd to see if he could find Edward among his men.

“Come on out, King. I have shown myself. Now let us see you. Come and meet me at the gate. I wish to speak with you, eye to eye. One man to another.”

Hearing his words, Cwen turned to scan the crowd. But while Sigtryggr was searching for Edward, her eyes were hunting for Sihtric. And he was there. His eyes were trained on her. Cwen could still see the desperation emanating off of him. The overwhelming yearning to be embracing his lover while only able to gaze from afar. Cwen felt it too. A physical pull lifting off her chest that there was no choice but to resist. Slowly, Sihtric’s gaze eased her breathing and Cwen felt the drain of exhaustion creep into her bones.

Sigtryggr’s next words caught Cwen’s attention.

“Bring the boys,” he spoke quietly to the guards standing along the stair to their left.

Cwen watched as Aethelstan and another young boy, Aelfweard presumably, approached. Without hesitation, Cwen reached her arms out to envelope Aethelstan. The boy embraced her wordlessly and headless of the blood Cwen noticed had begun to dry on her hands and arms, turning sticky. Sigtryggr watched while Cwen held her arm out to the second child, offering him a bit of maternal comfort and presence as well. Sigtryggr made no move to stop the boys nor even a face of disapproval. His eyes held merely curiosity.

“Meet with me, King Edward,” he called, turning back to face the warriors. “Come,” he paused, seeing that Edward had stepped forward, “and talk to us at the gate. Your sons wish to see their father.”

After an interminable time, Cwen watched as Edward’s standard bearer shouted up that the king would approach the gate and treat with Sigtryggr.

After he had confirmation that Edward would approach, Sigtryggr turned and gently ushered Cwen and the boys down the stairs, his men shifting to make room for their descent.

Cwen stiffened when she felt Sigtryggr place a hand on her back guiding her away from the front gate. Almost instantly, the hand was removed.

“Forgive me, lady,” he paused, questioning as Cwen turned to face him, the boys still clutched tightly to her, “I do not know your name.”

Cwen studied the man’s face once more. Standing closer to him, she could see more details surrounding the scars he wore along his brow and cheek. She also saw a startling depth and gentleness behind his eyes.

“Cwen,” she replied, “My name is Cwen.”

Sigtryggr’s lips quirked upward slightly in amusement. “Ah, so you are one of the young women who traveled the countryside with Stiorra in Mercia while I took Winchester?”

When Cwen did not answer, he continued, “Stiorra has mentioned you on several occasions. She likes you. Respects you,” he paused to turn and glance at some of his men and the gate, “I do not know how you came to be inside the walls, but it is of little concern. And I assure you that no more harm will come to you. I will have you taken to be with Stiorra. But the boys will come with me. I do not wish them harm. And let us pray to all the gods that their father will see reason and help us avoid that outcome.”

Cwen moved to place herself in front of the boys, but Sigtryggr’s men instantly were on her, overpowering her.

“Stop!” Sigtryggr had held up a hand and yelled the command. “You will unhand them.”

His men obeyed him without delay and he approached her placing a gentle but firm hand on her arm.

“You must give them to me now, Cwen. Trust me when I assure you that I wish to be different from the Northmen who have come before me. A better man than the Danes who have raped and ravaged your people. I do not,” he emphasized the word, “want them harmed. But this is what must be done.”

Sigtryggr held out his hands, one towards Aethelstan and one towards Aelfweard. Cwen turned her face to meet Aethelstan’s eyes. They boy nodded at her before reaching out and taking the outstretched hand. He was followed closely by his half-brother and Cwen slowly felt them both slip from her fingers.

Turning to walk to the gate, Sigtryggr spoke to the man nearest him.

“Bring her to Stiorra and see that she is allowed to clean herself and be fed. I will check that this is done later.”

“No,” Cwen protested, finding her voice frail and wavering. But gathering her courage, she spoke once more, “No!”

Sigtryggr stopped and turned his face over his shoulder to watch her.

“I,” she stammered, hesitating, “I was not alone here. Another woman, another friend of Stiorra, Eadith is here with me. I must find her. I fear for either of us to be alone.” Cwen’s eyes searched Sigtryggr’s face, pleading.

After a moment, the Dane gave a single nod before turning back to stride towards the gates.

Taking one step backwards and then another, Cwen turned and rushed off to the kitchens in search of Eadith.

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Tagging: @maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world @evelynshelby @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @trenko-heart @0hsappho

#the last kingdom #sihtric #sihtric x oc #fields of wildflowers #sigtryggr #tlk fan fic #tlk fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfiction

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kaz11283 · 3 years

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Of Course I'm Here

Characters: Come on you know by now how this goes (Loki x you) (Team x you, platonic)

Warnings: None. And really if you ever see anything that I might need to able as a warning please let me know... I'm the person who forgets there are people out there that get offened by the word F*** if that is an exapmle of anything.

Summary: Mid battle and the avengers keep looking for an answer as to why the God of Lies hasnt showed up yet. Of course you have no idea but at least he proves them all wrong.

ANNOUNCEMENT TIME: hey guys Im back, I know it hasnt been long but I also know I havent been posting every single day like I was, i got into a weird little funk where I didnt want to do anything, I was just feeling completly drained, and I felt bad because I have my little and I didnt even want to play with her because I have just been so TIRED, but I'm feeling better. Work has been kicking my ass here lately and ive been working over 50 hours a week so ive literally been coming in, eatting / feeding the little, getting us ready for bed, and crashing as soon as she falls asleep. But im here now. I will probably be more active on weekends than during the week because I have more time to spend working on stuff but I will be posting also during the week just not daily. At least until after state comes. Thank you so much for the reblogs, likes, comments, follows, and messages please keep them coming! If you would like to be tagged please ask or message, and requests are open. Love you guys so much! 💚💚💚💚💚

Loki Masterlist

~~~~~

"Y/N, BACK UP I NEED BACK UP! EYES IN THE SKY!" Tony yelled from above, you and Clint stood back to back on a roof top shooting as many bad guys as you could. Clint took aim at another carrier, shooting at the engine causing the entire thing to blow up raining debris and hot metal around you.

"Damnit Clint! Farther away make sure they are farther away!" You yelled popping him on the head with an arrow before aiming it at the thing that was chasing Tony.

"Where is lover boy at? You.sent him the location right?" Nat asked into the com.

"Yes I sent him the location, no I dont know where hes at." You mocked.

"Did you send him the right location?" Sam asked.

"One time, one dam-"

"Language!" Steve chimed in causing everyone to groan. Gun shots where ringing all around you and you could here metal on metal paired with Hulk screams coming from another building over.

"Language." You mocked muting your com son that no one but Clint heard you. "I am a 26 year old woman, I think I'm old enough to cuss if I want." You drew back your bow and sent another arrow flying into another goon that had Nat trapped aginst a wall. She shot you a thumbs up before running off. You hit unmute on your com.

"Jesus, 26? Baby, you sure you don't need to be at a babysitter instead of on a building killing things?" He laughed.

"Dont worry Hawk, when we get done here I've already booked you a nice nursing home to be put into." You put your bow around you and stood on the edge of the building. "I need a better view." You looked round, the top of a taller building caught you eye. "There Hawk, we can cover a better radius from up there, get closer to the action."

"DOES ANYONE KNOW WHEN THE GODS ARE GOING TO BE HERE? WE NEED MORE HELP WERE GETTING TIRED AND OUT NUMBERED!" Tony came over the coms screaming.

"How do we get up there? Or do I even wanna know?" Hawk came to examin where you were talking about.

"Im jumping, you cant tell me that someone wont catch me." You shrug.

"GODS WHERE ARE TH- Y/N DONT YOU DARE JUMP!" Tony stopped and hovered right were you was standing.

"Then take us over there. We need higher ground, we cant cover everyone from down here." You crossed your arms.

"Where are the gods at y/n?" He asked again

"I. Dont. Know. Jesus you guys act like I'm suppose to be there keeper!" A simultaneous you are came from everone through the com causing you to roll your eyes. "Hes gonna be here I swear it! Now take me to the building or I jump. 1.....2....-" Tony grabbed you by the collar of your jacket and flew you to the building.

God these things were everywhere and you were starting to run out of arrows. After shooting another ship and causing it to blow you heard what was unmistakably pounding on the roof top door leading to where you currently was at.

"I have some univited guests about to join my party. Anyone available for some assistance?" You yanked out the two emerald green and silver daggars that your boyfriend had given you not long after you had started dating after throwing your bow around you.

"Buy some time kid, I'm on ground level right now but I can try to get up there as fast as possible." Bucky called over the com.

"Buy some time? Ok. I can do this. I work better from afar but a little hand to hand never hurt anyone, just easier to get stabbed this way." The first of the things busted through the door running straight at you. You jerked out of the way missing his staff by just a few inches. Quickly turning you flipped the dagger like Loki had showed you and stabbed him in his side causing him to fall to the ground before the next one tried to impale you.

"I have two daggers and they have freaking staffs! Back up! WHERE THE HELL AR-" you were interupted by static in the air and a bright light. The bitfrost had just opened up leaving to gods standing in front of you and taking out the remainder ofnthe bad guys. "HES HERE! I TOLD YOU GUYS THEY WERE COMING AND THEY'RE HERE." You pulled two extra coms from you pocket and gave them to Thor and Loki.

"Always a pleasure to battle beside you Lady y/n." Thor smiled takkng the com and putting it in his ear before taking off again.

Loki sauntered over to you and put his arm around you waist, you put the com in his ear as he rolled his eyes. He leaned down and gave you a quick kiss.

"You got a new outfit." You smiled at him. God the way he looked in his battle clothe always did something to you, the horned helment was a plus.

"You like it." He smirked down at you pulling you closer.

"Your wearing your horns to." You reached up and brushed a peice if hair behind his ear.

"STOP. STOP NOW. WE CAN HEAR EVERYTHING AND ITS GROSS." Tony yelled causing you both to roll your eyes.

"Quick run down, bad guys everywhere, no end in sight, and I'm out of arrows pretty sure Hawk is too." Loki waved his hand over your quiver making more arrows appear.

"I see you had to use your daggers. I am sorry for not being here. Are you hurt anywhere?" He asked stepping away from you to examin you.

"Small cut on the side, nothing I havent dealt with before, Ill be fine. You go make sure Hawk is fully stocked up and help the others. I got a birds eye view of you right here." I leaned in kissing him one more time before smiling at him and pushing him away. He kissed his two finger before placimg them over his heart and you did the same, "always." You both said before he disappered.

You could hear Thor laughing at the chaos going on and Steve trying to direct the god of thunder on what to do. You had learned earlier to just let him do his own thing and he would be fine. Tony was still trying to micromanage everything when you heard Loki mumble something in an old language and his com cut out. You had figured it wouldnt have stayed on to long though but at least you had tried. It had calmed down up on your end so you decided to finally go back down to where Clint was at shooting an arrow with heavy duty rope you glided back down next to him to watch what was going on.

"Hello, earth to y/n." He snapped his fingers in front of your face. You had been to busy staring at Loki and that damn helmet. "I dont even understand why were friends." He rolled his eyes propping up on the ledge watching as the rest of the team secured the last of the bad guys.

"Because we both shoot arrows, because we are both the best in the team, or because we both know we are the best looking one on the team so we have to stick together." You laughed jumping up so you could sit on the ledge.

"The birds can come out of their nest now." Bucky called over the coms causing you both to sigh.

When you and Clint had reached the bottom you walked over to Thor theowing your arms around the big goof ball.

"You are amazing during battle as always." He beemed patting you on the shoulder.

"As always? Thor youve only fought with her twice." Steve said beside you.

"I had a week off. Went to Asguard, spent time with the boys. Someone had to keep them in line." You shrugged like it was no big deal.

"She was amazing!" Thor went on telling the story of the fight you had all gotten into.

"Mothers been asking about you by the way dear. Wants to know if you've decided to come stay for a while." Loki leaned down and whispered in your ear.

"I think I'm leaning toward a yes. I can't stand being away from you, you had been gone forever this time." You reached for his hand as you both walked to the quinjet.

"I was making arrangements to have our room redone. I figured you would come with me." He gave you a knowing smirk as he reached up to take off his helmet.

"Leave the horns on. I have a suprise for you when we get home." You pulled his hand away from his head and smacked his butt.

"You are a little minx." He laughed chasing you into the jet while the rest of the team groaned and rolled their eyes.

"Even if you wasnt moving i would be kicking your ass out! I am so sick of the PDA between you two." Tony hollared after you.

"Leave them alone Tony, they are courting. Im just glad my brother is happy and not trying to stab me." Thor clapped Tony on the back.

~~~~~

Tag List:

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@high-functioning-lokipath

#loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki #loki avengers #loki daily #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki x y/n #lokilaufeyson #loki one shot #loki (marvel)#loki imagine #loki masterlist #loki and thor

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fanficsrusz · 3 years

Text

POWER - Henry Cavill Smut

Warnings: Smut.

Pairing: Y/n x Henry cavill

Summary: Y/n's plan to seduce Henry backfires but in a wondrous way.

Word Cound: 7.7k

A/N: Its been a while since I've posted anything and I feel a little nervous 😅. However I've missed the thrill of creating a world all of my own. I also apologise for any spelling/grammatical mistakes. I havent edited anything for a long time so yeahhh.

Please comment/reblog if you enjoyed ❤️

"You're drunk"

The accusation, issued through Henry's teeth, was an angered hiss and Henry's reaction was everything that Y/n could have wished for… And more.

Y/n forced a little hiccup, feeling it bubble its way through her body before it made its escape out of her mouth, and almost laughed at the thin set of lips across from her that stayed in a straight line.

He looked positively prim - just like he always did.

"No-" she defended, "-I'm happy". The correction came with a sly smile, her upper body leaning towards him across the bar, her inner amusement increasing as she watched his body stiffen in annoyance.

Henry was keeping a distance between their bodies, as if he thought her intoxication may be infectious.

The hold he quickly took to her waist was more of a brace rather than an intention as she swayed forward and then backwards.

"Don't you want me to be happy, Henry?"

Y/n pouted, tilting her head back and looking at him with what she hoped would be a sultry invitation. She laughed, a bold, wicked sound that drew a few glances from others in the bar. Henry stared stiffly over her head, swallowing the lump in his throat that had seemed to form as he grew more irritated with the woman's involuntary outbursts.

"For God's sake, Y/n, control yourself", he whispered tightly.

Was he embarrassed by her lack of inhibition? No. It was quite the opposite. He felt… lost. As if he had no idea how to act in the situation he had found himself in.

It was normal for him, the playboy, to taunt her with his fancy words, to distract her with his sinfully dark looks and honeyed phrases, but turn the tables and he wasn't quite so poised himself and Y/n felt a delicious thrill of power at the knowledge that she had him off balance.

She deliberately let herself go limp in his arms, and, when his grip relaxed in relief at the stability her body found, she quickly slipped under his guard, pressing the entirety of her body sinfully against him.

Her tactics immediately threatened to backfire as Henry's coldly rigid body seemed to be generating an incredible amount of heat and that in itself was enough for her to lose focus of her goal.

She rested her check against his chest and willed away her trembling response even as she measured his annoyance by the wildly uneven thump of his heart.

"You'll regret this tomorrow," he told her sternly, his hands tightening painfully on her waist.

"'Why in hell did you drink all that champagne? Do you want to make a total fool of yourself, jeopardise a deal with Dere-?"

"Rubbish. Derek thought I was as graceful as ever; he told me so," y/n said airily, thinking that it was too late to regret drinking at a business meeting with her boss and other potential clients.

Y/n moved steadily in his arms to prove it, brushing her breasts against his chest, hoping that the crushed velvet of her dress would hide the multitude of her sins that had seemed to accumulate quickly throughout the night and not to mention the past year that she had worked beside Henry, every single dirty thought she ever had about him portraying itself as nothing more than a red stain upon her cheeks and chest.

She had never been sinful before, always a dutiful daughter, just as she had later been a faithful business partner to Henry but there was only so much a woman could take before she had to take drastic measures. Now she was neither a daughter nor a business partner. She was Y/n Y/l/n. Herself. A woman before anything else and more specifically a woman with needs.

"You're the only one who thought I was wrong for declining the partnership" , she drawled mockingly, too caught up in her reckless self-absorption to monitor his surfacing awareness. "Chill out, Henry. If you can't fix it with a snap of your fingers, you might as well lie back and enjoy the open bar…"

The thud of his heart had settled down to a swift, arrhythmic beat that set up a sympathetic vibration throughout her body from her scalp to the soles of her restless feet.

There was a small pause as he manoeuvred her pliant body away from another couple that wanted to get to the bar. Then he tilted his head to look down at her.

"Chill out?" Amusement leaked through his iron control as he suppressed the grin he held in tight. " wow- I never thought I'd hear street-slang from that elegant, business-lady mouth of yours…".

For a second Y/n gulped, thinking she had lost all control of the situation that she had perfectly built up all evening but then Y/n moved dreamily against him, fully immersed in her ideal scenario.

She linked her arms round his back and arched her neck slightly so that she could see his expression.

"But I'm not a lady tonight, Henry, I'm a woman," she said huskily.

"Should I lie back and enjoy that too?" he enquired cynically.

That conjured up indecent images that for a moment left Y/n shocked, breathless even and if it wasn't for the distant sound of a glass breaking somewhere in the bar then she would have stayed in her trance like manner.

Her lips parted as she tried to say something sophisticated in response but she couldn't think of a thing and for a moment she feared that she had lost the edge. Y/n bit her lower lip and suddenly he had control over her again, his voice rough with threat, as he gave her a small shake.

"Behave yourself, Y/n. Stop being so fucking provocative. You should go home"

"I'm not ready to go home yet" she mewled, eyes darting over to the dance floor that served as a pick up ground.

Henry sighed, his eyes following her gaze

"One dance, that's all you get. Then I'm getting you out of here before you start leaping onto table-tops and doing the can-can!"

"What a killjoy you're turning out to be, Henry" with fresh fury, she suddenly spun out of his arms and danced freely for a few moments before cutting mischievously in on another couple. Soon Henry was glaring murderously over the shoulder of a blonde woman while Y/n languished in the sweaty grasp of a nervous young man who was very aware of the hovering blue-eyed menace.

When Henry cut back in a short time later, Y/n was relinquished with ill concealed relief.

"You're playing with fire, Y/n" , Henry warned, his firm hand taking hold of her again. This time he held her so captively close that she could feel the lines of his suit being imprinted on her velvet dress.

She had the feeling that if he had been able to shackle both her wrists behind her back without attracting attention he would. He wanted to cage her, tame her, but tonight, surrounded by the security of a crowd, she was determined to be untamable, just to see how far she could push him.

"Mmmm, I know, and I feel so gloriously toasty and warm," she murmured wickedly, waggling her eyebrows at a passing male.

Henry swore under his breath and pulled her flirtatious eyes away from any male that passed by capturing her gaze before she could perform some similar impropriety. He quickly brought his own hand to his mouth to mask his aggression in the pretence of courtesy. She had been right about the shackling.

"You're drunk", he repeated raggedly, more as if he was telling himself than her. She rather liked the hint of desperation that seeped into every word he spoke. It was almost as satisfying as having him grovel at her feet.

Y/n laughed, a sensuous 'cat-with-the-cream' look of satisfaction on her face as she widened her eyes and purred, "But not incapable, darling…".

She tamed a deliberate misstep as she spoke so that her leg slid caressingly between his thighs as they turned.

Henry almost stumbled as she lifted her knee, briefly applying the pivoting pressure of her thigh firmly to the juncture of his. Her provocation had an immediate effect and she drew back instantly, finally aware that her teasing had gone too far. But it was too late. Henry had reached the end of his tether.

"Fine -" he seethed, "-we'll do this the hard way then"

Five minutes later Y/n was belted roughly into the passenger-seat of her own car.

" I'm perfectly fit to drive, Henry" she raged at the man who slid angrily behind the steering wheel before inserting her keys into the ignition.

"I'm as sober as you are!"

" For your sake, I hope that's a lie, Y/n".

His voice was nothing but a growl and y/n felt the shiver that started in her groin slowly rise up through her spine.

"But if it is true then maybe you've done me a favour. If you were teasing me deliberately I don't have to feel guilty for what I'm about to do." his eyes stayed focused on whatever he was staring at, his fists curling tightly around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned pale.

"Do?" Y/n asked faintly as the car sprang into motion with far more power than she ever managed to coax from under the unimpressive bonnet.

"Did you think I would calmly walk away like an obedient lap-dog when you got tired of your little game ?"

"I...I... didn't think-" she began to splutter.

"No? Just instinct, was it? Trap the beast, then rattle his cage until he howls? Wasn't that your goal?"

"Henry!"

He hadn't looked at her since they had got in the car, driving with a narrow-eyed concentration, but now he slipped a grim sideways glance at her shocked expression and what he saw there seemed to ease his ferocious tension but the wolfish twitch of his mouth wasn't reassuring

"You did, didn't you? You really thought I'd let you get away with it. You didn't think I'd have the guts to drag you kicking and screaming out of there"

Y/n swallowed the dry lump in her throat. She had definitely underestimated her victim and definitely forgot to plan this far ahead.

"'I wasn't kicking and screaming," she protested weakly, avoiding the obvious answers he wanted.

"Not on the outside maybe. But your innocent act never did cut any ice with me" Henry's eyes glanced over at Y/n

Y/n clenched her fists tightly, until her nails dug into the palm of her hand, but she barely noticed. The only thing she was really aware of, was the sound of her heart throbbing against the cage of her chest.

It wasn't until she looked up into the rear view mirror, that she noticed she had been biting her lip so much so that they were almost as red as the lipstick that had wiped off hours ago.

"Scared, Y/n?" Henry jeered softly as she swallowed again, this time audibly. "You should be." he said lowly

"What about your own car?" she began weakly, hoping that practicalities might prevail where argument hadn't.

"I'll pick it up tomorrow." Y/n went quiet. This fantasy was easier to plot when she didn't have to concentrate on parrying his verbal thrusts and she tried to calm her nervous actions with whatever had made her think that she could best him at his own game.

She wished she were drunk but all she could do was hope that the drive would cool down that scorched male pride. All she could do momentarily was create another plan.

When they would finally get back to her apartment building she would placate him, contrive to convince him that it had all been a silly mistake. For all his threatening manner, she knew instinctively that he wouldn't use violence to enforce his threats. He didn't have to... all he had to do to seduce her was to take her in his arms and then she would be at his mercy. But once she had bolted her door on him she would be safe from her own wicked urges.

He could rage and huff and puff all he liked but he wouldn't be able to get in. The irony was rather quaint. All the security locks that he had insisted she have installed on her doors and windows when he first found out she lived alone in a not so friendly neighbourhood would ensure that her virtue remained unassailable - well for tonight at least.

Y/n had almost convinced herself that she had already outwitted him when she noticed the unfamiliarity of their route.

"This isn't the way to my home!"

He ignored her. The moving light thrown by the passing street-lights illuminated his shadowed expression. It was a hard mask of satisfaction.

"Dammit, Henry, where are you taking me?"

"I told you. Home."

"This isn't where I live."

"I never said I would take you to your home. I simply said 'home'. It's not my fault that you assumed I meant your home."

Henry turned into a steep, dark, curving driveway that seemed to drop away directly into the deep black glitter of a Lake that Y/n didn't even know existed in the area.

Y/n's heart was in her mouth as the car swooped towards the water, but when they reached the lower curve into darkness, security lights suddenly flickered on and she saw the brick paved courtyard clearly for an instant before the car was swallowed by the lower level of the house.

The garage door closed automatically after them, and for a moment after Henry cut the engine, the only sound in the softly lit enclosed space was the faint ringing echo of the metal door. Y/n was irresistibly reminded of the metallic springing of a trap. One that she had baited herself into.

"Welcome home, Y/n." Henry leaned towards her and she flinched, but he was merely flicking open her seatbelt.

She couldn't see him smile but she could hear the amusement in his voice as he continued, "No, not here in the car. I'm not so crude as to take up your generous invitation without due ceremony and at least a few comforts."

Henry leaned even further, reaching across her to push open her door, this time dragging his arm deliberately against her rapidly rising breasts as he withdrew.

"Get out. I'd prefer to go inside" he purred dangerously, pointedly placing her car keys out of reach in the inside pocket of his jacket.

" but If you can't restrain your wild passion and don't mind a little discomfort I'm quite ready and willing to make love to you against the dashboard"

Y/n was up and out of the car with as much alacrity as her fumbling apprehension would allow. His mocking laugh as he followed suit had her searching for the door, but he was there before her, opening it with a flourish and a small bow.

" After you. "

All the way up the narrow, spotlight staircase, Y/n was aware of the movement of her hips and legs, the breathless difficulty in her chest and, most of all, the steady, inexorable masculine tread that stalked her.

The room at the top of the stairs was shrouded in darkness, relieved by vague glimmering white shapes that made her gasp.

"Afraid of ghosts, too, Y/n? What a timid little thing you're turning out to be…". The murmured words smoked across the small area of vulnerable skin between her shoulder-blades, exposed by the discreet scoop of her gown, whispering across her sensitised nerves. There was a faint click and the room sprang into light.

The white shapes were sheets, draped over bulky objects.

Even the floor was covered by a dark green sheet, and the reason was obvious. The walls were stripped and primed, but had not yet had their first coat.

They were in the kitchen, Y/n guessed from the positioning of the shrouded fittings. Scattered about were cans of paint and rolls of wallpaper, brushes soaking in paint and the odd ladder or two. The only ghosts here were those of the tradesmen.

Yet, Y/n's heart continued to flutter with a deliciously disconcerting fear, an excited apprehension.

Without a word Henry took her by the elbow and ushered her impatiently through several more similarly dust-shrouded rooms with the unswerving instinct of a guided missile, not bothering to turn on any more lights.

The place seemed huge, and as silent and brooding as the explosively primed man beside her.

"You-you're redecorating!" Y/n grabbed at the chance to divert him from his relentless intention. Honestly it surprised her that she had known him for so long and yet had never seen his home, he didn't even talk of it much.

Henry didn't answer and she fell quiet.

He let her resistance slow him but he didn't let his grip ease. He had already been taken by surprise once too often that night.

"Have you been feeling hunted, Y/n?" Her answer was in her uneasy sidelong look. He smiled secretively. "Now you know how I felt this evening: like the helpless prey to your brazen huntress…" Y/n flushed, her whole body heating at his words. She had been brazen, utterly so, and she had enjoyed it far too obviously to try to deny it now.

Henry let her dwell on her folly for a moment before he murmured, "The answer to your question is…" his slow smile drew out the suspense for a wickedly long second "...perhaps."

His eyelids drooped, not quite hiding the predatory gleam that smouldered in the darkness. He was still very, very angry and he wanted her to know it.

"Certainly it turned out to be very convenient for you…"

His free hand came up under her other elbow and he stepped around to face her, forcing her backwards and into the realisation that while he had held her enmeshed with his equivocating words he had been slowly backing her to the wall.

"I'm no one's convenience," she spat, determined not to see the effect his calculated menace was having on her already chaotic nervous system.

"You have to admit you qualify in one or two forms of the dictionary meaning, Y/n," he drawled, driven to foment her the way that she had tormented him. "You're certainly suitable for my purposes and needs and you're close by... but no, I don't suppose you could be considered "easy to use"...

The fear that had inhibited her flared into an open temper at his overt mockery.

"If you think I'll let you-" "-Challenging me, y/n?" he interrupted softly, and watched her hesitate as she realised the certain consequences of goading him from her very vulnerable position.

"Actually," he continued almost kindly, "it's a little late for second thoughts. You've led me this far with your little game. Now it's time to pay the piper…" He dipped his head and to her tingling shock bit her gently on the side of her satiny throat. She reared back, but there was nowhere to go, no escape that didn't involve going through that broad-shouldered, lean-hipped wall of male arrogance!

"led you! You're the one who practically kidnapped me" She was appalled to hear the breathy lightness in her words when she had meant them to be firm.

"Mmm. Exciting, isn't it?" He bit the other side of her throat. "Just think how thoroughly helpless you are right at this minute. You're in a strange house, while I know every nook and cranny. All the exits are deadlocked. Even if you ran, where would you run to? I'm stronger than you are. bigger, harder, faster. You can't get away, no matter how hard you try. I can do anything I want with you. And there's nothing you can do about it, except…"

" Except what?" The mouth skimming her throat was having as violent an effect as his taunting words, arousing the deeply buried desires that she had tried to deny.

" accept what you caused" She felt the curve of his lips against her smooth skin, heard the amusement in the sensuous rumble.

He was laughing at her.

He wasn't content with merely seducing her. No, he wanted to humiliate her, too.

Sudden panic struck and with a fierce surge of strength she shoved at his solid chest. To both their surprise, he staggered back, far enough for her to dart away. With a roaring curse he gave chase.

Y/n's heart hammered as she scuttled from the safety of one covered piece of furniture to the next. She froze, listening for the direction of his pursuit, but Henry had also stilled. He was out there somewhere, crouched and aware, listening, just as she was, waiting to pounce. Her skin prickled hotly and she could feel the blood pulsing heavily through her veins. Y/n shivered with a strangely febrile excitement. She peered around what appeared to be a small table and saw a graduation of the blackness - A doorway!,

Taking a deep breath, she took to a low crouch and ran for it. As she did so she felt a rush of air as close as a blow and a throaty growl. He had only just missed her! She couldn't help letting out a little scream as she abandoned stealth and bolted, darting breathlessly to the darkened room.

Henry was never far behind and at first she was grateful that he didn't switch on the lights, the better to find her, but as his taunting laughter infiltrated the night she realised that he was revelling in the chase...and so was she!

Her inner certainty that Henry would never physically hurt her, even in genuine rage, gave an added piquancy to the situation.

She had challenged him in the most clemental way possible and he was responding in a way that was as different and exciting as he was.

The panic which had precipitated her flight became a delicious terror as the teasing game of hide-and-seek continued.

Sexual tension flourished in the shrouded silence like a living thing. He was no longer in a hurry to catch her, whispering silky-voiced threats into the night that curled her toes and dampened her palms, describing in sensual detail what was going to happen when he found her.

It didn't take Y/n very long to break. When Henry suddenly went quiet her imagination ran riot. She pressed herself even more tightly against the reassuring solidarity of what appeared to be a sideboard and quavered, "Henry?".

There was no answer and she tried hard to sound convincingly calm.

"Henry, this is ridiculous. Why don't you turn on the light and we'll talk about it sensibly?" Sensible was the last thing she felt but she couldn't stand the waiting no longer.

Y/n was just close enough to the edge of her self control to try shameless grovelling.

" All right, so I acted foolishly this evening. Now you've got your revenge and now we're even aren't we?"

Silence

"okay fine , yes, I admit it!" she cried. "I pretended to be drunk to tease you but…"

Silence,

"I did it because... because I didn't expect you to respond." And may God not strike her down for that awful lie!

"I wanted to annoy you, that's all. It was wrong of me. Childish. I'm sorry. I just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine. You always seem to have this - control over me. I just wanted to get under your skin for once."

Silence

"Henry? Henry!' Her placatory tone slipped badly.

" Fuck!, stop it. Henry, this isn't funny anymore!"

A soft chuckle floated out of the darkness. Y/n was too disorientated to guess its direction and she whirled a full circle.

" I'm not playing your stupid game any more, Henry, so you may as well come out. I won't try and run away again. I promise."

Silence.

Y/n began to tremble, not from fear but from helpless desire. Dammit, why didn't he come out and finish what she had started already. There was a soft sound to her left, a tiny echoing click that acted like a trigger on her taut nerves, catapulting her automatically to the other wall of the room, where she backed hastily between two tented objects that provided her with a solid sense of security. A false sense, she discovered, when a hand suddenly whipped across her mouth from behind, smothering her scream.

"So much for your promises, Y/n," came the clipped murmur in her ear. "That was only my cuff-link. You ran straight into my arms."

The hand across her mouth tightened as she tried to protest, and an arm lashed around her waist, drawing her back against a hard, familiar body. He hadn't lied in his silken whispers. He was just as aroused as she was by their foolish game.

She stood there for a moment, her head against his shoulder, trembling and breathless. She tried to speak and tasted the sweat of his palm. Instead of dropping his hand he trailed it deliberately across her lips, his fingers curving into her parted mouth, stroking the inner surface of her mouth and fondling her tongue with an intimacy that was far more shocking than any explicit sexual caress.

Her heart thundered in her breast as he softly probed her moistness, scaling the breath from her lungs, as he whispered, "Do you like this, Y/n? Your mouth is like wet satin, wrapping around my fingers. Use your tongue, tell me if you like the taste of me…" The sheer intoxication of his husky plea made her moan and he quickly let his hand drop.

"Am I hurting you?"

She couldn't answer and his hand continued to fall, until it settled on the firm roundness of her left breast, his palm cupping her, feeling the pounding tumult within.

" You...frighten me," she managed to say, her taste buds tingling with each word, drowning in the full flavour of him.

"This isn't fright, Y/n…" His hand tightened and then released, to flatten and move against her in soft rotation, compressing the flesh in a way that made her tremble even more.

"This is excitement. You wanted to be caught, didn't you? You're as curious about me as I am about you, only you wouldn't let yourself admit it. Tell me now if this is not what you want, Y/n, because from here on in I can't guarantee my control…"

As he issued his rough command his hand moved to explore her other breast. The hand around her waist strayed, fingers splaying against her velvet belly, digging into her softness, reaching for the ache that was forming in the pit of her stomach. His mouth was moving against her shining cap of hair, seeking the sensitive hollows at the nape of her neck.

He was handing control to her because she made him feel wildly out of control. She had never driven a man so wild with desire that he didn't know what he was doing...

"Henry, God, -"

"don't say no, Y/n. Not now." He spun her tightly in his arms and she made a discovery that drenched her with sensuous delight.

"Your clothes…"

He had taken off his jacket and tie some time during his dark pursuit and unbuttoned his shirt so that it hung free from his broad shoulders. The hands that she had placed against his chest met with bare skin- hot, damp, satiny skin covered with thick, soft hair. His heart was almost leaping from his chest and he shuddered as she pressed her palm harder against him, marveling at the strength and power rippling beneath the skin.

"I got hot, chasing you," he said. "I still am. Wanting you makes me that way. Hot and so ready that I can hardly stand!"

He made a subtle movement with his hips and groaned as he brushed against the thick velvet folds of her dress. She felt a fresh moisture break out on his skin and in an instinctive gesture of acceptance leaned forward to nuzzle it from his chest, her mouth inadvertently brushing against one of his large, flat nipples in his nest of hair.

He made a choking sound in his throat, arching back to give her free access to his upper body and in the process ground his swollen hardness against the juncture of her thighs

"do it"

Y/n barely heard his ragged plea. Henry was so exquisitely responsive to every tiny movement she made, even to the very breath from her lips upon his skin, that he was soon deep in the toils of a dreamy delirium.

She wasn't aware of the rip he made in the back of her dress when his shaking hands wrenched the zip down, only of the molten sensuality of his gaze as he steered her into a shaft of light near the window and studied her breasts. nestled in their cups of pure white lace.

"Did you wear this for me?" he asked thickly, roughly tracing the outline of the lace across the curving swells. "Did you want me to take off your dress tonight, Y/n? To admire you like this?"

His arousal was so flatteringly intense that she couldn't deny him the truth.

"Yes…"

She closed her eyes, gasping as she felt the stroke of his thumbs across the seams, finding the rigid tips that were evidence of her own desire. He made a sound and she felt him kneel to pull her velvet gown over her hips, revealing the white panties and suspender belt in the same simple lace design as the bra, demure yet sexy in their essential femininity.

He made another sound, this time deep and guttural, his hands running up the backs of her thighs, pulling them closer and parting them slightly.

She opened her eyes, clutching at his naked shoulders as he moved his mouth hotly against the lacy front panel of her panties and pressed a string of kisses from the soft skin at the tops of her stockings to the deep, frantic pulse at the hollow of her hip.

Y/n could feel the cool air along her pussy as warmth settled there. Rough hands sent a shiver through her body as they ran the length of her thighs, kneading her ass before finding their way back to her pussy, and pushing her panties to the side for a better look at what she had to offer. Y/n shook and he purred in approval of her reaction.

Henry pressed forward until Y/n felt his lips along her folds, teasing her before delving deeper. Y/n gasped at the first taste, the tip of his tongue poking at her entrance, her arousal spilling forth. Henry ran the length of her pussy until he flicked her clit, the twitch it brought forth made him snicker into her skin. He dragged his tongue along her clit again, grazing it over and over as her pelvis flinched unwillingly.

“shit,” she hissed, trying not to moan though it felt so good.

Y/n clung onto his shoulders, the buzz she felt in her stomach coming closer to finding its release. Her thighs trembled as he grew more persistent, his tongue agile as it drew forth an orgasm but just before she could relish in the exquisite feeling, he pulled away. It had been almost a year since you had been pleasured by anything other than her own hands and this was starting to drive her mad.

The sight of his dark head moving against her and the sensations he was creating made her cry out in helpless need and he looked up, a dark blush crossing his face when he saw her starlit expression.

He stood and kissed her on the mouth until they were both breathless. Then, still holding her, he reached behind him, dragging the sheet off the nearest object.

It was a smooth, polished mahogany dining table, it's dark surface reflecting the muted lights from the moon.

Y/n imagined him laying her down on that smooth hardness and leaning over her, feeling the melting pleasure of his touch.

Henry turned her, pressing her hips against the carved mahogany edge.

"I've never made love on a table before," she whispered raggedly, hoping that she wouldn't disappoint him with her relative inexperience. No doubt he was used to women who were terribly adventurous and sexually sophisticated. She thrusted the jealous thought away and linked her arms around his neck, reminding herself that she could make him shake with passionate need. She could make up with enthusiasm for what she lacked in experience and he would never know the difference.

He stilled and she was afraid that she had destroyed the moment with her naive little confidence. Henry lifted his head and looked at the table behind her. Then he stopped and swept her off her feet, lifting her into his strong arms.

"No, not here," he said hoarsely. "The first time should be in a bed.." He began to move with Y/n in his arms and she turned her hot face against his broad chest, adoring him for caring enough to make this exactly right for them.

"I don't want to wait." She told him shyly of her need and his arms tightened, the muscles of his shoulders and neck bunching into prominence as his stride quickened.

"You won't have to." He turned into another doorway, dipping an elbow against the wall until twin lamps glowed, their light filtered into a soft, golden delicacy by the cloths that swathed them.

Henry didn't let her go as he removed the covering over the bed and stripped back the dark feather quilt. When he finally put her down it was on to crisp white sheets that released a lavender fragrance to mingle with the heated scent of arousal that perfumed their bodies.

Henry stood by the bedside, looking down at her. Then he spread his hands, revealing the light tremor that shook his hand ever so gently.

"Look what you do to me. You make me weak. No one has ever had that effect on me" Y/n reached out a hand and touched his trident stomach.

"You're the strongest man I know," her hand ran down his stomach and over the muscle underneath as she moved down to his belt. She tugged at it gently

"I want you" she purred.

The knowledge of their mutual desire flared in his hungry eyes, hardening the planes and angles of his face until it looked as rigid as his body under her exploring hand. He caught her wrist before she would have touched him intimately, folding her arm back into the pillow behind her head he knelt beside her.

"Say it again. Say my name."

"I want you to make love to me, Henry." Her words were a promise to give him all that he wanted and more.

"No more running?" he raised his eyebrow jokingly and Y/n shook her head, unable to speak as he unclipped the front fastening of her bra, sensing that he wanted her to lie quiescently as he bared the last secrets of her body.

She felt shy, like a precious gift being gloatingly unwrapped, but she didn't resent his moment of purely masculine triumph. The glory of the moment was also hers, this beautiful man that she had known for so long finally hers. He was giving himself to her and asking nothing but what she was willing to give in return. For tonight and perhaps for many nights to come she would let him satisfy the hunger in her soul, colour the cold grey corners of her world with a warmth and vibrant life that would dispel, at least for a time, the loneliness she had come to accept many years ago.

"I want you, too…" she whispered as she welcomed the joy of his touch.

Henry undressed himself with a fumbling haste that she found inexpressibly exciting and when he came down on to her she gasped at the violent energy of his enthusiasm. Y/n stared up at him, his cock hanging out for all to see.

The controlled, disciplined man she had grown to know vanished completely. In his place was a greedy, intemperate, ardent and impetuous male, urgently intent with plundering each and every lavish pleasure of flesh.

Henry smirked, his hand slowly pumping his dick a few times before he bent down and slid the tip over her slit and pushed inside roughly, allowing her no resistance as he filled her entirely.

This moment when he took her would live vividly in her memory forever.

The shocking reality of his first thrust stilled them both but then he stilled, chest shaking, half across her body, his head buried in the curve of her neck.

'Surely he's not going to stop now,' y/n thought hysterically as her body slowly adjusted to the agonising fullness, and she felt the involuntary ripples of tension begin to absorb him even more deeply into her being.

Y/n dropped her head back as she let out a low growl as he thrusted sharply, allowing a moment between each as they were jolted into the bed. His hands were on her hips, holding her down as he slid in and out.

Relax and enjoy was about all Y/n was capable of doing as his sensual onslaught built towards a fiery climax. He devoured her, feasting on her body with blind hunger, biting lushly into her skin, sipping and suckling the sweetness from her achingly swollen breasts as his hands adjusted her body around his, moaning and shuddering so violently when she even lightly caressed his body with her own that she resorted to merely riding the exquisite storm as he sank deeper than before.

Henry groaned and y/n felt a sudden burst of warmth, his cum leaking down her legs as she let the feeling of her own orgasm near

She plunged a hand into his sweat-drenched hair, and pulled his head back.

"Henry-"

The moan came quickly and she hardly recognised him as she gawked up at him. His mouth was full, reddened, the skin drawn tightly over the bones of his face giving him a lean, hollowed-checked wildness, his deep set eyes open but blank with inner turbulence. He looked almost totally insensate.

Y/n felt shaken by a sudden wave of tenderness as his cock slid over a soft spot inside her, her fingers curling tightly into silky-damp hair.

"Henry--"

The tenderness flooded her being and was just swiftly followed by another wave of intense feeling as Henry stiffened and pulled back slightly, the pupils of his eyes contracting, his jaw clenching as he fought the blind instinct that was relentlessly driving him.

"I hurt you, didn't i." he gritted. "I went too fast for you. I'm sorry." He moved up on his braced arms and tried to withdraw further but she stopped him, almost sobbing.

"No... oh, no"

Henry hesitated and she moaned again, this time a bitter protest, "No, please, no, not yet…"

Y/n's pussy tightened and she murmured in delight as he slowly thrusted against her again, her sensitive walls sending a thrill up her spine.

She was fighting to hold on, and he watched, puzzled and then fascinated, as she moaned, her eyes wide with a strange fear and confusion. Her fingers slid laxly out of his hair to clench and unclench helplessly on the pillow. A deep rosy flush spread up from her damp, heaving breasts to mantle her throat and face. He realised then what was happening to her and waited, afraid to move again for fear of breaking the wondrous spell, watching hotly as the inexorable momentum built swiftly to a flashpoint.

Only when she rolled her flushed cheek sideways into the pillow did he move, cupping her face with his strong hand, forcing her to look at him.

"No, let me see... let me watch it happen to you...I want to watch"

Her eyelids fluttered at his husky command, her blush deepened, but she was too enraptured to feel embarrassed, too stunned by the speed of it all to deny him anything he asked. Her mouth trembled and parted and she began to gasp in light, shallow breaths that made her flushed breasts quiver deliciously, invitingly.

He bent and touched a stiff pink nipple experimentally with his mouth, very gently. She jerked and cried out, exploding beneath him in a series of violent convulsions that almost unseated him. He gripped her thighs and held her steady while she sobbed and moaned and poured herself into him, and then, as she melted lovingly around him he at last began to move, uncertainly echoing her undulating movements until he established his own powerful rhythm, this time driving her with him, until his raw shout of exuberant satisfaction signalled that the whirlwind was spent.

In the morning Y/n was grateful for the resilience of her relative youth. Even after a long hot shower, her muscles ached with the extravagance of her strenuous exercise. She felt as if she had been battered, not by one whirlwind, but several. And she had. If she had thought that Henry's incandescent passion would swiftly burn them both out she discovered, through the ravishing reaches of the night, that she was marvellously mistaken.

His desire, like his curiosity about her body, had proved insatiable. And, although the second and third time they made love it was not with the stunning speed of the first, it was still fiercely, gloriously energetic. He encouraged a boldness in her that she hadn't known she possessed.

He made her feel unutterably sexy, as if she was the only woman in the world who could satisfy his lavish appetite for lovemaking, and he devoted and demanded the same kind of single-minded commitment to creating pleasure that he did to his more worldly objectives. In short, he was every bit the fantastic lover she had imagined he was.

Y/n smiled to herself as she sipped her coffee. Was this a case of being hoist by her own petard? If so, everyone should have such a virile executioner!

"You look quite disgustingly smug."

Henry had showered, brought her coffee and toast in bed and casually dressed in front of her with the ease of a man who was thoroughly satisfied with himself and the world in general.

"You're looking fairly smug yourself," she answered boldly.

"Making love in the morning obviously suits us both and in the evening, and at night. By the way, what are you doing at lunchtime?" Y/n couldn't stop blushing and Henry smirked.

She wasn't that bold - yet.

If she and Henry were lovers for long she didn't doubt that she could become very, very brazen.

"Eating," she said repressively.

Henry refused to be repressed. "you're a wicked, decadent woman." He leaned over and tugged at the sheet that was tucked over her breasts and down to her waist. Y/n squeaked and held out her cup, afraid she would spill some of the hot liquid as he bent to lightly kiss her rosy softness.

" is all of you on the menu, or just selected divine parts?"

"You're a glutton!" Y/n murmured weakly, closing her eyes, shivering at the tingling pleasure his delicately teasing tongue evoked.

"Ouch!" Henry winched, The coffee having splashed onto his cheek as y/n unconsciously let the coffee cup slip.

"Serves you right." She didn't pull up the sheet, sitting primly among the crumbs and cotton sheets, deliciously aware of the contrast between her nudity and his dark, formal suit as he moved away.

He had told her he had an early meeting --one reason for the necessity to rouse her just after dawn by making love to her sleepy, languorous body.

Waking up to find Henry inside her was just one of the new, fresh pleasures of life!

"Will you meet me for lunch? This meeting should be over by then." He straightened his tie in front of the mirror then walked back to her.

"If you want me to…" He cupped her chin, reminding her of the way he had refused to allow her to hide from him last night.

"I want you to. Make no mistake about that, y/n. I have no regrets. None."

"Good." She lifted her chin and tried for a little of the sophistication he was no doubt used to. "I wouldn't like to think that I had disappointed you."

To her annoyance, he laughed. He straightened, letting his fingers trail down her throat. "There wasn't much chance of that, believe me."

"Oh, are you so confident of your prowess?" she snapped defensively, feeling suddenly restless and mentative. "You can turn any woman into your personal love machine?"

He seemed unruffled by her irritable crudity, a strange smile still playing around his lips.

"On the contrary. I'm afraid I have no basis for comparison."

"What?" Y/n stared at him blankly.

He scooped up a slice of toast and bit into it. "Couldn't you tell, Y/n? Was my gift such a paltry thing? I thought one's partner could always tell."

What was he talking about? To her horror, Y/n suddenly realised that, although he had used protection afterwards, that first, rough coming-together had been utterly spontaneous and Henry certainly hadn't held back. Did he purposely try to get her pregnant? Was he not really the man she thought he was? No- that couldn't be it.

"What gift? T-tell- me. what?" she stammered, raising her cup to hide the quiver of her mouth, hoping he wasn't going to prove as selfishly arrogant as she suspected!

" Why, that it was my first time, of course." And, as she continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly over the top of the cup, his smile gentled into a tender warmth. "You were my initiation, Y/n. I gave you my virginity, you gave me my manhood."

And, leaving her gasping and choking with shocked disbelief, a pool of hot coffee soaking into the sheets around her, he calmly turned and walked out of the house, a new found pride in his stomach and so much more to be discovered.

Taglist (added in reblog ❤️)

#Henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x you #henry cavill one shot

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years

Text

Prompt # 29: Motion Sickness

@sicktember Alternate prompt # 1: Warm Soup

Title: Professional Touch

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Based on this post

Hotch is in the middle of a serious monologue when he interrupts himself by sneezing. The team takes care of him.

A storm was brewing in Agent Hotchner’s office. Hotch was used to weathering storms of course, they all were, but this particular storm involved Chief Strauss, meaning it was harsher than most. The rest of the team kept glancing at the door to Hotch’s office anxiously. The section chief and unit chief had been shut in for over thirty minutes with the shades drawn. Every now and again raised voices could be heard, but it was impossible to make out what they were saying.

"He had a cold when he came in today," Reid murmured to Prentiss at one point. "This can't be easy for him."

Finally, after the forty-five minute mark had come and gone, Chief Strauss emerged, looking defiant and haughty as ever. She made sure not to meet the eyes of anyone else as she strode to the elevator, disappearing inside it without a word. Hotch stood in the doorway of his office watching her go, his look inscrutable, aside from his closely drawn eyebrows. Once she was gone, he turned his attention to his team, who collectively gulped as they noted his stony expression. Yet the expression was less powerful than it normally would have been, because he was visibly ill, with flushed cheeks, a chapped nose, and dark circles under his eyes.

Still, he was their chief, so when he approached Reid and Prentiss, they sat up at attention. Hotch glanced at the haphazard stacks of files mixed with old takeout containers on Emily's desk with a frown.

"I need you to tidy up your workspace, Prentiss. We need to present a good front for the Bureau at all times. You're also behind on submitting your reports. Work on that, please, right away." His tone was smooth but firm. There was no doubt how serious he was.

"Yes sir…." Emily said, looking confused.

"Reid, was there something I can help you with?" Hotch asked, since the doctor was staring at him intently.

No, I'm good--"

"Then back to work," Hotch said dismissively. Walking past Derek's desk, Hotch gave him a stern look, as the younger agent was flipping through paperwork with his feet propped up on his desk.

"Morgan, can we try to look somewhat professional? This isn't your living room."

Aaron didn't see the look of disbelief Morgan gave him as he pointedly looked away and continued through to the break room.

JJ walked in at the tail end of that exchange. As Hotch disappeared, she nonchalantly made her way over to Reid and Prentiss. "What's up with him?" JJ whispered, shooting a furtive glance at the unit chief.

"Beats me. But I hope he gets over it soon, whatever it is," Emily murmured back, reluctantly starting to clear the trash from her desk.

It was evident Hotch was still on the warpath when Garcia joined him in the break room moments later. She was dressed in her usual style of attire, wearing vibrant lime green and pink and compete with gaudy jewelry, fluffy pen and brightly colored folders. However, her purpose in leaving her office was not work-related today, but was evidently to bring over homemade cupcakes that were as brightly colored as her. Hotch watched her skeptically. Garcia, meanwhile, handed a cupcake to each team member, making friendly small talk as she did so. After a moment, Hotch approached her.

"What's the occasion for the cupcakes?" he asked.

"Nothing in particular. Just celebrating the lack of dead, mutilated bodies I've had to look at this week I suppose," she said cheerfully.

Hotch rubbed his nose gingerly. "Garcia, I feel I have to intervene here. You are aware you work for the FBI, yes?"

"Yes sir…?" she said, beginning to deflate immediately.

"And you're aware investigating homicides is what we're paid to do?"

"Yes…."

"Then don't you think it's a bit inappropriate to celebrate the fact that we haven't taken any cases this week?"

"I'm sorry sir, I--"

"In fact, I've been meaning to address your general lack of professionalism. Your attire and attitude toward the work we do here is a problem."

Garcia had fallen silent, and was merely listening with wide eyes. Meanwhile Derek had leapt to his feet and was slowly approaching with fire in his eyes, ready to defend his girl.

"As an integral part of this team, I expect you to behave appropriately for your role, along with everyone else. The lack of professionalism this whole team has been displaying lately needs to be corrected immediately. There is-- … Hehhht'sss-CHOO! tttsss'CHOOO! hnnxxt-CHOOOF!"

Shocked silence hung over the room at the unexpected interruption. Most of the team had never heard Hotch sneeze before.

Garcia was the first to break the spell. "Bless you, sir," she said quietly.

"Thank you," the chief mumbled in response, harshly rubbing his nose with a handkerchief. His face was visibly red, but whether from the violent sneezing or the embarrassment, it was hard to be sure.

"Are you ok, boss? You really aren't looking so good," the technical analyst said tentatively.

Hotch was silent for a moment as he continued to tend to his nose. Finally he sighed heavily. "I suppose I'm not feeling the best today."

"C'mere for a sec," Garcia said, stepping closer to him, her tone soothing as she immediately shifted into caretaker mode.

If Hotch noticed the change in how she addressed him, he made no indication, but allowed her to approach, looking at her expectantly.

She reached up a hand to place it against the tall man's forehead, then clicked her tongue, giving him a sympathetic look. "You're burning up, mister. No wonder you're miserable."

"Jack has been sick all week," Hotch sighed. "I suppose I was bound to catch it."

"You should go home, man," Derek interjected. "Like she said, you look terrible."

"I'm actually… feeling a little strange all of a sudden. I think maybe I should rest in my office for a bit before I drive." He was indeed looking a bit wobbly, and the team instinctively drew closer to catch him if he fell.

"Let's go sit you down then," Garcia said gently. The group began to walk their leader back to his office. As soon as he reached his desk, Hotch collapsed into his chair with a groan and closed his eyes.

"Let me get you some medicine," Emily said, hurrying away.

"Hotch, have you been getting any sleep?" JJ asked with concern, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Not as much as I should," he admitted, his head now resting on his hand.

"Then you should really go home and rest…." she said.

"I can rest just as well here," he said, raising his eyes to meet hers. Emily returned just then with a bottle of medication, so JJ was saved from answering, though she couldn't keep the worried look from her face.

Hotch got no better as he "rested", but he didn't worsen either. Soon it was clear he had no intention of going home, ill though he clearly was, or even lying down on the couch. He was pale and dizzy, yet he insisted on staying at his desk and continuing to try and work. He was interrupted constantly with sneezing fits though, and soon he was shivering as well, much as he tried desperately to hide it. The team hung around, wanting to be helpful, but Hotch didn't want to be helped. He wanted to pretend nothing had happened.

However, Garcia was having none of that. She disappeared shortly after Hotch had relocated to his office, but reappeared some time later carrying a steaming bowl, which she placed in front of their boss.

"What's this?" Hotch asked, glancing down with a sniffle.

"Soup, silly. It's what you give to someone you care about when they're not feeling well."

"That wasn't necessary," he said.

"Yes it was. You're all shivery and sniffly and sick."

Hotch was still for a moment, then he pulled the bowl toward himself almost hesitantly. Picking up the spoon, he took a mouthful, and then another, humming quietly in appreciation. "Thank you, Garcia," he said quietly. "This is exactly what I needed."

"You're very welcome," she said with a smile, turning to leave.

"Garcia?" he called out.

She turned expectantly.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You're wonderful exactly the way you are, and I don't want you to change. Strauss was digging into me earlier about professionalism on this team, but I shouldn't have passed that on to you. I apologize for that, and it won't happen again. Keep up the good work."

A sunny grin split her face. "Thank you sir. All is very much forgiven. There's plenty more Garcia sparkle to go around."

He almost smiled too. "Thank you. You're free to go."

"I'll get back to work. You take care of that fever though. We need you in tip top shape. This show doesn't run without you."

"Will do. Thank you again. For everything."

#sickfic #everyone is hotter with a fever #sicktember2021 #alt prompt 1

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

worst case scenario part 3

umm so, never ever intended it to be this long but here we are. again this is v dark so please please read the warning!! also [and obvs] this is very medically inaccurate and just a work of my head aha

[part 1] [part 2]

warning: mentions of death / hospital / mentions of childhood abandonment too- please don't read if this could affect you <3

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His heart was thundering in his chest, so much so it drowned out all other sounds making all the doctors words fade into the background. Conciously, he really was trying to listen to what the doctor was saying; consciously he knew she was trying to prepare him to see Y/n; consciously he knew she knew he wasn’t okay. But really? It didn’t matter, and as they drew closer to his fiancé Tom felt an urgent sense of relief purely know she was there. She was there and she wasn’t dead…yet.

Only two people were allowed to go up, just because the nature of the ward - everything was meticulously controlled, including the comings and goings of visitors. If you’ve never been in an ICU it’s a pretty hard environment to describe. Really, it’s just another hospital ward, with capacity of about 20 beds. Each bed has much more equipment surrounding that the average and a nurse is stationed per patient, monitoring every possible variable that the machienes are measuring, so any trend (either positive or negative) can be identified at the earliest point. Though in everyones head, it seems as though ICU is a common place ending up for some unfortunate sod when something bad happens, it’s actually really rare for someone to be so ill and dependant on medicine to maintain normal body functioning. Only the most severe trauma, infection of the most dangerous microorganism, surgery of such high stakes normally make an appearance on the ward. And ,on average, between 8-20% patients that are admitted to an ICU never make it out.

And those grim figures were unignorable to anyone. As soon as you walk through the doors, the atmosphere is intense and ineffable. It’s not spoken, but is so incredibly morbid it makes anyone shiver.

Dom felt this, squeezing his sons shoulder as he followed Tom and the doctor, just a pace or so behind them. Having offered to go with Tom, whilst Harrison took Nikki to see the baby, Dom was now feeling just as clueless as his son did. Except he was actually listening to what the doctor was trying to warn them about and it scared him. The three, made it to the door and with a swipe of her ID card the doctor admitted the Holland men in. Gratefully, none of the staff took any notice of who was walking in, they were much too busy for that - Dom was incredibly relieved, had someone recognised Tom when he was in this state, god knows what would’ve happened.

The doctors pace was with purpose, perhaps so that the two couldn’t spend too long ogling the other patients in the beds - who all looked almost unhuman with the amount of tubes and wires coming out and into them. But then, she slowed up, halting infront of a bay about 5 or 6 down the ward. Spinning on her heel and with a subtle nod to momentarily release the nurse from her post at Y/n’s bedside, to give them a bit of privacy, she looked at the two men.

“You can touch her, just be gentle with the wires.”

Shellshocked and terrified, Tom was frozen those 2 metres away from the bed barely able to see her face over all the equipment. Yet undoubtedly, it was his finance’s delicate visage lying on the white pillow, with a thick white mouthpiece and tube covering her mouth and stuffed into her nose. Not able to move, both Dom and Dr Goodwell sensitively waited - it was an adjustment to say the least, seeing someone you knew so well look so different. With quiet tears starting to roll down his eyes, Tom eventually started to inch toward the bedside, taking his time to try and absorb everything of this frankly ridiculous situation. He couldn’t get over how, even considering it all, above her nose it just looked like Y/n. Like she was asleep in their bed, eyes closed as if she had once again fallen asleep infront of a random Netflix movie Tom had bugged her enough to watch in bed. And it was, ever so slightly comforting. That was still her, that was still the love of his life lying there. And she was still alive - which given the last few hours, was enough.

Reaching the bedside, Tom naturally reached out and stroked the top of her head delicately, pulling into place a few rogue strands that seemed to have a mind of their own - she had always hated when her hair got frizzy. The picture had Tom’s mind casting back to their first holiday, a serene if quick few days in Fiji- though Y/n didnt know this , that holiday had been one of the most important times in their relationship for Tom. Until then, given the nature of his job, the couple had only ever managed brief periods together. They spent time together as and when they could in between Tom’s busy schedule but it was never as long as they’d like. Somehow though, he’d managed to squeeze a few days away to surprise Y/n with the trip.

It was everything he’d ever hoped it would be and more. In fact it was then Tom was oh so sure he would be spending the rest of his life with her. This thought crossed his mind on the last morning, when he had for once woken up before Y/n - her head mere cms away from his on the pillow. Just like now, her hair had been all over the place and her sparkling green eyes locked shut. Contrastingly though, in Fiji the sight had made him smile softly; now it just made him cry again.

“Would you like a minute alone Mr Holland? We will just wait outside?” Not even turning round to properly respond to the doctor, Tom just nodded violently, not taking his eyes off his fiancé - waiting till he heard his Dad and the doctor leave the bay; then the curtains be completely drawn to a close, before he shakily cleared his throat to whisper.

“Hey darling… you um-you’ve scared me shitless today… and… and I’m supposed to be the dramatic one in the relationship.” Chuckling wetly, Tom clasped his other hand in Y/n’s - still mindful of the IV port coming out of the top of her wrist. Not that he was expecting any sort of response, yet the lack of her squeezing his hand back still had his heart sink. “Look I…I love you so bloody much and I really need you to get better okay? You’ve never listened to me before but I really am begging you to now, I just.” Swallowing thickly, he shut his eyes momentarily and delicately rested his forehead on hers - his touch feather light. Just needing to feel her. “I just really need you and I really love you., okay?”

Unsurprisingly he didn’t get a response. The rhetorical question hung in the air alone, safe the mechanical whir of the ventilator and various chimes of the machines and monitor, till his Dad came in. Grasping and squeezing his shoulder lightly, Dom provided the stimulus for his son to unfold from over the bed, standing upright, as both men just took in the sight of Y/n lying there for a minute or two.

“I need her Dad. I-I-“

“I know Tom.” Speaking so quietly it was barely audible, Dom’s eventual agreement at what Tom was saying was in a way a relief. Haz and his mum had both either been saying or implying that they would be okay no matter what - which came from a good place but was so infuriating. Because god forbid, if this situation got worse Tom knew it wouldn’t be okay. Nothing would ever be okay again. So his Dad’s simple acknowledgment meant a lot, causing Tom to turn round and embrace his slightly shorter father.

Dr Goodwell silently watched the exchange for a short while and once the men eventually pulled away she stepped forward to give some more information. She went through what all the biggest and scary looking tubes and wires were doing for Y/n, before explaining the next steps.

“Now as I said before we are sedating her at the moment, while we wait and see if she gets any complications from the surgery that are better treated while she is asleep. By this afternoon we will have a clearer idea and by that point we may choose to withdraw that sedation. It’s important that you are aware though that she might not wakeup immediately. Sometimes some people that have suffered similarly to your fiancé will be unconscious for a while in what I’d presume you’ve heard of as a ‘coma’. Now it’s not as dramatic as you see on TV shows, it’s just Ms Y/l/n’s brain giving her body a chance to recover. It’s often a longer process, which I know is something you don’t want to hear, but I have to be honest.” The doctor was stern but in a softer and from-a-caring-place. “These patients are suggested to possibly recover quicker if they have a steady support network behind them, which it seems like she does. That means that you need to look after yourself so you can help her sir, especially in what could be a long process. It’s not going to be helpful for Yn if you’re killing yourself trying to be here all the time… It seems like Y/n already has quite a big group of you here for her, so please remember you’ve got all of her care team here and everyone else to help you too….Does that make sense sir?”

“Tom” His Dad, in a gentle but firm warning tone, urged Tom to speak and to listen. Properly listen.

“Yeh… I-yeh It’s just all a lot right now.”

“Of course… and we promise that if anything changes with her condition, you will be phoned straight away. You are welcome to stay as long as you want - the only rules are two at a time, no flowers, sign in and out and then sanitise your hands pretty excessively. If you need anything, Ms Y/l/n’s nurse will be your first port of call.”

“Thanks for everything” Dom nodded in a gracious manner, which the doctor seemed to massively appreciate - apparently, for the job they do not receiving a hell of a lot of thanks.

“I’ll pop back in a little bit.”

And for a couple of hours everything everything felt like a bit of an anticlimax, nothing happened, not a lot changed. Just Tom and Dom sat next to Y/n’s bed in silence; Harrison and Nikki downstairs with the baby, till Dom got a phone call from Nikki asking them to meet at the neonatal unit - which was limited by visitor numbers unlike the ICU. Thinking it’d be simple, the elder man gained Tom’s attention with a call of his name, explaining they should go down to meet up.

“I’m not going down there.”

“Son, I know you’re worried by Y/n isnt going anywhere right now. The doctors said they’d call you if anything happens.”

“It’s not-“ Tom stopped himself, biting his tongue and looking away from his Dad. “I just don’t want to go down there.” Slowly, Dom was more and more realising Tom’s thought process and honestly… it scared him. In the hopes this was just a big misunderstanding he offered a different option - hoping Tom would equally refuse that. Dom suggested going down to the cafe instead, which most unfortunately Tom agreed to. It wasn’t leaving Y/n that was the issue, it was being near the baby.

Tom’s daughter. Unnamed and apparently abondoned by both parents.

Anyhow, Dom resigned to playing into Tom’s choice, perhaps Nikki and Harrison would be able to swing him round, to see sense. It still took Tom getting the nurse to triple check they had his correct number on record , just in case, before Dom could tear him away from the bed. Fortunately the pair found a quiet and secluded corner table, where Tom was still yet to be recognised, while Nikki and Haz found them too.

What followed was Tom answering all his mum and Harrison’s questions about Y/n’s condition, in a blunt and emotionless manner - without Tom returning fire by asking any questions at all about his beautiful little baby girl. Eventually Nikki braved it, someone had to bring it up.

“Well it sounds like littles going to change for a while… maybe you should head home for a bit? You’ve been up half the night and you look shattered love. You don’t have to go back to yours… you could stay in your old room for a bit?” Tom being by himself at the moment sounded like the most incredibly stupid idea ever, Nikki was offering it as a choice - when in reality there was only one option.

“Maybe later this evening I will? Just don’t want to leave her alone yet.”

“It’s already 7 love, you’ve not eaten all day, you got to look after yourself too.” Harrison and Dom sat awkwardly while Nikki tried to delicately encourage Tom into what was the only sensible plan, watching him nurse the small hot choclate in both his palms. Time really had lost all meaning at this point, for him it felt both years since he’d first arrived with Y/n and at the same time barely 10 minutes ago. It felt weird.

“We can take shifts? If-if you want someone with her I mean… I don’t mind staying for a bit longer if it means you head back to your parents.” Harrison really truly didnt mind, in fact he sort of wanted to. He wanted to see Y/n’s face definitely alive, wanted to feel reassured by the monitors. Shockingly, Tom slowly nodded his head, surprising everyone with his lack of argument. None of them could work out whether it was a good thing him not putting up much arguement ; either he was heeding everyones advice of taking care of himself - or he had just given up. Harrison, as much as he didn’t want to, was favouring the latter.

“Okay” Nikki declared optimistically “So maybe you and Harrison go up so you can say good night to Y/n, then we can all go and pick up the baby?” She opened the plan to the floor, allowing for input but got nothing - except maybe Tom’s jaw unconsciously tensing uncomfortable at the latter part of her statement. Dom noticed.

Not one noticed but knew what it meant. His son blamed his granddaughter. His son, right now in that moment, hated the unnamed and totally helpless baby girl.

part 4?

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #dad!tom #tomholland #tom holland angst

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f0rever15elf · 4 years

Text

Twin Souls

Summary: Soulmates. Twin souls. They’re the stuff of legends, right? They aren’t real...Or are they? And if they are...can they really span universes?

Pairing: Pero/Whiskey/Oberyn/Din/Max/Maxwell/Dave/Catfish/Marcus/Ezra x fem!Reader (yes, ALL of those Pedro boys are in this fic at some point. I’m overly indulgent) Rating: M Warning: Harsh language, sexual innuendo, death mentions, violence, injured reader, a little bit of angst (for the spice), way too many pedro characters in one fic, no beta reading. Soulmates!AU Word count: 9,649 (lord help me)

a/n: This was inspired by a post that literally just mentioned our favorite soulmate trope that through any universe, two souls will find one another and I just think that’s really beautiful and NEEDED TO GET IT OUT OF MY BRAIN. So I hope you enjoy this!

Masterlist | Ao3

Twin Souls. Mirror souls. Soulmates. Twin flames. Almost every culture has their own rendition of this idea that each of us has another half that we are created with and separated from before we come into this life. Someone we are destined to find as surely as the river finds the sea. Some legends claim it was that we all originate with four arms, four legs, two heads, and one soul that shone brighter than the brightest of stars in the sky, and this drew jealousy from the gods who then wrent us in two. For others, it is destiny calling two individuals together, the universe declaring that two must become one. And even simpler still, some believe that it is no more than a chemical attraction. Something purely physical, biological, and nothing more. A perfect mate.

But what if?

What if it was more than that. So much more. What if two souls were always destined to find one another? Across time and space and universes? What if...

Lightning cracks the sky, momentarily illuminating the face of the man on horseback. His scowl, as always, is firmly in place, his brow creased in a mix of irritation and exasperation. The rain has his dark, curled hair slicked down against his skull and his tunic under his armor is soaked through, drawing the warmth rapidly from his skin. He had told William they should make camp, that the smell of rain on the wind meant for foul weather, and soon, but William had ignored the grumpy Spaniard, electing to press on. Not twenty minutes later, the heavens opened, drenching the small caravan as they continued on. William rode silently in front of Pero, and he could feel the glare from his companion boring holes into the back of his head. If looks could kill, he would be dead several times over.

"I see lights ahead!" Calls the lookout from up ahead, and a satisfied chatter rolls through the group of sellswords. Pero lifts his chin only slightly to look ahead, jaw clenched, eyes alert. He had seen enough in his days selling his sword to know what to look for, and a small village in the middle of nowhere was always a gamble.

As the small group rides up to the edge of the village, a few of the village's men wait to greet them, lanterns out to welcome them to the town. The group of sellswords dismount as William goes to speak with the man Pero can only assume is the village leader. After a few words, William turns with a smile, moving through the group to tell them they would be making camp here tonight, bunking with members of the small community. The welcoming committee leads each man off to a different house, and had it not been for the rain still steadily downpouring, a dull chatter would have filled the air as the guests were welcomed with more hospitality than many of them were used to.

"And you, my friend, will be staying with us!" The village leader approaches Pero with a smile. "Come, my daughter will help to get you dry. This cold will seep to your bones and you will fall ill. Come. Come." The friendly elder makes his way to a small, comfortable hut, a warm fire blazing in the center. The crackling of the logs is a welcome sound to Pero's ears, and the smell of something savory fills his nostrils. The men had been living on rations for days, and Pero Tovar was sick of the hardtack and salt pork he carried with him. The elder introduces him to his family; a wife, a young son, and you, his only daughter. As soon as his eyes land on you, Pero feels a warm sensation spread through his stomach, one he had never felt before, and he finds it difficult to tear his eyes from yours as the man of the house begins speaking again, telling him that their house is his for the night. He manages to utter out a word of gratitude before you approach him, taking his hand to lead him to get cleaned up.

"It is not often our village has visitors," you murmur softly as you help him to doff his armor. "Most pass us by without so much as a second glance." Your smile causes that heat in his stomach to spread upwards through his chest, and up his neck. Such a foreign feeling... "Perhaps it is fate that brought you here, to us. I must thank fate, if that is the case, for bringing such a handsome man to my home." You laugh softly and it is a sweeter sound than any music the Spaniard has ever heard, light and gentle as the bluebird's song on the spring breeze. Pero's heart throbs in his chest at the sound.

"Sí, señorita. A thanks to fate for bringing me here." His eyes never leave your face and the tips of your ears turn red from the attention. His gaze was steady, with a hard edge of a man who had seen too much. After finishing doffing his armor, you help to ease him out of his wet tunic, and your heart stutters in your chest. Your gaze drifts from his torso back to his face, and your hand moves as if with a mind of its own, lifting to rest on his face. The soft pads of your fingers gently trace the scar over his eye. There was...something so familiar about him, but you had no idea what it was. Like you had seen this man before, someone who was him...yet not him. The thought confused you and you shook it from your head. That was impossible.

---

Your eyes snap open from the strange dream and you sit up in bed, rubbing your face. A man who looked so much like your Jack had been haunting your dreams for days now, and you had absolutely no idea what it could mean. Jack stirs beside you, letting out a soft groan as he stretches.

"Darlin'? You alright? It's awful early for you to be up." He glances over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:30 am, early was an understatement. His hand finds the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles against the skin there. You hum and nod your head.

"Just...weird dreams Jack. That's all." You turn your head and smile down at him and he makes a concerned sound at the back of his throat.

"Wanna talk about it, sweetheart?" Your heart melted at the concern, and you ease yourself back down, laying in his arms.

"It doesn't make much sense, really. You'll probably think I'm crazy." His arm holds you a little closer to him and he chuckles.

"Try me." A smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you take a deep breath.

"Well...if you say so. I've been dreaming of a person. It's...this guy. He looks so much like you, and he has a scar right here." You delicately trace the line of the scar from the mystery man in your dreams. "And his face is weathered and serious. He's always scowling. I have no idea but it's like it's you but it isn't you. But it's more like... a faded memory than a dream. It's crazy, I know." Jack is quiet as he listens to you, his fingers still tracing delicate patterns on your skin.

"I...don't think you're crazy, sweetheart." You blink, honestly shocked as you look up at him. He's staring up at the ceiling, a contemplative look on his face. "I've had dreams like that too. Ones of you. Or, well, a girl who looks almost exactly like you." Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look down at him, that handsome, lopsided smile on his face.

"You're not pulling my leg to appease me, are you?"

"Now darlin', when have I ever done that to you?" He had a point. His silver tongue worked magic in many ways, but spinning lies to appease you was not one of those ways. Your brow creases as you lose yourself in your thoughts of what this could mean until a whip-calloused finger smooths the lines between your brows. "You ever heard 'a soulmates, sweetness?" The question strikes you as rather odd, something out of a fairy tale, but you nod. "I'm thinkin' that may be our answer." His arm wraps around you and he pulls you back against him. "Lovers truly meant to be." Gentle lips press light kisses to your forehead, his moustache tickling the skin and drawing a giggle from you.

"Do you really think that, Jack? That we've met before?"

"Well it would explain how we fell in with one another quicker than a jackrabbit with a fox on its tail. Now, I know my charm is absolutely irresistible, but I don't think I can take all the credit here." He grins and you can't help the laugh that bubbles from your throat, smacking his chest lightly. You had to admit...it made sense. In some weird, metaphysical sense that you weren't quite sure you completely believed. But Jack believed it, and that was enough for you. It also meant you could stop feeling guilty about these dreams of this mysterious Spaniard.

"So this dream girl. What's she like?" You ask, snuggling into Jack's embrace. He shakes his head and laughs.

"What, you jealous of yourself, gorgeous? C'mon now, you get to ride this cowboy any time you like, ain't no need to be jealous of a dream of you." You gasp and smack his chest, cheeks flushing red as you hide against his chest. He chuckles and lavishes a few gentle kisses to the top of your head, snuggling down in bed with you.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, doll. Now close those pretty eyes of yours and get some sleep."

And you did just that, slowly drifting off to dreamland.

---

"Hellloooooo!" Cara snapped her fingers in front of your face and you jumped, coming back to reality. "You know, you really freak me out when you do that." She leans back in her chair, a cup of spotchka in one hand, her lopsided smirk on her face. You cough, and scratch at the back of your neck.

"Yeah...sorry about that." She just shakes her head.

"Where do you go when you zone out like that? Takes me forever to bring you back around." You just shrug, staring down at your bowl of soup.

"Day dreams, I guess. I can't really describe them. I see faces though. Well, a couple of faces anyways. Two men who look shockingly similar and-" Cara cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

"Sweets, I don't need to hear about your depraved day dreams." Her coy grin in your direction causes your face to flush a bright red at the insinuation and you make a move to reply when she goes rigid in her chair, setting her cup down with a little more force than necessary. Your brow creases in confusion, even more so when she stands and grabs your hand, quickly and quietly leading you out back. "Stay here," she hisses, moving slowly around front, leaving you confused and alone. And hungry. You had been so busy day dreaming you didn't even get the chance to finish your soup. A frown pulls at the corners of your lips as you hop up on a box out back, kicking your legs as you wait for your friend.

The sounds of fighting reach your ears a few minutes later and you jump up, running towards the sound, skidding to a halt when you round the corner to see Cara fighting with a person decked out in some of the shiniest armor you had ever seen. You open your mouth to say something when a small green creature walks out of the cantina, a bowl of soup in his tiny hands. He looks up at you and tilts his head before turning to walk a little closer to your skirmishing friend. You follow as both the armored figure and Cara end up on the ground, a blaster pointed at Cara's head. You're about to run forward to try and yank the blaster away when the sound of slurping distracts you. Looking down, you see the little green thing slurping up his soup, watching with a borderline uninterested look. The helmeted figure and Cara turn to look at you both before looking back at each other.

"...Want some soup?" The helmeted man says through what was clearly a modulator.

That was your first encounter with Din Dajrin, and you had no clue that that one day would lead to you aboard the Razor Crest, babysitting the little green creature he had taken in, and fixing things around the ship as they broke. You had never seen his face, nor much of his skin save for when you were patching him up from a particularly rough hunt, but that was okay. Life on the Crest was comfortable, and even in the silence that Din preferred to keep, you felt at home. His presence was enough to calm you on your more anxious days. The two of you grew close quickly. Quicker than you or he had expected, and it wasn't long before he was gracing you with idle affections. Light caresses as he passes you, his hand lingering on yours for longer than necessary, gently tucking stray hairs back behind your ear as you talk to him. Each little thing never failed to bring heat to your cheeks.

It was at the anniversary of your first cycle together that Din asked you to marry him. He had taken the three of you to a peaceful, lush planet to ask you. Some place safe and reclusive, a place where neither of you had to worry about anything. He wanted you as a part of his little clan, and your heart nearly burst with affection as you rapidly shook your head, wiping away the tears. The tradition was simple, a marriage a sacred vow between the Mandolorian and their spouse. It was a promise to bind the two as one. A few simple words was all it took, and he was yours. He brought your hands to his helmet to let you lift it off, the moment unable to be any more perfect than this.

And that's when the blaster sounded. You freeze as your eyes go wide, slowly looking down to your chest where bright crimson starts to bleed through the material of your tunic. You look back up at him with glassy eyes and stumble forward into his grasp, only vaguely aware of more blaster fire, then total silence. Din lays you down on the soft grass, yanking his helmet off, and oh how you wish you could see his face clearly. You make out dark curls atop tan skin, dark eyes looking at you with such concern and fear, desperation...a look you couldn’t bring your eyes to focus enough to make out. Everything is fading so quickly. You can't hear his voice, only ringing. You were so sure he had a beautiful voice, it's a shame you wouldn't get to hear it free of modulation. Lifting your hand, you place it weakly against his cheek, sputtering out "I love you...find me in the next..." With that, the last of your strength leaves you, your hand dropping from his face as your head lolls to the side, eyes staring blankly off into the distance.

Din lets out a cry of anguish as he pulls your lifeless form against him, sobbing into your hair. How could fate be so cruel?

Ezra shoots up ramrod straight in bed, gasping for air like a man drowning. A cold sweat clings to his skin, an afterthought of the nightmare that disturbed his sleep once more. He rubs his face, taking a deep breath before looking over at his time keeper. Two standard hours before his alarm... The sigh that leaves his lips is deep and heavy as he swings his legs over the side of his cot. Might as well get an early start on the day. There was no going back after that awful dream, and he could use the couple extra hours anyways. Mining with only one hand, everything took twice as long and was done half as well, so the extra time would give him a little leg-up on the day. Heavens above, he could use another set of hands around here. With Cee off at school, he was all on his own, and it was getting damn lonely. Working his way into his suit with a little bit of difficulty, he made the resolution to put out an ad for help the next time he went to the Depot to drop off a shipment.

And so he spent the day, mining and singing and talking to himself. Anyone else who saw him would surely think this one-armed man was crazy, but little did they know that talking to himself is exactly what kept him sane. He could move up the Depot visit. Yeah, that's what he would do. He'd need to go in the next week anyways, so why not just do it now? He resolved to head on the next day to the Depot, and he'd put out that add for some help.

The next day's trek was blessedly uneventful. The cash-in post scoffed at what little aurelac he had accrued so far, and the tips of his ears turned pink in embarrassment. He mutters a thank you for the credits exchange, and makes his way to the bulletin board to put in his ad. A single figure is standing in front of the board, a pack slung over their shoulder, miner's tools hanging off their belt.

"Pardon me," he says softly, scooting by them without looking at their face to pin up his ad. He turns to head back to his buggy to return to work, hopeful he would hear something over his coms soon.

"Sir?" A gentle voice calls from behind him and he freezes in place, his heartbeat suddenly incredibly loud in his ears. He knew that voice. That was the voice that had been in his nightmares over and over again. Find me in the next... He slowly turns to look at who had called him to see you standing there, looking exactly as you did in his dreams. But alive...so much more alive. You smile up at him, gentle and warm, with a light of concern in your eyes, and he has to resist the urge to run to you and pull you into his arms. "I say...you look like you've seen a ghost! Are you alright?" Ezra's mouth opens and closes a few times, not unlike a fish before he's able to find his words again.

"Y..Yes, I'm alright. Not to worry, gem, it's just been a rather arduous day is all, and I'm beginning to feel the effects taking hold. Pardon my rudeness." A gentlemanly smile graces his lips as he extends his hand to you. "The name is Ezra. How might you be doing this fine day?" You chuckle and take his hand, shaking it firmly. What an odd fellow this was.

"It's a pleasure, Ezra. And the answer to this next question will set my mood for the day, I'm sure. You're in need of a helper at your dig site?" He nods enthusiastically.

"I most certainly am! What a matter of fortune that I happen to stumble upon someone ready and willing to assist me the very day I come to place my ad!"

"Ready and willing is right! I just arrived on the surface. Took a gamble someone would be needing my help, and it appears I've come out on top!" Your smile is infectious, and Ezra returns it, just as brilliantly. It lights up his eyes, you notice. Warm, chocolate brown eyes that glimmer with a playfulness that excites you.

"Perhaps you can impart some of that luck on to me as we begin this partnership." He leads you back to his buggy to take you back to camp, loading up on some extra supplies as well with his meager earnings that would be needed with an extra mouth to feed. "Might you be the lucky star that this poor man has been waiting for!" You can't help but chuckle at the eccentric miner. His manner of speaking was so strikingly different from anyone you had met before. Words rolled off his lips sweet as nectar, and the sound of his voice bordered on intoxicating.

"Make a wish, and we'll see." You laugh, flashing him a wink. The two of you spend the rest of the ride talking, swapping stories of your previous adventures. Ezra's charm has you instantly at ease. It felt comfortable and familiar to be near him, and you couldn't quite explain it.

As you return to his camp and make your way inside, helping to unload, you do your best to help ease some of Ezra's burden. It was clear he was trying to show that his lack of an arm was no deterrent for him, but you worried he would hurt himself in the process.

"Here, I've got it," You say softly, taking an oxygen tank from him as he stumbled a bit, nearly dropping the canister. He looks up at you with those soulful brown eyes and your heart stutters in your chest. He nods and lets you take it inside as he grabs the last few small things from the buggy, following you in. His helmet hisses as he takes it off, slowly peeling himself out of his suit, and you do the same, folding yours up in the corner before standing awkwardly in the center of the hab until he's done. Dropping the offending article in the middle of the tent, he sighs and plops down on his cot, patting next to him for you to join. Happily, you do so, crossing your legs under you.

"Forgive me, lucky star, for my lacking capabilities. I am not the man I once was..." He gestures to the stump of his right arm, a pained look in his eyes. You place your hand on his thigh and flash a reassuring smile.

"Ezra, there is nothing to forgive. I'm here to help in whatever way you may need me to. We're partners, and partners help each other." He glances at you sideways, a smile gracing his lips at the pain fades in his eyes.

"Lucky star, I feel you may be imparting some of your luck on to me already. What plans the universe may have for us is an adventure I'm eager to embark on." You laugh and nod, squeezing his thigh once before getting up to start making your side of the hab.

And so the days go on. Long days spent mining as much aurelac as possible while the light provided, before getting cleaned up for the night. Evenings were usually spent listening to one of Ezra's fantastic tales, or listening to him read a book from his small collection. More and more you found yourself leaning against him, your eyelids heavy with sleep as his honey rich voice drawled on. It reverberated in his chest in a way that soothed you more than anything else had in the galaxy. But the good days were over too soon as mining season came to a close on the Green, and you found yourself facing Ezra in the Depot, the two of you ready to depart for your next jobs. The ache in your heart was unlike anything you had ever felt, having grown so fond of the loquacious miner.

You opened your mouth to say goodbye, to just rip the band-aid off, when he spoke over you.

"Come with me." The sentence was near a plea as he reached out to take your hand. Your eyes opened wide at his words, your mouth falling slightly open.

"W..what?"

"Come with my, my lucky little star... I can't imagine a life without you at this point, the comfort you bring me is beyond anything even the most luxurious of lifestyles could bring me." He squeezes your hand again. "Come with me...please..." You knew you couldn't, you knew you needed to head to your next journey, but the thought of doing so felt so wrong, as though your heart might explode if you tried...so you nod, and Ezra's eyes light up with a joy the likes of which you had never seen. He tugs your hand and pulls you to him, embracing you as best he can with his one arm, and nuzzles into your hair. You wrap your own arms around him to return the hug, sinking into the embrace that could only be described as feeling...right. You almost missed it as he whispered against your hair, "I found you..." You lean back, confusion in your eyes as you look up at him.

"...Found me?" You whisper and he smiles, dropping the embrace to take your hand and lead you toward his shuttle.

"If you would indulge me in some time to tell you a story, I can explain everything, lucky little star."

---

Your bare feet hit the pavement with loud slaps, legs propelling you forwards as fast as you could. Your lungs burned in your chest as you panted for air, not daring to look back over your shoulder for who you knew was following you. How had you managed to be so stupid, so careless? How could you have managed to get yourself involved in this?

"Get back here!" He yelled, his deep voice causing another shot of adrenaline to course through your bloodstream. He was going to kill you. Oh God, he was going to kill you! Tears stream down your face as you run, ducking into every alleyway you could, trying to elude him, but he had been doing this too long. He was good at covering his tracks, and you were a loose end he couldn't afford. You being alive jeopardized his life with his family.

You turn down another alley and your heart plummets when you are met with a stone wall, skidding to a halt in front of it. You hear his heavy footfalls behind you and you turn, falling to your knees. Maybe...maybe if you beg, he'll spare you?

Dave rounds the corner, and you hear the soft click of the safety of his silenced handgun. He stalks forward like a lion stalks an antelope and you have never in your life felt so small.

"You're a fast little she-devil, I'll give you that. It was a good chase." He stands in front of you as you begin to beg, pleading for your life. You'd move away, you'd forget everything. You'd change your name and cut contact with everyone, please just don't pull the trigger. "No can do, sweetheart. Can't risk it." He brings the gun up level with your forehead as you look up into his eyes, begging still, trembling with terror. For a moment, you see a light of recognition in his eyes, a light that looks so familiar it makes your heart ache. Visions of a space suit, an angry scar, a metal suit, and a cowboy hat all flash through your mind in rapid succession as the light registered somewhere deep in your subconscious.

Then, with the sound of a gunshot, everything vanishes.

---

"NO PLEASE STOP!" You shriek in your sleep, thrashing around in your shared bed, waking the man beside you. He startles, sitting up and pulling you upright, shaking you gently to try and wake you from your night terror. You had been having them more and more recently, and he was starting to get really concerned. Terrified eyes snap open, tears starting to streak down your face as you caught his eyes and immediately begin trying to get away from him, your body still full of adrenaline. "Let me go!" You screamed, fighting to get away from those eyes. Those damn eyes were exactly the same.

"Shhh shhh, cariña, calm down it was just a night terror, you're safe." That voice...that voice wasn't the same. That voice was so much kinder and softer than the one in your dream and you grow still in his arms, nervously looking back at the one holding you. Your terrified stare was met with the warmest chocolate eyes you had ever seen, full of nothing but love and concern for you as he held you.

"F-Frankie...?" you ask, barely above a whisper, and he nods. You tremble in his hold as you choke out a sob, falling into his embrace. "I-I'm s-s-sorry Frank-kie! I-It was s-so b-bad this t-time," you managed to choke out between sobs. Frankie’s gentle fingers run through your hair in an attempt to soothe you as he coos gently to you, swaying back and forth with you. His sleep shirt was clutched in your fists as you sobbed against him.

"It's alright cariña, I'm here, I've got you and you're safe. Nothing is going to get you, I promise." His voice is deep and rich, sleep still painting the edges of it as he holds you and whispers soothing words to you. How lucky could you be to have a man like Francisco Morales to call your own? He was so patient with you, even when these night terrors plagued you seemingly non-stop.

As your sobs turn to sniffles, he carefully looks down at you. "Was it the same dream, amor?" he asks softly, nervous to startle you, and you nod weakly.

"Being chased and cornered by a man with a gun...who looked like a sleazy businessman version of you... But his eyes were hard and angry and his voice was so cold." You look up at him with still watery eyes and he delicately wipes your cheek of any errant tears. "I hate this."

"I know, sweetheart, I know. I'm sorry, I would do anything to help those dreams stop." His hold tightens around you. He was angry. Angry he couldn't protect you from this. Angry that for some reason your mind was using his face to torture you. Angry that you could get no respite from these horrible visions in your mind. With closed eyes, he nuzzles into your hair, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes slip closed as you slowly relax into Frankie's hold, your heart rate slowing to a more normal rate as the flood of adrenaline clears your bloodstream, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Frankie coaxes you to bed again, holding you as close to him as he can, hoping his presence will somehow help to deter the nightmares.

In the morning, you wake to the smell of bacon and the feeling of an empty bed. You sit up and stretch before rubbing your eyes and yawning. Damn, your head and eyes hurt from the crying last night. Stupid nightmare... With a shake of your head, you move to get up to go get some medicine when you notice two Tylenol and a glass of water sitting on the nightstand. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, knowing Frankie had left them out for you, and you take them, deciding to stay in bed a few more minutes and wait for Frankie. Your decision pays off when the door opens and Frankie walks in, a bed tray with pancakes, bacon, and a tall glass of chocolate milk in his hands.

"Morning amor. How are you feeling? I made your favorite blueberry pancakes." The smile that graces your lips he returns as he sets the tray across your lap before tucking a loose strand of hair back in place behind your ear, joining you on the bed.

"I'm alright as I can be. Tired of these stupid night terrors...I feel like I haven't slept in days." Leaning over, you press a quick kiss to his cheek before picking up a fork, digging in. The moan that leaves your lips borders on sinful as you taste the pancakes. Frankie's cooking always did amaze you. He chuckles as he leans back against the headboard, watching you.

"I'm glad you like the food." You nod with a smile and continue eating, content with the silence for now. That is, until a burning question bubbles to the forefront of your thoughts. "Frankie...have...have you ever had a dream...about a girl who looked like me?" The question comes softly from your lips, as if you are nervous to even ask it. It seemed so silly hearing it out loud.

"No, I can't say I have...but the day I met you, I could have sworn I had met you before. But there was no possible way that could have been." His voice is contemplative, and when you turn to look at him He's looking off to nowhere, lost in thought.

"What do you mean you could have sworn you've met me before?" He blinks a few times and looks back at you, shrugging.

"Everything about you was familiar. Your eyes, your laugh, your smile. Hell, even the way you stood, one hip cocked and your hand resting on it...It was all just so familiar, like I had met you a long time ago. Weird, I know."

"I'm the one having dreams about a guy who looks like a douche bag version of you trying to kill me, and you think familiarity is weird?" A pink tint creeps up his cheeks as he sputters out a reply.

"W-well when you put it that way..." You chuckle and shake your head, chasing a blueberry around your plate with your fork.

"Maybe...we have met before...just not...here." If he didn't think you were crazy before, he certainly would now.

"What, like a soulmate? A past life?" You nod, not looking up. You didn't want to see him looking at you like you were crazy. "Now that's an idea...it would explain a lot, wouldn't it?" Another nod, and his hand reaches around to lift your chin, turning your face to him. A gentle smile graces his beautiful face and you can't help but return it. "If that's the case, then I'm glad I found you again, soulmate." The giggle that escapes your lips only helps to widen his smile before he presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

You had heard great things of the Prince of Dorne. The Red Viper, Oberyn Martell. He was as fearsome as he was gentle. Ruthless as he was loving. His skills with poisons and fighting spears were unmatched, as was his sexual appetite. Or so you had heard. King's Landing was always full of whispers and rumors, so much so that it was hard to know just what was fact, and what was fiction. Not that it mattered, the rumors never affected you. You kept your head down, and did as you were told, assisting the Lanisters whenever need be. It was the best way to stay out of trouble, and to ensure your head stayed rightfully upon your shoulders.

But why all of the hubbub about Prince Oberyn all of a sudden? Have you missed an announcement? Cersei would have your head on a pike before the candles melted through if you embarrassed her by forgetting to outfit a chamber. A cold sweat breaks out over your skin and your heart races in your chest at the thought, your feet carrying you swiftly down the halls in search of Tyrion. He would know what was going on.

You find the man talking with his guard, and clear your throat softly as you approach, hands folded respectfully in front of you. Their conversation drops as Tyrion looks to you with a smile.

"Forgive my interruption, but I have heard many more whispers today than usual of The Red Viper of Dorne... Have...Have I missed a notice to prepare an extra chamber...?" Tyrion shakes his head and comes over to place a hand over your folded ones.

"Fear not, you've missed nothing. The chambers were already prepared for his visit." The tension melts from your shoulders and you nod, bowing your head before standing upright again.

"Thank you for informing me. I shall return to my duties then. Good day." You turn quickly as Tyrion bids you farewell, resuming your duties as needed.

The fight was the only thing anyone in the halls discussed. Oberyn was to champion for Tyrion in trial by combat with The Mountain. The whole of King's Landing was to attend to spectate, including the workers through the castle. It had been a long time since the walls buzzed with such energy, and you followed along quietly to the viewing stand reserved for the chambermaids. Perhaps you would now see if the words of the great Red Viper of Dorne were true. You watch with baited breath as he strides into the arena, his armor light, a fighting spear in his grip that he twirls with such grace it takes your breath away. His smile is confident, bordering on cocky, and you feel a twinge of fear for him. He was so small...The Mountain would crush him.

The fight was certainly something to behold, and for a moment, it seemed as though Oberyn's dexterity would win him the match. Till the tables turned... It was a gruesome sight, The Mountain was known well for his utter brutality. The cries of pain from the prince under his grip tore at your heart, and when his skull finally gave, painting the arena red, something inside you broke. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your hand covering your gaping mouth as your heart ached in your chest.

You had never met this man, and yet at the witnessing of his death, it felt as if you had lost a part of yourself.

"An intern? A FUCKING intern? What the fuck do I need with an intern?!" Maxwell stood from his desk, pacing behind it, a hand in his pocket while the other rubbed at his face. "I’m so close, SO CLOSE, to having the world in the palm of my hand, and you want me to take on AN INTERN?!" He snapped at the poor secretary who stood in the center of the room, trembling in her high heels.

"M-Mr. Lord...A-appearances are everything, sir, and I believe taking on an intern would brighten your appearance in the public eye even more so. She would be none the wiser, and you could use her to take care of your less important operations, sir." The secretary quivered under Maxwell's gaze as he stopped to stare at her, eyes hard as flint. Slowly, so slowly, a predatory smile works its way across his face, and he stalks forward, lifting the secretary's chin.

"You are an absolute genius, where would I be without you?" He shoves her head away and she stumbles back a step before catching herself. "Bring her on. Get her set up on payroll, benefits, whatever she needs, then send her here to talk with me." The secretary nods, scribbling down notes on a piece of paper before looking back up to her boss who has taken to looking out the window of his high rise office. "Well don't just stand there, chop chop!" She shoos her from the room and she leaves in a rush, heels clicking down the hall as she goes to find you.

The lobby of the Lord building was absolutely massive, and appropriately ornate for what you knew of Maxwell's image. Nervous fingers played across your pencil skirt, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in the material as you waited for the secretary you had met to return with her answer. The sound of heels clicking down the hallway draws your attention and a cordial smile graces your lips as the secretary returns.

"Good news!" she claims in an overly excited tone. "Welcome to the company! Mr. Lord has agreed to take you on as his intern. I'll take your information and get you set up with payroll while you come to meet the man behind it all." You nod, fishing a manila envelope of all of your information out of your shoulder bag, handing it over. "Excellent. Now, follow me. A few pointers," she says matter of factly. "Speak only when spoken to and NEVER interrupt. Mr. Lord hates being interrupted. You'll refer to him as Mr. Lord or Sir unless instructed otherwise. Keep your answer short and to the point. Are we clear?" You swallow thickly, suddenly astronomically more nervous than you were just a moment ago.

"Crystal."

"Excellent." She takes you to a large set of double wooden doors, knocking with three quick raps before opening the door. "Mr. Lord, here she is." The secretary ushers you in, placing you in the center where she stood trembling only minutes before, stepping off to the side as Maxwell strides up to you, circling around you as he sizes you up.

"Not bad," he muses. "Not bad at all." His gaze was searing, causing your blood to race in your veins. You were pretty, he had to admit, and that would definitely be a bonus if you were going to be around him every damn day. Something familiar tugged at the back of his mind. Your eyes or your jawline, maybe, but he quickly chased that thought away. "So, you're going to be my new intern!" He claps his hands together. "Your work starts now. Follow me." He places a hand on your shoulder, leading you to what you assumed was where you were going to be sitting for the rest of this internship.

You blink and stumble for a moment, a firm yet chilling grip catching you to right you.

"Careful there doll. Can't have you ruining that pretty face of yours cause you tried to kiss the carpet." Max laughed that ultra-fake, condescending laugh he had, letting you go as you righted yourself. Adjusting your pencil skirt, you nod and take a deep breath. This was all way too familiar. The outfit, the internship, the guide through the office to a desk by your boss'. It was hands down the worst case of deja vu you have EVER had.

"Mr. Phillips-"

"Call me Max, doll. You're my new intern, and I'd like to think of you and I more as friends than as boss and employee." He grins at you and you shiver at the sight of his fangs.

"...Max. Uhm...does...does any of this seem a little too familiar to you? Like you've been here before?" His look back at you with a look that makes you wish you could just melt into the carpet and disappear.

"I'm here every day, what are you talking about?"

"N-no I mean like, do you ever get deja vu? Because I'm having it bad right now." That trademark grin spreads across Max's face again as he seats you at your desk, perching himself up on the front of it so he's looking down at you.

"My whole unlife is deja vu, dollface. It's round two for me." That damn smile never leaves his lips as he watches you put your papers in the drawers of your desk. "Any other silly little questions, or should I just let you get started on your first day?" The tips of your ears were on fire and you shook your head.

"Nothing else, Max. Thank you, I'll get to work." He claps and nods, hopping off your desk.

"Alright, doll. You'll have a set of reports for editing in your inbox. Have them formatted, printed, and on my desk before you head out today." You nod, starting up your desktop as he makes his way from your now shared office. This...was going to be a long internship.

Max makes his way down the hall, that fake, used car salesman smile falling from his lips as soon as he is out of eye-shot. He stalks down the hall to his own personal bathroom, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.

"Fuck!" The acoustics of the tiled room cause his voice to reverberate, sharp in his ears. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He white knuckles the edge of the sink, the porcelain cracking under his hands. It was her. It was FUCKING her! Of all the people who could come to intern at this company, it had to be his soulmate. Because of course it did! Why would the universe decide anything else?! The frustrated vampire closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. She didn't know, everything was going to be fine. Can't have a soulmate when you don't have a soul. Checkmate, universe. Yeah, that was what he would do, he’d ignore it. Problems always went away when you ignored them, right?

Wrong.

"I need to stop watching vamp movies before bed," Javier Peña groans, sitting up from his bed. "Fucking dreaming about them now.." He continues to grumble to himself as he gets ready for the day. It was going to be a long one. The DEA had caught a lead on Escobar, and were running a raid this afternoon. He needed to be on his game today, this could be the chance they needed to finally get that bastard. He slips his gun into the waistband of his jeans, grabs his leather jacket, and heads to work.

Hostages. Of course they had fucking hostages.

"This complicates things," Steve whispers from behind him.

"No shit," the exasperated DEA agent snaps back, eyes scanning the entrance to the building. They had no idea how many Escobar's men had in there, and they needed to get them all out. Javier was tired of seeing innocents die, caught up in something because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. "I'm going around back," Javi hisses, ducking around Steve to find the back entrance. "You stay here with the team. First gunshot, you move. Be smart, clear every room, move fast." Steve nods, taking Javi’s place as Javi slinks along the back perimeter.

He was right, there was a back entrance. He presses his ear to the door, trying to make out any sound and was met with only silence. Gun ready in one hand, he slowly opens the door, thanking whatever god existed that most of Escobar's men were idiots. They had forgotten to arm the back door. He moves along the wall to the hallway, noting two doors on the left, one on the right on the way to the main lobby. His heart pounds in his ears as he moves as quickly and quietly as possible, choosing the one door on the right first, seeing it open. He ducks in, gun sweeping over the room, but all he sees is you there, bound and gagged with duct tape. Your face was a mess, one eye blackened and dried blood from your nose crusted on the tape. Weary, broken eyes meet Javi's and his heart stutters. He had to get you out of here, and he was going to.

As you look at him, your eyes widened at the shadow moving down the hall. Noticing, Javi presses himself just to the side of the doorway, waiting for the man to make his way into the room before firing off two quick shots to his head. The man slumped to the ground, lifeless as the house descended into chaos. Javi grabs you, dragging you gracelessly to the corner where he can better protect you. The action draws a soft whimper from you, fresh tears running down your cheeks.

Gunfire, screaming in both Spanish and English, crashing and banging...it was all too much for you and you began sobbing, quaking in absolute terror. Javier held you to him gently, his large hand holding your head against his chest.

"Calma, calma. Estás segura. Soy aquí," he whispers softly against your hair, eyes trained on the door still.

"Peña! It's clear! We got them all, where are you?" Steve. Thank god.

"First room on your left. Bring me the first aid kit!" You look up at agent Peña with glassy eyes, bloodshot from crying and he starts to peel the duct tape away from your mouth as gently as he can. "It's alright, you're safe now." His voice is gruff, but he speaks so gently to you. You can't stop the trembling in your limbs, the adrenaline running its course.

"I got the ki- holy shit what did they do to her?!" Steve joins Javi by your side, helping to undo the tape binding your arms and legs.

"Beat the shit out of her it looks like," Javi pulls an alcohol swab from the kit, tearing it open to wipe off a nasty looking cut along your brow and you hiss, pulling back at the sting. "Easy, chica. I know it hurts, I'm sorry." The whimper that leaves your lips has Javi nearly seeing red. Those bastards...

"Let's get her out of here. We need to get her to a hospital." Steve is already standing up, pulling out his phone.

"No! No, please no hospitals!" The words come out as a rasp, your throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Lady, you're beat to hell, we need to get you some medical attention." He argues, but the look in your eyes is desperate as you turn your gaze back to the DEA agent who saved you.

"Please, please no hospitals...I can't do it."

"Peña..." Javier cuts him off with a shake of his head.

"I'll take her back to my place and take care of her. She can stay there for now. Her place probably isn't safe right now anyways if they managed to get her." No hospitals...they weren't going to take you to the hospital. Relief washes over you and your limbs suddenly felt so heavy.

"Thank you..." You barely make out before your body gives out and you slump against Javi. His arms wrap around you after checking for a pulse, and he stands, scooping you up bridal style in his arm. He carries you out to his car, sitting you in the front seat and strapping you in, Steve arguing the whole way.

"Look, she said no hospitals, so we aren't going to the hospital. If things get worse, I'll take her, but for now, I'm taking her back to mine. You stay here and get the paperwork done. I'll call if anything changes." Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Javi was already in the truck, taking you to his little apartment on the quiet side of town.

It was surely a strange sight, the DEA agent carrying in your battered body to his apartment, and it raises the eyebrow of Old Woman Angela who gracefully still decides to mind her own business. Safe within the confines of his home, Javi carries you to his bed, laying you down gently before ridding you of your shoes in an attempt to grant you at least a little comfort.

"Let's get you cleaned up, querida." His words are soft and gentle, more so than he's used with anyone in a long time. Delicately, he wipes your face with a clean, damp cloth to rid you of the grime and blood that had built up, using caution around your deeply blackened eye. The sight of you so battered made his heart ache. He was used to violence, he was used to death. It followed him everywhere in this line of work. So why, then, was this hitting him so much harder than any of the others. Why did he feel this overwhelming need to protect you, to keep you safe from all the world's atrocities? He shakes his head and mutters to himself in Spanish as he moves to sanitizing and dressing your wounds. Once you were as cared for as he could make you, he sits, watching your sleeping form. The subtle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep gives him at least a little comfort. His hand moves as if of its own will, taking yours gently. They're so soft, and they fit so perfectly in his, almost like your hands were made to be held in his. It felt so right, so natural. And that was something Javier Peña had never felt before, not like this. In your sleep, so gently he almost thinks he imagined it, you squeeze his hand tighter.

Javier Peña didn't even know your name, but in his heart he knew one thing.

You were home.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" you call from your place on the couch, head dangling off, your feet where your head should be.

"Absolutely," came the gentle voice from the kitchen.

"And what about soulmates?"

"Those too. Why do you ask?" Marcus peeks his head out and chuckles when he sees you once again refusing to use furniture correctly.

"I dunno, just a thought I've been having recently. Like, how do people know when they've found their soulmate? It's not like we have a countdown timer that tells us."

"Well," your boyfriend comes to join you on the couch and you immediately right yourself to lay with your head in his lap, his fingers moving to play with your hair. "It's one of those things you just know. Like, they walk into the room and all you can see is them. Their voice and laugh makes you feel like you're floating, and every time you see them a warmth spreads through you from the tip of your head all the way to your toes. And the feel of their skin is the most right thing in the world, like anywhere you go, so long as you're with them, you're home." His gentle smile down at you does just that, filling you with that warmth it always does. "Some people even say they have dreams of past lives where they've met their soulmates before."

"Have you?"

"I have." His voice is so assured, it takes you by surprise, and you must have worn that look on your face because Marcus laughs before tapping your nose.

"...Tell me about her. Or him, I guess." Curiosity was eating you alive. Who was Marcus' soulmate? Were you keeping him from them? Your heart sank at the thought that maybe...maybe he belonged to someone else through some greater proclaimed destiny.

"She's been so many things and been on so many adventures, love. She's flown through the expanses of space so many times, fought monsters and mined for rare jewels. She's aided weary warriors who were passing through her tiny village. She's survived terrifying experiences with drug lords and she's worked as a top agent in intelligence organizations. She's wept for a lover she never knew, and she's been mourned by more than she will ever know." You watch his face with a child-like wonder, and when he finishes he looks at you, that glimmer you love so much still present in his eyes. "Have you ever had similar dreams?"

The question catches you by surprise and you find yourself contemplating. You had never really remembered dreams, but a few did stick out to you. "I remember...space. And the man I was with was cold and metal, but his voice was gentle. And I remember...I remember working in offices with men in suits I could never afford, but who bought me nice things to say the words they could never get to come out. And...a scar. I remember a scar." Wandering fingers reach up to trace over Marcus' eye. "I remember my first thought when I saw you was 'Didn't he have a scar?' But the thought was so out of place, I had no idea what to do with it. I had never met you before! So I...forgot it." All through your talking, Marcus' smile has just grown wider, as if he's waiting for you to catch one of his jokes.

When it all clicks into place, you sit up, your mouth slightly open as memories flood your mind's eyes. A wet and weary warrior, a charming cowboy, a fearsome hunter covered in metal, a talkative gentleman whose every sentence was poetry, a ruthless killer, a soft pilot with a heat of gold, a grand prince gone too soon, a pompous billionaire, a sarcastic frat boy, and a gentle DEA agent all flashing through your mind in rapid succession. Your eyes tear up with the memories that are yours but at the same time aren't, and you reach up to cup his face. Words die on the tip of your tongue as you struggle to force them out.

Marcus takes the burden from you, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It's heavy, full of so many memories, so many moments, so many lifetimes. It's so magnificent it sucks the air from your lungs and you break away to gasp for breath as Marcus presses his forehead to yours.

"Y...You're my...soulmate..." The words are barely a breath, but he hears them all the same and nods, pecking your lips once more as he gathers you into his arms. You melt into the grasp, more comfortable here than anywhere else on earth.

"Yes, my love. And no matter the lifetime, no matter the universe, no matter the struggle...The forces that be will always bring me to you. Always wait for me."

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

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senju-sekhmet · 3 years

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The Leash (Part 7)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death ~5300 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6 Read on AO3! Disclaimer below the cut! (I updated it actually this time, lmfao)

DISCLAIMER! I’ve split the chapters of as some of them were too long (the last one being +18k, oopz), therefore this comes a little bit shorter than usual! But each of them still should contain a meaningful amount of progress in terms of, y’know. Plot and all. But! It should make posting the chapters more frequently a bit easier. More angst and science here! Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ______ Tobirama couldn’t believe what you had just said. So much so he fell silent after his incredulous outbreak - prompting you to repeat your eerily calm statement. “You need more time. Stretching the intervals will do just that.” His hand on your shoulder gripped it tighter as the message had settled in, slowly, but he retorted before he had comprehend it, really. “Absolutely not!”

You closed your eyes slowly. “Tobirama…”

Your calmness was unnerving him additionally. “Do you even realise what you’re saying?!”, his voice had risen in volume.

Your eyes snapped open again. Your stare was boring into his, the cold hand that had been caressing him fell limply to your chest. “I’m the one who is going to suffer, so I’d say yes,” you stated.

Tobirama’s heart was hammering in his chest again. But this time, it was from fury - the worry from before was shadowed by it easily. The things you were saying - outrageous. “The withdrawal is lethal! I will not allow this, Y/n!”, he was almost shouting now. Hell, were you losing your mind?

Your mien hardened. “It is not lethal right away. The decision to shorten the interval because of potential harms was made by an assumption we have no hard proof of,” you countered somberly. "Maybe it can be stretched."

Tobirama drew his hands back to cross them in front of his chest, causing you to wince as your chakra connection abruptly ended. He merely hissed curtly, but the ire had his chakra swelling already - such a connection would be dangerous to your delicate state now. Besides, it made arguing a lot easier. “We have very good reason to believe stretching the interval is dangerous,” he began, his baritone voice near trembling again. He still couldn’t believe you were even talking about this. “And you are in absolutely no state to take on even more strain, at all,” the sternness was becoming scathing.

You laid completely still in the bed. His attitude was bouncing off of your stoic demeanour like water on oiled leather still. “Then I’ll need more support. There are ways to do that until the withdrawal becomes too detrimental to my health, then I get the next dose.”

You made it sound so easy. So simple. Like nothing was at stake here.

Tobirama’s expression fell apart more and more. He could only gaze at you in utter horror. “You’ll suffer miserably, Y/n,” his voice was cracking. Whether it was from fury or shock, he didn’t know anymore. Unable to sit still anymore, he jumped to his feet to stand by your side. “We don't know at all if there aren't more ways in which the withdrawal will harm you! Even if we get you through those prolonged withdrawal phases - which we will not be having - there is no saying what effects it will have on you - what if you’re taking permanent damage?” He’d never forgive himself if that were to happen - if you became impaired because he did not administer this godforsaken leash on time.

If you died because of a gamble. He was trembling now.

You gasped almost inaudibly, your facade cracking finally. A wrinkle on your forehead. Tobirama huffed. Just as quickly though, you found your proverbial balance again. “I’d rather become handicapped than dead, Tobirama.”

The statement hit close to home. Only momentarily though for his anger bristled even harsher in return for it. Proceeding like this might just as well kill you, after all. “You’re expecting me to let you undergo additional, intense torment, risk permanent injury, possibly even killing you!”, he intended to make it a question, but as he listed these things, he was almost shouting again. His hands gesticulated out of sheer frustration - every fiber of himself refused even entertaining this idea more; even discussing this was so revulsive he thought he’d stumble over his words until all he’d bring out was ‘no’. “I won’t allow this.” His eyes narrowed as he stared you down, crossing his arms firmly in front of his chest. “We are not doing that.”

Your gaze narrowed in turn. Again, you started to move again to sit up in the bed, each arm by your side hefting your chest up - get closer to eye level with him. Tobirama scowled and took a step closer to your side. “Y/n!”, he couldn’t believe it - just a short while ago he had berated you on resting, and already, you were moving again - plus, you obviously weren’t letting this foolish, foolish idea go-

“Tobirama,” your voice was clouded with fury of your own now. He placed a hand on your shoulder that already wanted to shove you back onto the bed again, but it rested for now. “I know that,” you panted, hissing past clenched teeth. “But you forget that all of that won’t matter if I die because there’s none of that damn leash left!”, your voice rose to a shout, hoarse as your vocal chords still reeled from the abuse.

He stared back at you for a moment only, his vision tunneling. The fury was burning under his skin. Each and every single aspect of this proposal was just plain wrong-

“Lie down again,” he hissed strictly, mustering every bit of his control to not shout back at you. Or simply shove you down. Or use more unkind words.

“I will not,” but before Tobirama could shout back at you, your frail hand had gripped his wrist. He felt the tremble in your body from the extortion of sitting up - he knew this must cause you pain, too. But you didn’t give him a chance to speak or start berating you, “Stretching the interval is going to give you - me - us - more desperately needed time, Tobirama. Time is all that matters now!”

He stared right into your eyes which he was positive were glistening now. Distantly, he became aware again of the fact how his heart was still hammering against his ribcage.

“Even if it’s just twenty-four hours, maybe thirty-six,” you finally whispered, letting go of his hand and sinking back on the bed, panting. The little endeavour had visibly cost you quite some energy - but then by now, the delirium phase would start again soon. It was hailed by the weakness. “Think about that logically for a damn second, please,” you breathed.

Tobirama felt the heartache constrict his chest again. Desperately he began to take deep breaths against the feeling, raking a hand over his scalp. Unable to stand still any longer, he turned around. Pacing in front of the end of your bed, his mind was racing while the emotions were surging. He couldn’t possibly allow this. It was foolish, it was unspeakably dangerous for you - and there was no telling if they could extend the interval by a meaningful margin. He’d agree to a terrible amount of agony for you, risk handicapping you - for what?

Time. The reason was time. The one thing he needed. Well, despite the solution to the mystery of the leash. But time would answer that one just as well.

It was a gamble with the highest stake: you. But you were on the line, either way. Either he took the five days he had left and worked nonstop. Or he took this risk, this ridiculously perilous risk, he forced you through a new dimension of hell - and he gained more time.

He was confident in his skills - but never so arrogant to look in the mirror and think a day - or more - would not matter in cracking the leash. Because they would. Greatly. Maybe not enough to even the odds. But every day you endured longer - he absolutely loathed himself for how logical the whole situation seemed.

Tobirama was seething with rage. Rage about the situation. Your proposal. What this meant for you. Your stubbornness. “Dammit,” he muttered near silently.

Your eyes were on him with a sad look when he gazed back at you, both hands gripping the foot end of the bed. His knuckles turned white. “I don’t want to do this,” he breathed, desperation seeping into his voice, jaw taunt again.

You blinked, a sorrowful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I don’t either, Tobirama,” you whispered, haunted.

He clenched his teeth. He wanted to say there had to be another way - but he knew, there was none. By all means, if he knew one thing despairingly clear now, unravelling the leash was a staggering task, even for him.

He swallowed the lump down his throat. His head hung low. This was another defeat. “I’ll speak to Hashirama about this,” he finally muttered brokenly, aware of what waited for you next - medically - would well exceed his skills. It wasn’t about mending some damages you had suffered - no, this would be about keeping you stable. Alive. Not that he had the time to supervise you as much as you’d need to, now. Another fact that didn’t sit well with him at all. Not only were you going to very likely be in a critical condition, but he also couldn’t be there all the way through, for every bitter second of it.

He looked back up at you, furrowing his eyebrows forlornly.

“Tobirama,” you called out then, softly. Your hand waved him over, he obliged, slumping down by your side again, still gazing down sadly.

Your hand reached for his and he couldn’t help but notice the fine tremor that shook your arm. It would get so much worse from now on. He took it in both of his, a palm running over your forearm soothingly.

His eye widened slightly when he felt the faintest nudge at his chakra network - you were trying to soothe over his like he had done so often these past few days. The gesture was incredibly touching on the one hand and on the other it was heartbreaking. He closed his eyes and groaned faintly to ease the ache somehow, letting his chakra graze over your network. A chill sensation on his cheek prompted him to open his eyes again. You were caressing his cheek again.

“It’ll be fine, Tobirama,” you whispered.

No, it won’t be. He didn’t respond.

Your mien became more sorrowful again. “Tobi,” you began, the nickname warming his heart like few things could. “Promise me you’ll go as far with this as you possibly can.” Your gaze was piercing. He gasped. “Promise me no matter how much I scream, writhe or whatever - so long as it’s possibly justifiable, you’ll hold off of giving me the next dose.”

His pulse thundered in his chest. This is insane. Nobody should ever agree to this. He didn’t want to. He’d never want to do anything that’d make you suffer.

“Promise me,” you repeated when he didn’t reply right away, firmer now but no less mournful. Your thumb grazed over his cheekbone.

He felt entirely numb when he spoke. “I promise, Y/n,” he choked out, voice broken. His grip around your hand and arm was firm now. Desperate. “But I won’t risk anything,” he added swiftly, “I can’t - I can’t do that.”

“I know. Thank you,” you replied, almost a whimper. Your hand smoothed over his face to reach for the back of his skull, through his hair. With very light pressure, you beckoned him closer. Dazedly he moved again, and a moment later your cool lips were on his in an utterly tender kiss. He couldn’t help the whimper of his own that escaped against your lips. Your hand stroked over his short hair.

He pulled back only very slightly after, his face hovering over yours. Your eyes were glistening again. His were prickling again, too. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/n,” he muttered.

You gave another smile that tore at his heart. “You won’t. I’ll fight as much as you do.”

He was damn sure you’d fight. In both a sarcastic and wholehearted way.

He closed his eyes and a hand snuck around your chest, under you, while his face buried in the crook of your neck. Your arms wrapped around him. He took a deep breath that nearly turned into a sob.

You kept rubbing gently over his back while he tried to bite down on more tears and sobs. The ache in his heart was near unbearable now.

_____

As much as he wanted to simply hold you, time was more essential than ever. He mournfully released you not long after and with another warm caress, both inwardly by his chakra and outwardly, he promised he’d be back soon to find his brother and discuss the plan. You on the other hand had become weaker yet again, urging him to hurry even more. The withdrawal would set in soon, and they had to be ready.

Even so, Tobirama decided to make most of the time he had, as well. If you were going to run a high risk, so would he - before he sought out his brother who no doubt was in the Hokage office at this time of the day - past noon - he went to the laboratory again. Three shadow clones - for now. With what little information he had gleaned from Zenji as well as the result from his first experiment, he might as well triple his efforts in trying to recreate the leash. Four times more, once he was involved. Frankly the number was low for him, but they'd be working quite a long time and he well remembered the head-splitting concentration it had taken to even conduct his first experiment in imbuing the basis with chakra.

When he'd let these clones disappear, it'd be tripled. So would the progress, however. He let out a low gruff when they got to work. All he needed to do was remind himself of the strain you'd be shouldering soon.

He should have done this from day one. But then he didn't have enough information to go with for this to be truly efficient - he hadn’t even known what to do, really.

Hashirama indeed was in the office, which Tobirama noted was in some disarray. Quite possibly because he had not been here to swat at his brother's hands. His scowl mustered the scrolls that were strewn about, shaking his head.

Hashirama already sighed when he noticed his disapproving glance. "You're not here to berate me I'm guessing," he began, already defensively.

"I have more urgent business, although I will say this office is ridiculously untidy," he frowned, casting a last glance around to find his brother drooping again. Luckily they didn't receive guests in here. Tobirama crossed his arms.

"Yes…?" Hashirama inquired, slumping further into his chair.

"Y/n … brought up an idea," he began, suddenly finding difficulty in wording this. Proposing this insane plan. His pulse picked up already. He tilted his head to gaze out of the window behind his brother. "We… I need more time, anija. And she thinks we should extend the interval at which she takes what we have left of the leash as much as possible."

Once the words had left him, a weight felt lifted off of his shoulders at the same time it came crashing onto his chest again. His heart. There was no turning back now. He firmly had to believe this was the right thing to do. Like so often these past few days. He simply staggered through the heartache all this caused him and tried to forget about how wrong it was.

Hashirama straightened in his chair, frowning now. His elbows propped up on the desk and he intertwined his fingers. Any of the depressed demeanour was gone. "I hardly think I need to tell you of all people how dangerous that is, Tobirama."

Tobirama hissed past his clenched teeth. "Tell me something new." He still found himself profusely struggling with all this. "I… even if it's just a day or a day and a half more," echoing your words. He paused, his arms sliding down and fists clenching by his sides. "I can't deny I'd take every damn hour I can get."

Hashirama's gaze was trained on the desk, his forehead wrinkled in fine ponder. "It's that bad," he whispered, half to himself.

Tobirama remained silent. He needn't supply that statement with more fodder. Him being here - saying the things he was saying - was proof enough of that. Slowly, he crossed his arms again, taking deep breaths.

That sort of had seemed to become his new mantra.

Hashirama leaned back in the chair again, turning slightly but still lost in thought. "The withdrawal ultimately is lethal, that much we have ascertained."

Tobirama sighed. The words stabbed at his heart. "Indeed," he replied nonetheless, beaten down. "We have to stabilise her as long as possible-"

Hashirama cut in. "-before the withdrawal becomes too severe. I understand that." He fell silent again.

Tobirama grew uneasy the longer Hashirama did not speak.

When he finally spoke again, Tobirama almost flinched. "I'm not sure to what degree that is possible," he began slowly, a hand rubbing over his chin. "We're already facing the problem of Y/n's chakra overload due to weeks of sloppy care on top of grievous injury, so that is not a good angle to work with. One we will have to use if necessary - even if it means to overburden her - but as a last resort."

Tobirama listened intently, trying to ignore the rush of blood in his ears. The implications of his brother’s elaborations didn’t sit well with him either, but then what of this did? Therefore he didn’t argue, but just listen.

"It comes down to using every kind of physical aid we have available therefore, mainly medicine. Also other physical aid, but that would be our focus, for now."

"That's not a bad start," Tobirama stated, aware there was more to follow.

Which it did. "Any chakra based methods are our last resort. And we won't be able to do anything for her physical state otherwise, meaning her remaining injuries won’t receive attention." That would set you back yet again - they'd again push the limits of what you could take, even go beyond. And after - after all this was over, you'd face a prolonged recovery to repair those damages perfectly. Tobirama's hands bunched the black fabric of his shirt.

It was manageable, still. Somehow. Eventually.

Hashirama was not done though. "I'm worried it won't hold very long. The withdrawal effect we have witnessed was intense as such. That was somewhat more than the interval we're at now. And we know the bulk of it seems to stem from the way the victim’s chakra starts to interact with the leash."

Tobirama frowned. Something about that sentence made him wonder - but he stowed it away for later. "So you're saying we can't prolong the dose by a meaningful margin either way?"

Hashirama shook his head. "I don't know enough to make a prognosis. But…," he sighed. Tobirama knew that sigh. Whatever Hashirama wanted to say next won't sit well with him. Inwardly, he rolled his eyes. It couldn't get any worse at this point, why mince his words? "... there might be merit in sealing off Y/n's chakra, temporarily. As long as the withdrawal sets in worse."

That did strike him harshly. Tobirama sucked in a sharp breath. "That's tantamount to amputation, anija," he rasped out with a slight tremble to his voice, a cold shiver running over his back.

Hashirama cleared his throat solemnly. "Think of it more as restraining."

The world was upside down if Tobirama became the one to question Hashirama's methods. "Restraining implies just preventing something - you're talking about taking it away from her completely!", his voice rose in volume as the shock seeped through his veins icily. "A punishment befitting criminals," he added, pained.

It hurt. It hurt so much because -

Deep down, he already knew this was yet another thing they'd end up doing to you, thinking it was best. He'd do better accepting it quickly. Still, in this moment - it was sheer horror. He’d fight it, be disgusted of it… and do it anyway.

Hashirama closed his eyes. " Temporarily, Tobirama. It's worth a try. It won’t stop the withdrawal as it gets worse, because her chakra is just sealed from her, but obviously not gone from her body. But I’m confident it’s going to help prolong the time between the intervals." Of course it was. Logically, he well comprehended this. If he’d sit down calmly, he’d have come up with this on his own, too. It didn't make accepting this easier.

But he had to.

Defeatedly he heaved a heavy breath. "Very well." He silently hoped you were so out of it by then, you wouldn't feel it as much anymore.

"I'll speak to Mito," Hashirama announced. "And I will supervise Y/n personally." He rose to his feet already. "When would the next dose be needed?"

"About two hours," Tobirama murmured, feeling numb again.

"Alright. Then there still is some time." Already, Hashirama began to move for the door. "I'll be in the laboratory. I want to be notified right away if any complications arise," Tobirama announced tersely, “Or when she needs the next dose.” No discussion about this whatsoever.

Time to deal with the problem that was splitting his head, not his heart.

_______ He inspected his shadow clones work when he got back to the laboratory. Not much more than what he had managed before - but they had just started to work. He briefly contemplated visiting you again but decided against it in favour of you resting.

You were in for enough as it was. He resolved to put every single second to use now more than ever given the situation had become as grave. Yet being here again placed him in front of the seemingly insurmountable task again. He still didn’t know how to continue, and what he had gleaned so far served as a vague indicator at best. If he interpreted it wrong, he might end up in the wrong direction altogether. And that meant…

The painful tightness settled in his chest again. He took a moment of gripping the lab bench tightly to breathe through it.

He really only had one shot at this.

Reviewing what he knew so far he was almost completely convinced that the liquid had been imbued with chakra, no particular jutsu involved at all - but rather a complex weaving technique of chakra itself - akin to the way medical jutsu at a very basic level worked. Simply because his first experiment had shown a similar effect in Zenji. Still, he couldn't rule the possibility out entirely, since his experiment hadn’t produced the same effects the leash did. So far concerning the immediate effect of the leash.

But there was also the time component. Because his own experiment had worn off rather quickly in comparison to the original, Tobirama couldn’t help but wonder if maybe a technique was needed after all to make it last longer. A seal, rather, he corrected himself. However that, he judged, would not be as difficult to imitate - it’d have to be a containment seal of inferior quality due to the fact neither he nor Hashirama found any trace of it on the bottle they had brought with them. Anything more complicated would’ve required some ink work.

A relief, albeit a small one.

He still did not know at all how the change of the chakra component between muting and then disrupting the victim’s chakra happened, though. Recalling how different your two blood samples had presented - it made him doubt again if there really was no jutsu involved. This seemed too far-fetched to be accomplished by weaving of chakra alone. Every effect the leash caused - altering chakra flows to a stop, almost, and causing disruption in someone’s network to a point the body reacts, violently and physically - a well-versed medical nin could produce in a like human being with their own chakra. But to imbue a liquid that caused these effects consecutively in a timely manner - for a duration that would kill the victim before they have worn off - it seemed near impossible, the more Tobirama thought of it.

Unless.

He recalled Hashirama’s words from before: the bulk of it seems to stem from the way the victim’s chakra starts to interact with the leash.

Something about that had bothered him. Why would someone go the long way to create a drug that served as a chemical leash due to its withdrawal effect without actually taking advantage of it in interrogation settings? Wouldn’t it be more sensible to let the victim suffer continuously in fact, and not with the belated onset? Sure, the withdrawal effects were lethal at some point - but Tobirama did not doubt for one second that a person who was able to imbue a vial with chakra that changed its effect over time could easily let the uncomfortable feeling of the withdrawal set in sooner and prolong that, shortening the chakra muting phase of the drug. Even scrapping it altogether, really. To immobilize a victim’s chakra was handy for torture, true - it lowered mental defenses. To some degree, anyway - it hadn’t worked with you. Yet… bothering a person with something like the withdrawal effect would do the same just as well. Even for restraining purposes this seemed ineffective: chakra handcuffs or the like would serve the purpose better and longer. A torturer should know how to seal off chakra, too.

It hit Tobirama then.

The leash didn’t change over time. It had not one, but two chakra components: one to clog the victim’s chakra flow, the other to disrupt it.

How had he not realised this sooner? Just as he found a medic-nin might create all these effects in a person, he should’ve realised it would be impossible to do so without actively altering the chakra they were using profusely. Or, multitracking with two different kinds of chakra flows at the same time. He had judged what the leash did was extremely difficult to recreate - but that was because the way he perceived it, it just was not possible. Chakra did not change on its own, someone needed to do it.

He couldn’t help but bark a haughty laugh for being so foolish to think the Stone shinobi had pulled that off. Well, then again he had seen stranger things.

The chakra muting component of the leash settled in and covered up the disruption component until it wore off and the victim began to experience symptoms. The chakra muting component therefore wasn’t intended for torture: it was necessary. Without it, the withdrawal would set in right away, starting to kill the victim. From the examinations he and Hashirama had performed on you during the withdrawal he knew the disruption was incurable in the way toxins might be extracted; that had been a hint to the chakra based nature of the leash. But not just that: it spread through the whole body, seeped through everywhere, making it impossible to be destroyed manually, in a sense. When he examined your blood, he had seen then the correlation of this; the enemies' chakra that had near branded itself to your cells in a most detrimental way. Both the effect it causes as well as your body's reaction were what was killing you during withdrawal.

A cure will have to remove it, Tobirama dismally realised. Somehow.

Though even more dismally he found that new questions arose from these realisations. While he had ascertained there must be two components, he still did not answer the initial question: was it really not possible to simply increase the withdrawal effect over time, foregoing the muting component? This seemed extra complicated. There had to be more to it - the only guess he could hazard really was the fact once imbued with chakra, the substance’s effect wouldn’t change. Any shift in intensity in the drug would only happen due to an effect wearing off. And why did the muting effect fade, but not the withdrawal effect? When he first analysed the leash with his sensory skills, the substance appeared so intricately woven, he hadn't even guessed two manipulations happened. Even your blood had not made him guess as much - initially there had been this fuzzy, heavy aspect of it - almost smothering - and in the later sample, it was stingy, like a million hooks that ripped along everything they touched, specifically chakra and its pathways. Why had he not felt both, if there had been two modifications?

Tobirama groaned finally and rubbed a hand over his face. The more he thought about all of this, the more he felt like he was starting to split hairs. He still hadn’t even found out how to weave the chakra in properly. Sighing heavily he released his clones briefly just to let them reappear, equipped with his new thoughts. The exhaustion was bearable as of now given they had not been working long yet, but still, the amount of images, feelings and experience that flooded his mind the moment he broke the jutsu made him stagger a moment.

He was not looking forward to gathering their results for this day.

Cynically he noted more sleep and food might help the issue. But he had no time for that yet.

Time to get to work himself. He began exactly the same as last time; starting to weave chakra he figured would cause the desired effect in a person’s body. Thanks to his added experience the process was a little bit faster, but it still took him - and his clones - a fair deal of time to produce four vials in total. And the concentration required was daunting - he couldn’t allow himself a moment of distraction or the tiny threads might crumble, knot together or frazzle. He might as well try to weave a complex pattern using spiderwebs only, or something of that caliber. The result wasn’t even gratifying: he merely had the muting component woven in, nothing like disruption was added yet. Truth be told, Tobirama was quite worried the delicate structure might crumble if he added more to it.

But he had to, eventually. Still, he had four vials in total now to try it with.

His gaze wandered to the clock. You had exceeded your interval by four hours so far. Which meant right now, you definitely would be suffering - and Hashirama was managing, or else he’d have sent for Tobirama.

If his brother had administered the next dose without him, then so help him whatever power he wanted to place his faith in.

He slipped one of the vials into his pocket. Then, he himself and each of the clones performed a very simple seal to preserve the vials as they were so the chakra woven in wouldn’t diminish over time. With a heavy sigh, he released the three shadow clones - and instantly grasped for the lab bench when the exhaustion hit him. It wasn’t just like feeling tired, worn out. He felt entirely stripped of his last shred of concentration, let alone energy to keep his eyes open. This might as well have been a blow to his head with a hammer, shattering the bone and ringing through his brain. His own chakra levels were not bothered at all - none of this was demanding in chakra quantity. He panted heavily and tried to keep his eyes open forcibly - just a while longer. The experience he gathered was so valuable - he just gained three sessions like this.

The question was how often he could take it.

He lingered a moment longer in order to regain his composure and remember the way to your room again.

Why did he have to remember, though?

Wait. He had his branded kunai in there.

That bad, huh. Tobirama shivered. This kind of blunder really was not like him.

With a low grunt, he placed the vial in his pocket back onto the laboratory rack. He’d conduct his next tests after he rested some. This wasn’t going to yield good results and so he was forced to having only his mood greatly soured by this. He simply had no time for things like… sleep.

Blinking slowly, he forced the last bit of concentration out of him and used the hiraishin seal to teleport to your room.

#tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #sekhmet writes

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carolyncaves · 4 years

Text

It’s been three days since I posted a ficlet, but that’s because my hand Really slipped this time and I wrote a canon divergence ‘post-Burial Mounds Wei Wuxian actually goes to Gusu’ fic. I’ll call this Day 19: Journey, but it also includes days 17 and 18 Rest and Breath for bonus points. 3680 words, WWX, LXC, LWJ, JC. Alcohol, vague mental illness (it’s post-burial-mounds wwx), strong undercurrent of wangxian (it’s lwj), angst, tenderness, golden core reveal.

also on ao3

“You do not necessarily need to take up the sword at once,” Lan Xichen called after Wei Wuxian, perhaps too desperately, but it mercifully stopped him in his tracks. “You can come to Cloud Recesses and simply consider it further there.”

“So instead of agreeing to take up the sword, Zewu Jun would like me to agree to agree to it in time. A grand distinction.” Wei Wuxian tipped his head back and drained the rest of the jar of baijiu. When he drew it down and looked at it, the rigid arrogance etched into his profile was mixed very briefly with a desperate despondence. Lan Xichen might not have noticed it, were it not for his conversation with Wangji.

Wei Wuxian had been somewhere terrible for three months, and he was not well. Wei Wuxian needed help. Wangji was forbidden to come, so Lan Xichen had to do this in his place, and please, Xiongzhang, you must get him to agree to come to Gusu, whatever it takes.

After what he’d seen so far of Wei Wuxian’s state, Lan Xichen was not sure it would be within his power. But Wangji had placed his trust in him.

“You will not be required to do anything, if only you will come.”

“I do not recall when Zewu Jun gained the authority to require things of me.”

That hostility could bring them to failure. Lan Xichen needed to shift to his reserve approach. He thought, given the circumstances, Wangji would consent. “To speak even more plainly, it would please Wangji very much to see you. You were correct when you said so yourself. He has been anxious since the close of Sunshot, and lonely at Cloud Recesses. I am asking you for this favor, as his closest confidant, for the sake of my brother’s happiness – so I will not be easily discouraged.” Those words were all true; it had become clear Wangji’s happiness depended very much on Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian’s expression softened once again, this time toward affection. Lan Xichen gave his words time to sink in, and then followed them with a wager: “It will be an opportunity for you to rest.” Despite Wei Wuxian’s bright smile and earnest greeting when they’d met on the street, Lan Xichen had sensed underneath it that Wei Wuxian was haggard and worn.

Wei Wuxian finally turned and looked at him again, and his agitation had fully melted back away. Lan Xichen felt the gentle lift of hope.

“I’m a member of the Jiang sect, aren’t I?” Wei Wuxian asked. “My brother has been named Sect Leader, and needs me now more than ever in his life. How can I go to Gusu with you?”

“Please allow me to ask him,” Lan Xichen said immediately. “On my own behalf, please give me your leave to request of him that you come visit us.” He did not mention, and only barely allowed himself to think, that if Wei Wuxian was here in town drinking baijiu in the middle of the day, he was probably not giving his brother the support he needed regardless.

Wei Wuxian stared at the floor for a very long time. He gave a hollow laugh. “All right. If Jiang Cheng gives you his blessing, I’ll go to Gusu with you.”

Lan Xichen had swayed one immovable stone, only to find another in its shadow.

Jiang Cheng received him almost immediately in Lotus Pier’s Sword Hall. He sat on the carved lotus seat, looking every inch a Sect Leader despite his youthful face. Wei Wuxian stood slightly to one side, looking carefully at the opposite wall instead of either of them.

“Take Wei Wuxian to Cloud Recesses?” Jiang Cheng kept his voice even and respectful, for now, but his features clearly displayed his incredulous irritation. “And you want to go, I suppose,” he added, much more acidly, to Wei Wuxian. “You’d like to run off and see Hanguang Jun, nevermind Yunmeng Jiang.”

“Zewu Jun has asked it of me,” Wei Wuxian said lowly. “Should I just refuse him out of hand?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed, and Lan Xichen could almost hear his rejoinder – So you make me do it instead? “Have you been drinking? I needed you today. Look at you.”

“Sect Leader Jiang, I am asking this of you as a personal favor,” Zewu Jun said, hoping to coerce Jiang Cheng into discussing it with him instead. “I’m hopeful spending a measure of time together at Cloud Recesses will be beneficial for both my brother and yours.”

“Hanguang Jun is more than welcome to come to Yunmeng,” Jiang Cheng countered.

“Currently Wangji has sect matters he is required to attend to,” Zewu Jun answered, before immediately wincing.

“And Wei Wuxian doesn’t?” Jiang Cheng snapped. He looked incensed with a fire more furious than this one conversation would ignite, implying Wei Wuxian’s truancy today was not an isolated incident; this request was precisely the fuel to grow a smolder into a blaze. “Not that he’s been doing them. Are you planning to stand by my side and help me at any point, Wei Wuxian? Have you no sense of responsibility?”

Lan Xichen saw those words hit Wei Wuxian like a blow, but he was surprised when Jiang Cheng flinched as well. Perhaps he had not intended the second meaning – the implication of blame, as well as duty.

Jiang Cheng took a breath to recover, and apparently that gave him the time he needed to reconsider.

“Forget the thing I just said. You should go with him.”

Wei Wuxian looked right at him, then, for the first time in that conversation, and his face was masked with slow confusion and hurt. “Jiang Cheng …”

“Don’t argue with me! Go cheer up Lan Wangji and yourself, and come back. You’ve been impossible and stubborn since you got back from wherever on earth you were, and I need you to get your head back on straight.” Wei Wuxian’s face had gone blank again during that tirade. Jiang Cheng snorted in exasperation and added, “Don’t forget to take your sword with you, and see if you can come back riding it.”

Wei Wuxian stiffened, and Lan Xichen was briefly terrified the situation would collapse mere inches from success. He stepped forward, clamped a hand down hard on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, and said, “We will bring the sword with us.” He hoped Wei Wuxian would remember the assurances Lan Xichen had given him, so he wouldn’t have to repeat them in front of Jiang Cheng. “Where is it, Wei-gongzi?”

Lan Xichen escorted Wei Wuxian to collect the sword and some personal effects from his room – thankfully, Jiang Cheng remained behind. Suibian was tucked behind a chest of drawers, where Wei Wuxian would not see it as he went about his daily life. Wei Wuxian retrieved it and stared at it like it was alien in his own hand, in contrast to the dark flute he held as at his side as an extension of himself in the other.

He thrust his arm toward Lan Xichen.

This disturbed Lan Xichen, the way Wei Wuxian seemed actively averse to the sword’s presence, but he said nothing; he was on the verge of achieving his mission. All this could be discussed in the fullness of time once Wei Wuxian was safely at Cloud Recesses. He took Suibian in his own hand, for the time being. He would bear this person and his sword to Wangji.

Wei Wuxian was slow and lethargic in his movements, some combination of mood and intoxication. It took all of Lan Xichen’s discipline not to rush him. It felt as if every moment that elapsed could bring some unforeseen stimulus that would knock Wei Wuxian off this vital and fragile course. Eventually he was ready, and as soon as they had sky over their heads, Lan Xichen took him on Shuoyue and maneuvered them into the air.

Lan Xichen relaxed, since they were now underway, which seemed a significant milestone in making this more difficult to stop. Wei Wuxian clung to him in strange desperation with the arm that wasn’t holding Chenqing. He stared down and around and out, face wide and wild as they climbed into the dusky sky, and as the minutes passed he began to shake. Did he feel unsafe relying on someone else to maneuver the sword? Had something happened that had instilled in him a fear of heights?

“Hide your eyes, if you would be more at ease,” Lan Xichen told him. “I assure you, Wei-gongzi, I will deliver you safely.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers tightened ever so slightly in Lan Xichen’s robes, like he was hesitating, fighting a silent battle. Finally, his head collapsed onto Lan Xichen’s shoulder, his face angled into the side of his neck. Otherwise he said nothing, and did nothing. It was so far distant from the buoyant young man who had come to Gusu for lectures and even the sharp, bright, terrible one he’d seen glimpses of during Sunshot. Wangji had been correct. Wei Wuxian was deeply not well. Lan Xichen had been moderately convinced by the end of their conversation at the inn; now he was beyond certain.

The flight was long, but at the end of it, the patch of garden in front of Wangji’s jingshi came up to meet them, and Lan Xichen set them safely down. Wei Wuxian had made the journey.

///

Lan Wangji heard a sound he quickly placed as Xichen maneuvering Shuoyue, and he was out the door of the jingshi as quickly as he could physically manage it. First, because Xichen would not maneuver the sword within Cloud Recesses if he were not on some urgent mission, and second, because Lan Wangji would not have been able to hear him if he were alone and unburdened.

Sure enough, he was met with the sight of Xichen ushering a rigid Wei Ying from the steel onto the grass. A relief so intense it threatened to send him to his knees expanded through Lan Wangji.

“Wei Ying,” he said reflexively, closing the space between them.

Wei Ying turned to him with glazed, hazy eyes.

“He may still be intoxicated,” Xichen said, “and he has been harrowed by the flight.”

Lan Wangji stopped just before he touched Wei Ying, remembering him step away from him at Yiling Supervisory Office, turn away at the cliffs at Nightless City. This time, Wei Ying let him slowly move in and take him by one wrist. It was hope, and forgiveness, and a plea.

“Let’s get him inside,” Xichen said, which meant Lan Wangji had to release him. He followed as Xichen escorted Wei Ying up the walk. By the time they reached the open doorway, Wei Ying had recovered some of his senses, and he pulled himself out of Xichen’s hold.

“You don’t have to … you didn’t have to,” Wei Ying said coldly. “I shouldn’t be here. I should go back.”

Lan Wangji’s stomach sank, but Xichen just said, “Wei-gongzi, surely you aren’t suggesting I fly you back to Lotus Pier by sword this very moment.”

Wei Ying flinched, even as he scowled at himself for it.

“You must at least take dinner with us, and stay the night,” Xichen continued. “We can discuss it further in the morning if you like. You’re no prisoner here, just a welcome guest.” Xichen extended his arm, gesturing for Wei Ying to continue into the jingshi.

At length, he did.

Wei Ying stopped in the center of the room, standing aimlessly as Xichen and Lan Wangji came in around him. “I’ll go have someone prepare us a meal,” Xichen said. He held out Suibian, which for the first time Lan Wangji noticed he was carrying.

Wei Ying stared at him. He made no move to take it.

Xichen smiled sadly and went to set the sword at one of the places at the table.

Lan Wangji said stepped forward and took Suibian from his hand. “Xiongzhang,” he said, bowing formally with Wei Ying’s sword clasped in his hands, “thank you for bringing Wei Ying here. Now I will speak with him.”

Xichen briefly looked taken aback. Then his gaze floated from Lan Wangji to Wei Ying before returning. “I told Wei-gongzi we would not force him to take up his sword if he came here. That we would not require anything of him if he was unwilling.”

Lan Wangji imagined how the conversation must have gone, for Xichen to make that assurance. “Thank you,” he said again, and he hoped Xichen understood him.

Xichen nodded. “I will have the meal sent over for you.” Xichen acknowledged Wei Ying and left, surrendering Wei Ying into Lan Wangji’s custody.

Wei Ying was here. He had come to Gusu, however tensely. Lan Wangji was not helpless any longer. He could do something. He looked at the sword in his hand. Wei Ying’s wild Suibian. “I will play Clarity for you until the dinner comes,” he said.

“Lan Zhan, you can’t help me.”

“You said you would allow me,” Lan Wangji pushed back, pacing around Wei Ying to face him. “You came here.”

“No, Lan Zhan. You can’t help me.” Wei Ying looked up at him, expression gaunt. He was still thin, from wherever he’d been when he was away. If he was intoxicated, it was the morose kind. “You can play Clarity for me until your fingers bleed. I still won’t take up the sword again.”

“Why not?” Lan Wangji bit out, clenching Suibian in his grip. “What happened, Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying’s gaze was heavy on the sword in Lan Wangji’s hand. He thought for a great, long silence. “You have to believe me this time,” he said, swaying a little on his feet. “If I tell you, you have to believe me.”

Lan Wangji had not believed him when he spun a tall tale about a book and a cave with a dark, haughty grin. He had been afraid to believe him when he mentioned the Burial Mounds with a smile. Now, with Wei Ying standing empty in the jingshi, a silent tear rolling down his face, having relented and left his home so Lan Wangji could help him, Lan Wangji was prepared to believe anything he had to say. Lan Wangji nodded.

“It’s a secret,” Wei Ying pressed instantly, and more tears followed the first. “You need to swear to me you’ll keep it a secret. From Zewu Jun, from your uncle, from everyone. I would die rather than have it be known. Do you understand, Lan Zhan? It’s a secret I was going to die to keep.”

That image, the one of Wei Ying dead, frightened Lan Wangji more than anything had previously in his life. A year ago, it would have seemed impossible – his overloud, overfamiliar other, taken by death. Now, it seemed possible. Now, Wei Ying was barely held together by resentful energy and thin wire.

Lan Wangji raised his head, decided. He crossed the room, to the sword stand where his own Bichen stood. He put Suibian to rest alongside it. Then he turned. Wei Ying had turned to watch him.

Lan Wangji held out his hand, palm up. “Then tell me. We will keep it together.”

Wei Ying looked at his hand like a man going to his death. He looked at it like a man who wanted to be saved. He barely took his eyes off it as he took the three steps sideways necessary to walk over and place Chenqing on the corner of the table. Then he took the three steps back – toward Lan Wangji – and Lan Wangji’s hand in his own.

He drew it toward him and pressed it against his lower abdomen.

It took Lan Wangji a second to process this strange action, and another to follow its implication. He controlled his spiritual energy, reached in to touch Wei Ying’s spiritual core.

Nothing.

Lan Wangji’s hand clenched, pulling in a handful of Wei Ying’s clothes. He could feel his own breath begin to accelerate. Wei Ying’s cultivation was a match for Lan Wangji’s own. How could Wei Ying lack a golden core?

Wei Ying had bit his lip so hard he bled. Lan Wangji raised his other hand instinctively, to wipe the blood and tears away.

“Hanguang Jun,” came a voice from outside, and the door slid open.

The junior disciple holding the tray with their dinner froze on the threshold. Fortunately, Wei Ying was facing away from the door, so the tears on his face would not be visible. Lan Wangji could not begin to imagine what his own showed.

The disciple opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Place it quickly and go,” Lan Wangji said, his voice harsh even in his own ears. The disciple leapt forward to obey, practically diving across the room and setting the tray on the table. Her sleeve brushed against Chenqing as she withdrew, sending it clattering to the floor. She winced and reached for it.

“Leave it,” Lan Wangji commanded. The disciple gave the quickest bow he had ever seen and fled the jingshi, banging the door closed behind her.

Wei Ying gave a wet laugh. Lan Wangji’s hand was still on his face. “Lan Zhan, that disciple surely thought you were in the middle of ravishing me. By morning, every junior in the Lan sect will be talking about Hanguang Jun and his secret lover.”

Lan Wangji drew Wei Ying into the circle of his arms and crushed him to his chest.

“Wei Ying,” he said into the side of his head. He clutched at him, dug one hand into his hair. “Wei Ying.”

“It’s all right, Lan Zhan, really,” Wei Ying said, voice hollow. “It’s not so terribly bad. I’m practically used to it at this point. But you see why I can’t take up the sword anymore.” Wei Ying was still babbling. “Do you see, Lan Zhan?”

“Enough talking,” Lan Wangji said. His mind was beginning to seek causes and effects. “Wen Zhuliu?”

“I thought you said enough talking,” Wei Ying deflected.

The Wen soldiers had said things that hadn’t made sense to Lan Wangji. They’d said the heir to the Jiang sect had been burned down into a mediocre person. The pieces rearranged themselves, and Lan Wangji spat, “Jiang Cheng. Wen Zhuliu, and Jiang Cheng.”

“Enough talking,” Wei Ying whispered, but his hands finally came up and wrapped around him. He finally took hold of Lan Wangji. And he began to cry. It was quiet. Listless. Unlike everything Wei Ying was.

Lan Wangji held him until he stopped.

He didn’t realize tears were on his own face until they dampened Wei Ying’s shoulder and he felt the coolness.

When eventually they pulled back, Wei Ying was barely on his feet. Lan Wangji walked him over to the table. He food had gone cold, but he needed to eat. Wei Ying picked up Chenqing and placed it back on the corner of the table with a shaking hand. Lan Wangji sat beside him instead of across from him, an arm still wrapped around his waist. He did not know when he would be willing to let go of Wei Ying again.

When Wei Ying finished eating, he realized he would have to.

“I will play Clarity for you,” Lan Wangji said, though it came out more stifled than he intended.

Wei Ying shook his head ruefully. “I’ve taken you too off-guard, Lan Zhan. I’m sure you could if my life depended on it, but you don’t need to play it tonight.”

Perhaps that was best. Lan Wangji did not feel even remotely clear himself. He shifted so he could draw Wei Ying back against him, back pressed against Lan Wangji’s chest. As if it were possible to hold him close enough to make this all right.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I didn’t know you were going to be quite so possessive of my spiritual power,” Wei Ying said – joking even now, joking already. He tipped his head back on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, showing his exhaustion. “Ah, well, now you know the truth. You can send me back to Lotus Pier tomorrow with a clear conscience.”

Lan Wangji shook his head. Slowly, several times. How could Wei Ying say such false things, even in jest? Lang Wangji cupped a hand under his chin, angling his face up slightly.

Wei Ying stared up at him. “Lan Zhan …”

Lan Wangji leaned down and kissed him.

It was brief and light. Lan Wangji could taste the whisper of baijiu on his breath. Then it was over.

Wei Ying stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, lips hanging ever so slightly agape.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. “You said you would allow me to help you.”

“Oh,” he said, as if he were truly surprised. His chin drifted back down, and he stared across the jingshi unseeing in thought. Then he took one of Lan Wangji’s hands in both of his own and raised the back of it to his lips. “Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

It was barely seven thirty, long before even the Lan sect’s curfew, but soon Wei Ying was starting to drowse in his arms. Lan Wangji wanted to continue to hold him, but he had been exhausted even when he stepped off Shuoyue. He needed to rest.

Lan Wangji might have carried him to the bed, but he woke and was already pulling himself up before Lan Wangji could arrange it. Instead, he walked at his side, supporting him.

Wei Ying slept the sleep of the bone-weary. Lan Wangji sat beside him and watched. This was worse than anything he’d imagined. But now he understood, and he could stop wasting energy on the false problem and help Wei Ying with the true one.

Wei Ying had dark circles under his eyes and alcohol in his blood and no golden core, but he was safe in Lan Wangji’s bed at Cloud Recesses. As long as that was true, hope was not gone.

part two

#untamed spring fest #the untamed #cql #mdzs #fanfiction #i struggled to figure out what lxc and lwj would call everyone in their internal narration #i decided not to have lxc think 'wei-gongzi' every other sentence and only used it in dialogue #that was hurdle one #then i got to lwj's pov which i've apparently never written before #and i'm like does he think 'xiongzhang' every time he things of his brother? i'm not used to reading that and it seems awkward #so that one went dialogue-only too #then there was 'wei ying'#i've been having wwx think 'lan zhan' when i write his pov bc they're close and that's just how he thinks of him #so 'wei ying' got narration status #is that at all sensical? we just don't know #more whimsically i decided lxc was the kind of guy who would think in semicolons #so i sprinkled in a few #as a treat #anyway the overbearing concept behind this fic was that the main stumbling block in canon #is wwx (feels like he) can't tell anyone why he's put down his sword and picked up demonic cultivation #bc wwx is a mental illness/depression mood #so i wanted to take an 'accepting help when you're struggling' crack at it #long fic long tags that's enough rambling #my fic #wwx #lwj #wangxian #lxc #jc

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yelena-bellova · 4 years

Text

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen: Under New Management

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n and Poe await an update on Leia and attend a meeting with the rest of the Resistance. Afterwards, Y/n takes the opportunity to have an important conversation with Poe.

Warnings: light angst

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: I didn’t spell check this one too much because I was happy with how it turned out and if I evaluate too much, I’ll end up hating it lol. I’m trying not to overthink my writing anymore, easier said than done. Hopefully you enjoy!

—————

She was going to be alright.

Most likely.

Possibly.

The medics couldn’t give me a definitive answer as to whether Mom would live or not. She was a fighter, they’d said, and her pulse and oxygen levels were stable. However, none of them had ever dealt with a patent having been sucked into the vacuum of space so they were basically guessing. Coma patients could go either way, they’d told me sadly. I was frustrated, but understanding and thankful for their honesty with me. Mom was placed in med bay quarters and was to be heavily monitored.

We sat at either end of her bed, Poe near her feet and me holding her hand and studying her peaceful face. The medics had left, assuring me that if they detected her levels changing so much as one number, they’d come running. Her skin had finally warmed up, the ice crystals on her face had disappeared. She looked so normal, as if she was simply taking a nap. What I’d have given for the situation to be as normal as that and waking her up as easy as calling her name…

Poe and I sat in a tense silence until the beeps of our communicators broke it, a message alerting us that a meeting was to be held. Attendance was mandatory.

I drew a breath slowly, trying to collect my thoughts and calm my ever racing pulse. I could practically hear my mother’s voice telling me to go do my job and not worry about her. She would be right, war didn’t wait for illness and truth be told, I wanted to go do my part. The Resistance was in shambles currently and the desire to help piece it back together was almost overwhelming. By no means did my drive lessen the difficulty of leaving Mom alone and comatose.

I rolled my head to look over at Poe, “We have to go.” He sighed and rubbed his face harshly, it was just as hard for him to leave her, “Yeah…We come right back after though.”

We rose from our seats and I laid a featherlight kiss to Mom’s forehead, squeezing her hand one last time before hesitantly walking away. Poe took my hand into his and pressed his lips to it as we left her room, I was beyond grateful for his steady presence during all of this. But the lingering cloud of guilt still hung over my head that I hadn’t told him yet about my secret. Now that he had noticed when I’d sensed the bridge’s destruction, he was inevitably going to have questions. At some point amidst the chaos that had suddenly overtaken our lives, I’d find a time to tell him.

We retained an appearance of professionalism once we reached the second bridge, dropping our hands and going to stand with our respective groups. It felt wrong not having him sit with me and the other commanders, I watched him bite back a sad smile as he mixed among the other pilots. Commander D’Acy looked more prepared than I was capable of as I approached her, “I can deliver the news about your mother if you’d like,” she offered, the two of us standing off to the side of the room, “Is there any news?” “No, unfortunately,” I answered, “But I’ll give the news with you. She would kill me if I left my duties to others.” D’Acy nodded and we walked together to the center of the room, silence fell as we took our places. I awkwardly stepped forward, I wasn’t used to commanding the attention of a room. I was sent on missions, some like Jakku and some diplomatic, I even helped with battle strategies. But I wasn’t typically addressing crowds, it felt strange to have everyone’s eyes on me.

I took a deep breath, “General Organa…Leia,” my voice almost faltered, but I squared my shoulders and pictured my mother standing tall, “Is unconscious but she’s recovering. That’s the only information I have and unfortunately, it’s the only piece of good news I can give.” I turned to D’Acy for confirmation, even though I already knew what I was about to say to be true.

“Admiral Ackbar, all of our leadership,” I paused, trying to find the strength to finish, “They’re all gone.” Groans and gasps left everyone’s lips, this part of leading was one I could quickly learn to hate. I didn’t like disappointing people and my stomach twisted as I took in everyone’s faces. Poe, though distressed, gave me a small nod of encouragement to keep going,

“Leia was the sole survivor of the bridge by some miracle,” I continued, omitting the aspect of the Force, “If she were standing here with us, she would say to save your sorrow for after the fight. Right now, we have to live by those words, as hard as that may be…Commander D’Acy?” I traded places with her, taking a seat and waiting for her announcement.

“The chain of command is clear as to who should take General Organa’s place,” D’Acy began, my eyes flickered to Poe who I noticed sat up straighter at her words. I also took note of the fact that I had as well, why was that? I had always assumed that my mother would put me in command should something happen to her, it felt wrong to think of someone else doing it.

“Vice Admiral Holdo of the cruiser Ninka,” D’Acy announced, Poe looked just as unknowingly disappointed as I suspected I did.

I’d met Holdo several times over my years in the Resistance, I’d never had a fully formed opinion on her. She was reserved yet held a commanding presence, but I’d always gotten the impression that she didn’t care for me. Our leadership styles differed greatly, she carried an air of superiority that I made sure never to. The few times that Dad had come up in passing conversation, her expression had always changed to one of distaste. Maybe she held the fact that my father was a smuggler against me, I was never sure. It didn’t matter, she was now my superior. Mom had chosen her and not me.

Holdo stepped forward as D’Acy came to sit next to me and the room awaited her words.

“Thank you, Commanders,” she nodded in our direction, “Four hundred of us on three ships. We’re the very last of the Resistance. But we’re not alone. In every corner of the galaxy, the downtrodden and oppressed know our symbol, and they put their hope in it. We are the spark that will light the fire that will restore the Republic. That spark, this Resistance, must survive. That is our mission. Now, to your stations, and may the Force be with us.” She knew how to give a speech, I’d give her that. My mother’s influence was audible in her words, but the lack of layout of a plan worried me. Were we all just supposed to go back to business as usual? Ignoring the fact that there was a fleet of Star Destroyers on our tail? None of it felt right.

The crowd begin to disperse, doing exactly what they’d been told. D’Acy and I stood to leave but not before she placed a hand on my arm,

“Please update us if anything changes on your mother.”

“Of course,” I nodded. I turned around to go find Poe, but rather than join him I saw him in pursuit of Holdo. No doubt he was thinking the same things I was, but Poe took action while I debated internally. Still, it couldn’t hurt to see where Holdo’s head was at. I climbed the steps and made my way towards them, as soon as I was close it seemed the conversation was already ending. The last words I caught from Holdo were “stick to your post and follow my orders.” As she gracefully walked away, Poe was left dumbstruck in her wake. I chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, “She didn’t fall for the Dameron charm?” “You won’t do any better,” he replied lowly.

“Oh, don’t worry, I already know she doesn’t like me,” I said quietly before heading in Holdo’s direction. It was unlikely I’d get anything out of her that Poe hadn’t. but maybe I could approach her differently. I was Leia’s daughter, I’d grown up in Galactic Senate meetings, diplomacy was one of my skills.

“Vice Admiral,” I called, Holdo turned to face me, “That was a wonderful speech, very inspiring. I was wondering what our plan of action was regarding putting distance between us and the Star Destroyers.”

“I appreciate your concern, Commander Solo,” she smiled politely, “At the moment I’m advising everyone to stick to their posts and let us handle things.”

“Well, yes, I agree. As a Commander, this is my post and I’m supposed to help handle things.”

“Your job for the time being is to stay with your mother,” Holdo placed her hands on my arms patronizingly, “We can handle everything from here and if you’re needed, we will find you.”

There it was. I was supposed to stay out of the way while the adults handled the situation. I’d earned respect among my co-workers and proved that though young, I knew what I was doing. But Holdo and I had never consistently worked together. She saw me as a young, naive woman put in a position she couldn’t handle.

“With all due respect, Vice Admiral,” I smiled, trying to hide my growing frustration, “While I will be checking in on my mother regularly, I also want to do my job. And right now my job is to help us get out of range of those Destroyers. So if there’s a plan in place, I’d like to be made aware of it.”

“Commander Solo, I understand your frustration with the situation. But I’m going to tell you the same thing I told your boyfriend, Captain Dameron…Stick to your post and follow my orders.” With that, she went on her way leaving me in the same position I’d found Poe in. If there was a plan, I clearly was not going to be let in on it.

—————

Mom hadn’t changed in the short time I’d been away. Though I’d returned with the hope that I’d find her awake and ready to take charge.

I was pacing the room anxiously, playing back my conversation with Holdo and trying to map out the conversation I was about to have. Poe would inevitably end up here and I couldn’t put off telling him about my powers any longer. I couldn’t hold back the painful details or make it sound simpler than it actually was, he was getting the messy truth about the secret I’d kept from him.

“Hey," he greeted at the door, having changed into his fatigues, “Any change?” “Mmm mmm,” I hummed, “Which isn’t a bad thing but…” “Obviously not what we want.” I shook my head and sighed, “Holdo’s just as fun as I remember.” Poe bristled at the memory of his interaction with the Vice Admiral and placed his hands on his hips, “Yeah, don’t think for a second that I’m letting that one go. What’d she say to you?” “Stick to my post and follow her orders. I’ll be commed if they need me, otherwise I’m supposed to stay here at my mother’s bedside. She also definitely holds the fact that we’re together against me.” He groaned in disgust and ran a hand through his hair. How Poe managed to look so wildly attractive in the worst circumstances befuddled me, but it was a welcome distraction. I’d always loved how he looked in that dark brown leather jacket…

“Okay, so Holdo may not have a plan,” he started, gesturing towards the door, “But what about us?”

I turned to Mom, wishing more than anything that she was awake. I needed her guidance and the Resistance needed her leadership.

“We’ll come up with something but right now,” I walked towards Poe and took his hand, “I need to tell you something.”

His expression changed to one of concern, he quickly took my other hand, “Is something wrong?” “No, and yes, but mostly no. It depends on how you look at it but,” I stopped and tried to give a small smile, “I’ll let you decide whether it’s good or bad.” I led him to our seats next to my mother and sat close enough that our knees pressed together. Poe’s hands immediately rested on mine as he leaned forward, I inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled before laying my hands on top of his,

“You know me, you know my story, you know my life hasn’t been…easy,” I began nervously, “With all I’ve told you, you’ve never once judged me or treated me differently.” “Right,” Poe chimed in, his eyes never leaving mine, “I love every part of you.”

I smiled at his words and dragged my eyes down to our hands, “I guess I’m asking you to love one more part.”

I stood up slowly and positioned myself a few feet away from him before reaching into my jacket. I unhooked my lightsaber and held it up, flipping the switch and watching the weapon come to life. Poe’s eyes went wide, his jaw fell slack and he twisted his body to face me. It took a lot to stun Poe into silence but this was easily the most shocked I’d ever seen him. Rightfully so, I’d just dropped a bomb on him.

After finally blinking a few times, he began to stammer out a response, “Y-Yeah, okay, that’s uh, that’s something worth mentioning.” I sighed, at least he wasn’t freaking out yet. Involuntarily I rocked the saber slightly from side to side, Poe’s eyes followed the blue blade in wonder. I didn’t know if he’d ever seen one in person but the way he was reacting to it made me think he’d only heard stories.

“How long have you been a…had this…” he fumbled, “How long?” I deactivated the lightsaber and hooked it back inside my jacket, “Since I was a child.” Poe’s eyes blew open again and his brows raised, “You kept it a secret for that long?” I once again took my seat across from him, “I discovered I had the Force when I was a kid, only one other person knew in my family and…” I fiddled with a loose thread on my jacket, “And it wasn’t my mom or dad.” “I got it,” Poe said softly, his fingers coming to brush over my knee comfortingly.

I forced myself to keep going, “I kept it a secret through my life because I was scared of what I could do. Imagine being eight years old and knowing you have this power, I was terrified of myself for the longest time. Eventually, once I was older, I began practicing using the Force. Just stupid stuff like moving pens. It felt…good. Like I’d been denying a part of myself by not using the gift I had.”

My pulse began to pick up as I sorted through the more tragic parts of my story, “I, uh,” I cleared my throat to try and dislodge the lump forming, “My lightsaber came from a confrontation I had, with him. I knew he was in trouble and I took the Falcon to go rescue him,” I focused my eyes on my lap, “I was too late.” Poe was tearfully listening to my every word, he was hunched over with his hands clutching my legs. It grounded me in a way that kept me able to recount my tale to him. He was my rock. “Ever since then, I’ve been training on my own,” I continued more steadily, “Mostly in the forest back on D’Qar or in my room. Things changed on Takodana. I used my saber during the fight to protect Finn, him and my dad saw and the secret was no more. Afterwards, Dad had words for me that I’ll spend the rest of my life grateful for. He’s the reason that I decided to stop being so afraid of my powers.”

We were both smiling at that point, me from the warm memories and Poe probably simply because I was.

“Everything came to a head at Starkiller,” a chill ran down my back, “After my father was killed…Ren and I fought each other and he tried to get me to join him. I was so angry, I wanted to kill him for all the wrong reasons. If he’s going to die, it should be to save the galaxy not because of a personal vendetta. My dad, for all his shortcomings, was not a vengeful person and neither am I.”

I bit my lip and turned my gaze to Mom, “I thought I’d kept my secret hidden from her but turns out, she knew all along. I don’t know why I was so surprised, of course she knew…”

Poe laughed and I followed immediately after, slipping my fingers through the cracks between his. He squeezed my palms and smiled proudly,

“You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he complimented, staring into my y/e/c eyes with so much love, “I can’t even begin to tell you how proud I am of you.”

“So you’re not, I don’t know, scared?” I asked, scrunching my face slightly out of fear of what he could say.

Poe chortled and moved his hands to my cheeks, pulling me in for a soft kiss. I could feel the warmth and tenderness in the motion, it was sweeter than the recent ones we’d been enjoying. When we pulled away, he rubbed his thumb slowly over the skin, “I could never be scared of you, sweetheart.” Relief flooded my body, I’d never felt so unconditionally loved in my life by anyone other than my parents. With how little I’d thought of myself since I discovered my powers, I’d fallen into the belief that everyone else would feel the same way. Poe was destroying every lie I’d told myself with each second that he stared at me with adoration on his face.

“I do have one question,” Poe leaned back in his seat, “If it’s not a secret anymore, are you gonna stop hiding your lightsaber?” “Huh,” I chuckled, “I hadn’t even thought about that.” “What’re you waiting for?” Poe crossed his arms and lightly bumped his boot against my shin, “I want everybody to know I’m in love with a badass Jedi.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” I was quick to end that assumption. Though I was embracing my gift, I wasn’t ready to take that definitive step yet.

“Whatever you say, Master,” Poe jested followed by a charming wink.

I smirked at him before getting up from my seat, Poe had a point. There really was no reason to hide it anymore, it would probably feel great even. I unhooked the lightsaber from my jacket, letting it weigh in my hand for a few seconds as I gazed fondly at it. The more at ease I became with my powers, the more I grew to love the weapon I’d once feared. Taking a quick glance at Poe who was grinning proudly, I attached the saber to my holster for anyone and everyone to see. It felt right. Poe rose to come stand in front of me,

“Thank you,” I whispered, resting my hands on his chest.

His hands found their new familiar spot on my waist, “For what?” “Being you.” Poe leaned down and nuzzled his nose against mine, “I’m not me without you.” I wanted the moment to last longer, we needed it. Peace in the type of circumstances we were in was rare and fleeting and I knew it would have to end soon. The First Order was chasing us, my mother still lay unconscious and there was questionable leadership guiding us, but at least I had Poe. With him, I was fairly certain we could figure our way out of anything.

“Poe, Y/n,” a voice interrupted our lovely silence.

We broke apart to see an urgent Finn in the doorway with a black-haired woman standing behind him.

“What’s going on?” Poe asked.

“This is Rose,” Finn gestured to her, Rose held up a hand in greeting, “We think we may have figured out a way to escape from the Destroyers.”

————

A/N: *sigh* Everyone deserves a boyfriend as supportive as Poe. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know if you’d like to be added to either of the taglists ☺️

Taglist: @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @springfox04 @constantdisgrace @holybatflapexpert @seninjakitey @tammythompson-singslikea-muppet @leilei-draws @eternal-fandoms @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @imaginecrushes @eternallyvenus @thescarletknight2014 @simplybarnes @captain-america5 @breyasficletblog @caseymcflurry @stumbleonmywords @april-14-blog @i-ievu @ultrunning @desperatelytryingtosavemyself @caswinchester2000 @meraki-loki @lovinnholland @wishing4wishes @fruitloopzzz

Star Wars Permanent Taglist: @paintballkid711 @katrynec @caswinchester2000

#poe dameron series #poe dameron x solo!reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine

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delicourse · 3 years

Note

Hi, I've got a few questions for you if you don't mind answering them

1. How long does it take you to draw a drawing digitally? Do you have any tips on drawing digitally faster?

2. How do you shade? It looks SO good and I'm in love with your artstyle and shading 🥺

3. Are you ever gonna make a webtoon?

Sorry for bothering you, hope you're healthy, and have a nice day/night 🥰💜

sorry for taking so long to answer these!! i really had to think abt the answer so it took a while! sorry if the first one ended up being an essay

1. it tends to vary depending on how well i have the artwork planned out! the thing that tends to take the longest for me is the decision-making parts (sketch and composition, base colors, and colors again once im almost done but going “ok but...what if..”) and the rest(lineart, shading, details) is basically stuff that i can go on autopilot for. so if i already know what im gonna do and somehow stick to that, an artwork can take 3-6 hours depending on size! but most of the time it can take several days of having multiple artworks up at the same time, and making small changes in each at a time until im happy enough to move on lol. so its really hard to measure the time on those since i don’t really know if going back and forth between “lime green” and “turquoise green” for 2 days counts as me actually drawing. i also have a habit of always letting the artwork “rest” for a day inbetween steps where i dont look at it to make sure im not missing any obvious mistakes. (especially at the sketch and linework stage, if they look off the entire artwork will) looking at your art with a fresh eye is really important!

when it comes to speeding up the process i think simply drawing things often enough really is the way to go. its boring but to me the fast parts are only that bc ive done it so many times i dont have to think too much when doing it! (unless im trying something new, which i have been doing lately and oh wow we sure are Thinking in this house) also i see all my artworks as a very “step by step” routine, so i try to never go back once ive completed a step. it makes just moving forward easier. since i also have several artworks up at a time; theyre almost always at different steps in the process, so if i get stuck at or bored with say, lineart, i just go to another artwork where im doing final details and just have fun with that! it makes me feel like im always making progress somwhere. also dont be afraid to just redo something entirely if it looks off. save ur canvas and open a new one and start over, its usually way faster the second time and u keep ur previous mistakes in mind so overall? its faster than to keep adjusting the same parts of the artwork over and over and never really being happy with it, at least thats how it is for me! also also also; make your own brushes for things u already know how to draw but dont wanna do by hand 50 times over. like say, the diamonds in some of my works? theyre just a confetti esque brush with a bunch of diamonds i drew the outline of. then i color them in manually and do shinies and shades but i wont have to do linework for that at least, and its still in my “style” bc i drew them! (it also lessens the feeling of “cheating” that, i at least, tend to have at not doing everything manually) ....also get over the feeling that ur cheating when ur taking shortcuts. in this house we are Professionals who know what we are doing and there should be NO shame for achieving the same results more efficiently

2. ill post some images of my coloring process soon, i dont know if it explains things too well but it is an attempt hdhsbs

3. i cant write to save my life!! all i do is pretty drawings, which i love doing, but it would rule to someday work with others to create some form of comic or webtoon or just general story that i can illustrate!

#notmyart #anyway sorry for being long and late!!!#have a great day or night as well i appreciate ur ask!!#long post #i think thats how u tag those? for all the epic babes who dont read ily #process

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ethereal-not-occult · 3 years

Text

patience and the mulberry

"With time and patience, the mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown."

Fandom: Good Omens Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Character(s) of Color, Sericulture, silkworms, past religious trauma, but nothing bad happens in this fic I promise, mixed bookverse w/ TV elements, references to Chinese culture Notes: Originally written for the @goodomensfashionzine !

“I'll only be a minute, dear.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley's cheek as he opened the door of the Bentley. “You don't have to see me to the door if you don't want to.”

Crowley tightened his grip on the wheel. “Sure, angel. Sounds good to me.” The sibilants slid far too quickly past his clenched jaw, and he bit his tongue to stop the instinctive hiss from escaping.

Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic look, but shut the Bentley's door behind him and soon disappeared through the doors of the church. Once he was out of sight, Crowley slumped forward slightly, sliding his sunglasses up and rubbing at his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he felt composed enough to exit the Bentley himself in blatant disregard for the “NO PARKING” sign on the curb.¹

[¹ Given his new job position (or lack thereof), lawbreaking was no longer a necessity, but old habits die hard.]

The bright afternoon sun made him wince a bit, and two robins in a nearby bush were getting frisky in a way he would never be able to unhear, but they made it easier to forget the distant wail of air sirens. Even standing out on the road, Crowley's skin prickled faintly with the remembered sting of consecrated ground.

He pushed the feeling aside and walked resolutely forward. Aziraphale was bound to take his sweet time as he mooned over the church's dusty old tomes, but Crowley had his own investigations to conduct while he waited. No rest for the wicked and all that.

The concrete pavement under his snakeskin shoes gave way to grass, and the tingling sensation in his soles faded. Soon he found himself at his intended destination—an Edenic grove of mulberry trees, clustered together in a ring in the church's backyard. He'd spotted them on the drive over and couldn't resist the temptation of a closer look.

Crowley wandered into the garden with a scrutinizing eye. They were young, for trees, but growing well despite their callowness. A particularly stocky sapling hardly flinched when Crowley gave it a token glare, much to his disappointment. Then again, outdoor plants were rarely as well-behaved as properly cowed houseplants. It seemed this attitude persisted even in ecclesiastic gardens such as these.

He cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, then reached a hand up into the tree's umbrella-like branches and tugged. The season wasn't quite right for fruits, but he still withdrew clutching a handful of dark ripe mulberries. Hardly apples, but his lips twitched upwards nonetheless. He plucked a berry from the pile and raised it to his lips.

“Zaoshang hao!”

Only a hasty miracle saved Crowley from choking as he jumped and swiveled around. Hovering right outside the churchyard was a middle-aged human, well-dressed and smiling pleasantly at him. Judging by her formal clothing and the Bible she carried, she was a part of the congregation, maybe even the priest herself. Crowley swallowed and stepped backwards.

“Ni shi jiaohui de xinshou ma?” the human called again, picking her way across the dewy grass in his direction. Crowley eyed the Bible she held, willing himself not to break out into hives.

“Um. Wo bu—er, no. I'm not new. Not here for church at all, actually.” He fidgeted and clasped his hands, still full of pilfered mulberries, behind his back. “Just waiting for someone.”

The human raised an eyebrow. “You're welcome to wait inside, if you like,” she said, also switching to English. “I reckon we still have biscuits left from the children's morning service—”

“No!” Crowley said too quickly, and perhaps too sharply. He winced. “I mean. That won't be necessary. I'd much rather stay out here, if it isn't too much trouble.”

The human gave him a Look. Crowley's cheeks heated and he averted his eyes, willing his sunglasses a few shades darker.

“Beautiful, aren't they?”

Crowley's head shot back up. The human had turned her back to him and was running a hand through the glossy green leaves of the nearest mulberry tree. Crowley could practically see the branches stretch out in delight beneath her touch, like a purring cat.

“Volunteers from our congregation take care of them,” the human continued, smiling at the young tree. “The kids here like raising silkworms, you see, and we welcome them to pick leaves from the trees each week to feed them.”

Silkworms. Of course. Despite himself, a hazy memory rose to the forefront of his mind: Sichuan, China, several hundreds of years ago. A family farm, weathered and cozy and oozing enough sheer goodness to make the average demon ill with it. Crowley wouldn't normally be caught dead in such a place, but he had owed a favour to the angel. His fingers twitched at the phantom memory of butter-soft silk fibres against his skin; long, winding threads that stretched out thin and fine, tangling so easily around his uncertain fingers. With this memory came the golden, moon-round face of a child he hadn't thought about in centuries, grinning toothily as they held out a box to him, a box filled with small pale larvae that wriggled among the spade-shaped leaves. “Zhe jiao can.”

Crowley forced himself to return to the present. The human was speaking to him.

“—waiting on Mr. Fell?” she asked.

Crowley blinked. Shook himself a little. “Yeah. He's helping out with the restoration of some old manuscript or other.”

The human smiled again. It was an unnervingly piercing expression. “I'm aware. I was the one who requested his help. Such a lovely man. Are you a friend of his?”

Crowley tensed. “His husband, actually.”

He braced himself, but the human only brightened. “Goodness, then you must be Mr. Crowley! Mr. Fell talks ever so much about you. Finally gone and tied the knot then, have you?”

Before Crowley could stammer out a reply, something dinged loudly, making him jump. The human pulled a phone out from her pocket and squinted at the screen.

“Sorry, I have to run back inside. But it was lovely meeting you, Mr. Crowley.” She stuck out a hand—thankfully not the one that had been holding the Bible—and after a brief hesitation, Crowley shook it. As quickly as she had arrived, the human disappeared from the garden, leaving Crowley alone and off-kilter amid a grove of mulberry trees.

---

Aziraphale emerged from the church around an hour later to find Crowley seated on the curb next to the Bentley, basking in the last rays of the afternoon sun as he scrolled through his phone.

“My dear,” the angel sighed. His joints creaked as he eased himself down to sit next to Crowley on the roadside. “Don't tell me you've been sitting here the entire time.”

“Nope,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p’. “I toured the gardens for a bit. Swiped some fruits, too. The mulberries aren’t half-bad, for a bunch of church plants, but they’ll need a good deal more threatening before they're really up to snuff.”

Crowley stopped when he saw Aziraphale chewing his lip, brow furrowed as he studied Crowley's face. Now it was Crowley's turn to sigh.

“Really, angel. It's fine. I was hardly bored.”

The expression didn't leave Aziraphale's face. A soft brown hand reached out and brushed aside stray wisps of hair from Crowley's forehead. The demon hadn't bothered to cut it since the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, and it was growing longer and more unruly by the day.

“I'm fine.” Crowley caught Aziraphale's hand and held it, carefully. He pressed his lips against the well-manicured fingers. “It was years ago, angel, and we both came out of it all right. You don't need to worry about me.”

Aziraphale still looked vaguely distressed as Crowley drew him close. With the sun setting behind him, framing his face and curly dark hair in a golden halo, he was the most beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen.

He kissed him then, right there on the road, in full sight of the church and probably Someone Else, too, if She happened to be watching at that particular moment. Once, he would've been terrified of such a public display, but he hadn't gone through hellfire and holy water to care anymore about what others thought of them.

As he helped Aziraphale into the Bentley, he noticed abruptly that the angel was carrying what appeared to be a shoebox, of all things, along with his usual camelhair coat.

“What on Earth is that?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale carefully pushed the box over to Crowley. “Mrs. Lao gave it to me once I'd finished with those manuscripts. She said it was a gift for you, actually. Have the two of you met before?”

Crowley stared down at the box, baffled. “We talked for a bit in the gardens just now, but I can’t imagine why…”

He trailed off, and his mouth dropped open as Aziraphale eased open the lid and beheld the contents with a raised eyebrow.

“Good heavens. Are those caterpillars?”

“Silkworms,” Crowley corrected automatically, leaning in for a closer look. There were so many of them, somehow both smaller and larger than he remembered, all white and wiggly and chomping away busily at the layers of mulberry leaves filling their box. None of them paid any attention whatsoever to their occult observers hovering above them.

“Why would she give you such a thing? Not that they aren't dear little creatures,” Aziraphale added hastily, glancing into the box, “but I doubt I have the means to keep them in the bookshop.”

“No need,” Crowley said before he could stop himself. “I can raise 'em in my flat.”

Aziraphale gave him a curious look. “You know how to care for these… insects?”

“Yeah.” Crowley gently shut the lid of the inhabited shoebox and curled a hand around the Bentley's stick-shift. “I've done something like this, before. I know what I'm doing.”

“If you say so.” Suddenly Aziraphale chuckled. At Crowley's affronted look, he demurred, “I'm not making fun, my dear. It's only that you still manage to surprise me, even after all these years.”

Aziraphale leaned in and pecked Crowley's cheek, making him blush red and sputter. Much to his disgruntlement, the Bentley chirped a light-hearted rendition of Haydn's Crazy Little Thing Called Love all the way home.

---

Crowley had spent the past eleven years co-parenting the Antichrist with Aziraphale.² They had faced this challenge head-on, and in his opinion, it hadn’t gone too shabbily. Now, without the threat of the Apocalypse hanging over his head, becoming a surrogate parent was far less daunting the second time around.

[² Even if young Warlock hadn't really been the son of Satan, it was the principle of the thing.]

Still, Crowley worried. He had always been something of a worrier, and that hadn't changed even after the First Day of the Rest of Their Lives.

After dropping off Aziraphale at the bookshop, Crowley returned to his flat, where he commenced the preparations for introducing his unexpected twenty-odd guests to their new home. This was accomplished by miracling up a small glass aquarium onto his desk, lining the bottom with paper towels, and carefully (read: nervously) placing the silkworms one by one into the tank. Once this was done, Crowley scattered the half-eaten mulberry leaves from the box around the aquarium. The silkworms set upon their interrupted lunch with all the enthusiasm of Aziraphale devouring a meringue pie at the Ritz.

Crowley slumped into his chair, took off his sunglasses with a wince, and rested his chin on his desk, staring into the glass tank.

“I raised your ancestors once, you know,” Crowley informed the wriggling creatures. “Tiny farm in China several centuries back. We'd weave branches together into a tray and let you loose inside. Bit like how manmade beehives work, or something.”

Crowley paused. Watched one silkworm slowly inch its way across a stem to tackle a new section of leaf. “‘Course, humans use wire mesh nowadays, but the general premise is the same. Always thought it was bloody clever, what humans could come up with. If you gave me a bunch of moth larvae and told me to make a living out of them, I definitely wouldn't think to make clothes.” He snorted. “Whoever came up with that, I'd like a glass of whatever they were drinking.”

The silkworms munched on. They ate much faster than they crawled, that was certain. In the quiet walls of his flat, away from prying human eyes, Crowley loosened the knot of his silk tie and tugged it off, easing the tightness around his neck.

“You're the ones who made this, in a sense,” he said, waving the tie at them. He laid the tie beside one glass wall of the tank at just the right angle for the inhabitants within to see. Several silkworms looked up curiously.

Crowley tossed his suit jacket aside, then unbuttoned his shirt collar. He had always prided himself on his sharp, modern attire over the years, the better to tempt humans with—or so he claimed. Despite repeated scoldings from his superiors, his Lust quotas had never been quite up to par.

Sufficiently dishevelled, and feeling all the freer for it, Crowley sank back into his chair to watch the silkworms.

“The only thing I didn't like about the process was the boiling,” he murmured. “Logically, I can see why it was done. And you would all be in cocoons, so it's not like you'd be in any pain. Not like I was.” He exhaled, the sound becoming a low hiss. “But still. Never liked it. Always felt like an awful lot of trouble just for the sake of some silk threads.”

One particularly adventurous silkworm had nosed its way upwards and was now creeping over the edge of the tank opening. Crowley made a mental note to devise a lid of some kind and stuck his finger against the lip of the tank. The silkworm crawled onto his hand without any hesitation. Tentatively, he drew it closer. Its many feet stuck stubbornly to his skin, and it reared up as he approached, swaying slightly, its mandibles twitching.

Crowley stared at the silkworm. The silkworm stared back, and seemed disappointed when Crowley had nothing else to offer. Just to prove it wrong, Crowley materialized a single large mulberry leaf in his other hand and presented it to the insect, who fell upon it with gluttonous enthusiasm.

Staring at the miracled leaf, an idea formed in Crowley's mind. He smiled, slowly.

“I need a hobby, now that I'm jobless,” he said aloud to the silkworm, letting it creep onto his palm. He ran a careful finger over its smooth back. “I think I'll take up sericulture again, for old time's sake.” He reached back into the tank and gently encouraged the silkworm to crawl back inside.

“Humans have to boil you alive to get those nice unbroken threads off your cocoons,” Crowley mused, withdrawing his hand. “Fortunately, I don't have to do things the human way.” He lowered himself until he was eye-level with the inhabitants of the tank. The silkworm he had carried paused in its perpetual eating and turned its head, almost like it was looking at him.

“How's this?” Crowley asked. “You'll be able to grow into a fuzzy, fully grown silk-moth, and I can take your cocoon after you've finished with it and miracle the threads whole again.” He paused and mulled it over. “I guess I could take it a step further and just miracle the finished silk together, but there's still something to be said about the human way of doing things.”

The silkworm bobbed the front half of its body as though in agreement. Crowley smiled again.

“We can make silk, and no one gets hurt. I'm a few hundred years out of practice, but I'm sure I could make it work, somehow.”

The silkworm turned its attention back to its meal. Crowley didn't notice. He was too busy wondering if Aziraphale had any old texts on silk-weaving that he could borrow, just so he could refresh his memory.

The angel would appreciate having a new silk bowtie to add to his collection.

---

Thank you for reading! Replies and reblogs are always much appreciated. <3

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #go fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #go tv #otp: ineffable #li writes #zine fic #insects tw

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to-read-or-not-to-read3088 · 3 years

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70+ disabled, neurodiverse and chronically ill authors COLLAB

This post is in collaboration with several other bloggers whose links are included here:

Artie Carden

Anniek

Hi! It’s been a while since I posted anything, but this post has been a month in the making. I have twenty books by twenty authors for my part in this collaboration, and you can check out the other parts of the collab with the links at the top of the post.

I haven’t read some of these books but almost all of them are on my to be read pile, and I did extensive research to make sure I got this right, but please let me know if there are any mistakes or if anything needs to be corrected.

1. Meet Cute Diary by Emery Lee

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Meet Cute Diary follows Noah Ramirez who thinks he’s an expert on romance. He must be for his blog, the Meet Cute Diary, a collection of trans happily ever afters. There’s just one problem. All the stories are fake. What started off as the fantasies of a trans boy who was afraid to step out of the closet has grown into a beacon of hope for trans readers across the globe. Noah’s world unravels when a troll exposes the blog as fiction, and the only way to save the Diary is to convince everyone that the stories are true, but he doesn’t have any proof. That’s when Drew walks into Noah’s life, and the pieces fall into place. Drew is willing to fake date Noah to save the Diary. But when Noah’s feelings grow beyond their staged romance, he realises that dating in real life isn’t the same as finding love on the page.

The author, Emery Lee, is a kid lit author, artist and YouTuber hailing from a mixed racial background. After graduating with a degree in creative writing, e’s gone on to author novels, short stories and webcomics. When away from reading and writing, you’ll likely find em engaged in art or snuggling with cute dogs.

Emery Lee is nonbinary, and uses e/em pronouns, and e’s debut book, Meet Cute Diary, features a side character who is also nonbinary (and asexual!). Emery is also neurodivergent, and frequently speaks about what its like being a writer with adhd on twitter.

Meet Cute Diary is a book I only discovered last month, when it was published, but I’m excited to read it. It has representation of all kinds, and I love any book that has even a little mention of an asexual character because its so rare to see.

2. Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

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At Niveus Private Academy money paves the hallways, and the students are never less than perfect. Until now. Because an anonymous texter calling themselves Aces, is bringing two students’ dark secrets to light. Devon, a talented musician, buries himself in rehearsals, but he can’t escape the spotlight when his private photos go public. Chiamaka, head girl, isn’t afraid to get what she wants, but soon everyone will know the price she has paid for power. Someone is out to get them both. Someone who holds all the aces. And they’re planning much more than a high school game.

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé, is the author of the instant New York Times and IndieBound bestseller, Ace of Spades, billed as ‘Get out meets Gossip Girl’. Entertainment Weekly has called it “this summer’s hottest YA debut”. She was born and raised in Croydon, South London, and Faridah moved to the Scottish Highlands for her undergraduate degree where she completed a BA in English Literature. She has established and runs and mentorship scheme for unagented writers of colour, helping them on their journey to get published. Faridah has also written for NME, The Bookseller, Readers Digest and gal-dem.

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé’s book is one that I pre-ordered months in advance, after discovering that I actually really liked this sub-genre of YA, and although I still haven’t read it yet (sorry!), I’m still super excited to dive into it. From what I hear, it has some gay rep, which we all know by now is something I seek out in my books.

3. Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses by Kristen O’Neal

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Priya has worked hard to pursue her pre med dreams at Stanford, but a diagnosis of chronic Lyme disease during her sophomore year sends her straight back to her loving but overbearing family in New Jersey and leaves her wondering if she’ll ever be able to return to the way things were. Thankfully she has her online pen pal, Brigid, and the rest of the members of “oof ouch my bones,” a virtual support group that meets on Discord to crack jokes and vent about their own chronic illnesses. When Brigid suddenly goes offline, Priya does something very out of character; she steals the family car and drives to Pennsylvania to check on Brigid. Priya isn’t sure what to expect, but it isn’t the creature that’s shut in the basement. With Brigid nowhere in sight, Priya begins to puzzle together an impossible but obvious truth: the creature might be werewolf – and the werewolf might be Brigid. As Brigid’s unique condition worsens, their friendship will be deepened and challenged in unexpected ways, forcing them to reckon with their own ideas of what it means to be normal.

Kristen O’Neal is a freelance writer who’s written for sites like Buzzfeed Reader, Christianity Today, Birth.Movies.Death, LitHub and Electric Literature. She writes about faith, culture, and unexplained phenomena. Her debut novel, Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses is based on her own experiences with being chronically ill. Kristen has two autoimmune disorders and “a number of other problems and issues” with her body. According to her website, she is doing much better than she used to, but still has flares somewhat regularly.

I cannot describe the feeling of seeing a published book with the best group chat name I have ever seen. Oof ouch my bones is absolutely something that I would be part of if it really existed, because its just such a mood, and funny at the same time. I pre ordered this book too, but like all the others, I still haven’t gotten around to reading it. I’m super excited about it though and cannot recommend it enough.

4. Only Mostly Devastated by Sophie Gonzales

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Will Tavares is the dream summer fling – he’s fun, affectionate, kind – but just when Ollie thinks he’s found his Happily Ever After, summer vacation ends, and Will stops texting Ollie back. Now Ollie is one prince short of his fairy tale ending, and to complicate the fairy tale further, a family emergency sees Ollie uprooted and enrolled at a new school across the country. Which he minds a little less when he realises it’s the same school Will goes to…except Ollie finds out that the sweet, comfortably queer guy he knew from summer isn’t the same one attending Collinswood High. This Will is a class clown, closeted – and to be honest, a jerk. Ollie has no intention of pining after a guy who clearly isn’t ready for a relationship, especially since this new, bro-y jock version of Will seems to go from hot to cold every other week. But then Will starts “coincidentally” popping up in every area of Ollie’s life, from music class to the lunch table, and Ollie finds his resolve weakening. The last time he gave Will his heart, Will handed it back to him trampled and battered. Ollie would have to be an idiot to trust him with it again. Right? Right.

Sophie Gonzales was born and raised in Whyalla, South Australia, where the Outback Meets the Sea. She now lives in Melbourne, where there’s no outback in sight. Sophie’s been writing since the age of five, when her mother decided to help her type out one of the stories she had come up with in the bathtub. They ran into artistic differences when five-year-old Sophie insisted that everybody die in the end, while her mother wanted the characters to simply go out for a milkshake. Since then, Sophie has been completing her novels without a transcript. Sophie Gonzales tweets about her experiences with ADHD on her twitter.

Only mostly devasted is one of the few books on this list that I’ve read. I read the whole thing in one sitting because I just couldn’t put it down, which is weird because I normally don’t read contemporary at all. I have recommended this book to literally everyone I know, and even bought my best friend a copy to convince her to read it.

5. The Bone Houses by Emily Lloyd Jones

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Seventeen-year-old Aderyn ("Ryn") only cares about two things: her family, and her family's graveyard. And right now, both are in dire straits. Since the death of their parents, Ryn and her siblings have been scraping together a meagre existence as gravediggers in the remote village of Colbren, which sits at the foot of a harsh and deadly mountain range that was once home to the fae. The problem with being a gravedigger in Colbren, though, is that the dead don't always stay dead. The risen corpses are known as "bone houses," and legend says that they're the result of a decades-old curse. When Ellis, an apprentice mapmaker with a mysterious past, arrives in town, the bone houses attack with new ferocity. What is it that draws them near? And more importantly, how can they be stopped for good? Together, Ellis and Ryn embark on a journey that will take them deep into the heart of the mountains, where they will have to face both the curse and the long-hidden truths about themselves.

Emily Lloyd-Jones grew up on a vineyard in rural Oregon, where she played in evergreen forests and learned to fear sheep. After graduating from Western Oregon University with an English degree, she enrolled in the publishing program at Rosemont College just outside of Philadelphia. She currently resides in Northern California.

Another book on my to be read pile that I’m super excited to read, but still haven’t gotten around to. This one features disability rep, but because I haven’t read it, I don’t know much more, sorry guys.

6. Mooncakes by Susanne Walker and Wendy Xu

📷Nova Huang knows more about magic than your average teen witch. She works at her grandmothers' bookshop, where she helps them loan out spell books and investigate any supernatural occurrences in their New England town. One fateful night, she follows reports of a white wolf into the woods, and she comes across the unexpected: her childhood crush, Tam Lang, battling a horse demon in the woods. As a werewolf, Tam has been wandering from place to place for years, unable to call any town home. Pursued by dark forces eager to claim the magic of wolves and out of options, Tam turns to Nova for help. Their latent feelings are rekindled against the backdrop of witchcraft, untested magic, occult rituals, and family ties both new and old in this enchanting tale of self-discovery.

Suzanne Walker is a Chicago-based writer and editor. She is co-creator of the Hugo-nominated graphic novel Mooncakes (2019, Lion Forge/Oni Press). Her short fiction has been published in Clarkesworld and Uncanny Magazine, and she has published nonfiction articles with Uncanny Magazine, StarTrek.com, Women Write About Comics, and the anthology Barriers and Belonging: Personal Narratives of Disability. She has spoken at numerous conventions on a variety of topics ranging from disability representation in sci-fi/fantasy to comics collaboration.

Wendy Xu is a Brooklyn-based illustrator and comics artist. She is co-creator of and currently draws the webcomic Mooncakes. Her work has been featured on Tor.com, as part of the Chinese American: Exclusion/Inclusion exhibit permanently housed at the Chinese Historical Society of America, and in Shattered: The Asian American Comics Anthology. She occasionally teaches at the Asian American Writers Workshop and currently works as an assistant editor curating young adult and children’s books.

Suzanne Walker suffers from hearing loss, something that she wrote into her graphic novel, Mooncakes, making Nova hard of hearing. I read this in a few years ago as an advance reader copy for Netgalley and it was honestly one of the best graphic novels I have ever read. The main characters are Chinese American, queer AND magic, which is an amazing combination of representation.

7. Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

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Ketterdam: a bustling hub of international trade where anything can be had for the right price—and no one knows that better than criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker. Kaz is offered a chance at a deadly heist that could make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But he can’t pull it off alone… A convict with a thirst for revenge A sharpshooter who can’t walk away from a wager A runaway with a privileged past A spy known as the Wraith A Heartrender using her magic to survive the slums A thief with a gift for unlikely escapes Kaz’s crew is the only thing that might stand between the world and destruction—if they don’t kill each other first.

Leigh Bardugo is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of fantasy novels and the creator of the Grishaverse (now a Netflix original series) which spans the Shadow and Bone Trilogy, the Six of Crows Duology, The Language of Thorns, and King of Scars—with more to come. Her short stories can be found in multiple anthologies, including the Best American Science Fiction & Fantasy. Her other works include Wonder Woman: Warbringer and Ninth House (Goodreads Choice Winner for Best Fantasy 2019) which is being developed for television by Amazon Studios.

Leigh grew up in Southern California and graduated from Yale University. These days she lives and writes in Los Angeles.

In the acknowledgements section of Six of Crows, Bardugo reveals she suffers from osteonecrosis and sometimes needs to use a cane; this was a source of inspiration for one of the story's six protagonists, master thief and gang boss Kaz Brekker, who uses a cane.

I read Six of Crows a few years ago and I really loved it. I’m not going to pretend I managed to finish the whole Grishaverse series, because I haven’t even gotten close yet, but it really showed Kaz’s struggles with his disability, and his mental health. This is part of a duology, and the duology is part of a large series of books with another duology and trilogy, but Six of Crows can be read without reading the others.

8. Hyperbole and A Half by Allie Brosh

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This is a book I wrote. Because I wrote it, I had to figure out what to put on the back cover to explain what it is. I tried to write a long, third-person summary that would imply how great the book is and also sound vaguely authoritative--like maybe someone who isn’t me wrote it--but I soon discovered that I’m not sneaky enough to pull it off convincingly. So, I decided to just make a list of things that are in the book: Pictures Words Stories about things that happened to me Stories about things that happened to other people because of me Eight billion dollars* Stories about dogs The secret to eternal happiness* *These are lies. Perhaps I have underestimated my sneakiness!

Allie is an American blogger, writer and comic artist best known for her blog in the form of a webcomic Hyperbole and a Half. Brosh started Hyperbole in 2009 and told stories from her life in a mix of text and intentionally crude illustrations. She has published two books telling stories in the same style, both of which have been New York Times bestsellers. Brosh lives with severe depression and ADHD, and her comics on depression have won praise from fans and mental health professionals.

Another book on my tbr that I just haven’t gotten around to but really want to.

9. The Rest of Us Just Live Here by Patrick Ness

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What if you aren’t the Chosen One? The one who’s supposed to fight the zombies, or the soul-eating ghosts, or whatever the heck this new thing is, with the blue lights and the death? What if you’re like Mikey? Who just wants to graduate and go to prom and maybe finally work up the courage to ask Henna out before someone goes and blows up the high school. Again. Because sometimes there are problems bigger than this week’s end of the world, and sometimes you just must find the extraordinary in your ordinary life. Even if your best friend is worshipped by mountain lions...

Patrick Ness, an award-winning novelist, has written for England’s Radio 4 and Sunday Telegraph and is a literary critic for The Guardian. He has written many books, including the Chaos Walking Trilogy, The Crash of Hennington, Topics About Which I Know Nothing, and A Monster Calls. He has won numerous awards, including the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize, the Booktrust Teenage Prize, and the Costa Children’s Book Award. Born in Virginia, he currently lives in London.

Patrick Ness has written about OCD and anxiety in at least two of his books, inspired by his own experiences with the two disorders and how it affects him (The Rest of Us Just Live Here & Release)

10. Every Heart A Doorway by Seanan McGuire

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Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children No Solicitations No Visitors No Quests Children have always disappeared under the right conditions; slipping through the shadows under a bed or at the back of a wardrobe, tumbling down rabbit holes and into old wells, and emerging somewhere... else. But magical lands have little need for used-up miracle children. Nancy tumbled once, but now she’s back. The things she’s experienced... they change a person. The children under Miss West’s care understand all too well. And each of them is seeking a way back to their own fantasy world. But Nancy’s arrival marks a change at the Home. There’s a darkness just around each corner, and when tragedy strikes, it’s up to Nancy and her new-found schoolmates to get to the heart of the matter. No matter the cost.

Seanan lives in an idiosyncratically designed labyrinth in the Pacific Northwest, which she shares with her cats, Alice and Thomas, a vast collection of creepy dolls and horror movies, and sufficient books to qualify her as a fire hazard. She has strongly held and oft-expressed beliefs about the origins of the Black Death, the X-Men, and the need for chainsaws in daily life.

Years of writing blurbs for convention program books have fixed Seanan in the habit of writing all her bios in the third person, to sound marginally less dorky. Stress is on the "marginally." It probably doesn't help that she has so many hobbies.

Seanan was the winner of the 2010 John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer, and her novel Feed (as Mira Grant) was named as one of Publishers Weekly's Best Books of 2010. In 2013 she became the first person ever to appear five times on the same Hugo Ballot.

Seanan McGuire has an invisible disability due to herniated disks in her spine. She is slowly coming to terms with this, and talks about it occasionally on her twitter, and about the struggles she faces.

I loved this book, and so did my best friend. We both read it in one sitting and talked nonstop about it afterwards. Although short, its filled with amazing characters, plot, and representation (asexual character!!)

11. Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan

Each year, eight beautiful girls are chosen as Paper Girls to serve the king. It's the highest honour they could hope for...and the most demeaning. This year, there's a ninth. And instead 📷of paper, she's made of fire. In this richly developed fantasy, Lei is a member of the Paper caste, the lowest and most persecuted class of people in Ikhara. She lives in a remote village with her father, where the decade-old trauma of watching her mother snatched by royal guards for an unknown fate still haunts her. Now, the guards are back and this time it's Lei they're after -- the girl with the golden eyes whose rumoured beauty has piqued the king's interest. Over weeks of training in the opulent but oppressive palace, Lei and eight other girls learns the skills and charm that befit a king's consort. There, she does the unthinkable -- she falls in love. Her forbidden romance becomes enmeshed with an explosive plot that threatens her world's entire way of life. Lei, still the wide-eyed country girl at heart, must decide how far she's willing to go for justice and revenge.

Natasha Ngan is a writer and yoga teacher. She grew up between Malaysia, where the Chinese side of her family is from, and the UK. This multicultural upbringing continues to influence her writing, and she is passionate about bringing diverse stories to teens. Ngan studied Geography at the University of Cambridge before working as a social media consultant and fashion blogger. She lives in France with her partner, where they recently moved from Paris to be closer to the sea. Her novel Girls of Paper and Fire was a New York Times bestseller. Natasha has a heart condition, and talks about her struggles with her health, and gives updates on her health and her books on twitter.

I’ve heard a lot about this book, but for trigger warning reasons it sadly isn’t on my to be read list. Everything I’ve heard about it says its an amazing book though, and the cover is beautiful.

12. Queens of Geek by Jen Wilde

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Three friends, two love stories, one convention: this fun, feminist love letter to geek culture is all about fandom, friendship, and finding the courage to be yourself. Charlie likes to stand out. She’s a vlogger and actress promoting her first movie at SupaCon, and this is her chance to show fans she’s over her public breakup with co-star Reese Ryan. When internet-famous cool-girl actress Alyssa Huntington arrives as a surprise guest, it seems Charlie’s long-time crush on her isn’t as one-sided as she thought. Taylor likes to blend in. Her brain is wired differently, making her fear change. And there’s one thing in her life she knows will never change: her friendship with her best guy friend Jamie—no matter how much she may secretly want it to. But when she hears about a fan contest for her favourite fandom, she starts to rethink her rules on playing it safe.

Jen Wilde is the YA author of QUEENS OF GEEK, THE BRIGHTSIDERS and GOING OFF SCRIPT. She writes unapologetically queer stories about geeks, rockstars, and fangirls who smash the patriarchy in their own unique ways. Her books have been praised in Teen Vogue, Buzzfeed, Autostraddle, Vulture and Bustle. Originally from Australia, Jen now lives in NYC where she spends her time writing, drinking too much coffee and binging reality TV.

Researching for this collab was the first time this book popped up on my radar as something I might be interested in reading. Jen Wilde, the author, is herself autistic and suffers from anxiety, which gives the narrative “authenticity that is lacking in similar books” according to socialjusticebooks.org.

13. The Upside of Unrequited by Becky Albertalli

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Seventeen-year-old Molly Peskin-Suso knows all about unrequited love—she’s lived through it twenty-six times. She crushes hard and crushes often, but always in secret. Because no matter how many times her twin sister, Cassie, tells her to woman up, Molly can’t stomach the idea of rejection. So, she’s careful. Fat girls always have to be careful. Then a cute new girl enters Cassie’s orbit, and for the first time ever, Molly’s cynical twin is a lovesick mess. Meanwhile, Molly’s totally not dying of loneliness—except for the part where she is. Luckily, Cassie’s new girlfriend comes with a cute hipster-boy sidekick. Will is funny and flirtatious and just might be perfect crush material. Maybe more than crush material. And if Molly can win him over, she’ll get her first kiss and she’ll get her twin back. There’s only one problem: Molly’s co-worker Reid. He’s an awkward Tolkien superfan with a season pass to the Ren Faire, and there’s absolutely no way Molly could fall for him. Right?

Becky Albertalli is the author of the acclaimed novels Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda (film: Love, Simon), The Upside of Unrequited, and Leah on the Offbeat. She is also the co-author of What If It's Us with Adam Silvera. A former clinical psychologist who specialized in working with children and teens, Becky lives with her family in Atlanta.

Becky Albertalli has generalised anxiety disorder (GAD), and has spoken about it in several interviews, which you can find online. She has also written several characters in her books who also suffer with anxiety. Her first book, Simon vs the Homosapien’s Agenda (or Love, Simon), is the only book of hers that I have read so far, and I loved it. It was the first contemporary book that I read and actually enjoyed.

14. Carve the Mark by Veronica Roth

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Cyra is the sister of the brutal tyrant who rules the Shotet people. Cyra’s current gift gives her pain and power—something her brother exploits, using her to torture his enemies. But Cyra is much more than just a blade in her brother’s hand: she is resilient, quick on her feet, and smarter than he knows. Akos is the son of a farmer and an oracle from the frozen nation-planet of Thuvhe. Protected by his unusual currentgift, Akos is generous in spirit, and his loyalty to his family is limitless. Once Akos and his brother are captured by enemy Shotet soldiers, Akos is desperate to get his brother out alive—no matter what the cost. Then Akos is thrust into Cyra's world, and the enmity between their countries and families seems insurmountable. Will they help each other to survive, or will they destroy one another?

Veronica Roth is the #1 New York Times best-selling author of the Divergent series (Divergent, Insurgent, Allegiant, and Four: A Divergent Collection), the Carve the Mark duology (Carve the Mark, the Fates Divide), The End and Other Beginnings collection of short fiction, and many short stories and essays. Her first book for adult audiences, Chosen Ones, is out now. She lives in Chicago.

Veronica Roth suffers from anxiety, like a lot of the authors on this list, and talks about it in interviews. A quote from one: "I've had an anxiety disorder my whole life, so I've been to therapy on and off throughout, before books and after books. I went back and tried to talk through some of the things I was feeling and experiencing, and it was helpful."

I’ve never read any of her books, not even the hugely famous Divergent trilogy, though they’ve been on my radar for years. I’d love to get into her books at some point, but it might take me a few years.

15. How to be Autistic by Charlotte Amelia Poe

📷An urgent, funny, shocking, and impassioned memoir by the winner of the Spectrum Art Prize 2018, How To Be Autistic by Charlotte Amelia Poe presents the rarely shown point of view of someone living with autism. Poe’s voice is confident, moving and often funny, as they reveal to us a very personal account of autism, mental illness, gender and sexual identity. As we follow Charlotte’s journey through school and college, we become as awestruck by their extraordinary passion for life as by the enormous privations that they must undergo to live it. From food and fandom to body modification and comic conventions, Charlotte’s experiences through the torments of schooldays and young adulthood leave us with a riot of conflicting emotions: horror, empathy, despair, laugh-out-loud amusement and, most of all, respect. For Charlotte, autism is a fundamental aspect of their identity and art. They address the reader in a voice that is direct, sharply clever and ironic. They witness their own behaviour with a wry humour as they sympathise with those who care for them, yet all the while challenging the neurotypical narratives of autism as something to be ‘fixed’. This is an exuberant, inspiring, life-changing insight into autism from a viewpoint almost entirely missing from public discussion. ‘I wanted to show the side of autism that you don’t find in books and on Facebook. My story is about survival, fear and, finally, hope. There will be parts that make you want to cover your eyes, but I beg you to read on, because if I can change just one person’s perceptions, if I can help one person with autism feel like they’re less alone, then this will all be worth it.’ Charlotte Amelia Poe is a self-taught artist and writer living in Lowestoft, Suffolk. They also work with video and won the inaugural Spectrum Art Prize with the film they submitted, 'How to Be Autistic’. Myriad published Charlotte's memoir, How to Be Autistic, in September 2019.

Another book I didn’t know about until researching for this post, but I really want to read it because I haven’t read many books about autism, and practically none of them were actually written by someone who actually is autistic. Charlotte uses they/them pronouns.

16. Ask me about my Uterus by Abby Norman

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For any woman who has experienced illness, chronic pain, or endometriosis comes an inspiring memoir advocating for recognition of women's health issues In the fall of 2010, Abby Norman's strong dancer's body dropped forty pounds and grey hairs began to sprout from her temples. She was repeatedly hospitalized in excruciating pain, but the doctors insisted it was a urinary tract infection and sent her home with antibiotics. Unable to get out of bed, much less attend class, Norman dropped out of college and embarked on what would become a years-long journey to discover what was wrong with her. It wasn't until she took matters into her own hands--securing a job in a hospital and educating herself over lunchtime reading in the medical library--that she found an accurate diagnosis of endometriosis. In Ask Me About My Uterus, Norman describes what it was like to have her pain dismissed, to be told it was all in her head, only to be taken seriously when she was accompanied by a boyfriend who confirmed that her sexual performance was, indeed, compromised. Putting her own trials into a broader historical, sociocultural, and political context, Norman shows that women's bodies have long been the battleground of a never-ending war for power, control, medical knowledge, and truth. It's time to refute the belief that being a woman is a pre-existing condition.

Abby Norman’s debut book, ASK ME ABOUT MY UTERUS: A Quest to Make Doctors Believe in Women’s Pain, was published by Bold Type Books (Hachette Book Group) in 2018, with advance praise from Gillian Anderson, Lindsey Fitzharris, Jenny Lawson, and Padma Lakshmi.

The book was praised by The New York Times Book Review, The Wall Street Journal, New York Magazine, The Washington Post, The Sunday Times, The Irish Times, Literary Review, The Times Literary Supplement, The New Republic, Book Riot, Toronto Star, ELLE, Health Magazine, Undark Magazine, BUST Magazine, Bitch Magazine, Ms. Magazine, BBC Radio 5, and other international media outlets.

In 2019, the paperback edition was published in the U.S. and the Korean translation in Seoul (Momento Publishing/Duran Kim Agency).

Her work has been featured in Harper’s, Medium, The Independent, Literary Hub, The Rumpus, Mental Floss, Atlas Obscura, and elsewhere. Interviews and profiles have been seen and heard, including NPR/WNYC, BBC, Anchor.fm, The New York Times, Playboy, Forbes, Glamour, Women’s Health, and Bitch Magazine.

Abby Norman suffers from endometriosis, which was a large part of why she wrote her book, and why she advocates so hard for fellow patients at conferences such as Stanford University’s Stanford Medicine X and the Endometriosis Foundation of America’s medical conference and Patient Day. She is

Abby has served on technical expert panels including the National Partnership for Women and Families’ CORE Network (Yale University), the American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG), the Centres for Medicare and Medicaid, The Society for Women’s Health Research (SWHR), and Health Affairs.

In 2019, Abby contributed to a paper addressing research gaps and unmet needs in endometriosis published in the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology.

This book is definitely one I will be adding to my to be read list, as someone who (unfortunately) also has a uterus, it is important to be informed. And Abby sounds like such a badass who wrote a whole book about her chronic illness to help others with the same condition.

17. Stim: Autistic Anthology by Lizzie Huxley-Jones

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Around one in one hundred people in the UK are autistic, yet there remains a fundamental misunderstanding of what autism is. It is rare that autistic people get to share their own experiences, show how creative and talented and passionate they are, how different they are from media stereotypes. This insightful and eye-opening collection of essays, fiction and visual art showcases the immense talents of some of the UK's most exciting writers and artists - who just happen to be on the spectrum. Here they reclaim the power to speak for themselves and redefine what it means to be autistic. Stim invites the reader into the lives, experiences, minds of the eighteen contributors, and asks them to recognise the hurdles of being autistic in a non-autistic world and to uncover the empathy and understanding necessary to continue to champion brilliant yet unheard voices.

Lizzie (Hux) Huxley-Jones is an autistic author and editor based in London. They are the editor of Stim, an anthology of autistic authors and artists, which was published by Unbound in April 2020 to coincide with World Autism Awareness Week. They are also the author of the children’s biography Sir David Attenborough: A Life Story. They can be found editing at independent micropublisher 3 of Cups Press, and they also advise writers as a freelance sensitivity reader and consultant. In their past career lives, they have been a research diver, a children’s bookseller and digital communications specialist.

I wasn’t even aware that there was an anthology out there by an autistic author, about autism, but now that I do I need to read it.

18. Chimera by Jaecyn Bonê

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Creatures unlike you've imagined before! Welcome to a world where myths and legends collide to create a new breed of monster. Savage and soulful, these monstrosities combine to form the mighty Chimera. In this anthology, talented writers weave 10 tales of fantastical beasts. Featuring stories by: Matt Bliss Jaecyn Boné Alexis L. Carroll Chris Durston Dewi Hargreaves Stephen Howard Samuel Logan Vincent Metzo Braden Rohl Michelle Tang

Jaecyn is a queer, non-binary, disabled Asian-American writer and digital artist fascinated by faeries.

Most of their writing involves wlw romance and faery-inspired creatures. Their first novel, Farzana's Spite is a 10-year-old work in progress and the first novel in The Faerth series. Other works include The Killing Song (novel) and Colour Unknown (short), both of which are also part of the Faerth universe.

Jaecyn's art can be described as a neorealistic pop art style with cel shading. They began their digital art journey with a 5-year-old refurbished iPad using their finger as a stylus and immediately fell in love. They do digital download commissions as well as sell prints of their artwork.

Jaecyn is the Co-Editor in Chief of the Limeoncello Magazine, an online Own Voices literary magazine which debuted its first issue on March 21st, 2021.

When not writing, drawing, or chasing after their two children, they can be found either gardening or practicing their ukulele.

None of Jaecyn Boné’s books are published yet as they are still in the stage of querying, but they contributed to the above anthology, along with nine other authors. I had no idea that this anthology existed, and now I’ll be closely following this author to see when their books get published!

19. Forest of Souls by Lori M Lee

Sirscha Ashwyn comes from nothing, but she’s intent on becoming something. After years of training to become the queen’s next royal spy, her plans are derailed when shamans attack 📷and kill her best friend Saengo. And then Sirscha, somehow, restores Saengo to life. Unveiled as the first soul guide in living memory, Sirscha is summoned to the domain of the Spider King. For centuries, he has used his influence over the Dead Wood—an ancient forest possessed by souls—to enforce peace between the kingdoms. Now, with the trees growing wild and untamed, only a soul guide can restrain them. As war looms, Sirscha must master her newly awakened abilities before the trees shatter the brittle peace, or worse, claim Saengo, the friend she would die for.

Lori M. Lee is the author of speculative novels and short stories. Her books include PAHUA AND THE SOUL STEALER (Disney/Rick Riordan Presents), FOREST OF SOULS and the sequel BROKEN WEB (Page Street), and more. She’s also a contributor to the anthologies A THOUSAND BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS and COLOR OUTSIDE THE LINES. She considers herself a unicorn fan, enjoys marathoning TV shows, and loves to write about magic, manipulation, and family.

Lori struggles with anxiety, and the common symptoms like fatigue but she doesn’t let this stop her writing amazing books. I read Forest of Souls earlier this year, and it was seriously one of the best books I’ve ever read. I loved the magic, the characters, the world building. Everything about it, including the plot twist ending that had me losing my mind at 2am, was just so unlike anything I had read in any other fantasy before.

20. A Song of Wraiths and Ruin by Roseanne A Brown

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For Malik, the Solstasia festival is a chance to escape his war-stricken home and start a new life with his sisters in the prosperous desert city of Ziran. But when a vengeful spirit abducts Malik’s younger sister, Nadia, as payment into the city, Malik strikes a fatal deal—kill Karina, Crown Princess of Ziran, for Nadia’s freedom. But Karina has deadly aspirations of her own. Her mother, the Sultana, has been assassinated; her court threatens mutiny; and Solstasia looms like a knife over her neck. Grief-stricken, Karina decides to resurrect her mother through ancient magic . . . requiring the beating heart of a king. And she knows just how to obtain one: by offering her hand in marriage to the victor of the Solstasia competition. When Malik rigs his way into the contest, they are set on a course to destroy each other. But as attraction flares between them and ancient evils stir, will they be able to see their tasks to the death?

Roseanne “Rosie” A. Brown was born in Kumasi, Ghana and immigrated to the wild jungles of central Maryland as a child. Writing was her first love, and she knew from a young age that she wanted to use the power of writing—creative and otherwise—to connect the different cultures she called home. She graduated from the University of Maryland with a Bachelor’s in Journalism and was also a teaching assistant for the school’s Jiménez-Porter Writers’ House program. Her journalistic work has been featured by Voice of America among other outlets.

On the publishing side of things, she has worked as an editorial intern at Entangled Publishing. Rosie was a 2017 Pitch Wars mentee and 2018 Pitch Wars mentor. Rosie currently lives outside Washington D.C., where in her free time she can usually be found wandering the woods, making memes, or thinking about Star Wars.

Roseanne is another author that struggles with anxiety and wrote one of her two main characters with generalised anxiety disorder (GAD), despite it being a fantasy. I don’t even think I can name a fantasy that had a character with anxiety represented so well. This was a book I read around the same time as Forest of Souls, and I loved it. The cover was beautiful, the characters were brilliant, and I just loved the world building, the magic, and the plot. It was just different to the usual fantasy books I read, and I enjoyed the variation so much I’ve had the sequel pre ordered almost a year in advance.

So, this was my 20 books by 20 chronically ill, disabled or neurodiverse authors list. Blurbs and synopsis were compiled between Goodreads and author websites, and bios were found either on Goodreads, author websites or on amazon author pages. All the information about their chronic illnesses, disabilities or neurodivergence was found online, where they had either explicitly said it or written about it, but if I have something wrong, please let me know so I can fix it!

If you have any other suggestions or know any other books and authors that should be on this list, please let me know and I’ll do my best to add it to the list as soon as possible.

Thanks for reading 😊

#bookblr #reviews #recs #books

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jornthur · 4 years

Text

“Unshaken” Chapter I

Originally posted: March 9, 2020

Arthur Morgan x Reader, Slow-Burn Romance

Summary: You save a mysterious man who is dying on a mountain. Finding out he has Tuberculosis, you use your knowledge and skills with herbs and natural remedies to save him from death and help nurse him back to health. As he slowly starts to recover, you can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Why had you found him the way that you did, beaten and ill? Only time, patience … and perhaps love … will tell.

•••••

Gunshots.

You could hear gunshots ring out in the sky. You looked up at your older brother Austin who had been leaning against a tree reading a book as you were picking herbs.

Your brother looked up, having heard them as well.

“We need to get outta here,” he said, closing his book and rushing over to the wagon. He hopped into the driver’s seat as he motioned you towards him. “Let’s go, Y/N!”

Standing up from where you were kneeling you stuffed the plants you had picked into your satchel and quickly climbed onto the wagon next to him. Austin grabbed the reins of the white Shire and started steering the horse away.

As you made your way past O’Creagh’s Run, you suddenly heard men shouting from the same direction the gunshots had come from. One voice sounded angry, but then you heard a second voice sounding out in pain.

You put your hand on Austin’s arm, “Wait!”

He pulled back on the reins, giving you a puzzled look. “For what?”

You bit your lip in hesitation, unsure whether or not you wanted to find out what was going on, what if something had gone horribly wrong for an unfortunate stranger? You eyed the carbine repeater lying on the foot rest.

“We need to leave ’fore we’re caught up in whatever mess is going on over there,” Austin said harshly though gritted teeth, interrupting your thoughts.

Another pained cry rang out through the night sky, and curiosity instantly got the better of you. You snatched the reins from your brother and before he realized what you were up to, you immediately began steering the wagon in the direction the sounds were coming from, straight toward the mountain east of the lake.

“What in the hell are you doin’, Y/N!?” Austin shouted over the whipping wind as you sped the wagon around the lake towards the mountain. Austin lifted a hand to keep his hat in place as he used the other to try and regain control of the reins.

You completely ignored him however, slapping his hand away as you snapped the reins again, getting the horse to go even faster. You had no idea what came over you, but there was no changing your mind. You’d heard someone in pain, and every instinct you had wanted to try and help. Whether it be real or a trap, you had a rifle for a reason, didn’t you?

As you drew closer to the sounds, you could’ve sworn you saw a man with dirty blonde hair disappearing into the forest. He was swearing and snarling to himself, his voice similar to the angry shouts you’d heard, but he was alone. The other voice, the one that had sounded so distressed … were they still up there?

With a bad feeling in your gut you snapped the reins again.

Finally, you reached the foot of the small mountain, and as soon as you got to a rocky area where the wagon couldn’t travel any further, you leapt off, grabbing Austin’s rifle before he could say a word. Following the sounds, you began to climb the large rock. You had no idea what was going through your mind, forgetting about anything and everything around you except for the noises. You followed them up a steep hill until you reached a lone tree.

All you could hear were pained grunts as you got closer, but they seemed to be getting weaker and weaker.

Walking around the corner of the rocks … you stopped right in your tracks when you saw a large man lying on the hard ground as the sun was just starting to peak over the horizon. You let out a soft breath, approaching cautiously.

His head was turned toward the coming dawn, so he didn’t see you as you came over.

The man was badly injured, covered in blood. Cuts and bruises stuck out on his pale skin all over his body. The man’s breathing was weak, the rising and falling of his chest slowing down more and more until it stopped … he didn’t seem to be moving …

You ran over and fell to your knees, placing the rifle on the ground next to you.

His eyes were closed, his face a pale mask of death. Bending over him you put your ear to his chest. He was no longer breathing, and his heartbeat was slowing down.

Instinct immediately set in, and the doctor in you took over.

With no time to lose you opened your satchel and rummaged through several of the small glass jars until you found the right ones, two small vials filled with several mixed herbs. With precious seconds you poured out the contents into your palm, rubbed the herbs between your hands vigorously and grabbed the water flask hanging from your belt.

Reaching over you placed a gentle hand to his cheek, turning his head so he was facing you. His skin was so cold against your touch, and you couldn’t help but notice the blood that stained your fingers. You shook the thought of fear aside and opened his mouth, placing the now crushed herbs on his tongue. Holding up his head, you held up the flask’s lid to his lips and poured the water into his mouth, making sure that the herbs were swallowed.

The man put up no fight whatsoever. He didn’t even open his eyes. You had no clue if you were already too late. But whatever hope there was left, the herbs you had given him would give him a chance. The crushed herbs would let out a chemical that, when the types of plants were mixed and consumed, acted as a drug to speed up the heart’s beating and make it easier to breathe to keep one alive no matter how weak they were.

But only for a little while.

“Y/N, what the hell do you think you’re doin’!” Austin shouted as he ran over to you. “That man might be dangerous!” He snatched the rifle off the ground and pointed it right at the man’s chest.

That made you angry. Grabbing the barrel of the rifle you snatched it out of your brother’s hold, throwing the gun’s strap over your shoulder. “Shut the hell up and help me take him to the wagon, Austin!” You snapped.

Austin’s face went passive. Once you began cursing he knew you were not a woman to be messed with. He shot a glare at you and without saying another word he came over and helped you lift the man up. It was a struggle, but the two of you managed to rush him back down to the wagon. As soon as you reached it, you climbed into the back, making room by moving over several of the crates that had been stacked together. When there was finally enough room Austin helped you lift the man up into the back and you laid him down gently, making sure he was as comfortable as possible.

“Take the reins, Austin. Get us back to the cabin, and be quick about it!” You said firmly.

By the expression on your brother’s face you knew he wanted to argue with you, but thankfully he didn’t. Minutes were precious, and every second felt like a stab to the gut as you looked down at the man lying at your feet. Austin climbed into the driver’s seat as you lowered yourself to your knees and looked after the stranger. The snap of reins was heard and the wagon lurched forward, gaining high speed once again as it reached the trail.

The wind was whipping your hair around but you paid no mind as you looked down at the mysterious man lying next to you.

Everything around you seemed to disappear in that moment as you took him in.

In your rush to help him, you hadn’t paid any attention to the man’s features.

His chestnut-brown hair and short rough beard were completely disheveled, his dark thick eyebrows drawn down in pain. His eyes and cheeks were incredibly sunken to the point that he almost looked skeletal. His pale skin looked extremely rough and weathered, mottled in several areas that you could see. There were several cuts along his face and neck as well as his arms, and you were almost afraid to see what other wounds he might have beneath his bloodied clothes.

You reached out and laid a gentle hand on his forehead, the skin there was starting to heat up very quickly, was it a fever? You leaned over until your ear was over his cracked lips. He was breathing again, but it was so weak that it frightened you.

Opening your satchel, you pulled out your stethoscope. Putting it on, you laid the metal disk over his heart — it was beating relatively better and more frequently than it had earlier. You moved the disk around his chest to listen to his breathing. It was still weak, the airways sounding as if they were struggling.

Something wasn’t right.

Reaching into your satchel again, you took out a wooden tongue depressor. The sun was just starting to come up, and the light from the lantern hanging from the wagon also helped you to see as you opened his mouth with the small wooden tool and pressed down on his tongue.

Your heart dropped.

Tuberculosis.

There was blood and sores in the back of his throat; there was no mistaking what it was. Quickly you grabbed another herb from your satchel and placed it on his tongue. You held the flask up to his mouth, pouring water into it to get him to swallow.

He didn’t.

Was he losing the fight?

Again you lifted his head, angling it so that the water could travel down freely. The man suddenly coughed, water sputtering out over his dry lips. He swallowed, and you checked to see if the herb had been consumed. After seeing that there was nothing in his mouth, you let out a sigh of relief. You laid his head back down to let him rest, monitoring him the rest of the way to the cabin to make sure he stayed alive.

After what felt like an eternity, Austin pulled the wagon up to your cabin. Normally the trip would’ve taken much longer, but your brother knew how to ride a wagon at high speeds better than anyone else you knew.

Austin got off the driver’s seat and walked around to the back of the wagon. “This shit is crazy,” you heard him say underneath his breath.

“Excuse me?” You snapped.

He shot a glare at you. “You just hear gunshots and you suddenly decide it’s a good idea t’go find out what it was? You could’ve been hurt, Y/N!”

You didn’t have time for this. “This man is dying, Austin! Please save your petty quarrels for later and help me get him inside!”

He grunted but thankfully didn’t argue any further as he helped you carry him off the back of the wagon, him carrying the man by the torso and you by his ankles. The two of you walked through the front door and carried him into the sitting room.

“Lay him down on the couch,” you said, and Austin led you both over to the long red couch in front of the fireplace.

You laid him out across the thick cushions on his back, placing him down as gently as you could, making sure the man was as comfortable as he could possibly be. “Please get a fire going, Austin?” You asked your brother as you tucked a fluffed pillow underneath the man’s head.

Austin muttered under his breath but he went to do as you asked. You were grateful to have such a loving brother. Even though he could be a pain in the ass, he was still a gentle soul deep down, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

Shaking that thought away, you wasted no time. After you were sure that the man was settled, you ran over to your desk and rummaged through all the the vials in one of the top drawers. You finally found the one you were looking for, and then you grabbed your surgical tray, snatching up all the tools that you needed and placing them on the metal surface. A syringe, a pump attached to a tube, cotton, alcohol, fresh cloths, a large jug of medicinal liquid, and bandages.

Rushing back over, you set the tray on the small table next to the couch, placing the spare cloths on the side table. You grabbed the syringe from the tray, and with precious seconds to spare you pierced the rubber of the lid, drawing the liquid from the vial into the small barrel as you pulled back on the plunger. Next, you leaned over and prodded his inner arm with your index finger until you found a large vein. Once you did, you cleaned the skin with some alcohol and you stuck the needle in, pushing down on the plunger.

The large man let out a deep grunt, and you looked over to see his dark brows drawn down tight, his lips peeled back over his teeth in discomfort. You felt terrible for causing him more pain, but this procedure needed to be done.

After the syringe was empty, you placed it back on the tray. Grabbing some cotton, you pressed it to the injection you had made to keep any more blood from escaping.

Austin came back in with a few logs and walked across the room to set them up in the fireplace. As he got the fire going, you wrapped a bandage around the man’s arm to keep the cotton in place.

You placed your stethoscope back on and listened to his heart and lungs once more, the man was breathing, but every inhale sounded like a battle to get the oxygen his body so desperately needed.

You turned toward your brother as he was finishing up with building the fire. “Austin, I need your help with this next task.”

He stood up and faced you. Even though he looked a bit upset, he asked “What is it?”

“I have to flush his lungs out.”

He looked confused then. “What’s he got?”

You sighed. “He has Tuberculosis.”

Austin’s eyes widened, “Are you sure you need to be treatin’ that?”

“I’ve done it before.”

“On animals!” He snapped.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

He let out a long and exasperated sigh. “Fine, what’ya need me t’do?”

“I need you to get him on his side and hold him still. I’m going to set up the equipment I need and get the pump ready.”

Austin nodded as he walked over to the man and adjusted his position as you got all the necessities ready to prepare the pump. This part was indeed scary since you had never performed this procedure on a human, though you would never admit that fear to your brother. “Is he ready?”

“Ready as he’s ever gon’ be.” Austin replied.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. You knelt at the foot of the couch, the pump ready in your hand. “Just make sure he doesn’t struggle.” You said. Austin had helped you hold animals still during your procedures several times so you knew he would be a big help with this.

Austin gave a small nod, and walked behind the couch to lean over and grip the top of the man’s head in one hand and wrap the other arm around the man’s chest. You weren’t sure how this was going to go or end up, but it was more than worth a try to save a life, if you could.

Your heartbeat was racing with what you were about to do, and you knew you had to be quick. Taking another deep breath, you stuck the long narrow tube down his throat. The man immediately began choking, his limbs kicking from the sudden lack of what little oxygen it had been trying to get. But his struggles were weak due to his state. You began pumping the liquid through the tube as fast as you could, all the while Austin helped keep him still as he held him down.

As soon as the medicine hit his lungs, the man immediately coughed it back up — but that was a good sign. You knew the medicine had washed out his airways, coating the inside and getting to work right away on killing off the bacteria. Now all you had to do was wait; the properties would start going to work on fighting the disease that had built in his lungs. There would need to be several more treatments done, as well as on the rest of his body, but this was a good start.

You pulled the tube from his mouth and placed it back on the tray, and the man coughed and sputtered. As soon as the fit was finished, Austin let go of the man and readjusted him to his previous position. Straightening back up, he walked back to the fireplace to tend to the flames.

Grabbing a fresh cloth from the metal tray, you reached over and cleaned the man’s face, wiping away the mess that had been made, then you leaned down and wiped away the liquid that had been coughed out and spilled onto the floor. When that task was finally complete, you stood to your feet and discarded the wet cloth back onto the tray, taking the supplies into the washroom to clean them and wash your hands.

Once you were finished, you made your way back into the sitting room and knelt down on the floor so you could study the man’s face. His expression was relaxed, his brows and lips no longer tightened in pain. Placing your ear on his chest, you listened closely to the man’s breathing … it was steady. Still rough, but it was already much better than it had been before.

You let out a sigh of relief, then looked over your shoulder to see Austin stoking the flames with a metal poker. You smiled at your brother, “Thank you, Austin,” you said, your breath almost catching. No matter how tough he tried to act, what he just did to help you save this man truly meant a lot.

He looked back at you, his eyes cold. He parted his lips, but he didn’t say a word. Suddenly, he stood, tossing the poker to the floor before walking out of the room.

His mood hurt, but you couldn’t let yourself be bothered. Austin might not like it, but at the moment all you cared about was making this stranger well.

You turned back to face the man, but when you looked down at his face, you noticed that his eyes were open again.

They were looking right at you.

Your heart nearly skipped a beat, being this close … his eyes — his eyes were the most beautiful color you had ever seen in your life …

“Um — I — Hi, mister,” you said, unable to hold back the crack in your voice. You decided it was because of all the action from earlier, and not those eyes. Definitely not.

The man groaned, opening his mouth, but no sound came out as his lips moved. Was he trying to speak?

“Please, mister,” you said softly, trying to soothe him as you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “don’t say anything. I need you to rest for me, alright?”

He didn’t listen, however, and he let out a grunt as he tried to speak again. “H-h- … h-how-,” he seemed to try and swallow, “Wh-where—,” his voice suddenly cracked as another coughing fit similar to the one from earlier came over him.

You quickly grabbed one of the spare cloths from the side table and held it to his mouth as he struggled through the coughing fit. You felt terrible as you watched his body curl into a fetal position through the violent shaking, but you did your best to try and comfort him through it, pushing his hair away from his face and stroking his shoulder.

After what felt like an eternity, his body finally settled, and you cleaned off his face again. Once you were done, you grabbed the thick wool blanket off the back of the couch and laid it over him, tucking it beneath the cushions to make sure he felt as safe and secure as possible. His body had gone limp, and he looked completely exhausted.

You let out a soft sigh as you stood to your feet, taking the dirty cloth back into the washroom to discard it and wash your hands once more. When you came back into the sitting room, the man was looking at you again.

You stilled as he stared at you with those brilliant blue eyes of his. “Wh-where … am …. I?” He said, his deep voice extremely rasped and gravelly as he spoke one word with each breath.

You rushed back over to the couch and knelt by his side, “Don’t worry, mister, you’re safe here,” you said softly, giving him a small smile as you reached out to stroke his shoulder, continuing in your efforts to soothe him.

He grimaced as he grunted in pain again, “Who … are … you?”

You wished he wouldn’t speak so he could rest, but you figured he wasn’t going to relax until he had some answers. “I found you up on a mountain near O’Creagh’s Run. You were dying, and we brought you back here.” You pushed a stray hair away from his brow. “Please don’t speak anymore. You need to rest, you’re safe here.”

He blinked, those blue-green eyes of his gazing straight up at you. “Your … name?”

You looked at him, a little bewildered that he would ask that when he was so weak. You gave another gentle smile, “My name is Y/N.”

Those eyes squinted as he took you in, seeming to study you further.

Finally, he gave a small smile then, opening his mouth once more.

“Arthur.”

•••••

— To Be Continued

#unshaken #chapter 1 #part 1 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #slow burn #romance #arthur morgan #fanfic #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine

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the-mill-kat · 4 years

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Unshaken Chapter I

Arthur Morgan x Reader (18+) Slow Burn Romance

“Unshaken” Masterlist “Unshaken” AO3

Posted: March 9, 2020

A/N: Today is my birthday, and I decided to make my very first Arthur Morgan x Reader story. This will be a long one with more to come! I hope you enjoy!

You save a mysterious man who is dying on a mountain. Finding out he has Tuberculosis, you use your knowledge and skills with herbs and natural remedies to save him from death and help nurse him back to health. As he slowly starts to recover, you can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Why had you found him the way that you did, beaten and ill? Only time, patience … and perhaps love … will tell.

Gunshots.

You could hear gunshots ring out in the sky. You looked up at your older brother Austin who had been leaning against a tree reading a book as you were picking herbs.

Your brother looked up, having heard them as well.

“We need to get outta here,” he said, closing his book and rushing over to the wagon. He hopped into the driver’s seat as he motioned you towards him. “Let’s go, Y/N!”

You put your hand on Austin’s arm, “Wait!”

He pulled back on the reins, giving you a puzzled look. “For what?”

“We need to leave ’fore we’re caught up in whatever mess is going on over there,” Austin said harshly though gritted teeth, interrupting your thoughts.

With a bad feeling in your gut you snapped the reins again.

Finally, you reached the foot of the small mountain, and as soon as you got to a rocky area where the wagon couldn’t travel any further, you leapt off, grabbing Austin's rifle before he could say a word. Following the sounds, you began to climb the large rock. You had no idea what was going through your mind, forgetting about anything and everything around you except for the noises. You followed them up a steep hill until you reached a lone tree.

All you could hear were pained grunts as you got closer, but they seemed to be getting weaker and weaker.

Walking around the corner of the rocks ... you stopped right in your tracks when you saw a large man lying on the hard ground as the sun was just starting to peak over the horizon. You let out a soft breath, approaching cautiously.

His head was turned toward the coming dawn, so he didn’t see you as you came over.

The man was badly injured, covered in blood. Cuts and bruises stuck out on his pale skin all over his body. The man's breathing was weak, the rising and falling of his chest slowing down more and more until it stopped … he didn’t seem to be moving ...