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milliedazzledust · 3 years

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I'll Come Back for You (Bucky Barnes imagine)

REQUEST: ANON - something where he is in winter soldier mode and protecting the scientist (y/n) where she is the only one who can sort of calm him down after a mission

ANON - winter soldier!bucky being protective over his scientist who’s forced to be take care of his health and she’s being kept there against his will too

ANON - Bucky Barnes request about how both reader and Bucky are each other support systems? It could be like a headcanon, how would the reader comfort him while how he comforts her so forth and so on

WORDS: 3506

A/N: So I don't know if I was inspired or if I just wrote too much, but I'm not sure this story's good. Anyway, feedback is really appreciated and I hope you'll like it :) (also don't forget to tell me if you want to be on my taglist ^^)

“What happened this time ?”

Her voice was only a whisper in the quiet room. The broken man silently sat on the examination table while she stuck a needle in his functioning arm. He didn’t speak, didn’t even flinch. This masquerade had started the moment she had set foot inside Hydra secret base. They had brought her against her will to take care of their most valuable soldier. It was always the same dance, rehearsed a million times since she had met him. After each mission, each murder, he’d come to her. She’d fix his physical wounds, take care of his arm and let him go.

More than often, she found herself feeling sorry for him. She knew what Hydra was doing to him, she’d heard the screams echoing in the distance. It would keep ringing in her ears for hours. Sometimes, the simple thought of picturing what he was going through was enough to bring her to tears. No one deserved to suffer this way.

The Winter Soldier was a cruel man, an assassin. She had seen him in action, had even been attacked the first time they were introduced. But despite being the necessary tool to take care of their valuable killer, she liked him. This wasn’t a place anyone could handle, not even him. And while she was aware of the danger Hydra represented, he was a different story. The man he once was had been trapped in a small corner of his mind, disconnected. His hands were his own, but his actions were dictated by an army that had invaded his head long ago. He was a machine turned on and off at will by the power of ten simple words.

“I was stabbed” Was his only answer. He didn’t give any detail, simply raised his shirt so she could inspect the injury.

“Do you feel any pain ?”

He blankly stared at an invisible point on the wall, avoiding looking at her. He was aware anyone could be listening.

“Soldier ?” She called him, stopping her movement and waiting for his response.

“I don’t feel anything” His voice was emotionless and a chill ran down her spine when he spoke. He was detached, impassive, a statue unaware he was capable of sentiment.

She cleared her throat, trying to stay focused on her task. She cleaned the wound, took his vitals, wrote down the conclusion of her examination and prepared what she needed to sew him up.

When she was about to administer the anesthetic, he suddenly grabbed her wrist. She caught her breath, frightened, but made no movement. For the first time that day, he turned his head to look at her. Whatever she saw in his eyes was enough to ease the tension in her shoulders and she relaxed.

“It’s okay” She whispered, a kind smile on her face. “This is propofol”

She knew he would recognize the name. She had spent countless hours explaining everything she was doing to him in detail so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable or scared. He was a super soldier that required extreme measures of treatment.

“No drugs,” He told her.

“You might regret that decision once I start to put the stitches in”

“I need to stay conscious,” He explicated, almost begging her. “Please”

She didn’t argue, only glanced at a camera behind her recording their interaction.

“Alright” She conceded. “I’ll switch to saline”

He nodded, grateful she wasn’t pushing. She turned her back carefully so her table was no longer in the camera’s field of view and he watched her emptying the needle and filling it with a harmless mixture of water and sodium chloride. Nothing that would put him to sleep.

“Have you ever been to Greece ?” She asked him out of the blue. He stared at her curiously. “I’ve always dreamed of visiting. It has the longest coastline in Europe, with so many islands between the blue Aegean Sea to the east, the Mediterranean Sea to the south, and the Ionian Sea to the west. Can you imagine how beautiful it must be ?”

She kept talking for a while about the country, the books she had read and the films she had seen about it. His eyes stayed on her the whole time, his head tilted to the side, wondering why she was telling him all this. Not that he minded, he loved listening to her. She had the power to calm him down. He was constantly on high alert, ready to fight whomever he was told to kill, prepared to endure whatever torture they had prepared, but this room and the woman inside were his only small moments of peace. Her voice was the music he desperately needed to sooth his soul.

“Why are you telling me this ?” He wondered out loud.

She smirked. “To take your mind somewhere else than here. Seems like it worked”

He glanced at his stomach and realized the stitches were already there. Too engrossed in her story, he hadn’t noticed or felt anything.

“How…”

“Funny how magical words can turn out to be, isn’t it ?”

She could swear she saw the flicker of an emotion on his face looking back between his wound and the woman, but just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Thank you, doc”

She hesitated a moment before gently taking his hand on her own.

“Be careful” She muttered. “There’s only so much I can fix”

“I will” He promised. “Are they … are they treating you right ?”

She shrugged. “If threatening to kill me is what you consider right, then I guess I’m a real princess in a castle”

He ran a jerky hand through his hair and seemed to be looking for the right words to say but never spoke.

“Can I ask …” She began, curiosity getting the best out of her. “What is your real name ?”

When his gaze fell on her, all she saw was pure panic. Her question, as simple as it may have been, had surprised him. He didn’t remember, didn’t even question anyone, because it hadn’t mattered. He didn’t need to be more than a ghost to be able to kill.

“I’m sorry” She apologized. “I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to…”

“I don’t know” He admitted.

She gulped and looked away. His eyes held too much confusion and despair. Coming face to face with the enormity that was this man’s fate was sometimes undeniably heartbreaking.

“Can I call you Winter, then ?” She suggested.

He seemed to ponder for a while before offering her a small smile. “Yes, yes I’d like that”

It hurt to see a glimpse of happiness on his face for something as simple as a name and the woman didn’t realize that what she had just given him was the shred of an identity. A tiny piece he would hold onto. He was living inside a nightmare he had no idea he was trapped into, and if she dared to help, she would pay it with her life. So all she had the power to do was give him a name. Make him feel alive again.

The next time she saw him was only a couple of days after, carried by two agents, head hanging low and barely conscious. His clothes were stained in blood and his metal arm seemed dislocated.

“Patch him up” One of the men coldly ordered. They dropped the injured soldier on the ground like he was nothing more than an object, not even human.

She rushed to his side, checking his pupils first with a flashlight to rule out any intracranial damage to his brain. She did the same on his chest with a stethoscope, searching for any potential life threatening injury. When she moved to his shoulder to inspect the metal bones, he regained consciousness. Maybe it was the sight of yet another scientist above him or the touch of her fingers on his skin, but the man was quick to react and got on his feet in no time. His human hand wrapped around her neck tightly and he pushed her body with force against a wall, choking her. She tried to speak, but the action had been so sudden and violent that she was unable to move a muscle. He was in a trance, eyes filled with hatred that she knew was not directed toward her. Whatever he was picturing in his mind had awakened the assassin. She was the threat and he was in a game of survival.

She whispered his name several times but it was only after a minute, when she was on the verge of passing out, that he seemed to realize what he was doing. He stared at her with wide open eyes and released her from his grip. Her body fell on the floor before she started coughing, struggling to catch her breath.

“I’m…” He tried to speak, looking down at his hands in horror.

“Water” She managed to whisper.

He brought the woman a bottle and tried to help her on her feet. When he reached for her, she involuntarily flinched. A pure reflex. She didn’t miss the sadness on his face as he recoiled from her.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know. It’s alright”

“I could’ve killed you” He said it more to himself than to her.

“But you didn’t” She laid a hand on her chest, taking a deep breath to try and calm her heart rate. “What happened ?”

“You touched me,” He explained.

“I touch you all the time” When he smirked, she realized the double meaning behind what she had just said. “Hm … why would it be any different today ?” She immediately changed the subject.

“Usually, when I’m unconscious I can … sense them around me. Working on me. And I can’t move but I still feel the pain”

Once again she was at a loss of words against the heaviness that was the burden of his life.

“Are you sure you’re alright ?” He repeated almost in a childish voice.

“I’ll get over it, don’t worry” She tried to reassure him. It didn’t seem to work. He took a temptative step, making sure she wasn’t uncomfortable. He moved his hand toward her neck, deliberately going as slow as he could. His eyes stayed on hers, watching out for any sign of fear. “What are you doing ?” She said in a breath, a different kind of shiver rolling down her spine.

“I need to make sure I didn’t hurt you” The sincerity and concern she heard in his voice were unsettling. She stared back in disbelief, but didn’t move. This was the closest they had ever been and it almost felt unreal for both of them. Too good to be true, especially in a place of nightmare like this.

He tilted her head to the back, still looking at her, and softly brushed his thumb over her skin. A bruise was already starting to appear. She saw the change in his eyes, the regret and sadness when he lowered his gaze. He kept inspecting her from all angles possible, making her chuckle in the process.

“Are you done, doctor ?” She joked.

He tried not to smile but miserably failed. “Almost. Haven’t found a diagnosis yet”

This time she laughed.

“C’mon, I’m not the real patient here. I need to take a look at you” She glanced at his metal arm, still dislocated. He was avoiding using it and she had noticed.

He sighed but didn’t remove his hand from her neck. Instead, his thumb slowly reached her cheek and he gently stroked her skin.

“I wish I could get you out of here” He whispered. “You don’t deserve any of this”

“Neither do you”

He clenched his jaw and plastered a tight smile, refusing to acknowledge what she had just said. He lowered his arm and sat on the examination table without saying anything.

“I’m gonna … hm … I’m gonna need to cut your shirt open” She gulped, trying to keep her cheeks from getting any warmer.

The man smirked and grabbed a pair of scissors nearby that he handed to her. She took it but didn’t dare to look at him, too uncomfortable by the situation. As she cut his shirt higher and higher, her hands started to shake. He could see her shifting her weight from side to side and desperately avoiding any eye contact. She was embarrassed and he was enjoying every second of it.

When finally she had taken it carefully off his body, she huffed in frustration. There was no denying that he had beyond toned muscle structure, verged into defined and well built curves.

“Is it… is it alright if I touch you ?” She allowed herself to take a glance at him, and rolled her eyes when she saw the smirk on his face.

“More than alright, doc” He teased her.

The moment her hands came in contact with his skin, he involuntarily flexed his muscles. She took a sharp breath, trying not to lose focus when she cleaned his wounds. She looked up at him to make sure he wasn’t in any pain, only to realize he was already staring. What should have been a quick glance turned into something more, a moment that lasted a little too long. When he leaned in toward her, she suddenly seemed to notice the lack of space between them. She cleared her throat and took a step back.

“Quit flirting, Winter” She reprimanded him with a playful grin.

He laughed. It was the first time she heard that sound and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her mouth. He looked so carefree and alive, so human. She was finally meeting the man behind the assassin, and he troubled her even more than the silent killer.

“I kinda like to see you flustered, doc”

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to hide her obvious nervousness.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” She pursed her lips to keep from smiling.

“Sure you don’t” He sniggered.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna need to put that shoulder into place”

Instead of talking, he grabbed her hips and considerably shortened the distance she had put between them. Her eyes widened from both the sudden gesture and the feeling of his fingers on her body.

“Go right ahead, doc”

She leaned in toward him to have a better access to the injury, ignoring the unexpected shudder. She was practically over him, a hand on his shoulder, the other on his broad back. If he felt any pain when she pushed the bones back into place, he didn’t show.

“All good ?” He muttered, heavily breathing. She was about to ask if he was okay but the words stayed stuck when she realized how close their faces were. He wasn’t hurt, no, he was perturbed by her presence. He could smell her perfume and see the hair raising on her neck. Whatever he was feeling, she felt it too.

“Do I make you nervous, soldier ?” She said, a smile building on her full lips.

“You have no idea, doctor”

She turned to face him. They locked eyes and, for a moment, none of them moved. The atmosphere instantly changed when he bit his lips. He bent closer and closer, and this time she didn’t push back. When finally he kissed her, she froze in place. He was about to draw back when she grabbed his neck, deepening the kiss. A sensation she couldn’t comprehend took over her whole body. He didn’t rush, took his sweet time lingering his lips over hers. She could swore her knees would have given out if he wasn’t holding her in place. Her chest was fluttering and she lost all sense of time. He pulled back from the lack of oxygen, but not before caressing her mouth one last time.

“Too much?” He inquired quietly.

She shook her head, laughing. “No. Just enough”

“I’ve been dreaming of doing that for a while” He admitted.

“Quite the change of attitude. I could’ve sworn you wanted me dead only ten minutes ago” She joked.

He pouted, not particularly happy she was reminding him of his previous outburst.

“You’re all set up, Winter” She announced after one last look over his chest. “No major damage”

“Have you checked my heart ?” He joked with a smirk. “I think it’s beating a little fast”

She coughed to try and hide her laugh.

“I’m afraid that’s not fixable” She started to write her report, ignoring his lingering gaze on her. Her brain was still fuzzy from the kiss they shared. “Unless I stay away, which would probably ease your … discomfort”

“Who said anything about discomfort ? That’s a kind of pain I’d rather enjoy”

She raised an eyebrow, not missing the way her own heart palpitated.

“Don’t play with fire, soldier”

He smirked. “Between us, I’m trying to delay the moment I’ll have to go through that door again”

This time she lost all joy and raised her head from what she was writing on her report to look at him.

“You’re strong enough to leave this place, you know”

“Leave where ?” He asked.

“Somewhere you’ll find who you really are”

“Does that somewhere include you ? ‘Cause you should know I won’t go without you”

She walked up to him and took his hands.

“Save yourself while you still can, Winter” She sadly replied.

“What about you ?”

“I’m just … collateral damage” She exhaled.

He gently pressed his forehead to hers.

“I promise I’ll come back for you after that last mission”

“I’ll hold you onto that”

He planted a soft kiss on her lips, making her forget once again where they were and what their reality was.

“I’ll take you to Greece” He whispered. “Just the two of us. Wouldn’t that be great ?”

“It’s a date” She grinned, making him laugh.

“You’ve got yourself a deal. We’ll get out of here” He swore. “And I’ll take you dancing under the stars of Mykonos”

He didn’t know then that he would never have the occasion to keep that promise. They would have more moments, stolen from the chaos of this place, but nothing more. Weeks later, he would hear rumors about treason and compromising positions. He would understand too late they meant her. She was his weak point, and the Winter Soldier couldn’t have any weaknesses. She was disposable, he was an assassin with superpowers. All the recordings they had proved he no longer could be operational so long as she was still breathing.

“Buck, you alright ?” A voice suddenly spoke in the agonizing silence.

He turned around to his friend, brushing the tears he didn’t realize had started to fall. Standing in the empty room, he couldn’t move away from the dried patch of blood on the floor.

“Yeah, I just need a minute” He shook his head, trying to make the painful memories disappear.

The man behind him began to inspect the place, searching through scattered papers around a desk.

“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N” He read.

Bucky closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. The simple sound of her name was enough to widen the open wound inside his chest. He sat on the examination table one last time, without her. Forgetting he wasn’t alone, he let himself wander into his most precious memories. He remembered the taste of her lips, the smell of her perfume and the touch of her skin. Every detail engraved in his head forever.

“Did you know her ?” The person asked.

“Yeah”

The man stopped what he was doing and observed the former assassin for a solid minute. He looked heartbroken.

“Bad memories ?” He inquired.

“Not in this room” Bucky sadly smiled.

“What happened ?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Steve”

The Captain hesitated for a moment but didn’t push. He was aware his friend was still healing and whatever the place was, it was part of his pain.

“Is she dead ?” He only questioned.

He gulped and tilted his head backward to keep the tears at bay. “They took her away from me” His voice cracked when he spoke. He was not able to stop the violent sob that escaped his mouth. He wanted to say so much more but the lump in his throat was far too heavy.

“I was too late,” He whispered. “I promised I’d come back for her but I was … too …”

His shoulders started to shake as tears ran down his bloodshot eyes. Steve rapidly closed the distance between them and hugged his friend, letting him express his sadness. They stayed there until he was calm enough to take a deep breath.

“You ready ?” The Captain inquired.

The broken soldier silently nodded.

“Where to now ?” Steve asked him. “You’re free to go anywhere you'd like”

“Greece. I have a date in Greece”

Taglist below the cut

@partypoisonsblog - @tylard-blog1

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier imagine #the winter soldier imagines #the winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier imagines #winter soldier fanfiction #tfatws #fatws

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kiranogareru · 3 years

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VIOLENT BEAUTY OF LOVE

Warning: Mention of blood, death, Hanahaki disease and probably cursing, because I curse a lot, may give you the feels

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

A/n: Tried 3rd person view for this, feedback is welcome! Also, I don't know where I'm going with this, so let's take this journey together😅

Katsuki jolted up in his bed, eyes wide and holding a wild look of horror in them!

His throat feeling like it was being ripped apart from the inside, as the burning sensation of brutal scratches from within began to restrict his airflow!

'No, not again..' he thought in realization as he started coughing

He choked and gasped, desperately trying to force some air into his aching lungs! His eyes welling up and unintentionally staining his cheeks with tears

The feeling was unbearable, the agony making him subconsciously reach for his neck with both hands, in a futile attempt to somehow soothe the pain, but alas..there was nothing that could be done

Katsuki kept his condition a secret, not wanting anyone to think he's weak. He's been dealing with this for months all on his own, fighting it day in and day out and the worst part is he doesn't even know what's wrong with him!

At first it wasn't as bad, so Katsuki brushed it off as a stupid cold, but the symptoms kept worsening and no medication seemed to work

As the all-too-familiar metallic taste rose to his mouth, Katsuki knew exactly what would happen

He pushes himself up and off the bed, planning to run to the bathroom, using the last of his strength, but as soon as he stands, his legs give out and he drops to the cold, hard floor of his dorm, knees scraping upon Impact!

Katsuki is now supporting his weight with one arm and gripping at the collar of his shirt with the other,as his coughing fit continues, until his pain spills itself on the tiled surface beneath him

Y/N was so concerned about Bakugou, he had been missing several classes, he seemed disconnected and tired during most of his training sessions these past few weeks

Losing sleep and performing anything less than perfect on the battle field, isn't like him, in fact it is so uncommon that it became an instant tell that something was wrong with the normally, fierce blonde!

Though the weirdest thing ought to be the unusual aura that radiated off of him. He was mostly calm and very quiet!

Y/N is one of the few people that Bakugou has allowed into his life, he trusts her! They're personalities are very similar and that provides Katsuki with a sense of comfort and understanding!

This lead the duo to become close friends, but without realizing friendship turned to love...the one-sided kind to be exact

Y/N had just woken up to multiple messages from Eijirou, saying how Bakugou sounds sick again

Kiri: Do you mind checking on him? If any of us go he'll feel like we're looking down on him for being sick

Fuck, Eijirou was right, Katsuki would mistake the Bakusquad's concern for pity

Y/N found herself at Katsuki's door, worried at the sounds coming from the other side

She was unsure whether she should knock or simply enter and help him, but his shaky breaths and quiet sobs convinced her to do the latter!

She cracks the door open and pushes it gently, slipping into the room

What she's met with, leaves her in shock, her mind unable to form words at the sight in front of her and her gorgeous orbs prickled with building tears!

Right there on the floor, was a barely conscious Katsuki, lying in a pool of flowers, petals and what she could only assume was his own blood!

Never before had she witnessed a thing so mesmerizing, yet so damn cruel! She didn't even know such a combination could be achieved!

It made her angry that this...this violent beauty of love was possible!

Why did such tragedy, such pain have to befall the boy she loves?

Y/N kneels next to Katsuki and cradles his exhausted form, observing her dear friend closely. His vermillion eyes glassy and puffy, tear-streaked cheeks, blood and petals smeared on his lips and chin!

The saddened, soft expression she was wearing, while gently caressing his cheek, made him wish he could dissapear! As much as he loves being in her warm embrace, he despises the fact that she is there!

Bakugou never wanted her to see him like this, so vulnerable and beaten down, so- so fucking weak! He'd rather her think of him as anything, but weak!

He hated that out of all people, she had to be the one to walk in and catch him at his lowest!

His handsome face, was tainted with pain and she fucking hated that! It made her sick to her stomach, to see someone so strong, look so distraught!

Y/N carefully rested Katsuki's head on her lap, brushing some stray, spiky locks of ash blonde hair, out of his face

She couldn't help but wonder how long he's been suffering for and who could possibly be the cause of the heartbreking disease, the one of unreturned feelings, better known as Hanahaki!

How could someone that managed to win Katsuki Bakugou's heart, throw away their chance and deny his love? It just didn't make sense to her!

Some sort of awkward tension was thick in the atmosphere of the room, as silence spread between them, but she couldn't quite pinpoint why..

"Why didn't you say anything dumbass?" She asked, with a halfhearted smile on her lips, using his nickname for her, in an attempt to lighten the mood

"I can handle it on my own, I don't need these extras thinking they can surpass me just because I'm sick" He grumbled, his voice coming out strained

"You're too stubborn for your own good, you know that?" Her question was clearly rhetorical, since both of them knew the answer

"So...who is it?" She finally questioned, voicing the thought that was stuck in her head

Katsuki gave her a strange look, one that implied he had no idea what the Hell she was talking about!

"Huh?" Was all that left his lips

"Who are you in love with?" She hesitantly asked

Bakugou quickly sat up, his back now facing her, as he suddenly started coughing once again, his breaths shallow and sharp!

She couldn't bare the scene that was unfolding in front of her very eyes! His body was a trembling mess, while he struggled to breath, flowers coated by his blood spattering from his mouth and hitting the floor, like some type of poetic murder scene!

She desperately wanted to help him, but didn't know how, or what she could possibly do!

As Katsuki started to calm down, Y/N went to get some wipes from his drawer

Both teens sat down, this time on Katsuki's bed. She cupped his face and begun to clean him up

"Whoever the fuck said I'm in love? And what does that even have to do with anything?" His voice was hoarse and his tone cold as he spoke

His words took her by surprise, since she was so shook up that she forgot she had even asked him something!

'Did he not know?' Y/N thought to herself

"I figured- because of..the flowers?" She stuttered out, her statement sounding more like a question if anything

"What about those damn flowers?" He spat in confusion, with a scowl on his face

"Katsuki..." She softly spoke, taking a hand of his in her own, her other resting on his cheek "do you not know why you're sick?"

He felt his chest tighten at the contact, but kept an unfazed facade, as he proceeded to lock eyes with her

"Don't look at me like that!" He suddenly snapped

"Like what?" She asked, perplexed as to what she did wrong

"I can see the fucking pity in your eyes!" He growled "It's just an illness! It's not like I'm fucking dying Y/N!" He angrily yanked her hand off of him and looked away

"Katsu you- you are dying..." Her voice cracked and trailed off, eyes brimming with tears, that were threatening to spill

"You have Hanahaki. Look around you, the plant in your lungs has grown so much, that you're coughing up fully grown-" Her words caught in her throat, as she pointed to the blossoms, picking one up to examine it closer, only to discover that these were her favourite flowers, even the colour was right!

"Hanahaki?" Bakugou looked heartbroken "I thought it wasn't real"

He'd heard stories about it ever since he was little, but never knew anyone who had actually experienced it! But apparently life has a funny way of teaching you things

It all made sense to him now! He already knew he was starting to fall for her, but now he also knew how Y/N felt and this only gave him two options!

He could either, suffer a little more as a lovesick puppy, until he dies, or get a surgery that will remove the problem from it's literal roots and risk losing all memory of the girl he loves and possibly the ability to love again!

As he was deep in thought, Y/N turned to him, flower in hand and with tears streaming from her eyes to match her broken smile

"It's not me..it can't be me" She mumbled out, gaze on the floor as she couldn't bring herself to face him

"Y/N it is you! I'm in love with you!" He confessed, his head resting against hers, those lively ruby orbs of his staring at the flower in her palm, while his hands cupped hers

"Please don't say that.." She sniffled, reaching into her pocket with her free hand and pulling something out "I don't want to be the one who did this to you"

She opened her fist, showing him petals of a flower he didn't recognize "I don't want to be the one who hurt you!"

'How could I have been so dense, so oblivious? Of course she loves someone else' Katsuki felt his heart shatter like a mirror, the pain returning, as he let out a sigh and pulled her into a tight embrace

He tried his hardest not to break down in tears, not to let the flowers suffocate him and allow this moment to be his last memory! Just her in his arms!

"Don't cry Y/N, I'll be alright! This is not your fault! I'll get the surgery and I'll be alright!" He rubbed the small of her back to soothe her

"But what if you forget about me? I don't want to lose you!" She cried

"I would never forget about you!" He told her sternly

"Do you promise?" She asked, like a line from some cheesy love story

"I promise, but only if you go into surgery too! I don't want you to end up in pain" He admitted

"Okay, I'll do it" Even though Bakugou tried to reassure her, she feels guilty and is willing to do this if it means he will be happy

As the days passed and the time for the surgery came around the teens went their separate ways, since their appointments were registered in different hospitals, or at least that's what Bakugou told Y/N

In reality he had simply asked principle Nezu if he could visit his parents that day for personal reasons and stayed with them

Mitsuki gave her son a whole lecture, but after he got fed up, he decided to tell her and Masaru the truth...or part of it anyway

Meanwhile Y/N was in another part of Musutafu, lying on an operating table

Two days later they were back to UA, trying to catch up on assignments. Y/N had no recollection of her prior love interest and Bakugou had no intention of telling her that he never went to the hospital!

"Yaho Katsuuu" She greeted, as he entered the kitchen. It was their turn to clean it today

"Huh?" He tilted his head to the side "Which extra are you again?" He asked playfully

Her shocked expression made him laugh "That's not funny!" She pouted "You scared me!" She said, before smacking him on the head

"It was funny to me dumbass" He said as he proceeded to wipe the table

Y/N was happy that everything seemed to have gone back to normal, she loved seeing him smile

But little did she know...

By the end of that same month, Bakugou was found dead in his dorm, which resembled a cursed garden of blood-soaked flowers! Some stems and thorns were coming out of his mouth, while others had pierced through his lifeless chest! The scene was gut wrenching!

Aizawa was the one who found him, after Y/N pointed out that he had never followed the rest of the class out of the dorms

The dorms were immediately sealed, so none of the students could see the traumatizing sight!

However Y/N had a feeling that she knew what had happened to the fiery hero-in-training and she couldn't help but blame herself for it

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #x reader #hanahaki #bnha #bakugou #king explosion murder #dynamight #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou angst #bnha x reader #bnha x female reader #mha x y/n #tw death #tw graphic #bnha bakugou

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Text

I blame no one but myself

Since I saw @little-lightning-lavellan create THIS I had to do it for Fane. You have a glorious mind, just so you know! I had to do this, and as a result, I splurged. Holy fuck. Strap yourself in folks!

***

You have selected _____ to join your party! Is your OC a Companion in the Dragon Age series? What would it be like for a player to select them to join their party for quests (or romance them, perhaps? 👀)

(yes, I will always use this picture until the day I die. Fight me.)

Fane Lavellan (born 9:17 Dragon) is a Dalish warrior and hunter from Clan Lavellan, but abandoned the clan at the age of 20. He feels no kinship with his own clan or the Dalish as a whole. He is a volatile young man that is prone to bouts of rage, but also indifference, swapping between the two at any given moment. However, he shows an astounding sensibility with keen observational skills and a plethora of worldly knowledge that many would not assume a mere Dalish warrior to have.

Inquisition scouts report that he was along the fringes of the hills surrounding the Conclave several hours before the blast, seemingly observing the gathering of the mages and templars with levels of confusion and intrigue, but was within the village itself when the initial explosion occurred, thus he was brought in as a potential suspect and questioned as to his reasons for being there. Fane stated he was ‘just watching’ and left it at that, so the Inquisition decided to keep him close so they themselves could ‘just watch’. (If playing the Mhairi World State then his reason for being in Haven is as a bodyguard for his sister, and stays with them for her sake alone. He does not leave Clan Lavellan in this world state.)

Fane is a starting companion (appears at the first initial rift with Solas and Varric) and is a romance option for either a female or male elf or human. The initiation of the romance is, however, based on the approval scale. You must be at a certain percentage upon the initiation scene, otherwise, the flag will be unavailable (Dalish Inquisitors start with infinitely lower approval than human, dwarf, or Qunari Inquisitors). If playing the Mhairi World State then romance option is voided, and a background relationship like Dorian and the Iron Bull will be initiated with Solas through banter hints during the game. The background relationship applies for other world states, and for low approval, or if the Inquisitor does not romance Solas.

His primary abilities upon recruitment are centered around two-handed and DPS, but can be respecced after the first seal attempt. Fane’s specialized Ability Tree is akin to the Reaver Ability tree, and unlocks along with other companions’ Ability trees after Haven. However, he has two personalized activated skills named Emotional Baggage and Leashed, But By Choice.

Emotional Baggage is a support, sustained AOE ability that Fane can activate to use the emotional duress of an enemy (i.e. status effects such as panic or weakened.) to augment his, the Inquisitor’s, or other companion’s abilities and basic attacks. This ability eats away at his stamina however and when depleted, Fane is unable to use any of his other abilities for a short period of time, and his basic attacks and general movement is impaired.

Leashed, But By Choice is an ability exclusively tailored to support either Solas or the Inquisitor (if high approval or within the Mhairi World State). When within the appropriate radius of either one, Fane can ‘tether’ himself to Solas or the Inquisitor to bolster their strength by feeding his emotions through the link established. Any debilitating effects upon Solas or the Inquisitor is transferred to him and redistributed back through with fiery purpose. (status effects stack until stamina pool is depleted) If Fane’s stamina pool is completely depleted when the tether is still established, he will begin to take high amounts of spirit damage due to all debuffs circling back to him until he disconnects himself, or Solas or the Inquisitor cease any basic or activated attacks. (If friendly fire is toggled on, Solas or the Inquisitor can direct an attack towards Fane to forcibly remove the link if he is unable to).

Fane’s focused ability is circumstance dependent, meaning it is only activated if Solas has fallen or is at critical health. (If playing the Mhairi World State, it will be available if Mhairi falls or is critically injured, as well.) It is listed with the name Shattered Vow and is along the lines of the base focus ability Berserk. However, Shattered Vow greatly amplifies abilities such as Dragon Rage and Devour, and has no cooldown times on either, but at the cost of extra amounts of health when used. Stamina rate of depletion is exceptionally lowered during the duration of the ability, but upon focus depletion, or if Solas or Mhairi is revived or healed, Fane will immediately collapse and be incapacitated for the rest of the fight. (Revival, potions with Lifeward, or if Healing Grenade is upgraded with Revival will not work to recall Fane.)

Combat Comments

Kills an enemy

(scoffs) Disgusting.

I’m sick of you! *if enemy downed is a mage*

(snarls) Don’t touch me!

Kills an enemy (after Haven)

(tired sigh) Will it ever end?

So much red..

I wasn’t made for this..

Low Health

(growls) Permission granted to heal!

Suledin.. S..Suledin.. Vir enasalin..

I..I have to..keep going..

Low Health (Companions)

(the Inquisitor) Stop attacking! Focus on the Inquisitor! He/She is injured!

(the Inquisitor - if Dalish) Will pride be your downfall, too?! Someone help the Inquisitor!

(the Inquisitor - Mhairi World State) Help, Mhairi! NOW!!

(Solas) Solas! You damned fool! Fall back!

(Varric) Varric! Archers in the back, warriors on the front! Get it?!

(Cole) Cole! Easy, damn you!

Fallen Companions

(the Inquisitor) - If you fall, we all fall! Get. UP!

(the Inquisitor - if Dalish) I thought you would never submit?!

(the Inquisitor - Mhairi World State) My, no! (voice cracks) NO! Open your eyes! OPEN THEM!!

(Solas) Solas! (snarls angrily) I swear if you’re not breathing when I get to you, I’ll--I’ll--!

(Solas - if romanced by Fane) No..NO! (choked up) We made a vow, Solas! It can’t shatter again! I need you!

(Iron Bull) I’m large, but you’re larger, you oaf! Get up!

(Cole) Cole, no! You still have so much to see, to observe! Come on!

(Varric) I don’t fancy having Hawke’s hands on my throat, dwarf!

(Cassandra) The Seeker’s down? (snarls) Fuck me!

Location Comments

If within radius of any Elvhen artifact

Fane: I’m..going to stay out here.

Inquisitor: Is everything all right? What’s wrong?

Fane: Nothing. It’s just more practical for someone to stay outside in case of trouble. Go on.

If within radius of any Elvehn artifact and Solas is in the party (primarily after Haven)

Solas: There is an elven artifact nearby.

Fane: (sighs) Of course there is.

Solas: Ir abelas. We shall be quick.

Fane: Go on, then. I’ll be here.

Exalted Plains

The land is burnt to ash here. How typical.

The sky is...grey. (sighs) I want to leave already.

(Within Halin’sulahn)

Fane: Could we have built a life here? Harmonious with them and free? Without a yoke to bind us, a noose to threaten us?

Inquisitor: With humans, you mean?

Fane: Huh? Hum--? (clears throat) Yeah. Yeah..

(when reading one of the plaques depicting the Exalted March)

(growls) The world would be better off without religion. (scoffs) Zealots, all of them.

(Approaching the Dalish camp)

Inquisitor: Huh. Look. It’s the Dalish encampment.

Fane: Traipsing about a battlefield? (scoffs) Idiots. I feel bad for the halla.

Emprise du Lion

(takes a deep breath) Ahh, feel that? That’s cold. (chuckles) Just how I like it.

I need to shed a layer...or five. How can you all stand so much fur? Ugh.

Watch for falling snow from the branches. It’ll crush you as surely as any boulder would.

(near red lyrium)

This stuff needs to know the perpetuity of black. Destroy it already.

My head is pounding. (growls) Can we get moving? Tsk.

(after walking across Judicael’s Crossing)

Fane: I hear them..

Cole: They’re confused, crazed, chained. They want to correct it, but it’s too much..

Fane: ...Let’s go.

Temple of Mythal

(entering the temple)

Guess the elves learned how to cherish some things. Don’t let that be in vain.

(after meeting Abelas - didn’t attack)

Fane: I wonder if they know..

Solas: They do.

Fane: Hmph. That’s...good, I guess.

Companion Comments about Fane

Varric: Tempest? (laughs) He’s a handful, but he’s not so bad once you get past it. Elf can drink, too! The other night, half the soldiers were knocked out cold and he was still wide awake!

Blackwall: Have you ever played Diamondback with Solas and Fane at the same time? Don’t. My coin purse is still recovering from that duo.

Sera: Grumpy? (cackles) I put a rat in his bed roll the other day and I friggin’ swear his hair turned as red as his face after the screech he let out! ...I had to hide out in the kitchens all day, though.

Cole: His eyes hold dueling duality. He wonders when the battle will end.

Cole (if Fane is romanced with the Inquisitor): He doesn’t know which side he wants, but observing you gives him hope. He feels safe with you.

Solas (not romanced with Fane): Fane has been through a lot, Inquisitor, but his words do not wholly define him. Observe him as he observes all of us, and you will see that.

Solas (if romanced with Fane): (chuckles) Ma’isenatha? He is special, Inquisitor. In more ways than you realize. (more quietly) ...He is more important than you realize.

Iron Bull: He gives me a wide berth for some reason, but he’s one hell of a fighter! (hums) Sort of unhinged though. Like he doesn’t know he’s even moving in for the kill. Kind of worrisome, if you ask me.

Dorian: Fane? (chuckles) Have you ever heard him speak when he thinks no one’s listening? That man is a walking poetry book! Caught him reciting one to himself one time and when I asked about it, he turned beet red! I swear the man’s eyes changed colors from that alone!

Leliana (if not playing the Mhairi World State): I don’t know much about him, or rather, I cannot find much about him. For a large man with very unique features, he remains shadowed. ...And he seems to want it that way.

Leliana (if Inquisitor is Dalish): I attempted to contact your clan after Haven to gather information, but...all inquiries were met with refusal or deflection. You yourself mentioned you had never interacted with him, yes? I believe there is more going on than Fane wishes to admit.

Leliana (if playing the Mhairi World State): Your brother is highly observational and subtle for a man so large. He had taken one of my investigations as his own, and brought back amazing amounts of intel that uncovered a ring of mages attempting to repeat the same dragon control from the Grand Cathedral. ...Would you be adverse to me making him an agent?

Trespasser

No matter the romance or world state, Fane becomes unavailable at the end of Inquisition. If romanced, however, he will leave the Inquisitor a letter stating that he’s sorry, but he can’t continue to ignore what is needed for what he wants. If playing the Mhairi World State, he also leaves a letter, but the message is attached with the favor Mhairi had given him when he turned twenty-one; a velvet sash. After various attempts of locating Fane and turning up no leads, he is presumed out of bounds of Thedas or dead.

During Trespasser, upon the final eluvian that ultimately leads to Solas, the Inquisitor will be stopped by a dragon masked warrior, who is also blocking the Viddasala from entering the mirror. Even when questioned, the warrior doesn’t speak and ultimately moves to the side to allow passage, but not before finally saying, in fluent Elvhen: ‘Your wings are clipped, and only stone awaits you.’

When the Inquisitor speaks to Solas, he will explain that Fane is not dead or missing, and is actively within the Crossroads as they speak. Any circumstance will yield questions from the Inquisitor as to Fane’s exact whereabouts, and Solas with state, with a saddened smile, ‘He saw you when you came in, but you did not do the same courtesy. Such is the way the world views his kind.’ If the Inquisitor made an effort to learn the history of the elves, their downfall, and Solas’s own identity, then he will explain exactly what Fane is and who he is to Solas himself. If not, then Solas will say to find Fane themselves to learn the complete truth and will only explain his own side.

In the Epilogue, it is made known that the warrior the Inquisitor passed in the Crossroads was Fane, after Leliana’s agents reports sightings of a large male along the fringes of Tevinter, wearing the same armor, but without the mask attached. It is later revealed that Fane is working as one of the Agents of Fen’harel, but mainly as Solas’s second in command.

Trivia

Fane has an unhealthy obsession with anything sweet. He often gets stomach aches.

He is demisexual, thus why his romance is based upon the approval scale.

Fane is the only companion that cannot have armor crafted for. He will equip himself as levels dictate.

His area within Skyhold is situated in three places: The third floor in the tavern with Cole, leaning on the crates in the rookery, and most frequently, reclining on the couch in the rotunda, reading. Sometimes banter will trigger between him, Solas, Cole, and Leliana. During Haven, Fane can be found along the edges of the training yard or along one of the broken docks.

His idle animation has him scanning the sky with his arms crossed, or clenching and unclenching his fists.

He enjoys the scent and look of Gladiolus.

If not playing the Mhairi World State, Fane is revealed to have no family beyond his deceased mother and missing father, the latter he speaks of with great disgust and loathing, however.

There is a DLC called Emerald Eyes Amidst Golden Vows that doubles as Fane’s personal quest which reveals towards dragons having a greater influence beyond the Old Gods. It hints towards Fane’s identity, as well, but it is not resolved until Trespasser.

Fane can speak and write in fluent Elvhen, but refuses to unless pressed.

Fane’s Reaver ability Dragon’s Rage is a silvery blue color rather than crimson. Upon activation of Shattered Vow, however, the blue is mixed with red.

It is revealed in Trespasser that Fane was able to ‘tether’ with the Inquisitor due to the mark, since it is Solas’s magic.

He is secretly claustrophobic. This is revealed in The Descent DLC, if taken.

He personally tests every strange bottle of liquor the Inquisitor finds in the wilds.

The Mhairi World State is an origin preset for Fane to personalize the player’s experience with him through special dialogue and unique buffs.

Fane’s ‘climax’ romance scene reveals the abuse he underwent as a child from his father. His scars are exposed for the Inquisitor to see, then.

Refers to Solas as ‘my sky’, if in a romantic relationship. If involved with the Inquisitor, he will call them, ‘my wings’.

***

Yeah, I got carried away. I had to stop myself because I think about this a lot since Fane was not originally my canon Inquisitor. Not entirely canon compliant, but you all know me, I recognize canon, but I don’t chain myself to it. XD

#dragon age #oc: fane lavellan #meme #oc meme #i got really carried away about the abilities #i honestly have so much more like actual companion banter #maybe i'll make another one *side eyes*#dragon age inquisition #male lavellan #reject canon return to fanfiction

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janekfan · 4 years

Text

Commitment

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181859

The tiny printed words on the statement Jon held in his hand seemed to swim on the page as he attempted to read it for the third time in as many minutes. Throwing in the towel, he slid it back into its folder beside the scraps of research and notes Martin left behind when he finally succumbed to the flu Sasha saw fit to spread to the staff before disappearing presumably to recover in peace. A persistent headache resistant to even a staggering amount of paracetamol rested just behind his eyes and Jon removed his glasses, folding them beside the copious paperwork, and let his forehead rest on folded arms.

He was, quite frankly. Knackered.

But there was too much left unanswered to not keep working and Jon would be damned if he allowed a little exhaustion to get in the way of figuring out what the hell was going on. Martin would be back soon and hopefully so would Sasha and until then he would pick up the slack. The sound of footsteps drew his attention and he reluctantly turned his head towards the window in the door, tensing when a Tim-shaped shadow paused for a few seconds before walking on and releasing the breath he was holding in a shaky sigh.

It wasn’t a secret, Tim’s dislike of him, and rather than invite his ire, Jon opted to slog through the work from his ill assistants himself. He’d pulled all nighters before, this was no different and it wouldn’t be much longer, he was sure of it. So lost in thought, Jon didn’t notice the footsteps again until Tim’s bulk was all but blocking the light sifting through the frosted glass. Even with that barrier between them, Jon could tell he was upset, shoulders set stiff, his voice slipped through and it was like he was trying to convince himself of something. Eyes wide when the door knob began to turn, Jon scrambled to sit up straight and look presentable before Tim’s cold presence filled the small office.

“Evening, Tim.”

“Haven’t you been home?” Jon forced himself to stay calm despite the scorn in his tone. There was a time. Before.

Well, that was over now.

“Ah, uh. D’didn’t seem worth it.” Mumbled as he gestured at the piles of research, confused when myriad conflicting emotions flew across Tim’s face and settled on weary indifference.

“Why didn’t you--” Tim shook his head. “You know what. Nevermind. Work yourself into the desk.” The slamming of the door and the rattling of the glass reverberated in Jon’s skull, and he groaned, letting his head fall again.

“Night, Tim.”

Groggy, Jon swallowed around the desert in his mouth, coughing roughly into his elbow. Sleeping on his desk hadn’t been a good plan of action at all and if anything his headache was worse than before. Coffee. Tea. Whichever they had in the breakroom. And some more painkillers. He’d been foolish not to drink much of anything before and was certainly suffering for it now, staggering woozily into the rickety shelves against the wall and kissing a box of organized files goodbye as they spilled all over the floor. All he could do was blink dumbly at the new tile job he’d done, stepping carefully over the mess when he felt like he had a better grasp on which direction was up. When was the last time he’d eaten? Thankfully, with everyone either sick or avoiding him, Jon was able to take his time limping to the breakroom and preparing the tea he’d found. He added a generous spoonful of honey, feeling luxurious today, and closed his eyes against just how good the sweet, hot drink felt on his aching throat.

“You look shite.” The disdain was palpable and Jon swallowed around the clot of sorrow. He wouldn’t cry in front of him. He would not.

“Thank you, Tim.”

“Sound it too.” He couldn’t argue, instead finishing up his tea and setting about washing the mug. “Martin keeps telling me to check on you.”

“I’m doing just fine.” He braced himself on the counter.

“Clearly.” Dry.

“You can tell Martin and be on your way. I don’t want to keep you.” He met Tim’s narrowed eyes much more confidently than he felt, wishing he’d kept the mug so he’d have something to do with his hands.

“Tch.”

The day did not go up from there. Jon felt increasingly chilled, even bundled up in everything he could find. The files were still all over his floor and he couldn’t make himself care enough to do anything about it when he could barely lift his chin off his chest.

“Maybe. Maybe a, a lie down.” He took with him the bottle of water he’d been nursing (Martin would be proud and making him proud had climbed to the top of his priority list without him noticing) and the half empty bottle of paracetamol, having to lean heavily on the wall to even make it to the room that held the cot. The whole of him ached fiercely, like his joints were full of glass dust and he was stumbling through a brush fire, and by the time he arrived he had to admit that he was possibly, probably, ill. “Fan’fantastic.” Oh, he couldn’t pinpoint a time in his life when he felt this poorly. He was shaking too hard to get a grip on the cap, cursing children and their child safety, and ended up sending a handful of pills skittering across the floor. He salvaged four, swallowing them dry, and when he coughed, struggled again to open the water bottle only to spill most of it he sobbed. Frustrated, Jon felt tears spring to his eyes when faced with cleaning up the mess he’d made because all he was good for was making a mess of things and this was why he was alone because he deserved to be that way. He forced down the remaining water, scrubbed his forearm roughly against his face, and collapsed sideways, tossing and turning in increasingly vain attempts to get comfortable and only making himself nauseous. He couldn’t get up again. He didn’t want to be sick, instead leaning over the edge of the cot, Jon pressed his face to the cool tile of the floor, breath slow and measured, trying to focus on settling down. God, is this what Martin was having to go through? He should’ve checked on him. Why didn’t he think to check on him? Should. He should do that now. What if he needed help? He should help.

With numb fingers he fumbled for his phone, hissing through his teeth at the sharp stab of pain the bright screen lighting up caused. It was difficult to work the buttons with only one hand, when his contacts list, laughably small, wavered like a disturbed pond but. Each letter felt like a small miracle. But, if Martin was this poorly he shouldn’t, couldn’t be left alone.

mm artin, jut chdcking in hkw fj you ffele?

He knew he’d misspelled several things but had no more energy to contemplate trying a second time. Pressing send was already too much effort as it was and jamming his device back into the pocket he freed it from was out of the question. He wanted to wait for Martin’s response, felt the worry filling him up, choking him, but the phone slipped from his enervated fingers when his eyes slid closed and he finally fell into blissful darkness.

The notification blinked across the top of his screen and Tim ignored it for the third consecutive time, maintaining focus on the game instead of bothering with whatever Martin wanted. He’d checked on the guy and he was on his feet so job done. Martin calling however was a sight bit harder to ignore and he sighed heavily, rolling his eyes before picking up.

“Tim!” He sounded mostly back to normal at least, feeling better if the energy behind his shouting was any indication. “Tim. Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening.” Sort of.

“You need to find Jon. S’s’something is wrong.”

“I saw him earlier, he’s fine.” Mostly.

“Tim.” The noise over the line was a cross between frustration and anger. “Tim. He’s not. Please. I’m going to call a cab.”

“No, Martin. I’ll find him. Stay there and I’ll call you back in a tick.” Trust even Jon to cause trouble from another room. He wasn’t in the kitchen, nor was he in his office and the disorderly files littering the ground did send a pang of uneasiness through him. “Jon?” He wasn’t in the stacks and Tim began searching each hallway in earnest, finally considering that he may actually be sleeping and all but ran to storage, throwing the door wide and almost falling to his knees in shock. “J’Jon??” The pills. The water. Martin was right. Something was so, so wrong. “Jon!” When he didn’t move, Tim dropped to the floor, ignoring the medication he crushed to powder under his shoes.

He said he’d call Martin. He needed. He needed to call. 999?

Taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the worst, Tim lifted Jon’s upper body from the floor, exhaling the breath he was holding in a rush when he moaned, brow creasing. He cradled him against his knee to run his fingers through Jon’s loose, sweat-damp hair so he could see his deeply flushed face.

“You’re burning up, boss.” Murmuring absently, Tim let his hand rest on his forehead. Martin. He shifted enough to sit on the edge of the cot, Jon still halfway in his lap, completely out of it, and dialed.

“Tim?”

“You were right.” Tim sighed. “He’s down with what looks like your flu.”

“It wasn’t mine.” Barely audible muttering drifted through the speaker. “How is he?”

“I think. I could use some help here. If you’re feeling up to it.” He looked down. He had yet to remove his hand. Jon had yet to wake up. “He’s, he’s bad off.”

“Should you call A&E?” Martin’s voice went quiet at the same time the hazy brown of Jon’s eyes became visible through fluttering lashes.

“He seems to be coming awake on his own. Uh, see you in?”

“Fifteen.” And disconnected the line.

“Jon?” In response he coughed and it rattled in his narrow chest painfully.

“We, we, w’we’ll need to find a replacement.” Despite all that happened between them, Jon’s strange, slurred words made something in Tim’s chest ache and he laid his palm along the length of his feverish cheek.

“A replacement for what?” Fitfully, Jon turned his head, hiding his eyes from the light in Tim’s shirt and swallowing painfully.

“Teakettle’s.” The wheezing, struggling pull for air wasn’t good. “I’it’s gone walkabout.”

Oh dear.

“Martin’s on his way.” Thank god. “He’ll know what to do, just relax.” This was it, his brain was melting. “We need to cool you down.”

“N’no. M’already cold.” Shivering, like he had to prove it, the whine in his refusal was almost, dare he say it. Endearing. If only because this was so far on the opposite end of his usual spectrum and he was so poorly. “Tim?” Why did he have to be so talkative now?

“Yeah, boss?” Gently he eased Martin’s scarf from around his neck and for someone so oblivious of his own infatuation, Jon clearly had it bad for the man if he’d resorted to stealing Martin’s clothes for comfort.

“If you--stop.” Tim was able to bat Jon’s uncoordinated hands away from where he was working on the buttons of his jacket until the man forgot what he was doing. “If you were a beetle…” Despite himself, Tim couldn’t help but chuff. He should record this. It was gold.

“Yeah, boss?” Pressing his fumbling fingers down again, squeezing lightly.

“What would y’do with your extra legs.” When Tim laughed, easing Jon’s arms out of the sleeves, the archivist frowned so very seriously. “S’for research, Tim.” He shivered again, shaking delicately all over now. Of course there would be a sweater under here. No wonder he was boiling. “Tim?” This time he whimpered.

“Yeah, boss?” And Jon’s voice was the smallest, most broken thing.

“Don’t. I think. Think m’not well.”

“Understatement of the year, I’m afraid.” He heard his breath hitch when he tugged the sweater over his head to find him in his vest.

“Tim?”

“Yeah, boss?” To his dismay, tears slipped down his cheeks into the already sweat damp hair at his temples. Tim didn’t remember there being so much grey.

“M’sorry.” Lips pressed together in a trembling line. “M’so. So sorry.” Now wasn’t the time for this. Where was Martin? Martin who was so much better at this than he was. Who still worried about the man trembling in his lap.

“S’alright, Jon.”

“Tim?” Speak of the devil, Martin swung around the door frame, panting, having evidently run from the cab. “He looks really bad.” He unbundled himself, reaching into the bag he’d brought for a thermometer, passing it off to Tim and unpacking the rest of his supplies which included a thermos of tea. Because Martin. Soft and sure, he brushed his fingers through Jon’s flyaways, smoothing them out of his face. “I’ve brought some Lemsip. Christ, he’s so much worse than I was--what’s it say?”

“39.5. Never anything by halves.” Martin visibly relaxed.

“High, but not dangerous and he’s no doubt miserable. The medicine will help.” He knelt beside them, fixing a smile upon his face. “Hullo, Jon.”

“Y’should be resting.” He seemed confused to see him, limp and pliable when Martin switched places with Tim and knuckled away his tears.

“I will once I’ve seen to you, alright? We both will. Take these for me?” Clumsy, Jon followed his directions, even downing the tea without complaint, and Tim admired Martin’s control of their strong willed, idiot coworker, wished he still felt that easy around him. Martin was petting back his hair and Jon was struggling to stay awake, slightly cross-eyed and basically staring, besotted, at Martin’s face. “How’re you feeling?”

“N’need to.” Jon blinked hard. “Tell.”

“Hush,” he soothed, “whatever it is can wait.” But Jon shook his head, insistent.

“Queen of Egypt melted, ‘nd I’ll say that ye may love in spite of beaver hats.” The hell? Martin’s eyes went wide at his nonsensical rambling and Tim began sputtering.

“Was that part of a statement? Is he going all,” Tim wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “Spooky?”

Martin shook his head, clamping down on what appeared to be laughter as Jon finally slipped sideways into sleep.

“He just recited Keats. I am never letting him live that down.” It was Tim’s turn to laugh.

“You dunno the half of it, Marto.”

After tucking Jon in and cleaning up the mess he’d made earlier; only paracetamol, he’d probably felt ill but spilled the bottle in such a state, Martin checked his temperature again and found it lower.

“How’re you doing, Tim?” They were tidying the files Jon had knocked off his shelf earlier and even though Martin had given him an out, he found he wanted to help. He’d been scared earlier, finding him like that, and all the animosity between them unresolved made it worse. They were friends once. And like Martin said, Jon was going through things right along with them.

“Tired.”

“Thank you, for staying with him until I could get here.” Martin tapped together a neat stack of folders. “I know.” He sighed. “Well. I know.”

“He took over all your paperwork, so I owed him one.”

“Of course he did.” He began grumbling to himself about fools and their tendencies to not use their brains, compiling reports much more aggressively than before and it was Tim’s turn to shake his head because Martin.

He had it just as bad.

#TMAHCWeek #TMAHC #Jonmartin #pining #the magnus archives #TMA #fever #sickfic #sick jon #Jon sims #Martin Blackwood #Tim Stoker #delirious

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black-streak · 4 years

Text

Waiting for the Worms - Is There Anybody Out There?

Part 3

I promise this is the last horrifically depressing part in a row. Part four will lighten up a touch (though other parts will get pretty dark again)

All warnings from previous chapters should be kept in mind. I'm not going easy on us here.

Broken Hearts Club: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @wuvpancakes @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

When Marinette came to, she didn't.

She couldn't open her eyes or move her hand.

She couldn't move anything.

She tried to recall the last thing before this stillness. The Joker? Yes, the Joker had been beating Jason, or rather her, in Jason's body. She remembered pain and choking and fighting for control with Jason as a steel bar repeatedly slammed into her. She remembered falling asleep with Batman's rescue in mind. She remembered warmth everywhere and then nothing.

That must be it then. She was still Jason, as she had planned and probably couldn't move due to the recovery process.

With that in mind, she slipped away.

...

When she came to again, she still didn't.

Did she fall into a coma? That would explain the inability to even twitch. To open her (his) eyes after what surely had to be long enough. Now that she thought of it, she couldn't feel anything either. Not her(his?) eyelids, or fingers, or legs, or chest. Was this what a coma felt like? Or were the doses on the medication too high? Had she messed up so severely as to be paralyzed?

Fear and anxiety pricked at the edge of her mind, but she pushed it down. She needed more rest. Just to rest a while longer and it would all be fine. She'd wake up from this coma and recover and swap back to her original body, leaving Jason his healthy one. And so she slipped once more.

…

How long has she been out? Why won't she wake up? Nothing made sense anymore.

Her(...his?) body still remained unresponsive and unfeeling. The nerves were disconnected from her conscious and all was still.

She had read once that coma patients could hear things still. She heard nothing. That they could feel some things, even a brush through their hair. She felt nothing. That they could taste and smell the antiseptic in the air. She wasn't breathing.

She wasn't breathing and this body she was connected to but not had no pulse.

If there was a mental equivalent to hyperventilating, this would be it. Either way, as her distress rose, she found herself drifting back into the unknown.

…

Marinette was dead. Or at least Jason's old body that she was stuck in was. Of that, she was sure.

She couldn't help but wonder how long her spirit could live inside a hollowed out corpse. She hoped it wasn't forever. How long had it been, anyways?

Hours? Days? Weeks? More?

She couldn't say.

Maybe she should just disappear again. Was the place of drifting the afterlife? Who knew. She didn't.

…

She wanted to scream, to sob, to break down into a mess of tears and snot and gasping half breaths and she couldn't and it wasn't fair!

Jason didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve this. No one should be made to suffer like this. This endless loop of depression and loneliness and inability to express anything.

She thought she had her emotions on lock before death came for her and yet nothing would ever compare to this deep seeded, absolute need to force everything out, to express her every despair put into the open and be so utterly helpless and incapable to do so.

She wanted to rip at her own skin, to claw at her eyes, to tear into herself physically in any way she could, if just to feel again. Feel anything at all, even if it was the pain of that god forsaken crowbar in her throat again or the engulfing burn of the explosion after the fact. She'd take all the pain in the world if it meant she could feel again. Even for just a second.

Please?

Anything?

No?

Okay...

…

Was This the afterlife? When you died, did you just lay completely devoid of movement, spirit restless for the rest of time?

Maybe this was it for her. Maybe she would just stay here forever to ponder the life she lost. Forever waiting for the next slip into oblivion only to come to and stay here in this contemplative silence again. If so, she hoped Jason never died in her body. Became immortal and avoided this endless torture.

The thought hit her that she died in another's body and that the universe may lash out at her for her defiance. Jason remained living while against fate's wishes and she was to blame. So it crafted her a personal hell in the form of her soulmate's old form. The one she clung to so desperately moments before their demise.

If she was awake and alert in his dead body, what did that mean for the technically dead boy stuck in her living body? Did she condemn them both in her stubbornness?

She set her mind to determining all the possible outcomes of that possibility. She had plenty of time anyways.

…

Their funeral must have been nice. Adoptive son of billionaire, Bruce Wayne. She imagines it to be a grand affair. Everyone who's anyone, paying their respects to Bruce's kid.

Or maybe just a quiet morning; Alfred, Bruce, maybe Richard if he felt bad enough, all gathered around a grave in the family plot. Mourning together. Would the service be open or closed casket? Probably closed to hide the truth of what killed them.

Surely as Batman, Bruce had told the JL of his departure. Perhaps the heroes had given their condolences or shown up on their own to say goodbye to one of their own. Considering the encounters Jason and her had with them in the past, she doubted it, but it was a nice thought.

She imagines their coffin is beautiful. A gorgeous mahogany or cherry wood. Gold clasps and locks, the inner lining velvety soft and plush to cradle the body. She almost wants to feel the texture below their fingertips, but sends thanks to the mercy of not feeling the confinement of the enclosed space instead.

…

She was alive! She could breathe and move, if barely, but that was okay, because she's alive. Everything would be fine even if it wasn't good because she could escape this damnable hell and leave this grave finally.

She would hunt down Jason and throw her arms around him and never let go. She'd never tell him about her time down here, it didn't matter. All he needed to know was that she was alive and okay and so was he and everything would be better now. She promised, she just needed to get out of here first.

If she could sob in relief she would, because by some miracle she was alive.

…

She wasn't. She was delusional and dead.

...

Counting to a thousand doesn't take nearly as long as you think. Neither does counting down. Luckily she fades again before she can start a third time.

…

She's still sort of alive in here in her own way. And that was her living body out there. If she really tried, could she switch them back? Could she go back to living and return his dead body to him? Would he be delivered to a better afterlife once she appeased the universe?

No. No! What was wrong with her? She died for him for a reason. He deserved a better life. He had been through so damn much and deserved the reprieve away from Gotham. And no matter what, she would never choose to let him die. She would suffer in here for a millenia if it meant he was safe and happy. Even if it was without her. She felt betrayed by her own mind's musings.

That wasn't necessarily a new feeling.

…

She'd never see her parents again. Never hug them, never take in the warmth and strong scent of yeast and chocolate from her father and honeyed herbs from her mother.

Never wake up to Tikki snuggled into the pillow beside her, encouraging smiles and guiding words always at the tip of her tongue.

Never hold Chloe through her tears or fight by her side again. Finish the dress she was making her or Juleka. Help the shyer one come into her modeling career or guide her as a new miraculous holder. Guide the team.

Never become a designer or own a pet or get married or have children.

It was more than that though. She'd never train in the Batcave again or fight by his side or sit in the library window at the manor or sit in the calming aura of Alfred. Never see the one person who could always tell when they swapped. Alfred had become a second father to her. She missed helping him cook or clean up. Missed asking for his opinion and making little inside jokes about the others.

She'd never get to meet Jason.

…

She felt different. She felt wrong and confused and unsure and-

She felt…

She felt..

She felt?

Immense pain and overwhelming stiffness, but she felt!

Now. Now just to move. Please move. Let this not be another hallucination of her mind. Please? If she could move than she was alive, right?

A hand, their hand, twitched and shuddered and eventually dragged up their side. Up to their eye, the good one if she remembers correctly. She digs at the corners until eventually it squints open a touch. Pitch black.

Okay, that's not surprising. Probably another delusion, but she might as well see it through. She pushes her hand up through the dark until she meets wood. Soft wood. Barely there and slightly bowing beneath the weight of what she assumed was the earth above her. What, did they bury her in a plywood box?

Their chest shook almost in a jittery up/down dance and air wheezed between their teeth. She didn't dare believe it was real. She lifted the other hand and pushed with both, feeling it move beneath their fingers. The one arm was still broken and hurt immensely but she pushed anyway. The pain, real or not, felt amazing. She brought a leg up to push as well.

Lowering all their limbs, she took a false breath of stale air and made her decision. Attempt to escape until she came too again, if only for the entertainment of it. At least it was something new.

She brought their legs into her chest as best she could in the surprisingly roomy coffin and kicked up with all the strength she could manage. A splinter formed under foot and sparked a manic sort of determination.

She kicked and kicked at the splinter until dirt was raining down around her in the dark space and then she kicked some more. It felt amazing on her skin: the dirt pushing down, the ache in her chest, the throbbing in her throat of splintered bone, the wood pushing down against her feet, tearing at them. And then the world collapsed down onto her.

In the wonderful pressure and choking hold of Earth, she tore at the soil, dragging herself up further and further, feeling it shift across their skin in glorious relief. Please never let this delusion end.

And then, then! Light. Blinding, all encompassing light came into view and she was on ground. Not under it, but above it, laying on it, letting the wondrous light bathe her in its heated gaze. She choked out dirt and coughed and wanted to cry out in joy but no sound would come out of their bone dry body. No tears would spring from depleted eye sockets.

Eventually sight came back in a blurry daze of nonsense until the abandoned graveyard came into view. Turning, she saw a barely there grave marker and couldn't help but think her imagination cruel.

Pushing for more, she stood on wobbly, tattered feet and walked. Out of the tiny, forgotten field and into even more abandoned streets. She wasn't sure where her mind took her, but she kept walking in what looked like an early morning sunrise. She walked for what could've been hours, the sting and ache and tearing in their body spurring her on in a strangely gleeful manner.

Eventually she stopped in front of a hospital. The sun had moved and faceless people had started appearing at a distance as time moved on in her thoughts. She liked this pain but… maybe she should seek help? Maybe her brain was searching for something to make it better. Mentally shrugging and then perking at the feel of their real shoulders following suit, she wandered into the ER.

As people suddenly swarmed her, asking questions she couldn't process and grabbing her arms to drag her onto a gurney, reality kicked in harsh and fast.

She was actually alive. Everything was real and they could see and feel her and she could feel them too! Their body was alive and here. This was real.

And as relief swept into her veins and she collapsed down into the bed they provided, she felt such amazing peace that she didn't even notice as she fell asleep and straight into a coma.

...

When sounds filtered in around her and she smelt the antiseptic and felt the tubes running through their body but still couldn't move or see. She screamed and cried and sobbed in her mind for the loss, their body horrifically failing to follow suit once again. Why couldn't this torture ever end?

#WFTW #part 3 #jasonette #maribat #ml x dc

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a-dorin · 4 years

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how could you? | kylo ren

word count: 1,458

warnings: angst, arguing, emotional trauma, death

“Hi, yes, sorry, big fan (I have social anxiety & only ever interact with blogs via anon but ilysm that I have to respond) but have you ever thought of writing about Kylo (not Ben) coming back to you after the events at the end of TROS, meaning kissing Rey, & how that would be?”

summary: after the events of the destruction of seev palpatine, kylo comes back to you, as a changed man. you’re conflicted how to feel, as you learn there’s more to the story than what he reveals to you.

your knee bounced up and down with anxiety as you awaited for the love of your life to return back to silencer. kylo had left you to stand watch approximately two hours, and the wait was creating a torrent of anxious thoughts within you.

lately, kylo had seemed distant from you. you weren’t sure why, as the two of had been dating for several years. you had met kylo when he was an emotionally broken man, during his rise through the ranks of the first order. he was just appointed commander, while you were an engineer for the supremacy. you watched kylo grow and evolve into the man he was today. you helped heal him, fixing his broken pieces with your endless patience, love, and support.

however, a small part of you knew why kylo was so disconnected from you lately. there was a dyad bond between him and a scavenger from jakku, a girl by the name of rey. this connection was created by the force, a mysterious entity within the galaxy.

this dyad bond between kylo ren and rey created a small rift between the two of you. whenever kylo spoke of rey, there were inflections of admiration in his tone. envy filled you whenever kylo mentioned her name, which left you bitter. why was there a bond between them? why couldn’t it have been you?

you were force sensitive, nonetheless. at times, you countered kylo’s thoughts whenever he entered your head, reaching into his own mind. you could sense when the force was present. the most you could lift was a small cup or datapad off the floor, but that was all due to kylo’s teaching. he taught you how to use the force. however, it was a fairy light teaching.

the true power of the force had been displayed by kylo in numerous methods. kylo could choke those who disobeyed him from numerous feet away. he could extract your deepest thoughts in mere seconds, digging into your head. his abilities made him a man to be reckoned with. most of the first order was subordinate to him through fear.

a distance blob in the horizon caught your attention. your eyes narrowed, honing in on the figured approaching you. a gasp tumbled out of your mouth when you recognized who it was. you got out from the silencer, sprinting towards him.

kylo was stumbling towards you, his clothes singed and torn, his skin an icy white. tears blurred your vision as you approached him, slowing down. this man was not the same man you saw earlier this morning.

“kylo,” your voice faltered.

he shrugged, wincing at an open gash in his shoulder, “hello, love. things got a little out of hand.”

“out of hand?” you raised a brow, “kylo, what are you talking about?”

“he’s gone,” kylo mustered out the words, “palpatine. he’s gone forever. she destroyed him.”

“come here,” you offered him your shoulder to lean on, “let’s get you back on the silencer.”

“it’s just us,” kylo was dis-attached from the present. you could see it in his eyes, “the first order, they’re gone.”

“no,” you shook your head, “kylo, there’s still some of the first order left. they’re scattered, but we can rebuild.”

kylo said nothing, his eyes fixed on the silencer as you guided him. he sat in the pilot seat, you settling yourself on his lap gingerly. you were worried if you applied any extreme pressure, then you would potentially break a bone or two. kylo punched in the coordinates of your sanctuary.

this planet was lush and feel of greenery. the first time you visited it was with kylo, when the two of you began seeing one another. there was an abandoned village, the relics from the past still standing. the two of you made it your sanctuary, where you would both run to when you were suffering. this could be anything from a horrible day at work, or the death of han solo, kylo’s father.

since han solo’s death, you could sense a divide in kylo ren. he lashed out frequently, storming off or destroying parts of the supremacy with his saber, scoring deep marks in the walls. kylo wasn’t the same since he slaughtered his mentor, supreme leader snoke. that night, kylo sent you to the sanctuary for safety, where you hid until daylight.

the divide between the dark and light side only grew deeper as kylo had more run-ins with rey. this rey pleaded for his conformity to the light, where she felt he belonged. but rey didn’t know kylo like you did. she was not aware of the permanent darkness that would always reside in kylo’s heart. no matter how much she wanted to believe he was a pure man.

“i’m in no condition to be flying this ship,” kylo muttered, his voice dark.

“kylo,” you began, “i could have flown it. i have before.”

“i know,” he murmured, drifting off, “i know.”

you gazed at kylo’s face, uneasiness filling your thoughts. what had happened in that temple? what caused kylo’s injuries? who was there? why was he so different?

shaking your head, you attempted to brush off the horrible thoughts filling your mind.

the thoughts didn’t go away. they only grew in size.

*******************************************************************************************

you stirred, rubbing your eyes. beams of sunlight filtered in through the small viewport. sitting up, you realized quickly that kylo was not with you. hesitantly, you got out of the bed, creeping onto the balcony.

it was approximately two weeks since the incident on exegol. kylo hadn’t spoken about it much, and you didn’t want to pry. the memories of that night haunted kylo, as he suffered from nightmares frequently. you had no idea what kind of mental state he would be in if you weren’t right there with him.

you wrapped your arms around his waist, nuzzling your face into his back. he softened, taking one of your hands, kissing it gently.

“good morning,” your voice was muffled by the fabric of his tunic.

“good morning angel,” he squeezed your hand, lacing your fingers together, “i have something to tell you.”

“and that is?” your arms dropped, your heart thudding in your chest.

“the night everything happened,” kylo began, his voice soft, “i performed an unspeakable act.”

“what did you do kylo?” your lip trembled.

you could sense how apprehensive he was, but you knew what he was going to admit. you just knew in the bottom of your heart what happened that night. you just didn’t want to believe it.

“i kissed rey,” he admitted, his gaze averted away from yours, “i kissed her in order to save her life.”

“kylo,” sobs began to rack your body, causing you to grip the railing of the balcony. your knuckles were white as your tears fell, splattering the col metal.

“(y/n),” he came over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “it wasn’t me. i promise.”

“bullshit,” you whirled around, “you fucking kissed that girl! how could you?”

“it was to save her life,” his tone suddenly became defensive, “i had to save her life!”

“i don’t care,” you mumbled, the words cold as you shouldered past him.

“(y/n),” kylo pleaded, “don’t go.”

“why shouldn’t i?”

“because i love you,” his strong exterior was now completely crumbled away, his eyes shining with tears.

“kylo,” you sucked in a breath, “what happened that night?”

“she saved the galaxy and died because of it,” kylo sighed, “and i-the only way i could save her life was using my force abilities. the adrenaline was still pumping in our veins. it was the heat of the moment. it didn’t mean anything.”

“but you’ve been connected with her for a while,” you countered.

“but i don’t love her. i love you.” kylo stated, his tone firm.

you swallowed, the anger dissolving. this was the first time in the entirety of your relationship in which he had a mistake. and you could tell by the sincerity in his voice that he was telling the truth. you loved this man too much to him go. the two of you had been through too much to throw it all away over a meaningless kiss.

not saying a word, you engulfed kylo in your arms, squeezing him tightly. his large arms wrapped around you, holding you as if he never wanted to let go, “i love you, (y/n).”

‘i love you too, kylo ren,” you murmured.

his fingers tilted your chip up. his lips met yours, kissing you tenderly. he pulled away, hugging you once more.

“you’re my soulmate, (y/n).”

you glanced up, seeing kylo’s eyes full of love and adoration. you smiled, giving him another kiss.

kylo ren was finally himself once more.

#kylo ren x reader #star wars x reader #star wars #kylo ren #kylo ren x y/n #kylo ren fluff #kylo ren angst #kylo #kylo ren imagine #star wars imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren fandom

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littleladymab · 4 years

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Fluff idea: the party telling/showing Azu how amazing she is and caring for her

HOLLERS LOUDLY WHAT DID YOU SAY? IT’S LOVING AZU HOURS????? SIGN ME UP!!!!

++++

Hamid calls a meeting because he doesn’t know what else to do. “I’m worried about Azu,” he says, legs folded up beneath him as he settles onto the floor pillow. “It’s been almost two days, and she’s still under the weather.”

“She’s a healer,” Zolf says, even though there’s something in his tone that belies his concern.

“Yes, but that hasn’t helped, has it?”

“Are you lot like… unable to cure the common cold?” Cel asks, feet kicking out in front of them.

Zolf hesitates before he realizes that the question is apparently addressed to him. “It doesn’t really… work like that.”

“Hm,” they answer, and pull out a notebook to write something down. “How does it work?”

He makes a few flustered noises before shrugging. “Now’s really not the time to discuss that.”

“Right. Yes. Of course.” They spin their pen between their fingers before pointing it at Hamid. “Do you think she’s stressed?”

Hamid and Zolf exchange a brief glance before immediately looking away from each other. “Perhaps…” Hamid agrees.

“It’s not the veins,” Zolf concedes. “She’s been cleared of that.”

“Well then. There you go.” Cel’s hands flap down into their lap as if they just finished solving a great equation. “I know that when I get really caught up in a project and forget to sleep I also get a cold. Mix that with anxiety? And wooah boy, that’s a nasty cocktail.”

Hamid taps his chin in thought. “She has been pretty much going non-stop for… A long time.”

“We all have.” There’s something… not quite accusatory in Zolf’s tone, but it rubs Hamid the wrong way.

“Some of us deal with grief differently,” Hamid says politely.

Zolf doesn’t answer.

Cel seems to have forgotten the conversation they were in the middle of and is scribbling in their notebook again. “I’ve made a list!” they announce.

“What?” Zolf asks with a sigh.

“Why a list…?” Hamid reaches out for the notebook when it is handed over to him. “METHODS FOR CURING AZU OF WHAT AILS HER” is scrawled across the top of the page in Cel’s messy block handwriting. He skims the list, eyes widening as he goes. “Oh, Cel, this is actually very sweet!”

They beem. “Do you think it will work?”

Hamid hands the notebook over to Zolf, whose expression softens as he looks at what is written on the page. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Great! So, here is how we get started…”

———

Azu feels a strange sort of disconnect between everything. She’s never been sick a day in her life, but now she can’t stop sniffling and her head hurts something fierce (and not the I just drank a ton of orcish moonshine so at least I must have had fun last night sort of headache). Her limbs ache, and her heart is heavy and too sluggish in her chest.

Aphrodite did what comfort she could, but Azu knows that it’s deeper than that.

She takes comfort in the small things to try and fill that little void that appeared after the letter. If she closes her eyes, she can pretend for a moment that she’s at home on a cool summer night, and the tatami mats don’t feel all that different from the ones in her village. She wears a simple cotton yukata, patterned with flowers, that reminds her of the dresses she wore before armor.

The little things, she thinks. Focus on the little things.

The door to her room slides open and she looks over to find Cel with a tea tray gripped in their hands.

“Don’t mind me,” they whisper loudly, and do an expert shuffle on their knees across the room while not spilling a drop. “Keep on relaxing.”

Azu sits up, careful not to waver as her head protests the movement. “I wasn’t really—”

“It’s fine if you were!” They sit back on their heels and deftly prepare a sweet smelling tea into a small, too-delicate cup.

Azu watches, startled. She manages to hold onto the cup that they press into her hands before they begin to immediately pull several candles from the bag at their side. “What— Isn’t that—”

“Nonsense!” Cel sets them up a respectful distance away. “I made them myself. Perfectly fine.”

“We’re in a wooden house. On rush-mats.”

Cel hums like they’re not listening and struggles with a match for a comical second before getting them lit. A soft scent, rather like wildflowers, floats to her on the ocean breeze and Azu can feel her shoulders relax — despite how nervous she is that they might fall over and set everything on fire.

Satisfied with their job, they sit down cross-legged across from Azu and grin.

She stares back, confused, then down at her tea.

From the still open door, Zolf pokes his head in and makes a move it gesture. “Cel!” he hisses when they ignore him the first time.

“Oh! Right. Sorry. Just keep on relaxing!” They wink and hop up to pad out of the room on bare feet.

Azu watches them go, then slowly looks down to where Zolf is handling yet another tray, this one ladened with what might be a combination of breakfast foods and pastries.

He moves with more deliberation but equal care, setting his tray down alongside the tea tray. “I’m not much of a baker,” he says by way of explanation as he rearranges the plates and uncovers a few of the bowls. “And neither is Cel, despite what they might say, so. Apologies for the appearance of any of these.”

“No, it’s—” Honestly, she doesn’t know what it is, and she’s also uncertain if she’s feeling choked up because of her cold or her emotions. “It’s lovely, thank you.”

Zolf pauses, incredibly still, obviously debating if he wants to say something else. Then he just gives a curt nod and leaves much in the same fashion as he arrived.

Azu picks up one of the small desserts that she does not recognize and takes a tentative bite. Strawberries and cream fill her mouth with a gentle sweetness, and she sighs despite herself.

“A-Azu?”

She looks over to find Hamid standing awkwardly halfway into the room. “Yes?” He doesn’t move, so she gestures to the spot alongside her. “You can sit.”

He does so. He’s not carrying anything, though he does make a small little hand gesture and set a soft pink peony on the tray with her tea. “I just… wanted to check on you.”

“It’s just a cold—”

Hamid shakes his head, and he looks so incredibly small that her heart hurts. “I know it’s more than that. And I know I’ve been in my own little world recently—”

“A lot has happened for you—”

“Not just me. We… We lost a lot.” He reaches forward, and Azu takes his offered hand. “Friends, and time, and a chance to simply relax.”

Azu looks down at her tea. She sets the cup down on the tray, and reaches for Hamid’s other hand. “I understand that the world won’t wait for us to catch our breath.”

He gazes up at her with determination in his bright eyes. “It doesn’t mean that we can’t take a moment. It doesn’t mean anything if we’re run too ragged to be of any use!”

She sighs, her shoulders heaving with the motion. But she manages a smile, and it feels honest and that’s the important thing. “Thank you.” And then, because she can hear Zolf and Cel failing at being stealthy in the hall, she raises her voice to say, “All of you. Thank you.”

“No problem!” Cel says, though they give a startled squawk as Zolf shushes them loudly.

Hamid huffs an embarrassed laugh. “We’re not very good at this.”

“What, you mean the comforting?” Azu pulls Hamid in for a hug, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders gratefully. “It means a lot to me.”

“You mean a lot to us, too, so take care of yourself. And let us know if you ever need anything.”

“You do the same, alright?”

He sniffles and nods, but his smile is bright and that makes her feel better.

#rusty quill gaming #IT'S ALWAYS LOVING AZU IN THIS HOUSE #a lil miss fic #kimabutch

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hyggeligbirch · 3 years

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On The Phone

An EXO Fanfiction pairing: jongin x baekhyun word count: 2 395 warnings: Major Character Death: Suicide summary: Jongin has nightmares. Luckily his boyfriend's only a phone call away

Jongin holds his phone to his ear, wrapping Kongju’s long fur around his free hand as he listens to Baekhyun babble in his softest, sleepiest, you-woke-me-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night voice. He slowly stops trembling, the dual action of his dog’s warm presence next to him and his boyfriend’s voice in his ear easing him out of his panic.

Once his voice finds its way back, he rasps his way into Baekhyun’s sleepy monologue. “Thanks for picking up,” he says, and he means it.

He can hear Baekhyun’s sleepy hum as he smiles on the other end. “Yeah. Feel better?”

“Yeah,” and it isn’t a lie, because he’s stopped shaking, but he still can’t think of stopping the call. “Can we stay on the line until I fall asleep, though?”

Baekhyun sleepily laughs and agrees. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, and it probably won’t be the last. Jongin has nightmares; Baekhyun has bad days. Both are easily helped with a simple phone call, the sound of the other’s voice, the rhythmic breathing as they each fall asleep. Sometimes they skip the nightmares, late-night panic attacks, and just stay the night together. Not frequently, but sometimes.

Jongin always falls asleep last. There’s comfort to him to hear the way Baekhyun’s sleepy babble slowly fades into half-whispered syllables, then just random hums that give way to soft breathing. Especially since his nightmares have changed.

For months they had been simple, normal. Stage fright, performing a routine that he’d never learned. Learning about a class he’d never been to only during exam week. Sometimes, it was just a normal day, walking down past a park and suddenly everything would go dark and he’d be running away from an unseen monster. Normal things.

But the past few weeks had been different. The nightmares had started simply enough, morphed versions of the day they’d all gotten the news about the plane crash. He’d go to Baekhyun’s apartment to check on him, and everything would be fine, but then he’d be in the hospital, shaking as he sat next to Baekhyun, held his hand, prayed. Listened to doctors telling him things he didn’t want to hear from the other side of a glass wall. Hearing that his boyfriend might never wake up. Hearing that his boyfriend was as good as dead.

And then he watched the day unfold in Baekhyun’s apartment, unable to interact, unable to do anything but watch. Jongin saw himself feeding Baekhyun, making quiet promises and leaving. Baekhyun’s phone ringing. Baekhyun answering it and the what little life was in his eyes drain out. Watched Baekhyun go – and the dream always stopped right there. Baekhyun walking out of the room, and never coming back.

Even his own mind was never cruel enough to make him watch Baekhyun die.

It’s through late night phone calls that Jongin gets through the next several weeks, always waking up in cold sweats and tight muscles, calming against the breathing of his boyfriend, the assurance that Baekhyun is still there, still alive.

Where the nights are terrifying, the days are calm and peaceful. It’s the middle of summer, and Baekhyun’s working an internship six days a week and Jongin’s dancing seven, but they spend as much time as possible with each other, in the early mornings before Baekhyun goes to work and after Jongin’s taken Kongju out for a morning run; in the evenings when they’re both exhausted and just sink into the couch to mindlessly eat dinner and watch tv.

It’s during one of these late evenings – Kongju sent to her crate to keep her from jumping on Baekhyun, Jongin icing down his ankles, and both of them eating more pasta than they probably should – that Baekhyun makes an offhand comment about just crashing there, some half-hearted comment about how small and dark and dirty his apartment is in comparison.

“Sorry,” Jongin responds, “I mean, you can, but I have to leave in half an hour. I won’t be here, the studio’s got that thing tomorrow morning, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine, I’ll just – my apartment’s fine.”

Jongin frowns, not satisfied. Crashing at each other’s places is usually reserved for very bad days. “Baekhyun, if you’re having a bad day or something, you’re welcome to stay here with Kongju. She’s really good company in bed. And we can talk on the phone – I don’t care.”

“No, no, I’m fine!” Baekhyun insists, and elaborates at Jongin’s patient stare. “I just thought that maybe, your nightmares, maybe they wouldn’t be so bad if I was right there.”

And that’s probably the most thoughtful thing Jongin’s heard all week, but there’s still that little twist of his gut at making Baekhyun – Baekhyun, who has so many problems of his own – worry. “Thanks. Are you sure…?”

“I’m great. Promise.”

And they both are great, that night, Baekhyun in his own bed in his own apartment, Jongin passed out in the back of a van somewhere, thanks to a couple of sleeping pills. The next day goes well, too, and Jongin finds himself falling face-first into his bed, finally home, body aching sore and doesn’t even think about putting his phone somewhere he can access it easily, because he’s so tired.

He thinks that might have been a mistake, when he’s trying to find his phone and dial Baekhyun and his limbs are terror-locked and it feels a little like someone punched him in the stomach with a rocket. He gets half a second of bile in the back of his throat just as Baekhyun’s phone starts ringing before he’s vomiting all over himself, little more than bile and acid because his last meal’s been so long, but it burns his throat and his nose and he thinks he can hear Baekhyun’s sleepy “hello” turning into worried words, but he’s not sure because all he can focus on for a few minutes is not choking on his own vomit.

When his stomach finally stops rebelling against him so strongly, he can actually hear Baekhyun’s worried, “Jongin? Jongin, are you okay?”

Jongin spits some of the sour taste out of his mouth and tries to focus in on Baekhyun’s voice. “Are you?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine? What about you? You called me, and then you were vomiting?”

Baekhyun was fine, and that little bit of information let Jongin center himself a little more. “I had another nightmare.” He paused for a moment as the smell of the vomit on him and his bed sinks in. “I should go…clean this up. Will you…?”

“Yeah, of course,” Baekhyun agrees so quickly, and Jongin puts the phone on his bedside table and strips out of his ruined clothes. Baekhyun starts up a light-hearted monologue, like he usually does, like he knows helps, as Jongin picks the phone back up and heads into the bathroom to wash up.

He can’t bring himself to go back into his bedroom and deal with the soiled sheets after he’s all washed, so Jongin slides down the wall to sit next to the toilet, Baekhyun still chattering away from the counter. Eventually, Baekhyun grows tired and starts to trail down into his sleepy hums. Jongin doesn’t mind, the cool tiles of the bathroom helping to keep him grounded, but his stomach lurches the quieter that Baekhyun gets and he’s happy that he decided to stay in the bathroom. He doesn’t vomit again, though.

Jongin’s been listening to Baekhyun breathe for what feels like hours, the quiet breaths and the cool porcelain working in tandem to keep him grounded, keep him from thinking about his dream, when the call abruptly disconnects. His brain short-circuits in his exhausted state, and, instead of intelligently grabbing for his phone and redialing, his nightmare starts replaying itself behind his eyes.

It’s not very clear, everything hazed with soot-black edges. One instant, Jongin is sitting on his couch, happy, calm, and the next he’s on his feet with his heart beating like crazy and then he’s standing outside of Baekhyun’s apartment, lungs seizing trying to draw air and the crash of breaking mugs echoing in his ears. And then he’s frozen, with one hand on the doorknob, unable to open the door, unable to make himself leave. He’s frozen there for what must be hours, if not days, and he can hear noises in the apartment and there’s a burning in his stomach to just open the door. Kick it down. But he can’t. He can’t do anything until everything is so, so silent that he’s not sure his own heart is even beating anymore. And then the door swings open. Jongin sees three things and only three things inside of Baekhyun’s apartment. A white floor. Red blood, enough for two people. And Baekhyun, broken and splayed across the floor like a ragdoll. Then everything goes black.

Jongin must fall asleep at some point that night, because he is woken in the morning by dog breath in his face.

He groans and rolls to his feet, every muscle protesting the motion after a long night on a bathroom floor, then pushes on Kongju’s head to get her to leave. With a couple of hard blinks, he follows after. Groggy from sleep, he barely notices that the sheets have been changed on his bed and that Kongju shouldn’t even be at his house. As such, he’s a little startled to find Baekhyun sitting on his couch with a bowl of cereal.

“Morning!” Baekhyun greets him, and Jongin just scowls because it is way too early in the morning to deal with anything resembling cheeriness.

“What’re you doing here?” He manages to grumble out.

“I’m returning your dog.”

Right. That was a thing that needed to happen. Jongin’s cool.

He’s slightly less cool when he finds out that Baekhyun has eaten the last of his cereal, though.

And Baekhyun’s still there when Jongin gets home from work, playing fetch with the dog in the apartment that is decidedly too small to play fetch in.

“I bought more cereal,” he says as way of greeting, “and I’m staying here this week. If that’s cool with you.” He sees Jongin’s brow furrow and jumps to cut him off. “Nightmares. Even if it doesn’t help for me to be here, at least you won’t have to sleep on the bathroom floor because you puked in your bed and didn’t have anyone to clean it up.”

Jongin has to admit that it’s nice to have Baekhyun in his bed in a halfway decent state of mind. It’s even nicer when he wakes up in the morning without any dreams to speak of.

After a week of dreamless nights, they’re sitting around eating breakfast, Jongin using Kongju as a footrest to keep her from jumping up to eat their food.

“Thanks for staying, Baekhyun,” Jongin says, “Maybe you should just move in.”

Baekhyun laughs around a spoonful of yogurt. “Maybe. Can I ask? What the nightmares are?” It’s something they’ve never actually discussed, because even thinking about them tends to set Jongin’s muscles tight and breathing sporadic.

He takes a deep breath in an effort to head off the panic, and answers. “Yeah, you can ask. I…I don’t know how to say it.” He takes a moment to gather the right words, stirring his cereal. “It’s always you. Killing yourself.” He stumbles over his words as he tries to push the next sentence out over Baekhyun’s surprise. “And I think that’s why you being here helps? Because you’re right here so I know you’re not dead.”

Jongin takes the chance to look up at Baekhyun and is surprised to see nothing but a quiet sadness on Baekhyun’s face. Baekhyun sighs and puts his yogurt down on the coffee table, sitting straighter. Jongin sits straighter in response, biting his tongue in confusion as Baekhyun reaches out and puts his hand on Jongin’s knee, leaning close enough to snuggle against his shoulder like he likes to do during serious conversations.

“Jongin,” he says, and Jongin’s not sure he’s ever heard Baekhyun so sad and so serious, “I’m not sure how to say this, either.” He squeezes Jongin’s leg as he swallows, and continues. “But I guess you already know this, anyway, so I shouldn’t be so worried about telling you, I mean –“

“Baekhyun? What is it?”

“I’m already dead, Jongin.”

“No,” Jongin tries for, but it comes out a little more like a whistling gasp as the air leaves his lungs. Everything drops a dark shade of grey and he’s pretty sure he’s hyperventilating.

Baekhyun tries to squeeze his leg, but he can’t feel it. “Jongin. Jongin. I killed myself a long time ago. I’m already dead.”

“No. But you’re right here. Baekhyun. Baekhyun. Baek-“ The hyperventilating catches up with Jongin and everything goes deep, deep black.

Jongin comes to in a world that is so much darker and so much colder than the one he has just left. There’s an incessant vibrating next to his head and he’s splayed out on the floor of his bedroom. He can hear Kongju scratching at the door and just wishes all of the noise would stop.

When it doesn’t, he groans and sits himself up, a pounding headache immediately starting from the rush of blood out of his head. With a few choice words, he gives in to the vibrating of his phone and picks up, not even bothering to check caller ID.

It’s Junmyeon, with a happy, fast tone to his voice and Jongin honestly doesn’t hear a word he says while he starts to find himself back. There’s only two things that Jongin knows at the moment: that Baekhyun is dead, and that there’s blood dried on Jongin’s face. It’s obviously something that’s not sustainable. He huffs as he figures out what he should do. Asking for help was never his strong suit, but still – “Junmyeon?” he interjects at the first pause, “Can I stay with you for a while?”

Junmyeon is understandably surprised on the other end. “Sure. Your apartment getting fumigated or something?”

“Uhmm, no. I just don’t think I can be here alone right now. Baekhyun.” And he hopes that’s enough.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon replies, and his voice is soft and Jongin’s wondering what he’s thinking about. “As long as you need.”

When Jongin hangs up, he sees the date on his phone. 12 April. It’s been a year.

#exo fanfiction #exo fic #exo fanfic #kaibaek #jongin x baekhyun #kai x baekhyun #jongin #baekhyun #exo

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starscheme · 4 years

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With All My Heart

Chapter Eight: Let’s Play Pretend

Steven was already back in the garden. For the second time today. Everything had spiraled so quickly today and although he still had so much to think about, the one thing that became clear was that he and Spinel were feeling something similar.

The only problem was, Spinel seemed to think her feelings were wrong because she thought SHE was wrong. He didn’t like that one bit. He wanted to make things clear before she let her thoughts fester and did something stupid. He’d seen it happen many times before. Looking around the garden, Spinel was no where to be found. She must have gone back to her room as Pearl instructed.

“Steven?” Spinel exclaimed, a little confused. She had been sitting up on one of the tall stone pillars when he walked in.

“...what are you doing back here?” She asked, sliding down to the floor.

Steven sighed in relief. She didn’t look like she’d been crying and she wasn’t hold up in her room all alone.

“Come here,” he started, stepping forward and taking her hand in his. “This time, I want to make sure we’re not interrupted.”

Spinel only nodded her head as she let Steven lead her out of the garden and into his room of the temple. The door to the garden poofed away, disconnecting them from everyone now. No one could come in and yell at them now.

“In here, we can talk this out.”

“...there’s not much to talk about,” replied Spinel sadly. “I’m sorry I even started all this.”

Steven took a deep breath, gathering up a little courage. He knew she would begin the conversation like this.

“...I...think my feelings for you have changed...” he began, not really sure how to do this. With Connie, things just sort flowed without the need for words, but he knew he would have to explain this to Spinel. Especially since she was so sure these feelings were a problem.

“It’s new and honestly...I’ve only thought about it recently, but you didn’t start anything. In fact...what started all this for me...was because of what happened in this room.” His cheeks were turning a bright red now as he recalled the incident. He still felt guilty about it.

“I missed you so much that when I came in here, the room sort of...made you and that Spinel clone...kissed me. It forced me to think about what I really wanted and I still don’t really know, but none of this is your fault.”

“She kissed you?” Repeated Spinel with a frown.

“Well...yeah. I’m really sorry for doing something like that without your permission. I didn’t even ask for the room to do that, I swear.” Steven explained in a frazzled manner. He still felt guilty about the whole thing.

“But you did want a kiss. Or the room wouldn’t have done that.”

“I-I know that, but I didn’t ask, it just appeared and it happened so fast—“

“—-if you want to kiss me. Just kiss me. You don’t need a clone when I’m right here.” Spinel said simply, glancing up into Stevens eyes without a hint of doubt or hesitation.

Steven had to take another breath as a chill bristled up his back when he looked into her eyes. Why did it seem as if she was no longer confused? Surely she hadn’t sorted out her feelings so quickly.

“...but uh...I wanted us to talk about...what to do from now on.”

It was hard to focus on the topic after she had just given him permission to kiss her. Despite his rational thought, he was a healthy young man after all.

Spinel stepped in closer to Steven. This room was a good chance to escape reality for a moment. In here, she didn’t want to worry that she was broken or that Steven would choose Connie. In here, she just wanted to be close to the person she loved. Wasn’t she allowed that much at least?

“You don’t want to?” Spinel asked, stopping just before their feet met.

Steven was frozen in place, almost afraid to take a breath. He was certain all the blood had rushed to his face. What was going on? Did he accidentally conjure something in the room instead of the actual Spinel? Of course he wanted to kiss her, but something felt wrong here.

“Sp-spinel, what’s going on?” He asked, swallowing back his temptation in an attempt to speak with her rationally.

Spinel lowered her head a bit, hiding her expression from him. What did he want her to say? She didn’t want to think about all this. She didn’t want to admit how broken she really was. Accepting that she had fallen in love with Steven was just more proof that she was distorted somehow.

“Just stay here with me,” she began almost in a whisper. “Just be my Steven for a little while. I don’t want to hear about anything else. I don’t want to talk about Connie, I don’t want to talk about Pearl, and I don’t want to talk about how confusing this is.”

As she spoke, Steven noticed her shoulders begin to tremble. This was bad. Spinel was never very good at handling big emotions like this. Especially if they contradicting her way of thinking.

“Spinel...” he started calmly, placing his hands on her shoulders, hoping to comfort her a little.

“...I know exactly how you’re feeling right now. I mean, I’ve known you my whole life and suddenly it feels like...we have to treat each other differently. You keep saying that you just want to be my friend...but why can’t you keep being my friend even if...your feelings run a bit deeper than that?”

Spinel felt a familiar anger start to bubble up inside her chest. She knew very well that Steven had nothing but good intentions, but was he really going to force her to say this aloud? “Because of Connie!” Spinel shouted suddenly, raising her head to meet his eyes once again.

Steven flinched lightly. It’s not like he didn’t expect this, but he wasn’t exactly ready to broach that subject deeply. He hadn’t had enough time to think on it properly.

“...That’s why I wanted to talk things out with you. After all, this is all new and I’m not used to feeling like this for...two people.” Steven admitted, almost ashamed of it. It felt unfair to the both of them, but he couldn’t exactly control it.

Spinel shook her head. This is exactly what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to think about any of this. Why did he insist on bringing it up?

“You always think everything can be solved with just a conversation...” she nearly chuckled. “...why can’t you, just this once, stop talking?”

“You just want to pretend that nothings wrong?” Steven asked in concern, sliding his hand from her shoulder to cup her cheek. “Spinel, you know that never helps. I’m not trying to overwhelm you. Thinking about all this stuff...I know it’s not any fun.”

“You’re not playing fair...” Spinel whined, leaning her cheek against his palm. His soft caring voice, she had never been able to argue with him long.

“But Steven...this game isn’t any fun. Every time I find myself happy thinking about you...I think about you with her...and I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m not supposed to feel like this, I’m supposed to—“

“Stop saying what you’re supposed to do,” Steven demanded. “You’re not supposed to be anything other than what you want to be.”

Spinel stared up at Steven in silence. She knew what he was trying to say, but she didn’t want to admit how frightening that was for her. After changing like this, the only thing she had to hold onto to ensure herself that she hadn’t completely broken, was her sole purpose for being created. If she tried to veer off course, wouldn’t that mean she had no hope of fixing herself?

“...this is why I didn’t want to talk,” Spinel whispered with a small smile. “We’re in the only room on earth that would allow someone to escape their troubles, but only you would want to face reality in here.”

“Is reality so bad?” Steven asked. “...I much prefer the real Spinel over some clone this room could think up.”

Steven had often seen Spinel get down on herself, but most of the time, she could jump back to her cheerful self when he was around. How many times had she forced her feelings down so that he wouldn’t worry about her?

Why had he let that go on for so long?

“Spinel...if you really don’t want to talk about all this right away, we can just...take a moment to relax.” He relented finally. The last couple of days had been a little exhausting for the both of them.

Spinel nodded slowly and Steven removed his hand from her face. “Room, could get something comfortable to sit on?”

A large pink cloud appeared and formed into a replica of Stevens bed from his room. Causing the young man to nearly choke on his own breath when he gasped. He didn’t mean to conjure up something so suggestive. He was really starting to resent his subconscious. His only saving grace was that Spinel didn’t seem to take it the way he did.

Instead, Spinel smiled and jumped onto the bed. It did happen to be where she was most comfortable. Laying in bed with Steven, even if they didn’t say a word, it was the most relaxing place to be.

With a relieved sigh, Steven sat himself at the edge of the bed, watching Spinel as she jumped up and down for a moment. He was just glad to see her act like herself again. At least for the moment. Even if they didn’t talk about the important stuff right now, he knew it would have to happen eventually. Still, it’s not like they had anywhere to be today.

“You’re gonna break the bed,” chuckled Steven. It had happened before. Bismuth had built Steven several beds over the years because Spinel would coax Steven into bouncing on the mattress with her.

Spinel giggled, finally letting herself sit still. “Well you could ju at ask for another one,” she replied.

“Don’t take advantage of the rooms generosity. The room only has your comfort in mind.”

“Oh, I guess you’re right. The room does only wish to make us happy. After all, it gave you what makes you happy, didn’t it?” Spinel teased.

Steven froze once again, regretting his honesty. “Th-that didn’t make me happy,” he admitted. Obviously, he couldn’t stop being honest. It’s just who he was.

“It didn’t?” Asked Spinel, her heart sinking. Did that mean he really didn’t want to kiss her?

“No. It made me feel guilty,” he corrected. “What made me happy...was the...real kiss...” he finished awkwardly.

Spinel blushed lightly. Though she had started it, she wasn’t fully prepared for Stevens response. They had always been able to tell one another everything. These kinds of things were just new to them. Especially Spinel.

“It...made me happy too...” she replied, covering her reddening cheeks with her hands.

An awkward silence hovered over them now, both staring down at their own laps and just trying to think of something to say.

“...could we...do it again?” Asked Spinel meekly.

Once again, Spinel was playing with fire. Steven cleared his throat and took a deep breath. As much as he wanted to, he was trying very hard to keep his hands off of her until they had talked everything out. Why was she doing this to him? It was starting to feel like she was trying to break him. “I...I don’t think...”

Spinel scooted a bit closer to Steven, reaching over and gently taking a sliver of his sleeve between her fingers. She had fought a thousand year war, but this was the most nerve wracking thing she’d ever experienced.

Steven glanced down at her and immediately regretted it. She was staring back up at him with her bright magenta colored hues and Stevens heart nearly stopped. Since when did her eyes force his heart to jump like this? Talk about not playing fair.

“...J-just one,” the words left his lips before he could stop himself. After all, just how long could he hold onto reason when she looked at him like that?

Spinel smiled, but didn’t have time to say anything in response before Steven placed a hand at her waist and pulled her even closer, trapping her lips against his.

Like before, Spinel felt a warm glow rushing through her. However, unlike before, Spinel wasn’t so shocked that she couldn’t respond. She returned his kiss softly, not entirely sure how this worked, but it felt so nice that it almost didn’t matter. She figured if she just followed Stevens lead, everything would be fine.

Steven on the other hand, was having trouble keeping his focus. He wanted to remain responsible about this, but once his lips touched hers, all reason seemed to fly away. Turning his body to get a bit more comfortable, Steven was on his knees in front of Spinel, both sitting above his comforter as they shared a kiss. With his lips brushing against hers, a chill bristled up his back, urging him forward. A part of him was worried he would startle her again, but a bigger part was willing to take that risk. Parting her lips gently with his tongue, he deepened the kiss with caution.

Though Spinel was surprised by this, she didn’t pull away like last time. Instead, she followed his lead and met his tongue with her own, feeling his warm breath against her skin as they kissed. She now regretted reacting the way she did last time. This kiss felt even better than their first one.

The moment he felt her tongue lap against his, his sanity had all but gone away. He leaned forward, gently pushing Spinel down against the bed. He was reluctant to break the kiss. Her tongue tasted like sugar melting in his mouth and though he would be embarrassed to say it aloud, he thoroughly enjoyed the sweet taste of her lips.

Still, he broke the kiss slowly, pulling his head back just far enough to see her face.

Spinel looked as if she were in a trance, staring up at Steven with a blush lacing her cheeks. Just like the night before, Steven was a bit mesmerized by her. However this time, he didn’t have to keep it to himself.

“You’re beautiful, Spinel,” Steven breathed softly.

The gem beneath him blushed further and averted her gaze to the side.

“D-don’t day things like that...” she pleaded in a bashful whimper.

Raising his brow, Steven smirked and leaned down once more. Though she had turned her head to to avoid his eyes, he used the opportunity to try something else.

“Why not?” He asked quietly, planting small kisses along her cheek, trailing down slowly towards her neck.

Spinel flinched, her body shivering slightly as she felt his warm lips trace her skin. She’d watched Steven all his life, when did he learn how to do something like this?

“I-it’s embarrassing,” spinel answered before taking a breath to try and calm herself a little.

“You should probably just get used to it,” Steven hummed against her skin before running his tongue slowly up the length of her neck. How could she possibly taste so sweet? He couldn’t seem to get enough.

A shuddered breath escaped Spinels lips and she quickly covered her mouth. This was terribly embarrassing. Steven seemed so calm. How could he be so calm, thought Spinel in a panic.

Steven looked down at Spinel in surprise, his heart pounding against chest as if it would burst out at any moment. He wanted more and it would have been so easy, but he had to consider Spinels feelings in all this. She looked a bit overwhelmed and as cute as that made her look, he didn’t want to scare her. Steven closed his eyes tight for a moment, gritting his teeth before he sighed miserably.

“Damn, you’re cute...” he groaned as he forced himself to lay beside her. Being on top of her like that was too tempting and he wasn’t sure he would have the strength of mind to stop if he didn’t stop now.

Spinel sat up now, worried she had done something wrong. Why did he stop? She certainly didn’t want him to.

“...was it...bad?” She asked in concern.

“No,” answered Steven at once, covering his eyes with his hands to keep from looking at her, his blush all too apparent over his cheeks.

“It was not bad. All I want to do right now is keep you all to myself inside this room,” he admitted without a hint of embarrassment. His mind was racing and what he said aloud was not nearly as embarrassing as some of the thoughts he had now.

“...but I need to control myself a little. This is pretty new to me too. I don’t want mess it up.”

“Mess it up?” Repeated Spinel. “I think you were doing a good job. I...I really liked it.”

Another shot to his heart. If she knew how hard this was on him, she wouldn’t be saying things like that. Or maybe she was doing this on purpose. He was relieved however, when Spinel leaned down, resting her head against his waist as she laid beside him. Though she wanted more, she was content to stay here like this. If everyday could be like this from now on, she was more than happy to be broken.

Steven wrapped an arm around her, holding her close with a smile. This was perfect and it gave him a chance to wind down. Not that he would tell her, but he couldn’t exactly stand up right now. He just hoped she didn’t notice so they could avoid another embarrassing conversation.

After laying there together for some time, Steven and Spinel talked about the small things that made them happy. Each one avoiding talking about anything that would remind them of the situation that awaited them once they left this room. It would be so simple if it was just them, but with so many other peoples feelings tied to this, it was unavoidable that a mess would be made and someone would be hurt when this was all over. Time slipped away from the both of them and eventually, Steven had fallen asleep with a smile on his face.

Spinel slipped from his embrace and sat up to look down at Stevens peaceful expression. Before she knew it, tears began to pool in her eyes. “...it was nice to pretend like this. Thank you for playing along with me...” spinel whispered, leaning down to kiss his cheek before sliding from the bed carefully so as not to wake him. Wiping her eyes, Spinel glanced back at Steven, hesitating before she turned away and left the room. Surely he would be upset with her when he found out what she was about to do, but it was for the best. All Spinel wanted was for Steven to be happy. This way, she could make everything easy for him. This way, she could do one last nice thing for her best friend.

A/N: I just want to say, I have been trying to add a READ MORE link onto these posts to make them shorter, but Tumblr is being a PAIN IN THE BUTT about it. Especially on the mobile app. Once I figure this out, I will be able to shorten these posts. Sorry for the inconvenience for now. Thanks for reading!

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years

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Goretober (Day 20)

Prompt: Torture

Fandom: Avatar

Pair: TyZula

Song Rec: The Gazette - Leech

Summary: Ozai ‘prepares’ Azula for what may happen if she gets captured by the enemy.

She doesn't comprehend how cruel it is. Azula thinks that it is normal. He says that he is doing it for her own good. That if she ever gets captured by the Water Tribe, she will know what to expect.

That she will be used to it and by extension, unaffected by it.

He has her pinned down, a guard holds her by the wrists as her father drapes a cloth over her mouth and nose. She kicks her legs and squirms beneath the guard, trying to buck him off. But he is twice her height and thrice her weight.

"Father, please." She whispers.

His demeanor is steely and unwavering as he approaches. She hears the sloshing of water as he comes closer. Her struggle intensifies.

"Stop crying, Azula. The goal is to not react." Ozai says tenderly, as though he were going to read her a bedtime story and not cause her, her first near death experience.

He carefully bends over and pours the water over the cloth. Slowly and steadily and then he presses the cloth more firmly against her nose and lips.

Azula kicks and thrashes with little thought, only her body's instinctive reflexes to keep her alive.

She begins to choke.

She only faintly hears her father reminding her not to cry. That crying is a weakness that a spiller can't afford; especially during a merciless interrogation.

But this is not an interrogation, this is her father standing over her and keeping air from reaching her lungs.

When her world starts to fade into a black vertigo and the fight leaves her body, Ozai removes the cloth.

She sucks in a deep gasping breath. Her lungs burn furiously. She wants to bring her hand to her throat but the guard still has her pinned.

She doesn't get to savor her rediscovered ability to breath because her father brings the cloth back down and wets it again.

The session repeats.

Over and over, every other day, until Azula grows accustomed to the awful burning in her lungs. Until she no longer fears her breathing being cut off.

Until her eyes grow vacant.

Her father is satisfied he smiles and tells her that he is proud of her. That she is going to be efficient and unstoppable.

She tries to feel proud of herself too. But her emotions are muted under layers of trauma.

Azula no longer fears an early death.

She expects it.

But Ozai's lesson has not prepared her for what they actually do in war. Not for what they do in the aftermath, when tempers are still roused and blood is still called for.

He hasn't prepared her for the pure rage and personal hatred they have for her in the Earth Kingdom.

They don't want information so she can't bring an end to her torment by giving them the answers they seek.

They don't want anything from her except to hear her scream and cry and beg to be spared.

They had come for her one night during while Zuko was in the middle of bargaining with them to show mercy on her for her war crimes. It is no wonder they were being so cooperative. They had been planning to go behind his back this whole time.

They throw her to the ground and leave her with no time to regain her bearings. She realizes that she is in the center of town in the middle of a large ring of people ranging from commoners to nobles and politicians.

The first of them steps forward and lugs a boulder into her side, a sturdy blow that knocks the wind out of her again and has her slamming against the pavement. They begin kicking at and stomping on her and suddenly her body feels so small and fragile. She feels small and fragile. This is nothing at all like her father had prepared her for.

The crowd parts and she thinks that they are done with her. At least until she spots a shadow hovering above her. The man lets an even larger boulder fall upon her hand. Her shrill cry covers the sound of cracked bone. She is certain that her hand is unsalvageably crushed. She rolls onto her side and clutches that wrist with her remaining hand.

More rocks come at her, smaller but painful just as well.

She feels sick.

She wonders if she should just pull and get it over with so she’d at least have a chance to fight back. But she can’t bring herself to do it. She knows that the hand is lost but she doesn’t want to see the damage. She certainly doesn’t want to take the liberty of amputating it herself.

In the back of her mind she thinks that they will eventually sever it for her.

The rocks beat against her body until it is bloody all over. Her tears don’t seem to draw any sympathy.

She is going to die and she is going to die slowly.

Azula feels a new sensation; the bite of a blade as a woman carves something into her side. She doesn’t want to know what it reads. She squeezes her eyes shut and prays that it will be over soon.

An entirely new person kicks her back onto her back so that they can drop another huge bolder upon her. She hopes that they will aim for her head or something that will kill her and end it. It falls upon her other hand instead. This time her scream is as loud as the pain is excruciating. Her whole body shudders in agony and she wishes that they were only waterboarding her as her father had some years prior.

A new face emerges from the crowd, it is familiar in a way; perhaps one of the Dai Li. “You have such a pretty face for such an ugly girl.” He snarls.

Azula cringes. She is breathing erratically as he brings a razor to her face, from the corner of her right eye he drags it down her cheek and to her chin. And then he jabs it into her nose. She feels a rush of blood seeping into her mouth and down her chin. There is so much of it that her vision is going fuzzy.

But she has been cursed and blessed with the ability to withstand and sustain a lot of damage. She feels the boulder pinning her right hand down shift. It rolls off of her hand and for one foolish moment she believes that they have had their sadistic fill.

Instead the Dai Li man and a woman grab her body and tug. Her eyes go wide as she realizes what is about to happen. She can feel the skin on her wrist begin to split.

That is her limit.

Azula wakes in a hospital feeling physically and emotionally absent. She is almost certain that she has been beaten beyond recognition. She is scared to look at her left arm but she forces herself to do so anyhow. At the end of it is a bandaged stump.

But somehow it doesn’t feel like it belongs to her. There is this merciful emotional disconnect.

Her other hand is also bandaged, at least it is still attached, even if it isn’t functional. Her ribs are also wrapped in bandages, she only needs to shift positions to know that they are bruised and broken.

She is bruised and broken in body, mind, and spirit.

“You’re awake.” Zuko notes.

“I shouldn’t be.” She whispers. “I shouldn’t alive.”

Zuko squeezes her remaining hand.

She almosts asks him why he let them do this to her but she knows that this is exactly what he had been fighting against. His only mistake was thinking that they’d be honorable during the negotiation process.

Slowly and with intense care, Zuko lifts her into his arms and cradles her against him. “Katara has been in and out, she says that your face is going to heal. There will only be a little scarring.”

Azula wishes that she could feel reassured, but she doesn’t. Not at all.

“It isn’t that bad anymore.” Zuko promises. “Not like it was four days ago. It isn’t as swollen.”

That implies that the swelling is still there. She doesn’t want to see her face and the state it is in. If it looks anything like her arms, legs, and the exposed parts of her belly, then it is a grizzly thing to behold.

“TyLee has been worried, she’s going to be happy that you’re awake.”

Azula should be happy that she is awake. Yet she can’t bring herself to be. What kind of life is she going to lead? She can hardly even breath right with the damage they had inflicted on her nose, muchless accomplish anything worthwhile.

.oOo.

TyLee traces the raised line of Azula’s scar, from the corner of her eye to chin. She gives the princess a soft kiss. It is comforting to have her around, especially when the nightmares resurface. On those nights when she is brought right back into the mob only to wake up screaming.

They grow less intense and less frequent as the years pass but when they do come they are still distressing.

She hugs TyLee close as they stare at the sunrise from the palace balcony. The wind tosses her hair, it is pleasantly warm on her face. After a healthy amount of quietly staring, TyLee turns around and takes Azula’s only hand and the stump. Azula closes her remaining fingers around TyLee’s hand.

She supposes that she is more or less used to the sight of it by now.

TyLee follows her gaze. One of her hands is on Azula’s cheek again. “You’re perfect.” TyLee likes to remind her of this every now and again. It has helped a lot over the years, especially during bouts of insecurity. The moments where she dwells on who she used to be and what she used to look like.

It isn’t so bad anymore, though. She has found ways to compensate for what has been taken from her. She has found ways to appreciate herself again.

“Thank you, TyLee.”

“I’m glad that you’re okay.” TyLee smiles.

Azula nods, “I am too.”

And she means it. Despite it all, she is thankful to have made it.

#Goretober 2019 #Avatar #Azula #TyLee #Tyzula #Zuko #Fanfiction

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sam-winchester-admiration-league · 5 years

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Something incredibly special is required to keep a show on the air 14 seasons. Usually, it's that one element that takes a show from average and elevates it to greatness. In the case of Supernatural, the creators, producers, and writers of Supernatural tapped into the secret that other CW shows are wisely following. That secret is to make the sibling bond the core of your show and cast actors/actresses that share that great familial bond on-screen and off. Since its very first episode Supernatural has had two perfectly cast leads in Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles who are each half of the beating heart that keeps Supernatural alive. The brotherhood, friendship, and teamwork between Sam and Dean Winchester has consistently been considered one of the best acting teams on television, and the show has mined its richest stories from testing that bond. Prophet and Loss (14x12), found the brothers on one of their least cool road trips. To permanently disable the evil archangel Michael locked away inside his mind, Dean plans to have Sam bury him alive at sea, imprisoned for eternity inside a coffin. Having failed so far to change his brother's mind, Sam must find some dissuade him or lose the person he loves most forever to a horrific fate. Jared Padalecki gives a beautiful and heartrending performance that left Supernatural fans in tears and teeming with praise. For his performance, Jared Padalecki was overwhelmingly selected as SpoilerTV Readers' Choice Performer of the Month for January.

In the first scene of the episode, Padalecki brings big brotherly energy to Sam. He hears Dean screaming out for his younger brother in his sleep, but Sam plays it cool when he checks in. The tone of his voice stays casual, yet, behind Dean's back, his face is tightly perturbed. His words are low, measured carefully because he is being careful to not spook Dean. Whether you've been watching the Winchester brothers a few months or a few years, you know that Dean is determined to condemn himself to this awful fate. To protect Sam, he's capable of leaving him behind. Sam knows it too, but that doesn't stop him from pointing out the drawbacks. Padalecki has to have this restrained conversation with his costar, keeping his tone and pitch even, because Sam is being very cautious in how he expresses doubts. Simultaneously, he has to show the audience how Sam really feels, how each moderated statement is followed by a facial expression that is strained yet hopeful. Padalecki shows that not only is Sam trying to save Dean, but also Sam's own heart is breaking in the process. The work he does in the first scene establishes the emotional foundation for following Winchester brother scenes. On the road to carry out his desperate plan, Dean asks Sam if he's still on board with the plan, as their conversation the night before did rattle him a little. Padalecki delivers Sam's response in a matter-of-fact way. Of course, he is going to keep his word to Dean. But there's a tiny indication that he panicked slightly when Dean asked him. He interrupts his regular blinking rhythm, holding his eyes open a millisecond longer than normal as if he very briefly held his breath. He also maintains this neutral level of disapproval in his voice. Sam continues to walk an emotional tightrope. The minute Dean is out of sight, Sam makes a call to their friend Cass (Misha Collins) to find out if he has found another way to stop Michael. Even in that quick conversation, there are several ways that Sam's fear is conveyed. His voice almost catches when he says he's never seen Dean like this before. It's the first crack in Sam's facade.

A trip down memory lane sets up the ending of the episode. Dean wonders if Sam ever thinks about their childhood. He expresses regret about not being a better brother. You see a little confusion cross Sam's face, and he firmly replies that Dean was always there for him. He gets this analytical look as if he's trying to piece together where this comment Dean made is coming from. Dean starts spilling out these regrets about how thinks he could have treated his younger brother better. Jensen Ackles weaves this brokenhearted longing into his voice that gives the scene this sharp agony. Sam's face, despite the tears in his eyes, tells a different story. He's actively listening, pondering everything that Dean is saying, noting these fears that his older brother is disclosing. The fact he is paying such close attention makes it surprising that he frostily shuts the conversation down. Those same tears, briefly visible again before he turns looks away, indicate how much Sam was impacted by the moment. Shortly afterward, he finds a case for them to check out. While acting almost nonchalant about it, he casually brings the case up to Dean, but they both know what he is doing, using a case as a delaying tactic to prevent his brother from carrying out his suicide mission. However, his tactic backfires on him somewhat when Dean agrees to go investigate calling it "one last mission" for the Winchester brothers. Hearing his brother describe the case that was is not what Sam was expecting and the devastation and realization that hits him are etched in his features as he fights to maintain control. There is a murder to solve, and the first stop is visiting one victim's twin brother. Neither Winchester brother has an easy time listening to the young man talk about how he never imagined it could feel this bad to lose his sibling. However, Sam avoids acknowledging the glances that Dean keeps sending his way. Padalecki makes sure you are aware that Sam is deliberately choosing to hold his emotions in check, in order to create a vacuum that Dean has no choice but to fill with his own feelings. Sam is refusing to let his older brother play the strong one, hoping that Dean will choose on his own to take a different path. The situation is taking a toll on Sam though. When they catch up to the delusional murderer, Sam shuts him down very aggressively, close to losing control. And he's visibly distraught when they lose the man who thought he was hearing divine voices ordering him to kill his victims. This senseless loss of life hits close to home for Sam, and viewers are reminded he's running out of time to save Dean.

To prevent any more murders, the brothers realize they must take their friend, the prophet Donatello, off life-support. The doctor reassures them that letting go is the right choice, and Dean gives Sam a clear I-told-you-so look. The case has reinforced Dean's decision that he needs to sacrifice himself to restore order to the world. Cass joins them at the hospital and makes a strong plea for Dean to reconsider, but it's clear that the older Winchester is slipping away, disconnecting emotionally from his brother, his friend, and life itself. They then make an unexpected discovery. There is a chance to save Donatello. Dean and Sam sit down to wait, while Cass treats Donatello. Noticing that his younger brother is lost in thought, Dean asks him if he's alright. Sam admits that he's thinking about what it would be like--to be trapped inside your own body with nowhere to go, unable to do anything. Dean brushes the thought away with a cold smirk, and for just a second you see Sam's face filled with hopeless despair. It is a brief interlude, but Padalecki uses every inch of it to show Sam losing his grip on hope. Despite being clear how he felt about his brother's decision these are the first moments Padalecki has Sam truly let down all his guards and show Dean just how truly devastating an impact this decision is having on his brother. Padalecki. It's a masterful moment as Padalecki expresses all those emotions with few words, letting his face and his eyes do most of his talking.

Cass saves Donatello, and Sam slips away afterward. Dean goes looking for him, and He finds his brother leaning against their car, their faithful friend through hundreds of adventures, with beers waiting. Sam's demeanor has changed. He keeps his sentences short and sarcastic. A brief, bitter chuckle in response to Dean apologizing for joking about leaving. Padalecki gives one of the most heartbreaking speeches in the show's history, as Sam asks just how sorry Dean is and why. He struggles to briskly pour out his words, trying to keep them angry but unable to keep the huskiness out of his voice. When Sam says that Dean wants him to throw away faith and throw away family, his chest begins to rise and fall faster than normal, as if he's going to heave. He steps up to Dean and hits him in the chest. Padalecki makes this sneer that disappears almost as soon as it starts as if Sam is fighting to hold onto his rage. He begins to plead with Dean, telling him he's quitting and giving up too soon on finding another way. He beats his hands against Dean's chest. It's as if time turns back and Padalecki becomes the little boy that Sam once was. The one beseeching his big brother to not leave him behind. He points at himself and tells Dean he believes in them. Dean looks away, down towards the ground. And the anger flares up, as Sam winds up and throws a punch right into his brother's face. Dean reels in surprise, but Sam is already winding up for a second one. Padalecki lets you see how determined Sam is to do whatever it takes. Sam repeats that he believes in them, even as Dean grabs his arms to block the next swing. But instead of struggling. Sam drops his shoulders and fiercely wraps his arms around his big brother. Gripping Dean's jacket, he chokes out a heartbreaking question through gritted teeth, asking Dean why he doesn't believe in them too. The fury evaporates, as he rests his cheek against his brother's neck, and he just holds on to his brother. Dean says he will go home with Sam. And Sam steps back, unsure if he can believe this, with his jaw still rigid and his eyes still wet. Dean says he does believe in them but asks Sam to promise him that if they don't find another way his younger brother will do then what he can't now. This time it's Sam who looks down. He sniffles and trembles, but he looks up to meet Dean's gaze squarely in the eye. He makes the promise, and a tear as big as his heart runs down each of his cheeks. Before getting in the car, Sam tucks his lip in and composes himself, relief and determination on his face. The fight to save Dean isn't over yet, but Sam's heartfelt plea has bought them some time. Padalecki's weary posture and hesitation before getting in the car show that Sam knows he may have won this battle but that the war goes on.

For over 13 years and through 300 episodes, Supernatural has prospered, and fans credit that to the superb work of the cast. Jared Padalecki gave one of his finest performances to date in this episode. He gave Sam courage and vulnerability, made you feel every bit of the fight to save Dean. The episode wouldn't have the dramatic stakes or the heart-twisting agony without his work. You've seen Sam is difficult predicaments before. You've seen him grieve. You've seen him protect his brother. However, Padalecki shows you a Sam you haven't seen, gives a new dimension both to his character and to the bond between the Winchester brothers. He keeps the viewer with Sam for every breath, every tear, every tense second. The ending wouldn't be as emotionally satisfying if you weren't feeling every quiver of his broad shoulders. When Dean hugs Sam in the end, finally yielding to his brother's love, he hugs the audience too. For all these reasons and many more, Jared Padalecki was voted January Performer of the Month by our Readers.

Article here.

#Jared Padalecki #spn #supernatural #Sam Winchester #SpoilerTV #acting

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sweetwhump · 5 years

Text

Title: (never) alone again

Fandom: Yuri!!! On Ice

AO3

“I’m leaving.”

Yuuri’s words hang in the air like a death sentence, and Victor’s blood runs cold.

“Yuuri… what do you- what’s wrong, solnyshko, what is it?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “This was a mistake, Victor, all of it. We were a mistake. I can’t do this anymore. I have to go home.”

“What do you mean, you can’t do this? I-I thought you were happy. I thought we were okay.”

Yuuri just looks at him with sad brown eyes, shaking his head solemnly before turning back towards the door, suitcase in hand.

Victor darts around him, takes the hand that isn’t holding the suitcase, and grips it imploringly.

“Yuuri, wait, please, we can talk about this. If something’s wrong, please just tell me. We can fix this!”

It’s only then that he notices that the hand he holds is empty, unadorned by the familiar gold band Victor loves so much. Yuuri’s ring is gone. He pulls his hand back gently out of Victor’s grasp, levelling him with a look that is equal parts pity and disgust.

“There’s nothing you can do, Victor. It’s over.”

“Yuuri, please. Please don’t do this.”

He isn’t above begging. Not for this. Not for Yuuri.

“Please, Yuuri. Please don’t go, I.. I need you. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. Please, please… s-stay by my side… and don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”

Yuuri doesn’t even turn to face him, just opens the door and steps out into the hallway.

“Goodbye, Victor.”

The door closes behind him, and the click of the latch echoes as it shuts, thunderous and final, around Victor’s empty apartment. He is gone.

Yuuri is gone.

And Victor is all alone.

~ ~ ~

A sharp, guttural gasp catches in Victor’s throat as he jolts awake, quickly turning into a bout of violent coughing as he struggles back to consciousness. His chest rattles and burns with each cough, each breath. He’s not sure if the deep ache is from the chest infection or the dream.

The dream. It was a dream, right? Just a dream. It had to be. Even though it had felt so real…

“Yuuri?” He croaks out desperately, hoping against all hope that his husband will walk through their bedroom door and tell him everything is okay.

But nothing but silence answers his call.

Confusion turns to apprehension as he forces himself to sit up in bed. “Makkachin? Where are you, girl?”

More silence. No jingling of tags, no panting, no telltale clicking of nails on the hardwood.

They must be in another room, he reasons, his mind moving sluggishly. They must just not have heard him. They’re not gone, they can’t be gone, right?

With effort, he forces his clammy, trembling body to sit up, to swing his legs over the side of the bed and grab his phone from the bedside table. His entire body aches with each movement, his chest worst of all, but he forces himself to move nonetheless. He stumbles across the bedroom, out the door, into the hallway.

The empty hallway.

He draws in a breath to call out again, but chokes on it, launching into a bout of painful coughing that leaves him doubled over, leaning heavily against the doorframe. It takes him several moments to stop coughing and catch his breath, his lungs aching with each wheezing inhalation.

“Yuuri?” His voice sounds awful to his own ears, and feels even worse, like a million white hot knives stabbing him from within. “Makkachin?”

Still no answer. Only silence.

The sense of unease turns to real fear as Victor stumbles down the hall to find an empty kitchen and living room. He had been so sure that Yuuri leaving him was just a nightmare, but he’s really… he’s really gone. He’s gone, and Victor’s head is so fuzzy, and everything is too hot and too much and he’s terrified, because the nightmare was real after all, because Yuuri left him and he’s alone.

All alone.

“Yuuri? Makkachin?” His ruined voice breaks, turns into a half-sob. “Oh-oh god, anybody…”

He stumbles through the house again, checking every room, calling out for Yuuri and Makkachin between coughing fits. His throat burns from the strain, but he keeps calling, keeps moving. His lungs can’t support the sudden burst of activity, but in his confusion and panic, he doesn’t care.

He eventually runs out of breath to call out, but he doesn’t stop, he can’t stop, even as everything spins around him, even as his vision blurs and his head goes light and strange-feeling, even as the world tilts on its axis and the floor rises up to meet him.

He doesn’t really feel the fall, or the impact. Just a sudden shift, and then cool wood under his cheek. He hadn’t realized before how hot he had been.

Part of him, the exhausted, shivery part that still can’t take a full breath without triggering a painful coughing fit, wants to just stay here on the cool floor and drift off, to sleep the pain away. Then Yuuri’s image flashes once more in his mind’s eye, that cold, loveless stare as he left, the sound of the door slamming shut behind him, and his physical pain feels almost sweet in comparison to the agonizing prospect of a life without his Yuuri.

He can’t do it. He can’t go back to how it was before, the loneliness, the emptiness. He can’t go back to the fake smiles and long hours at the rink and the awful, cloying numbness inside. He can’t live like that. Not anymore.

Certainly not after Yuuri, who had shattered the walls he’d unknowingly built up around himself and brought colour back to his meaningless, empty existence. Who had shown him life and love and so much happiness. Who he had loved - who he loves - more than anything or anyone in the world.

His pride, his pain, his exhaustion, they’re all insignificant. Yuuri is more important than any of that, too important to let slip away. Victor can’t allow himself to just lay here, as much as he might want to, as much as his body aches for rest. He has to do something.

But what?

Getting up is a lost cause, he quickly finds. He’s so weak he can only barely manage to push himself up to a sitting position before slumping back against the wall, exhausted. How is he supposed to find Yuuri and talk things through when even just sitting up leaves him shaky, sweaty and gasping for breath?

His phone.

The answer drifts slowly to his fever-fogged brain, and he thanks his lucky stars that he thought to grab it on the way out of the bedroom. If he can just talk to Yuuri, he knows they can work things out. Whatever he did wrong, he can fix it, he just needs to talk to his husband and everything will be okay…

Providing Yuuri answers his phone, that is.

He pauses as he shakily enters the passcode, his thumb hovering over the screen. What if Yuuri has decided to shut Victor out completely? What if he’s screening his calls? The thought brings tears to his eyes and he tries desperately to swallow them down before they trigger another coughing fit.

Trembling hands finish unlocking the phone and seek out Yuuri’s name in his contacts. He holds it up to his ear, trying to suppress his sobs so he can hear if Yuuri picks up.

“Hi! You’ve reached Katsuki Yuuri. Please leave your message after the tone!”

All of his resolve to hold back his tears crumbles at the sound of his love’s voice, and-

Beep!

-he shatters.

“Yuuri…” He gasps, broken and pathetic. “Yuuri, p-please come back. Come h-home. Whatever happened, whatever I did, I won’t do it again, I promise. I’m so sorry, Yuuri, I just… I just want you to come home. I need you to come home, please. I love you. I love you so much, please don’t go…”

He loses his train of thought, sobbing out apologies and pleas until the voicemail hits its time limit and disconnects him automatically. Then he lets his phone slide out of his fingers where it clatters against the hardwood as he cries some more, sobs interrupted every so often by fits of painful, hacking coughs.

He is so wrapped up in utter, all-encompassing misery that he nearly misses the buzz of his phone vibrating on the floor several minutes later. Through the blur of tears and delirium he sees Yuuri’s name and picture flashing on the screen and scrambles to answer the call with shaking hands.

“Yuuri?” he chokes out breathlessly, lifting the phone to his ear. “Yuuri, I’m so sorry, please come home, I’ll do anything.”

“Vitya, honey, slow down, I can hardly hear you.” Yuuri says, his voice tinny but concerned. “I just got your message…Are you okay?”

“I- I…” Victor is cut off by another coughing fit. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri.”

“Sorry? Vitya, you don’t have anything to apologize for. What happened?”

“I…” he wracks his fever-fogged brain, trying to come up with an answer and drawing a blank. What did happen? Yuuri had never said why he was leaving. Or had he? Victor’s thoughts are slipping by so fast… and he'd never had a good memory to begin with. Was that why Yuuri left? Had he forgotten something important? “I d-don’t know, Yuuri. I’m so sorry.”

He bursts into tears again, clutching the phone to his ear like a lifeline.

“I’ll do better. I’ll be better, I promise. I’m s-sorry-“

“It’s alright, love. You don’t need to apologize for anything, just breathe, okay? Breathe with me.”

Breathing with Yuuri is far easier said than done. Each inhalation is wheezy and painful, and it feels like he’s breathing through a plastic straw half the time. But he forces himself to match Yuuri’s staticky breaths over the phone despite the discomfort.

He has to prove to Yuuri that he can be better. He has to convince him that he’s worth coming home for.

“Are you okay?”

“N-no…” The response is more a sob than a word.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t know. I thought we were okay, but you… you left.”

“Yes… I went out to get medicine, remember? And to take Makkachin out for her walk. I’m at the pharmacy now.”

“You’re… what?”

“Didn’t you get my note?”

Victor blinks blearily, looking around. “I don’t… I can’t see a note…”

“You can’t see it… wait, Victor, where are you right now?”

“In the hall. On the floor.”

“Why aren’t you in bed?”

“You left… you were gone, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t find you…”

“Did you hit your head on anything?”

“No, I don’t… think so?”

Yuuri curses under his breath, and Victor’s heart leaps in fear. “I’m sorry, Yuuri-“

“No,” Yuuri replies, sounding nearly as frantic. “No, sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? Just, just stay put. I’ll be there soon.”

Victor’s breath hitches, triggering a stab of pain in his chest that he barely even notices. “You’re… you’re c-coming home?”

“Yes, Vitya. I’m checking out now and I’ll come home right away.”

“You’re…” Tears spring to Victor’s eyes, and a sob bubbles up in his throat. “Thank god, thank g-god…”

“Victor?”

“Thank you, Yuuri, thank you so much, I swear I’ll do better, we can w-work this out together, I promise. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Yuuri responds, worry only barely masked. “Vitya, listen. I’m going to have to hang up soon. I’m only a few blocks away but it’ll be easier for us to run if I’m not on the phone. Is that okay? I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”

No, he thinks. “Y-Yes.” He forces himself to say.

“Okay. I’ll see you soon, Vitya. I’ll be right there. I love you, okay?”

“Okay.” Victor sniffles. “I love you too.”

Victor drops his phone back on the floor when the call disconnects and lays his head back against the wall, exhausted, tears still streaming down his face.

His head swims and his chest aches as he sits there. The floor is so hard beneath him, and the way he’s leaning against the wall hurts his back. He wishes he were back in bed… but he promised Yuuri he wouldn’t move. He promised him, and he can’t break his promise, not when Yuuri’s only just forgiven him, not when he’s finally coming home.

He won’t squander this second chance, no. He’ll stay right here and wait.

Besides, he thinks, he’s so weak and hazy he doesn’t think he could stand up on his own even if he wanted to.

The second he hears the key turn in the lock, several minutes later, Victor’s heart swells.

“Yuuri?”

The door clicks open and closes quickly. Victor hears a jingling sound as Makkachin shakes, and feet thumping on the hardwood…

And then Yuuri slides around the corner in a full sprint, dropping to his knees in front of Victor, who wastes no time in throwing his arms around Yuuri and latching on to him.

"Yuuri," he sobs, breathing in his scent on his jacket as best he can. "Thank god, thank god. I've missed you s-so much."

"It's okay, Vitya," Yuuri murmurs, "I'm here. I'm right here."

He lets Victor cling to him for a while before gently extricating himself from his grasp, reaching out a hand and brushing Victor's sweaty bangs off his forehead. He winces as soon as his skin makes contact. ”You're burning up."

Victor ignores his words, instead grabbing for Yuuri's hand and holding it up in front of him. His whole body sags with relief when he sees the ring on Yuuri's finger, real, tangible proof that it was all just a horrible dream. He brings the hand up to his face and kisses the ring, so overwhelmed with relief that he forgets about the possibility of passing on his germs.

"Vitya, come on, let's get you into bed," Yuuri says, crouching down to get a hold of Victor under his arms.

He helps Victor stand with effort, and holds him as he sways. A rush of dizziness overwhelms Victor as Yuuri helps him up, and he leans on him heavily. They make their clumsy way back to the bedroom, where Yuuri deposits Victor gently onto the bed.

"Stay here, Vitya, I'm going to go find the thermometer..."

As he stands up to leave, Victor's hand shoots out from under the covers with surprising speed, catching Yuuri's wist.

"Don't go," Victor begs again, eyes still fever-bright.

Yuuri leans down and gives him a gentle kiss on the forehead. "I'm just going to the other room, love, I'll be right back. Here, what if I call-“

As if on cue, Makkachin trots into the room and hops up on the bed, immediately sitting at Victor’s side. He relinquishes his grip on Yuuri in order to hug and pet her, murmuring to her in Russian how much he’s missed her, how glad he is she’s back.

Yuuri returns with the thermometer and gently moves the poodle off of him. She grumbles, but dutifully shifts to the bottom of the bed and curls up at Victor’s feet, allowing Yuuri access to take his temperature.

“Oh, honey,” Yuuri sighs moments later, withdrawing the thermometer from his mouth. “You’re 102.9. How did you even get out of bed like this?”

“I was scared,” Victor says simply, softly. “I… I dreamt you’d left me, and when I woke up…”

He breaks off, overcome, and Yuuri sits on the edge of his bed and holds his hand.

“Oh, Vitya,” Yuuri sighs. “You know I'd never leave you, right?”

“I…” He hesitates, blurry gaze focused on his hands twisted in the bedsheets. “Yes, I know.”

And he does know. Really, he does. Yuuri has assured him time and time again that he’s not going anywhere, in Barcelona, after that awful fight, in their wedding vows… Still, there’s that nagging doubt, that ever-present fear that rears its head in his loneliest, most vulnerable moments. The fear that someday, Yuuri will leave him too. That someday, his husband will see him as he really is: broken, washed-up, too much and never enough, a mistake.

And he’ll be alone again.

“Hey, look at me.” Yuuri’s gentle voice cuts through his thoughts, and he waits until Victor’s bloodshot, tired eyes meet his before continuing. “You’re my husband. You’re the love of my life. There is nothing you could do that would make me leave you, or love you any less, okay? I promise.”

Victor, unable to speak, just swallows hard and nods, opening his arms for a hug that Yuuri gladly provides, holding him for as long as he needs to be held. It’s only when sitting up becomes too much and he begins to sway in Yuuri’s arms that Yuuri releases him, helping him to lie gently back on the pillows and tucking him back into bed.

“You should try to get some sleep, sweetheart,” Yuuri suggests gently.

“Will you stay with me?”

“Of course,” Yuuri whispers, circling the bed to lay down next to his husband. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

“Forever, then.” Victor mumbles, burying his face in the warm, safe haven of Yuuri’s chest and allowing his eyes to slip shut.

Yuuri smiles, running his fingers through his husband’s sweaty hair. “Forever.”

68 notes · View notes

gwoongi · 5 years

Text

ways to say i love you (07)

jung hoseok / reader genre: ghost au, angst rating: mature words: 2.5k warnings: character death, reference to a past suicide, mental health mentions, ghost hoseok, it’s a big ball of angst and i’m really sorry :( a/n: ways to say i love you has come to an end !!!! thanks for joining me on this painful angst series :’) please read the others on my masterlist + listen to the songs/vibes attached to all of ‘em :D (the end is super inspired by goblin)

➸ Imagine the first time they say I love you. Like, properly say it; because they’ve said it before, but today they say it one last time, when it’s the only thing left to say.

⚠️ this story is NOT intended to glamorise mental health or suicide, and this story should be approached with caution if topics such as those offend or upset. thank u sm for following this series <3

It started with a median.

There had been a time where you prided yourself on your disbelief in an afterlife, dismissing medians on television, laughing at ghost hunters and paranormal movies depicting demons and ghouls climbing out of screens. Although now, those times seem to long ago, phantom memories - even the person you were in those memories seem to be different, as though looking into the mind of a stranger, disconnected and vacant.

Seokjin had told you that was a coping mechanism. Hyojung assured you it was normal. Your sister said it was mental illness.

After the loss of Hoseok, you didn’t know what to think anymore. After the loss of the love of your life, thinking just became pointless.

When the news of Hoseok’s passing had reached you, it had reached you last. At least everybody in your close circle of friends knew a few hours before you, Hoseok’s family and Jeongguk who had found him being the first who found out almost a day before. The absence of Hoseok for those long and tortuous hours were ones you misjudged. You thought he was going back to Gwangju to see his family for the weekend. Seokjin thought he was with you. Jeongguk had returned to his shared flat and found the truth hanging.

The only reason as to why you were last was because nobody knew how you would react. Amongst the chaos and shock that was Hoseok’s death, the reaction that would be drawn from you would change everything. Looking back at it, you even remember where you were and when it had happened, when the pin dropped. Originally, they wanted Jeongguk to tell you, but, overcome with grief, he sent Yoongi instead. You will never, ever forget the look on Yoongi’s face as you opened the door, and the news followed a cup of tea and an unexpected, clueless, and genuine smile had settled on your lips. “What are you doing here?” you had asked, “is everything okay?” He’d said nothing, and then broke down when you asked if he’d heard from Hoseok this weekend. He’s missing my calls. Has he contacted you?

Even after the funeral, after the original shock and after the news had been broken out around University, people still didn’t know how to act around you. The Hoseok Subject was never spoken about or touched upon. Pictures of Hoseok were turned over or taken down when you came over, his name buried with him in the pretty cemetery by the river. It took some time, a real long time, but eventually, the pain began to ever so slightly fade; only to come rushing back again like the sudden pull of the tide when Seulgi had approached your booth in the dorm common room with a leaflet about a median.

You don’t know why you went.

Hyojung had come, too, as emotional support and because she wanted to be there to see if it was as real as Seulgi and the leaflet were making it out to be. You hadn’t even booked a session, turning up unannounced and anonymous for the meeting in one of the older lecture rooms on campus. The question of why and how a median was permitted onto campus was never addressed - you just had to see and hear it for yourself. Nothing had come out of it, and you were glad to keep it that way. That was until the median called out for a Y/N, and your heart sank.

“There’s a Hoseok in the room, and he’s asking for a Y/N...is there...a Y/N here?”

You had no reaction other than paralysed silence. Hyojung was scandalised, angry and confused. The median surely must have heard about Hoseok’s death here and that’s why the session was on campus. She said all of this accusingly, crying in hysterics, this is wrong, how can you do this to someone in grieving?

You left the lecture hall, leaving a piece of you behind with it.

Since that day, you’d returned back to the comfort of your bedroom, leaving for your lectures only. Seminars were skipped in silence and the teachers understood, sending emails to cover for it, and the notifications piled up like the tissues in the dustbin. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that the event with the median was a scam, something set up as a sick practical joke, you couldn’t shake it off. What if’s and buts whirled around in your head, chaotic, loud, invasive and sad.

Hoseok was gone, and there was nothing you could do about it. But what if you had stayed -? What if it was true? What if you just missed your last, and final opportunity to say goodbye?

(Presently).

“Why are you here? All of you?”

“We never left.”

You blink.

“Does it...does it hurt? Dying?”

You close your eyes slowly. “Quicker than falling asleep.” And exhale.

Something deep into your apartment bumps.

The noise is quiet whilst still being loud enough to bounce off the volume of the movie, playing quietly on your television screen sitting on top of your desk. Lately, your living room has been pulled into your bedroom, all rooms besides the connecting ensuite now in one. Phone calls from worried friends and family were set to silent and on days where the front door rang, it remained closed. Like you did many months ago, all you need right now is the space. Hyojung had told them why. They didn’t blame you.

Sniffing and wiping your eye with the side of your hand, you push the covers folded up around your breasts down and kick your feet to the floor, staring towards your bedroom door as if probing it for answers. Silence, and then another noise. On a normal day, this might alarm you, but your body is numb, aching and tired, and so you move towards the door without thinking and pull it open, stepping out into the hall. A glance in either direction shows no immediate threat, and you’re too lazy, too tired and too unbothered to step out to investigate. The noise is likely somebody upstairs or down, and if it is an intruder here to kill you, then what do you have to lose?

You move back into your bedroom, shutting the door gently. The bathroom rope-light swings in the breeze from the door moving and you slip into the bathroom quickly. Light floods the box room, illuminating the exhaustion on your face. You look ghastly, sunken and stale. You feel it too. Depression clings to you, life moves outside but stills in. God, you feel so ugly, so worthless and disgusting and alone - splashing your face with cold water, you gasp in the air like you’re depending on the taste, passing up looking at your reflection in the mirror in fear of what you’ll see staring back. When the bathroom light is turned off and you shut the door behind you, you turn to shuffle back into your bedroom and pause.

There is somebody by the window. It’s undeniable, real and solid- but you blink several times, wondering if it’s just a dream. Nothing registers in your body, no reflex to scream or panic. Instead, you simply stare.

The silhouette against the window shuffles, anxious, and then steps into the light. For a while you say nothing, staring in a stunned silence as the figure reveals itself. It has to be a dream. This is a dream. You’ve dreamt it a hundred times. You’ve dreamt Hoseok stepping towards you. You don’t know what to think.

“Hobi,” you say, lifeless. “Am I...dreaming?”

“Baby-” Footsteps across the carpet. Moves like him. Sounds like him. “Oh, my baby girl.” Something cold touches you, but something familiar. Old friends. Old lovers, fleshy hands. Feels like him. “My beautiful girl.”

“Hobi. Hobi?” you stumble. The Hoseok before you watches your eyes fill with tears instantly, and the tightness in your throat he can visibly see causing your hands to tremble. “Hoseok? Am I. Am I dreaming? Am I sleeping?”

“Mhm, yeah,” he settles with. Maybe that’s for the best, maybe that will calm you down. His hands engulf your own, massaging the shakes to sleep. “You’re dreaming, baby.”

“You. You feel so real,” you choke. “Fuck. Hoseok, fuck, what’s happening, why does it feel real-”

“Please-”

“I’m scared, wait, what’s happening, Hoseok-?”

The hands you felt on your hands move to your arms. A tightness follows, like he’s holding you. He did this, he was good at calming you down with his hands on your arms and lips on yours, whispers in mouths. This time he doesn’t kiss you. He can’t. Not now. Not again, never again.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you insist, tears pouring out of your eyes. “You’re. You. Baby, you died, you left me, you left us, why did you. Where did you. Baby, Hoseok, what...?”

“Calm down, Y/N, calm down baby, okay?” Hoseok whispers comfortingly. “Capture your breath, and then we’ll talk okay? I don’t have too long left.”

This repeats for a little while, as Hoseok follows a method he used to when he tried to calm you down. After three long and amazing years of dating, Hoseok had learned what worked and what didn’t, what to say and what not to. The crazy thing about love is how you dedicate everything to getting to know that other person inside and out, learning their secrets and exploring interests, making memories to remember and frame and tell kids about. There was a time when Hoseok thought about all of that, and a time where he could have had it.

“Is it really you?” you ask quietly, after several long minutes of Hoseok holding your head in his hands and bringing you out of the storm onto the calm shore. “I’m not going crazy?”

“It’s me,” Hoseok promises, smiling as best as he can. You’re crying, maybe you can’t see his face. His throat feels hot, tight and firm.

“I miss you.” You rasp out your words, gasping for air every few seconds, “I miss you so much, Hoseok. Why did you leave me, what happened?”

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I. I thought you were going to your parents for the weekend, but. But Jeongguk found you and- why did you lie to me? Hobi, why…? Was, was it me?”

“No.” Hoseok grabs your hands tightly. “Don’t ever say that. It was never, ever your fault. Not at all, okay? Don’t think that.”

“Then why?”

Hoseok can’t think. “I don’t want you to think it was your fault, okay? You were- you are, everything to me. You were the light of my life. But, fuck, I was so unhappy. And I didn’t know how to stop being unhappy. I hurt. It hurt me. I was hurting everybody around me in my own little way. Every time I would tell you that I was doing extra readings at the dorm, all I was doing was struggling, thinking about how unhappy I felt even though I was surrounded by people who made me feel worth it. And you all deserved so much better. Still, you deserve so much better.”

“Jeongguk found you. None of us knew you were hurting, Hobi, I didn’t know. We should have noticed the signs, I should have been more careful.”

“No. I was good at hiding it, I never wanted you to worry.”

Suddenly Hoseok’s eyes widen, his hands stroking your hair pausing. With a quick exhale of breath, his smile tightens and he lets out a shaky sigh. “I haven’t got long left. I need to go soon.”

“Go? No, go where?” you frantically ask. “No, please Hobi, don’t leave me again. You can’t leave me again, please.”

“It’s okay. It’s all okay. I tried to call for you the other week, but you left,” Hoseok explains quickly.

“The median? That...that was you?”

Hoseok laughs quietly, “Yeah, baby. But, I get it, you never believed in all that stuff, huh. I should have known better. I had to come here, come to see you. I had to.”

I had to one last time.

“Please,” you whisper, grabbing his hands. “Please don’t leave me again. Please. I love you so much, please don’t leave me alone again. I need you.”

Hoseok shakes his head, attempting a curly smile that you can’t even see past the blur of his own tears. “Y/N L/N, you have been the love of my life. I have loved being your boyfriend and you are my best friend. I will never, ever forget how amazing you are.” Nodding, sniffing his tears back, Hoseok kisses your forehead. His lips are cold and wet, ghostlike and light. “I love you. I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry, for everything- none of it is your fault, okay, honey? Mmm?”

You feel his hands in your hair as you nod. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry too. I could have helped you.”

“Don’t forget about me,” Hoseok says. “You being happy, and you knowing that it was never your fault, will help me now. Okay?”

Sniffing loudly, you nod again. “Okay.”

For a long moment, Hoseok just stares: “I’m gonna miss you so much.” You mumble something in reply to him, and he sighs shakily, “but now, I have to go.”

You grab his hands as he tries to pull away. “Don’t leave me, you’re leaving me.”

“I never left. I’ll always be here, watching over you. Always, and forever.”

Whether or not Hoseok’s appearance was a dream or not to you, you wake up the next morning with a headache and the memory of him, his voice saying I love you on loop with an echo in your ears. The sun shines into the room, frost outside. On the desk there’s a glass of water, and a letter. He was right. He never left. Not really.

(“All is said and done?”

Hoseok steps into the long hallway and smiles at the hooded man. He’s seen who he needs to; several stops around to his family, one to Jeongguk who had it the worst with finding his body. The final one for you. Y/N, the love of his entire life, remembered in memories and gone in touch.

It’s okay.

“Yeah,” Hoseok nods. Death nods, his hood falling slightly as he points down the hallway with one hand and with the other, passes Hoseok a small cup. Hoseok reaches for it, exhaling gently. “Just like falling asleep.”

He drinks the contents and hands the cup back to Death, heading down the hallway. For a moment, his hand hovers above the handle. He’s said his piece on Earth. He’s done what he needs to do. Now, he can move on in peace.

He turns the handle. The hallway fills with white.)

disclaimer: the choice not to explicitly state a reason towards hoseok’s suicide is because i understand the subject is already touchy enough. with the anniversary of a close friend coming up, unfortunately during a time of my life where i’m going to be stressed due to university, i decided to store my feelings into the final piece of this series. in a way, this is to deal with my own grieving. i’d appreciate consideration into this fact + i also hope that everybody is doing okay with their own issues. please don’t be afraid to speak to somebody about your feelings- a friend, a stranger, me. please stay safe. please stay happy. thank u for everything

#wtsily #bts #bangtan #bts imagine #bts drabble #bts scenario #hoseok #hoseok x reader #hoseok imagine #jung hoseok #hobi #jhs #jhope #sensitive content #bts angst #hoseok angst #jhope angst

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lokis-lady-death · 5 years

Text

Slither Pt 8

Loki x Reader

Reader is a museum curator is put in charge of a Viking/Norse exhibit at the Smithsonian Museum. While going through all the artifacts, she comes across a strange relic that seems to have a mind of it’s own. She accidentally stumbles into an ancient world of gods.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Slither Part 8

It was early afternoon when Loki reappeared back in his bedroom in Asgard. His eyes closed while he grunted in frustration, the Chains of Sigyn lying uselessly lifeless his feet on the floor.

You waking up from the dream not only cast him out of your vision, it also was enough to undo the necklace's latch. He was about to curse out loud when something caught his attention.

"So the prodigal son returns," came a deep, aged voice from behind him. Loki's jaw tightened as only his eyes rolled at the realization that Odin was in his room at the most inopportune time.

Forcing a grin on his face, Loki spun around, hands open and eyes bright as he greeted, "Oh, Father, I was actually hoping for an audience with…"

He froze when he saw Thor was also standing there, mimicking his father's stance. Arms folded over their chests, backs straight, golden armor, even their stare of disappointment was a reflection. Aside from Odin's missing right eye, they resembled each other from their squared jaws to their broad shoulders and built physique.

And both were equally as undesirable guests.

"Loki, we need to talk," Thor commanded, "I've told Father about your meddling in his study."

The god of mischief Inhaled through his nose as he shot a quick disgruntled look towards his brother before smiling innocently at Odin. "Actually, there's an explanation for that, I was merely-"

Odin raised a hand and his son went quiet. Closing his one good eye to take in a breath before undoubtedly starting one of his infamous guilt speeches.

But what came from his mouth was not at all what Loki expected. "I have failed you, my boy."

"Come again?"

Looking into his one good eye, Loki saw a trace of sorrow. "I have failed you. I had hoped by destroying the Bifrost that I would prevent any further damage from other realms, however, when Thor told me you had been in my study, I knew you had been searching for just another way to sneak out." He looked down to Loki's feet just seconds after the god of mischief flicked his wrist and made it vanish. "Well, my boy? Did you find whatever it was you were looking for?" At that, the son had no response. He looked away, only making Odin press further. "So what was it like? Going off on your own?"

The now solomon god of mischief quietly answered, "It was worth whatever punishment you see fit to bestow upon me.”

Odin shook his head while Thor brought up, "Are you referring to the Midgardian in your bathroom yesterday?”

At that, Odin’s eyebrows rose. “You left that part out? That didn’t seem like impertinent information?”

“She's of no concern, I was merely plotting my escape from this wretched place when she stumbled into our realm. She's of little consequence,” Loki answered shortly and the three men were quiet.

It wasn’t until Odin cleared his throat that the silence broke, “Loki, you know you cannot continue going to Midgard? That place, it’s full of pestilence, famine, and death. Not to mention that the type of magic that is required to go there is extremely potent!”

Loki slowly looked up to his father then towards his brother. Just as he opened his mouth opened, ready to argue his case, he felt a sharp pain in his head.

The agony was so abrupt that it etched into his face as he fell over with a grunt. “Brother!” Thor cried out as he kneeled in front of him, “Father?”

“You foolish child, what have you done?” Odin watched as Loki laid, eyes closed, still clutching at his head. . “Guards? Guards! Call the medics!”

*****

You stared, dazed and confused, at your phone as you replayed the voicemail for the upteenth time.

“Hello, this is Chris Hemsworth with the Edinburg Museum? I’m just returning a call to a Miss y/n, I’m sorry I missed you but if you could please call me back, my extension is 496. I believe you received an artifact from my office by mistake.”

In this short amount of time, how had you been so ignorant as to forget the Chains of Sigyn weren’t yours? They were property of the museum, and apparently not even your own Smithsonian. Your chest felt so cold at the realization. Quieting that subsequent ache, you tried to find comfort that you could go back to your normal life.

That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?

Your life to be normal again?

As if in response to your own self torment, the chains began to rattle from the safe in your coat closet by the front door of your apartment. Swallowing and rubbing the mixture of sleep and tears from your eyes, you stood at the side of the bed.

Picking up the phone, you hit redial, feeling a stronger ache build in the pit of your soul when a woman’s voice answered, “Thank you for calling the Edinburg Museum, how may I direct your call?”

“Hi, may I have extension 496?”

“Mr. Hemsworth?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The line went into dull elevator style music before you heard a man with a thick australian accent pick up, “Hello, this is Chris.”

“Hi, this is y/n, I just missed your call about-”

"The Chains of Sigyn? You have them?"

"Um, yes. Yes, I, uh, have them. Could you just-" The rattling stopped, only to be replaced by a low, threatening hiss "-hold on, one sec?" In your small apartment there were not many places you could go, so to quieten the background, you opted for outside. Opening your window, you slipped out on the thin escape. "Okay, yeah, so about that necklace-"

“Did you put them on?”

You choked on your words, your mind drawing a blank at the accusation. “I’m sorry?”

“The chains, did you put them on?”

At their mention they sparked back to life, shaking and hissing on the other side of the closet door so loud that you could hear it even out on the window’s ledge.

“I hear them,” he said dryly and all you could do was gulp.

“Yes, I wore them, but only for a second-”

“That doesn’t matter,” he interrupted urgently, “What matters now is that you keep them off. Where are they now?”

“I…” you looked at the closet door, hearing the safe begin to bang against it. “I have them secure.” Taking a moment to realize how improbable this was, you pressed, “What exactly do you know about them? How did your museum get them? What makes them work?”

The line was so quiet you thought you lost connection until Hemsworth answered, “I’ll start with those aren’t just some artifact for a museum, they’re actually a family heirloom. Look, all I can say is that you need to keep that necklace away from you. I’ll be there in two days to take it back-”

“Two days?” you exclaimed, realizing that would be the big premier of the viking exhibit at the Smithsonian. “I can’t meet you with it then, I have a project-”

“The Viking Exhibit?”

You went silent.

“Yes, I know about your project, that’s kind of how the chains got accidentally sent there… I was preparing a different artifact and they just…”

“Let me guess, slithered in?” you asked with a roll of your eyes.

“No, they told me to send them to you.”

Your teeth clenched, certain you heard him wrong. “They told you?”

“It’s really a long story, but my family is extremely upset that it got sent to you,” he finally answered, the sound of rumagining, books falling, and something crashing in the background while he hurried off the phone. “I will be there in two days. I’ll come by the Smithsonian and answer your questions, Ms. y/n. Just don’t put that necklace-”

The phone disconnected.

Holding your cell in your hand, you stared down at it even more confused than before. You only had a few seconds until the phone dinged with a new message.

It was from Chris at work.

~Hey just checking in Tom told me we are hanging out tonight SOOOOOOO EXCITED we will pick you and your friend up at 9~

His inability to use punctuation was always an annoyance to you, but that's not why seeing the text made you stomach knott.

At the knock continuing at your closet from the chains going wild, you ran a hand over your face to try and gather your thoughts.

The thudding got louder, making you angry while you tried to take in everything. "What do you want from me!" you yelled at them through the door. "You wanna just take me there, is that it? Is that why you're going CRAZY, because you want to take me to Asgard? To Loki!" At that, the pounding stopped. You froze in place, looking in disbelief at the quiet closet, unsure how what you said could have simply powered them off. Rather than dwell, you took in the silence while checking the time on your phone.

"Shit it's already seven," you realized. Sighing, you resided to go ahead and take a shower while you sorted everything out later.

Walking into the bathroom only made you madder when you realized the shower curtain was still torn down from the last time the chains dragged you to Asgard.

With a role of your eyes, you settled, "Guess I'll be taking a bath."

*****

Several hours had passed in Asgard before Loki finally began to stir. He was laying in his bed with two nurses at his side speaking gently to him but he couldn't understand their words. Raising a hand to his head, he tried to squash the dull throbbing he felt behind his eyes as someone else started speaking to him.

"You'll never learn."

Blinking away the blurred vision, he was able to make out Odin standing at his side. Letting out an annoyed scoff, Loki scooted into a seated position. "I would say I have learned quite a lot, such as-"

"Enough!" Loki stopped his words, his head lowering while his eyes met with his father. “Leave us,” Odin commanded of the medics who made a hasty retreat from the room.

He took in a deep breath, readying himself before he cursed. "I am sick of this constant fight to keep you safe, Loki. You know traveling beyond our world is dangerous, you know the risks! You know this is why the bifrost is closed! So why do you continue looking for new ways to-"

"Escape?"

Odin frowned. “You are supposed to be my intelligent son, but that seems to be wavering these last few years.”

“How awful for the great and powerful Odin to have such a wayward son,” Loki snickered. “Come all and bear witness to how his own ambitions are shattered by a son who wishes to live life.”

Odin locked onto Loki's fierce eyes, sucking in while he realized his words fell on deaf ears. "If you won't listen to reason, at least listen to your body," he warned. "Going back and forth is doomed to tear you apart and judging by the pain you're in, you know it to be true. A being is meant to live in one world, not jump across it."

The god of mischief cut his eyes away, unwilling to meet his father's gaze. The king simply shook his head, his resolve unshaken by the defiance. "I know this isolation has been difficult for you, but I am right. This, this is right. Our people almost met their end when we consorted with others, and now we are finally outside of their reach."

"No one is trying to reach us!" Loki exclaimed. “To the other realms we are nothing but old stories, fables told down from generations! Your legacy means nothing because you have let fear drive you into hiding! The world has kept going, father, it has moved on without us and I’m not alright with that! I want to move on-”

"You don't grow old. You don't get sick. No one here dies. We are always at peace. What more do you want from this old king? Can’t you be satisfied that you’re living?"

Loki's brow cringed at the reasoning, feeling that the answer was so obvious. "This isn't living, Father! This is limbo! We are merely suspended between life and death, nothing changes, nothing progresses! We are frozen in time, never allowed to fully live our lives!”

“I gave my people eternal life!”

“You gave us eternal damnation! What is this existence if we have nothing to gain or lose?”

Odin’s words could have shaken the portraits in the hallways when he bit back, “I have buried my brothers, my sisters! My mother! My father! My children! My wife! I have known more pain than any man ever deserved and I have created a place to keep you, Thor, and my people from having that same burden! Yet instead of showing gratitude, this is what I'm met with? This obscene ungratefulness?"

"That wasn't your choice to make!"

"I don’t remember you arguing when this decision was made?” Odin roared, to the point that the nurses outside the bedroom door jumped. “I don’t remember you feeling so disconnected with your fellow Asgardians that you would rather cripple yourself with dark magic than stay here and simply be!”

Loki rose from his bed, eyes raging as he spat, “You wouldn’t have heard any arguments, father. You made this decision for everyone, but from now on, I shall be making my own.”

Odin huffed and puffed, his face red, his fists tight. Though Loki expected another barrage of shouting, the king merely dropped his head. "I watched your mother burn for practicing the same magic as you, Loki. Don't you understand, I'm trying to protect you…"

Closing his eyes, the god of mischief calmed himself enough to remark, "Midgard isn't the same place it was all those years ago, father. My magic is no more threatening to the people there than a slap on the wrist here.

The two stayed there in tense silence before Odin finally turned to leave, enraged and defeated. As the nurses started to come back to tend to their patient, Loki bellowed, “Out!” They lowered their heads, following his command in a rush.

The god maneuvered around his room, mumbling to himself while he calmed down. Cracking his neck, Loki raised both hands and in grand display, sent a golden light rolled over him. Where he once was wearing loose fitted tunic and pants, now he wore a black on black suit, tailored perfectly to his long, muscular form.

Pulling at the sleeves, inspecting it’s style, Loki had to admit the Midgardian attire you dreamed about him wearing had a certain appeal to it. Giving himself a once over in front of the mirror, he nearly missed Thor coming into his room.

“You can’t be serious,” his brother wondered, eyes combing over the strange clothes. “You can’t be going back?”

“I made plans to see someone,” Loki answered with a dry tone. “I intend to keep them.”

Thor shook his head, asking, “Is it worth it? Arguing with Allfather, breaking Asgardian law, that pain in your head, just to have a little bit of time with someone who will live and die in the blink of your eye?”

The god of mischief stood still for a moment, his eyes taking in another view of him in his suit.

"I don't intend to just pop in and out of her life, Thor," he spoke bluntly, "And I’m done following his rules, all they do is guarantee I will never have my freedom. So-” Loki took a breath, “-do not expect me to be returning to Asgard."

That made Thor scoffed with a wide grin, "No? What?" Loki didn't return the smile, simply stared forward. "You jest?"

"I do not."

Thor furrowed his brow, asking, “Won’t it kill you? Going back?”

“No, it’s going back and forth that causes the-” Loki cleared his throat to regain thought from the thumping beneath his skull, “-the pain. But that’s no longer an issue, as I’ve discovered a way to stay there, permanently.”

The air went stale between them as Thor watched his brother reveal his method of transporting out of Asgard with a twist of the wrist. The Chains of Sigyn gave a slight hiss in pleasure at being called, appearing in his hand out of thin air like they had always been there. Taking a breath, Thor stared at the necklace. "I could stop you," he threatened quietly. "I could beckon Mjolnir, I could-"

"Yes, but you haven't," Loki shot back. He locked eyes with his brother, neither ever known to back away from a fight. In fact, it wasn't long ago that Thor did in fact raise Mjolnir against Loki, but that was mere disagreement.

Now, Loki was defying law.

Defying Odin.

The god of thunder Inhaled hard before making his choice. While Loki readied himself for the elder brother to call upon his hammer, he was rather surprised to instead receive a hug.

"This place will not be the same without you," he said with a final pat on his back before backing away from the stunned Loki. "If father ever repairs the Bifrost, I will come find you, brother." His blue eyes sparked with sincerity as he offered one last smile towards him. “Just know you will be missed.”

"You're letting me go?" he couldn't help but ask.

Thor nodded. "You were never at peace here and if you found somewhere that makes you happy, I will not stand in your way. I only ask one thing." He held an arm out to shake hands, finishing with, “Stay out of trouble.”

Loki inhaled, taken aback by the gesture. He took his brother’s arm, nodding courtly, “I certainly will try.” They both shared another smile before letting go. Loki looped the necklace around his neck and vanished from Asgard.

*****

You had just wrapped yourself with a towel when you heard a very sharp, very loud thud in your apartment. Running to the door, you pressed your back against it trying to run through the scenarios you had played out in your head for if someone ever broke into your home.

“Lady y/n?”

It was Loki, which at first sent a wave of relief through you before shocking you into a cold sweat.

You were in your towel and he was in your apartment.

“Yes, I’m, uh, I’m getting ready!” you yelled through the door as you locked it, hoping he didn’t hear the click. “Just, uh, give me a minute and I’ll finish up.”

Loki stood on the other side of the door, his hands folded behind his back as he stared down at his feet, replaying the argument from his father and farewell from his brother.

“Take your time, darling, I’ll be here,” he reassured her, shifting around the room to her book shelf.

You sighed in relief, thanking the heavens that your clothing closet was in your bathroom. Trying to calm your nerves, you felt a spike in your blood pressure when a text lit up on your phone’s screen.

~Gonna head that way in a min can’t wait to see you PARTY TIME~

High fiving yourself in the face, you realized what your night was about to partake. Letting out a groan, you went on getting ready.

After nearly thirty minutes, you finally felt adequately prepared to face the god of mischief. He was sitting at your desk reading one of your books when you opened the door, feeling a bit silly for the trouble you went through.

But when his eyes came up to meet yours, the jump your heart did into your throat was worth it.

The little black dress from you bachelorette party was long gone, but you did have a pencil skirted black silk dress you had worn to a few galas. It was thin enough that it was comfortable, but fitted enough that it highlighted your curves in a way you actually appreciated. It was as close to dressing up as anything in your closet allowed for outside of trendy pant suits, but that wasn’t what you wanted for tonight.

Tonight, you didn’t want to look professional.

Tonight, you wanted to look sexy.

And judging by the way Loki’s eyes drank up your daring fashion choice, you made the right call. He closed the book, making his way to you in only a few long strides. “You. Look. Positively. Exquisite,” he told you through an oversized grin.

“Thank you,” you answered sheepishly, looking away and hoping your face didn’t expose the flutter your chest felt.

Loki turned himself towards the door, holding his arm out for you to take hold of. “Well, shall we go, darling?”

“Actually, there’s something I need to tell you,” you were about to explain when a knock came from the door. Loki’s brow scrunched as you walked over, going on, “That’s actually what I wanted to tell you about...”

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fanficimagery · 5 years

Text

Imagine being there for Luke when things get rough.

GIF credit: @bruce-wayne

Luke X Reader

Being abruptly woken up is something you absolutely loathe, except for when it's an emergency. So when you realize it's your cellphone ringing that's brought you into the land of wakefulness, it's like all your grogginess instantly vanishes.

The number calling isn't one programmed into your phone, but the area code is local so you answer without hesitance. "H-Hello?"

"Y/N? I-It's Luke. I need y-your help."

Holding the phone to your ear between your head and shoulder, you kick off your blankets and scramble out of bed. "Where are you? I'll come get you." Knowing full well that Luke should be in rehab and the number he's calling from is not the facility he was last at, you know something is terribly wrong. You hurry to your closet and pull on pants, then shoving your feet into a pair of random sneakers.

"I-I messed up. My f-friend left and I- I tried to help, but she.. I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, babe. Just tell me where you are."

"I'm so- I'm so cold. M-my arms and legs.. they're stiff." His chattering teeth and stuttering voice absolutely breaks your heart. His voice is thick with emotion that has your own throat tightening in response. "It-It-It's like withdrawal," Oh crap, "but I- I didn't use. I wa- I wasn't using, but I- but I feel it anyway. You- you believe me, right?"

"Luke? Luke, listen to me. I need to know where you are so I can come get you."

"Please tell me you be-believe me, Y/N."

You pause by your apartment door, heart pounding and your soul aching for your friend. "I believe you, Luke. Ever since I found you again after all the years we missed together, you never once lied to me. Now where are you?"

Luke prattles off the address to some street corner and what the buildings near him look like, and you quickly grab your keys off the hook by your front door. As you're racing down the stairs, forgoing the elevator completely, the call disconnects. You frantically make it to your building garage and after getting into your car you speed off to where you have an idea Luke's at.

Throwing your car into park near the sidewalk, you leave the engine running and pop the trunk. Climbing out, you grab a blanket before jogging towards your friend who's huddled on a bench. Right away you notice he has no shoes and when he glances up, you gasp at the abrasions on his face.

"L-Luke?"

"I-I'm so cold," he stammers.

The plain tee and thin warm-ups do nothing to prevent the cold from chilling him down to his bones, but his face is sweaty so you have no idea what's going on. Still you wrap the blanket around his shoulders before sitting next to him on the bench and pull him down so his head is in your lap. "It's okay. I'm here now." You smooth your hand over his forehead, fighting back tears as you lean over him to kiss his forehead. "Sshh. I'm here now."

A set of headlights wash over you and you hunch protectively over Luke. Two people get out of the car, but only one approaches. "Luke?"

"H-Hey, Steve. You remember Y/N?"

Luke's older brother stares at you in surprise and you weakly smile at Steven- the eldest of the Crain brothers. "Hey, Steve. Long time no see."

"Y/N?"

"Mhm. Circumstances could be better, I guess. I'm guessing Luke called you either before or after me."

"I wasn't aware you and Luke-"

"We met again in rehab." Steven goes quiet and understanding seems to dawn in his features. You shrug. "I've been seven years sober. I just hang around the facilities to talk to the newbies and offer them some encouraging words."

"I have so many questions, Y/N, but I really need to get Luke-"

"Yeah, no. Go ahead." You help Luke sit up and your heart breaks all over again at his bowed head and hunched shoulders. Steven mumbles something to him before pointing him in the direction of a woman standing near their car, and Luke goes without uttering another word as he rubs at his neck. When Steven turns back towards you, you frown. "Is everything okay?"

Steven sighs. "No. Everything is just so- it's Nell, Y/N. She's dead."

Tears immediately spring to your eyes again. "W-what?"

"It happened yesterday. We'd been trying to get a hold of Luke, but he left the facility and.. Shirley has her now. Tomorrow's the viewing if you want to stop by. Luke's going to need someone he trusts."

You sniffle and nod frantically. "Y-Yeah. I just- I'm so.. wow." You exhale deeply, choking back a sob. "Oh, Nellie."

Steven wraps you in an awkward hug as you work to contain your grief. "I know." After a few moments, he releases you. "I really should get going. I still have to tell Luke before taking him to Shirley's. Dad's flying in as well."

"Of course. Give my condolences to the family and let Luke know I'll be waiting by my phone. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

As Steven turns away you quickly wipe away your tears. Then heading back towards your car, you wave at Luke who's watching you very closely. Steven waves at you as well and you climb back into your car while letting your tears freely fall again before you carefully drive away.

The following afternoon is a tough one. After Steven had taken custody of Luke, you later got a phone call from Luke as he sobbed about his twin and the fact that he wasn't there for her when she needed him the most. Apparently Nellie had hung herself in their old house and Luke kept going on and on about how he felt it- that, that was why his neck and limbs were so stiff. You cried with him on the phone until Steven finally made him hang up, but he only hung up after you promised you'd be there for the viewing that was open to the public.

Suffering through the drive later that evening in a newly purchased black dress, you collect yourself as much as you can as you drive closer and closer to the funeral home.

Then when you finally get there, your heart is pounding erratically as you slowly pull open the door and slip inside. Just inside the door is a small sitting area before you enter the main room where all the chairs and casket reside, and Luke is sitting there among several other individuals. Under the fluorescent lights the markings on his face look a lot worse.

Steven notices you first, you smiling and sheepishly waving before he nudges Luke. Then when Luke spots you, he's up out of his seat within the blink of an eye which startles everyone but Steven.

Luke's entire frame dwarfs you as he wraps you up in a hug and you return the embrace as best as you can. You can feel him shaking slightly and you squeeze him tighter before smoothing your hands up and down his back.

"I wasn't aware Luke had a girlfriend."

Glancing to the side to see who muttered that, you spot the culprit. When you pull free from Luke, you wipe at the corner of your eye while staring at his sister. "Not his girlfriend. Though if I remember correctly, I'm pretty sure you and Nellie married Luke and I when we were kids."

His sister's eyes widen as she stares you up and down. "Y/N?"

"Nice to see you too, Theodora."

She gapes before stepping forward hesitantly and you smile at the fact that she still wears the gloves. When she cautiously embraces you, it leads Shirley to do the same with a watery laugh. She then introduces you to her husband, Steven hugs you in greeting after, and all eyes turn to who can only be their father Hugh.

Time has not been kind to Hugh, especially given what everyone is gathered for, but you still muster up a smile for him. "Hey, Mr. Hugh. I'm so sorry about, Nellie."

"Y-Y/N." Hugh stumbles forward, his hands falling to your shoulders as he looks you up and down. Then releasing a breath he'd been holding, he chuckles softly before embracing you. "It's so good to see you, kiddo. How did you know about-"

"I- I called her last night," Luke says. "Y/N works part-time at the rehab I was at. She e-encourages us to stay on the straight on narrow."

Every Crain looks to you and you shrug. "Seven years sober. All the other addicts look up to me." You see their smiles falter and the pity enter their eyes. "Don't." You shake their head at them. "I messed up. I owned up to my mistakes and cleaned up after all my siblings abandoned me. Mom and Dad were the only ones who stuck it out, and now I'm working three jobs to pay them back for all the shit I put them through."

"You're just one tough cookie, aren't you?" Hugh muses.

"Only sometimes, but today is not about me," you say. "Right now we are here to remember all the good times we had with Nell and celebrating her life. Then later, later you can ask all you want." That seems to pacify the Crain's and one by one they leave to take their seats. Luke stays behind and you glance up at him, reaching up to rub your thumb lightly against one of his abrasions. "You holding up okay?"

"Mostly. Thank you for coming."

"It's Nellie." You smile sadly. "She was my friend as much as you were." Reaching for his hand, you squeeze it before holding tight. "Now come on. Lets go share some of our fondest memories before we say goodbye."

After a very tearful remembrance, tensions between the Crain's seem to explode after all the guests leave. You want so bad to stay and support Luke, but the family has long buried anger that's apparently coming out on tonight of all nights. So after quietly bidding Luke a good night, you take your leave after promising him to call you when he got to wherever it was he was staying.

Nearly two hours later as you're getting ready for bed you get a phone call, but it's not from Luke. It's from Steven and Luke's gone missing, he having taken Shirley's money and Theo's vehicle. They think he's going to slip and you immediately want to help, but Steven tells you to stay put. If worse comes to worse and Luke seeks you out after, they rather have you at home where you can intercept him instead of him wandering the streets again.

Another few hours later and Steven calls. Luke's overdosed.

You so badly want to break down, but you know you need to keep yourself together in order to get to the hospital. So after jotting down what hospital they've taken Luke to, you quickly get dressed yet again and race down to your car. Then driving to the hospital as fast as you can, you park haphazardly before racing for the front desk.

But before you can reach the desk, Theo's intercepting you. "Y/N! Over here."

When you reach her, you grasp her shoulder and make sure to not touch skin. "What happened?"

"It's that house. That stupid, stupid house," she mumbles. You stare at her and she rolls her eyes, huffing. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. That house was alive and you know it. We all did, but we didn't want to believe it."

You blink back tears. "I never told anyone, but I saw.." You trail off and clear your throat, shaking your head clear of one of your most terrifying childhood memories. "I just- I get it. Is he okay now?"

Theo's lips quirk to keep them from trembling. "Steve had to revive him. He was- technically he was dead, but Nell- Steven got him up."

"Can I see him?"

"Yeah. Come on."

When you get to the room, the door is already opened. Shirley and Steven are on either side of the bed as they quietly speak with Luke, but when they spot you they both vacate their spots.

"Thank you for coming," Shirley says, kissing your cheek in greeting. "He's been asking for you."

"It's Luke. I'll always be there for him." Shirley smiles even brighter at that and steps out, Steven following her. Then stepping up to the bed, your small smile falters at the sight of the dark bags under his eyes and the needle mark in his arm. "Oh Luke."

"Shh. I'm okay." He tries to comfort you as you start to cry and you immediately reach for his hand closest to you. Sandwiching his hand between your own, you hunch over and lay your head against his abdomen. "I'm sorry. I didn't want-"

You choke on a sob and he quiets down, and you straighten back up. Then wiping away your tears with one hand, you offer him a shaky smile. "Don't apologize. Theo explained," you say.

"Will you stay?"

"Of course."

"Will you help me get my bed back at rehab?"

You huff a quiet laugh. "Do you even have to ask?"

Luke smiles. "I'm really glad we reconnected, Y/N."

"As am I. Now stay put, I'm going to go stock up on snacks before making myself comfortable." Leaning further up over the bed, you lean down to kiss his cheek. But Luke turns at the last second and you catch his lips, and you jerk back in surprise. Your eyes widen and after a moment passes, Luke smirks. You narrow your eyes as you say, "You did that on purpose." He feigns innocence. Then pursing your lips in thought, you eventually sigh. "Hold onto that thought. We need to get you on a good path before we try to pursue anything."

Luke nods. "I'll keep that in mind."

Chuckling quietly, you then take your leave. And outside the room all the Crain siblings are smiling at you.

"Not a word," you tell them as you narrow your eyes.

But Theo being Theo, she just has to say something. "You two are adorable. My younger self was totally right about you."

"Theodora!" You groan. "I just- you- ugh!"

The siblings chuckle as you stomp off, Theo's voice following you. "Love you too, sister-in-law."

#fanficimagery #luke crain #luke x reader #luke crain imagine #the haunting of hill house imagine #thohh imagine #steven crain #theodora crain #theo crain #imagine

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