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namjoonchronicles · 3 years

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the specialist | three

↳ pairing yoongi, you

↳ genre romance, pretend lovers, angst, eventual smut, office-factory setting

↳ title three | the cunning arrangement | 5.196k words

↳ summary while waiting for your car to be out the workshop, you stayed with yoongi for rides to work. while you seemed okay with the arrangements, the same couldn’t be said for yoongi. while spending forced times together, you and yoongi more about each other. you revisited the times yoongi was your supervisor during your intern days and revealed something that would stir something in yoongi. at the same time, the investigation and errata forms had come into conclusion: someone’s about to be fired

↳ warnings none

THREE.

Yoongi rolled his head back and groaned. You could clearly see his protruding Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed his frustrations away. Quite a delicious view, you might add.

It’s a small traditional house with a tiny garden filled with several large crocks that could have fit you inside, set next to the garden of what seemed to be herbs and whatnot. It looks pretty managed and in place like someone had been taking care of it. There’s wood panel carvings at the pillars that you suspected were handmade. You have never seen such intricate design. Yoongi had towed his bike inside in a shed next to a large mobile that’s been covered with a large canvas. Yoongi took off his helmet a little after you did. He easily reaches the lights on the switch panels at the center of the house. He fetches a towel for you and points to the bathroom. He sets a new set of shirts on the mattress where you’d sleep, some blanket and your laptop. He gives you some privacy when you return. Before he could enter the baths, you asked.

“Do you happen to have an extension?” “Why?” “There’s an email I need to reply to.” “Look at the wall clock, what time is it?” “A little over 10pm?”

He enters the bathroom without another word or any indication where the extension is. You had to be creative. You ransacked the living room where you see cords and you expect that there will be some extensions in there. However, to no avail, you find none. You’ll have to take the ones you saw in the kitchen.

Yoongi was in the middle of washing the soap off his face when the light and heater went off. Your troubleshooting had turned off the heater switch for Yoongi. Chanting “cold, cold, cold” he shivers out the bathroom with only a towel around his waist, unsurprised to see you sitting on the floor with one knee propped up, hunching over your laptop, typing.

“Listen, workaholic. You do not touch the extensions in someone else’s house. No matter how pressing your stupid emails are, you understand?” he grumbled through gritted teeth.

You took off one earpods to hear him, “Hm?” “Nevermind.” He waddles to his room.

You returned to your laptop, hunched over on the floor, with one knee still propped up like a proper Asian woman. Noticing how uncomfortable you were, Yoongi told you to come with him over to a small space in his room. He claims the wifi is stronger here and if you need the replies to be quick and sent over a strong connection, his room would be the best place. As he was collecting random papers and files, trying to make some empty space on his abandoned table, you caught a few random calculations he had made and some drawings you recognised to be the machines in the factory. Not wanting to make conversation on what you just saw due to the inappropriate timing, you made a mental note to ask him about it later.

He lay down on his thin mattress scrolling down his phone like you weren’t there.

“You said the wifi’s strong here, but I can’t connect to it…” “With the password I gave you?” “Pretty sure I got everything right…” “You probably got them wrong…” You tutted your tongue at him, swinging your head in his direction.

He froze and sat up. From behind, he bracketted you with his shoulders, taking over the cursor and selected the wifi under his name, swiftly typing the password. You feel every breath he took, every exhale on your nape. He was probably oblivious towards the whole thing but you were clutching your heart. The ping was relief-inducing and also annoying when you see the smug shrug on his smile.

“You got the password wrong…” “Didn’t have to tell me twice— “ “Yeah, but you weren’t listening the first time.” “Yoongi just…” You put all your fingers on your right hand together to silence him.

Having to rush over through everything today, you were not in the mood for a banter. You just want to send a deviation report in time for the shipment. Yoongi has a morning shift tomorrow, which means he’ll leave quite earlier than usual and if you’re tagging along, you’ll arrive earlier as well. By the time you were done with all the reports, Yoongi was already silently asleep. You took the advantage of him not prying over you to carefully look at the things he had moved away from the table. You were right. Those were drawings of the machines at work. He had drawn the meticulous parts and identified each tool by heart. He had made notes of it and you recognise them because Seokjin had given them to you when you failed the test the first time. The papers are calculations. They were all scribbles of what you would call, ‘dumb-math’ because instead of using theory, Yoongi is creating his own formulas.

It was mesmerizing because at first you don’t even recognise the peculiar formula because of how it made sense. Then you remembered that Yoongi did not have a formal education past high school and had relied heavily on what he saw and understood. These are all brilliant; he was actually pretty smart himself. So what was all the hostility on degree holders for? You shift the papers and study the calculations more until you find the machines that were under maintenance for a while. The night when the mix- up occurred, Yoongi was found to be in the room. Although he wasn’t the MS in-charge for it. Maybe he was trying to DIY the machine so it continued to fill pockets. It had considerable heating plate problems and for the longest time, the engineering and maintenance had maintained that it was the materials used that caused the awkward pocketing and failed blistering.

The MS team had always firmly stood by their justification. When the heating plate doesn’t heat, the pocket doesn’t form proper pockets to insert the tablets in. But of course, the higher ups don’t believe in the MS because they don’t have a proper degree. It’s cheaper to change materials than the machine. But the materials aren’t new. The company had been using the same materials for decades— the way the engineering team tries to turn the blame to MS was disgusting and you had your fair share of the stupidity yourself. Because at any chance, you would believe your MS. To see that Yoongi was trying to fix the plate on his own with his own expertise was offensive on your part. It means that you haven’t done your part in voicing out their frustration through your position. What Yoongi was trying to do is brilliant, but you already know that the engineering team will take credit from that. They did it before, and they will do it again.

Yoongi doesn’t make a noise when he sleeps. You tilt your head to one side just watching him while hugging your legs. Shutting down your laptops, you lay in the mattress he had prepared for you in the room next to his. Lights out. The day was indeed long and eventful. Deep in the depth of your stone cold loveless heart, you were grateful that Yoongi was around. The world doesn't seem so scary tonight.

The flickering light bulb was a bother. He wasn't expecting a guest, let alone his arch nemesis. The probability of it happening—he used to believe to be less than 1 but never zero. He was awake by 4am, thanks to his weird sleep cycle ever since the night shift ended. He twists the bulb and the light stabilizes. He saw your feet moving, switching in your sleep. Then his brain starts flooding in.

Does she eat breakfast? Is she a cereal person or heavy meals type of person? Or does she prefer just coffee? What kind? Black, sugar, creamer, sugar and creamer? Or no sugar at all? Shit, I don't know anything about her. His mind was going into overdrive and he decided to cook fried rice. His best menu. A sunny side up and lovely stir-fried ham fingers. Simple. A no-brainer. For beverages, he prefers coffee so he made a mug himself.

He fetches his work suit and dresses up when he realizes you weren't where he thought you were. In fact, the mattress is folded neatly on the side and on top of it was the blanket. He walked to the kitchen hall and saw you drinking his coffee, making a face.

"Why's it so bitter…?" You forced the words out and stuck your tongue out at him when you saw him. "Coffee's supposed to be bitter," he nonchalantly shoved a ham finger in his mouth, “Not all that artisan coffee at Buck’s y’all are hyped about.” “Geez, it’s 5 in the morning,” you drawled and took a second and third and maybe fourth sip.

“Why are you up so early, your shift starts at 8am,” Yoongi climbs into his seat and you sit in front of him, “Right?” He seemed unsure because perhaps there were changes he wasn’t aware of.

You nodded, taking a bowl and a few scoops of fried rice he made. So you were the heavy-breakfast kind of people. He didn’t recall ever seeing you bringing anything more than a can of coffee from the vending machine when you arrived. It really looked like you were running on caffeine.

“Yeah, since I thought,” you swallowed the first spoon and barely chewed it, you resumed, “I thought since we’re tagging along, I might as well just clock in early.”

“At 7am…” he reiterates as if you didn’t already know that. “Yeah,” you sound so sure, “Besides, I don’t know when my car will be done. My house is a way back from work from here so, doing it this way will save petrol.”

He was speechless. Like he has been cornered to a plan he didn’t agree on. He proceeds to cross his arms and lean his elbows on the table wearing a smile— in disbelief.

“You do know that we,” he uses his forefinger to motion to you and him, back and forth, “We’re not exactly have that kind of relationship, right?”

“What kind?”

He stares at you for your response. It really looked like you didn't have a clue.

“To go to work, to get off the same motorcycle every damn morning,” his smile is gone, “Do you see the problem?”

“I do not see the problem, I only see the solutions I have for the current situation that helps us both. You get to be at your workplace and so do I. Without me, you can’t run the machine and without you,” you paused, thinking what would be something that would convince Yoongi to agree, “Hmm. Without you, I can’t complete the errata forms.”

"You're an executive. Who is below an exec?" He asks. "Yoongi, a pop quiz at dawn? Supervisors," you snorted. What a strange question.

"Okay, and below supervisors are?" "Group leaders. Tck."

"Awesome. And who is below that?" "Operators and…" you paused. But you stick out your forefinger and straighten your back, "But technically, maintenance and engineers have their own department and that's where machine specialists are, so it means you are not directly under me…" you let out a dry chuckle as you explain to him. He just nods without listening.

"But I follow your orders and report to you," Yoongi's voice is low and gritty, he gazes up and, "You say so yourself."

He stands, collects his used chopsticks and bowls and he said, "We can't be seen together. That's just… strange."

And by strange, he meant that it was okay for him to drop you off at the junction by the motorcycle parking area while he sped off to park in the factory itself. And he was careful about the people around. Feels like you're sneaking behind.

"You promised to take the documents from my car," you said, taking off your helmet. "I will, I will have that sent over by lunch," he repeated himself, "I got it. Just go away quickly."

You squint your eyes at him and brave yourself to walk past a group of unassuming men at the lot, smoking cigarettes. You held your laptop bag closer to your waist, hoping no one would notice that you wore yesterday's clothes. So it was 7 am, and barely any executives were around. None of them, actually. You sat by the vending machine and inserted a bank note for mineral water. And for that brief moment, you sat and observed.

Since you came to this factory, you were in awe at how young some of the operators are. Some just finished highschool, and went to work straight away because they became the sole breadwinner in the family. Some got married early and had to help their spouse. Some became single mothers raising four kids. Take Yoongi for example, he was young when he started working as an operator. Slowly, he elevated to the assistant machine specialist then now, a machine specialist. You can recommend him to be a group leader and supervisor next but Seokjin said that it would be a fatal mistake.

Yoongi surely loves his machines. Wanted to always be near it, touching it. Which was understandable. Machine was what was familiar to him. As you watch them scurried into the factory entrance with their laughters and tired faces, bracing the cold dewy morning, you wonder just how much more stories you haven't heard. It is not easy to look past their behaviours until you remember that they are actually just young kids who had to grow up fast. Only 19. Riding their second hand motorcycles with their ripped up jeans and ancient Vans, they endured cracked phone screens and 12 hour shifts to keep food on the table. It is sad to know that the highest they could go is a supervisor who earns half of your salary. And no matter how brilliant they are, how smart, they are forever trapped in a glass ceiling of having no tertiary education and that defines them.

Taking a deep breath, you humbled yourself with these thoughts and you welcome them, because they make you feel human. They remind you that the world is so big and there are countless stories that haven't been told. Behind every eyes, every laughter; what else you weren't aware of. The conversation with Yoongi opened your eyes to a new perspective. You have never seen yourself above anyone. As a leader, you have always been interested in knowing your workers personal interests in hopes to understand the ways to persuade them. You think it's important to know someone's drive and commitment to know their motivation. It might have come across as manipulative to some and some workers may have hated you for it; it's an occupational hazard to you. Dealing with people has been extremely tough for you. This is something you share with Seokjin. Having to squeeze manpower when there isn't, requires you to pull in people from other shifts to cover the staffs needed and with the pandemic going, people going into quarantine for testing positive and close contact, and gone for many days, does not make the tasks easier.

Would you work longer hours in order to fulfill what doesn't matter to you? Would you take the job of others because they're unwell, and on top of that, work on the one you already have and will have? How do you juggle that? Learning other people's jobs, doing things you're unfamiliar with.

I wouldn't. Blame it on the stagnant growth. Getting older makes you wary of learning new things. It just means more responsibility. When you're good at your job, people would plunge theirs into you as well.

By 7.50 am, you walked in. Your group leader is making sure the files needed for the next production are available. It was then you would run checks to all the current production and make sure it is aligned with the plan the planners made. Then there will be a meeting. This is where it gets tricky. The production planner and production manager are working on different aspects. The planner plans according to the shipment requirement and the manager will manage the production accordingly. Managers don't care if the machines are missing parts or malfunctioned, they just want to know what to tell the planner if the machines are not working. They would rather avoid explaining. And who has to answer the angry manager? The assistant manager. And who answers the now furious assistant managers? Executives, you, Seokjin and several others.

On top of all that, there is still that batch that has been sent to Nigeria, in-bound because of a mix up. Thinking that the company will eventually lose the license to produce if it happens, and when that happens, tenders will cease to a stop and worst, bankruptcy. Then we will all be out of jobs. Including the nineteen year-olds that you saw, laughing and hopping around in their jumpsuits. Where will they go? Where can they go? They have no degrees. Where will Yoongi go? With all his dreams and expertise in machines? His experience only mattered in the pharmaceutical field.

The planner is screaming at the manager. You take off your earphones for a break from all the yelling and immediately the sounds from the machines filled your ears. The hissing, the buzzing, the beeping—it just overwhelms you. Over on the other side of the glass is where Yoongi was in-charge today. That area is called Primary, because the tablets are made in total aseptic area with strict in-and-outs. Usually, each machine (there is a total of four) has one Machine Specialist. Two had been put into quarantine due to contracting the virus. That leaves Yoongi and Felix. Felix had only been working for 3 months. Yoongi had to juggle two machines until 10am when a group leader from the Secondary where you're currently residing. You saw him in his jumpsuit, consumed with his work, making sure the foils and PVC rotate and clamped together, aligned and neat. Today, he needs to do Major Cleaning because there is a product change. From Diabetmin to Clofenac. In major cleaning, he needs to tear the machine apart, clean everything, dry them up and reassemble them. For a new specialist like Felix, it takes 6 hours to complete. Four, for Yoongi. That delays the production. But it can't be helped. Maybe you should buy him lunch. Maybe he brought a snack. Can you buy him lunch? He is not a co-worker like Seokjin is. What would that look like? He doesn't want to be seen together.

You reach your phone and place them under your desk to text Yoongi.

"Lunch?" Sent.

A few minutes later,

"With Felix." Read.

Well that was awkward. Just then, Seokjin rolls his chair next to you and lean to the side where you were,

"Subways? My treat." "Sure." "The same thing?" "Bet," you huffed, leaning your head on the table, "This meeting sucks ass."

To which Seokjin chuckles. Nodding tiredly. It looks like he had aged overnight. At that moment, Taehyung from QA walked in. Confidently striding across the hall, wearing a blank face.

"What the cat dragged in?" You nudge your chin in the direction of Taehyung, peering underneath your facemask and Seokjin looks too.

"That is his fucked face. He claims that our side, the packaging side had fucked his tablets. My supervisor said that the tablets came in the drums, already brittling in halves," Seokjin grunts as he lifts his ass off the chair and you follow, saying, "I want to see this."

"I know you do." Seokjin walks behind Taehyung to the said machines. The younger lad didn't even acknowledge the presence of executives there. Seokjin crosses his arms while standing next to the nosey QA.

"What brings you here, my brother?" Seokjin enquired. Tutting his tongue and looking at the machine panels and parts, "Just wondering who had been sleeping on duty as of late," Taehyung glances over his shoulder at Seokjin.

The nerve of this shit ass dude. You scoffed.

"Product mix-up, faulty machines, incompetent workers," Taehyung listed arrogantly, "The problem just adds on isn't it, for this department."

"Highlighting other departments' flaws doesn't make yours smaller, Tae," Seokjin begins. You were boiling on the inside already, just grinding your jaws at the remarks.

"I can name a few more things that are small," you grumbled under your breath, dropping your gaze down to his dick then up to him.

Taehyung unmasks and lets out a smug, disturbing smile.

"How's the CAPA report going?" He pauses, pushes his tongue to cheek, and glances at Seokjin "Well, I suppose?" Taehyung turns back to you.

"Pretty smooth…" you replied with the same energy to him.

"Onward to our deal today," Seokjin intervened, "The tablets didn't break during the packaging process, it broke when it arrived so clearly…" Seokjin directs you to finish his sentence.

"IPQC (in-process quality control) is also sleeping on the job. We had been handling WIPs from your side since last week, all the tablets had been on-hold, 5 batches, Taehyung, five whole batches 129 cartons of tablets—checked, to fulfill the shipments, do you know how much partial release forms we had to fill?"

Seokjin continues after you, "13 forms, bruh. About to be my 13th reason why… Now machines have tableting problems. So why are you here if your team had fucked things over?"

"Hm?" You hummed at Taehyung. He didn't respond. His stance was staggering. You noticed and continued to drill, "It brittles, the friability test would have easily shown that. The compression isn't compressive enough, the granulation is too dry, the coating doesn't stick—"

"The tablet brittles," Seokjin finishes. Taehyung, finding no other clapbacks, moves away and bolts to the exit staircase. Seokjin put his palms upward and you high-fived him as you watched Taehyung leave.

"He is only talkative when he's right…" You added. "Nah, he's talkative when the boss is around. He wants to be the next assistant manager," Seokjin shakes his head. "Could at least try to do his job well then maybe the boss would consider," you passed.

"The boss hates him, he doesn't know that," Seokjin shrugs and stays at the machine under him to talk to his group leaders and teams, assuring them what just happened and you're about to return to your seat when you catch Yoongi looking. A simple glance. He looked away when you noticed. What was that look?

"Min Yoongi, I need to close the CAPA report so Taehyung can stop tailing my ass," you said to yourself. You're supposed to write your investigation with Jimin today, but you've been busy. In fact, the clerk is texting you right now, asking about the report.

"Can't. Dead." You replied. Jimin replies with a cry-laughing emoji.

“Yeah you can laugh about that, I’m screwed this week and the next,” you grabbed the back of your neck, “And no car!”

“What?” Seokjin asked, “Where’s your car?” You froze.

”We can’t be seen together.” Yoongi’s voice echoed.

You heard Seokjin call your name but was too stunned to even respond, so he called your full name and you jerked back to reality you wished to escape. STEM women can’t really lie, it’s an occupational hazard.

“The mechanics,” your voice was high-pitch.

“Why?” “Because that’s where you sent your car when it won’t start?” “Where?”

I don’t know. It’s in the other town, where exactly I don’t know.

“Boss, the Primary MS is calling,” the team leader taps Seokjin’s table. Seokjin’s chair wobbles as he gets up fast to meet Yoongi. They spoke through the small window and passed the foils and PVC pieces to examine. You could only guess what was discussed. You don’t think you got it in your knees to stand right now. You’ve never lied to Seokjin before and it feels like you’re about to throw up anytime soon. Just when you lean back in your chair, trying to catch your breath, your Supervisor hands you pieces of papers you need to sign.

“Materials aren’t enough?” you asked, straightening in your seat and grabbing a pen but not signing it just yet, “Why is it not enough? We calculated it to be the exact amount needed.”

Your Supervisor, although had been working for many years, and you know all the Supervisors here, this one in particular had given you a considerable amount of headache everytime she ran the show. She has no strength in pulling in manpower, doesn’t follow-up, incapable of updating herself with new information and just, you hate to say it, inept. There was one time where she was lesiruing in the back of the machine, chit-chatting while you were struggling to find the document needed for the next product to run. You went to three separate departments, talked to different people because she threw away her part of the duty to you, selfishly. Had you cursing everyone every step of the way. Because of that incident, you turned into a walking bitch especially when she’s around.

“Well the kids had to recover the unit boxes that tore during the folding,” she explained in a shaky voice.

“How many?” you leaned back, withholding yourself from signing the papers she needed to re-order the materials. Trying to scare her a little bit; she’s done this too many times, it was starting to weigh on you.

“35 units.” “Thirty-five?”

“Why so many? Who is the MS working there? Get him here.” “Junhui.” Yoongi wipes down the cooling plate. The primary packaging area is always loud with stamping and screeching and just storming machine-sounds. His eyes flicker in the direction of your table. You had your fingers laced and he knew you were pissed. He has not come across any problem so it had to be on the secondary side. He did warn Junhui not to be too laid back while the machine works because the foldings could get clipped underneath the shaft and dragged if not careful. Junhui was not careful.

You are pretty mean when you're angry. He felt it when he fetched you from the same place he dropped you off this morning. As you put on the helmet, you asked, "Can we stop by a convenient store, I need a fuckimg drink." Yoongi doesn't protest. He knew better. While you were queuing to pay, Yoongi leaned on his bike, scrolling down recipes to cook. You returned by poking a straw into a milk carton, to which Yoongi chuckled.

"What." You darted. He shrugs and lowers his chin, shaking his head. Obviously amused. "What Yoongi— I have no time for jokes," you resigned. "Nothing, God, woman," he muses, "I was just… I thought when you said you needed a drink, I was thinking Henessy's or strong liquors, but you walk out with a chocolate milk and…" he pokes his hand into the plastic bag you got, "Ice creams. We're 29."

"Fuck that, don't you know no one knows how to act their age? We're just big kids, forced to grow up," you added, "These are self rewards. And since I became an executive to fools like you, I find ice creams to be much better coping mechanisms than drugs and alcohol."

Dinner was steamed egg and fried fish. Veggies were stir fried with oyster sauce. Tofu was glazed with sesame oil. Simple. Hearty.

"You ever thought of quitting?" You suddenly asked. "Everyday," Yoongi confesses.

"Why stay?" "Where else would I go?"

You nodded in understanding. Not to agree or to ridicule, but to understand his position.

"Why quit?" He mumbled. "Nah," you shrugged, "Just thinking."

"You wanna know my life plan?" "Didn't ask—" "—If I don't get married by 35, I'll throw the whole idea away and work until I'm 60. Then, I'm going to check myself in a retirement home. I've picked the one I wanted. It has pools and monthly medical check ups… I took pictures of it." You scrambled to grab your phone and show the screenshot of the website of the said retirement home.

"Would it still be in business by then?" Yoongi asks. "I don't know, I hope so," you scoop another spoonful of rice.

"Kids?" "Like them better if they're not mine."

"You're an enigma," he passed. "And you? You don't plan life like that?" You tilt your head to the side, separating the bones from the fish very slowly. "No," he spat, "No one does. No one sane does."

"I think I'm perfectly sane. It's nice to have directions, y'know." "No one would think to check themselves in a retirement home at 29. Like, who does that? You don't have someone you love?"

"No…" "What if you fall in love? Be married? Have kids? "I will not fall."

Yoongi chuckles dryly at your stern belief, "Talking as if you know what's in store for you. That's the thing about STEM women, y'all always so calculating. Trying to know what you're getting into. Always planning, always detailing. As if life didn't just happen, and to just accept that clouds are just there to be clouds, and sun is there to be a sun. I don't understand how y'all live having to answer your endless whys."

"You say shit like when you're the one asking me to draw the whole machine and failed me when it didn't satisfy your amount of details!" You lowered your voice next, "I still remember that shit. Plus, having emotions makes people step on you. It's better not to have one. If I could sell my heart for $2.99 I would."

"That's so fucked up." "Yeah," you dropped your shoulder, "That's me."

Long pause.

"I hated you for that. You made me feel small when I already felt tiny. I didn't know anything so I tried to make up for that. I worked really hard but it didn't satisfy you. I felt like a loser. Maybe I really am a dumbass. So dumb that I should just burn my degree. What good does it bring if I'm just stupid in your eyes. I'm not even a good leader. No friends, only foes."

You lifted your bowl and walked to the sink to wash. Yoongi's mouth opened and closed, but instead of saying something about it, he decided to shove a mountain of rice down his throat; the kind of pain he would rather tolerate at the moment. You waddled into your room and waved bye, then disappeared through the hallway.

To: Management From: ExecutiveDesk

It is in my deepest concern that the Machine Specialist in-charge of EB machine had been found missing during hours 0230 to 0450 of the said production date. Please advise an appropriate disciplinary action to be taken upon this negligence. Perhaps the Management might consider the MS’s working hours and lack of any disciplinary warnings prior to this incident to lessen the probability of termination.

#thespecialist #ts #min yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts #agustd #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fics #sua fanfic #e2l #kpop #kpop fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi x yn #yoongi x reader #stray kids fluff #languages

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winterwolf0916 · 4 years

Text

Quarrel

Jason Todd x Reader

Requested by anon: hi could you write to jason todd x reader that they fight but don't realize their baby is there? Thanks for the reply:) Warning: Language, mentions of divorce, angst, & fluff A/n: Goodness! This is a sweet request and oooo here comes the fluff! *throws a massive cloud* Forgive me with the writing mistakes here 🤧 wrote it at 4 am my dudes. Happy New Years my dears! Word count: 2.6K

You know Jason is strong. He really is. But there are moments, moments where he can be so reckless in patrol to the point where he could’ve lost his life. It happens so often that you promised yourself to be patient in this. Reminding yourself that he has his family, the Outlaws, and you to help him out in his missions. But last night made your patience snap like a thread. You were worried more than ever about his well being.

What if he doesn’t arrive in the morning?

What if he dies and leaves you and your son?

What if-

Countless and countless thoughts radiated in your mind causing your body to weigh as more and more doubts formed. The sight of him huffing and puffing as he entered his and your apartment bloodied and beaten. You knew you were going to say something. Anything. You were fine with it at first since the job came with this. But more nights like these compressed your patience like a boot on a bug.

‘He shouldn’t patrol alone’ you thought. You should go with him to make sure he’s being cautious. But you couldn’t. You needed to take care of your child.

After patching him up and laying in bed in silence back to back, you heard the springs of the bed cry as Jason left the mattress to retrieve something while hissing as if he’s trying to ignore the pain. After a few minutes, you gave up trying to sleep off your uncertainty and decided to talk to him. The conversation went from small suggestions and corrections into bickering and confusion.

You didn’t mean to overstep boundaries. He didn’t mean to make you worry. But how he hides his pain is what frustrates you. How he would joke about the bullet wound in his shoulder didn’t bother him when playing in the park with Y/c/n. How he would flinch when Y/c/n hugs him after a hard patrol.

“You know how dangerous it is to go downtown alone!” You raised your voice. “You could’ve died again!”

“But I didn’t! Why don’t you trust me?!”

It repeated like this, going back and forth, for a solid 15 minutes. But in the moment, it felt like hours. Yelling and spitting out words that are not even meant. Pointing who’s to blame, cutting each other off, and wanting your haunted opinions to be heard. Caught up in the heated situation that you didn’t realize your 10-year-old witnessing it all in the hallway in his pajamas.

What's going on here?

Why are they yelling?

Don’t they love each other anymore?

Are...are they getting a divorce?

He’s seen arguments here and there but it's a different level now. It’s bigger. The picture playing of anger and hatred boiling from his parents. His two favorite people in the world, showing distaste in one another.

As a child, he doesn’t know what’s going on other than the air filled with loathe by the source of his parents. As a child, he felt the need to hug his parents and ask them about the situation. As a child, he felt his eye sockets sting and his mind not functioning of what was happening in front of him.

-------

You were making lunch for your son trying to calm yourself from the argument that occurred hours ago. The fight didn’t go so well that you and Jason agreed to give one another space after he drops Y/c/n off at the bus stop.

Jason left the living room to wake up Y/c/n for breakfast, acting strong from the awful wounds he received this morning. What confused you was the sound of his footsteps quicken.

“Y/c/n?! This isn’t funny!” There was shuffling in the room before Jason returned to the kitchen. “He’s not in his room.”

You both searched the entire apartment from top to bottom before searching the entire building. Finding no trace of your son made you two imagine the worst. The worst-case scenario and the last thing you would ever expect. Y/c/n being kidnapped.

Quickly changing into your suits and heading to the roof to discuss who is going to check what part of Gotham, you found your son sitting at the edge of the rooftop, his back facing you. As his head turned towards the sound of the door barged open, your heart broke and Jason caught his breath at the sight of your child in tears.

“What the-” He quickly wiped his tears in shock, “Mr. Red Hood and Mrs. Y/H/N? Here on my apartment building?”

“Oh crap uh-Don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here.” Y/C/N added, using the hem of his sleeve to wipe his tears, trying to hide his released emotion and pushing down the temptation to fanboy in front of his favorite heroes. Not knowing, they are his parents behind the masks.

“Hey kid, why are you crying?” Jason asked, taking a couple steps forward while you followed.

“It’s really silly.” He sniffled, not wanting to look back. “My parents fought.”

You and Jason paused in your steps, not believing what came out of his mouth. ‘He saw us?’

“Oh…”

“I know! Pretty embarrassing to say this to you guys.”

“Oh no no! It’s not embarrassing at all.” You said.

“It’s ok to tell the truth. I really need it from Gotham’s second-best couple.”

“Hate to ask this, but who’s the first best couple?” Your husband asked. You nudged him, giving the ‘really?’ look.

“My parents of course.” You and Jason melted at the spot from hearing how much your son looked up to his parents’ relationship. “But I guess not, after last night.”

His face fell and lowered his head in defeat after mumbling the last sentence. You and Jason glanced in each other's direction silently making a truce and putting aside your differences before taking a seat next to Y/c/n.

“Is it normal for parents to fight really hard? Please tell me. You guys are my number one from now on.”

“Honey, people argue every day. It helps us to grow as a person and learn about our partner’s troubles and what's important to them...”

“Even if it’s little things or big things or the harsh words we said, it doesn’t matter. We still love each other. We just step on the wrong foot sometimes.”

“Tell me about it, I remember bucket head over here accidentally left the sink on in our apartment. And guess what happened?”

“What?” Your son’s eyes were filled with curiosity while Jason cringed at the memory.

“It flooded our entire kitchen and I scolded him for an hour before he cleaned everything.”

“How long did it take Mr. Red hood to clean everything?”

“Two hours.” Y/c/n snorted but immediately became serious when he remembered who’s the other vigilante sitting right next to him.

“In my defense, I had to fight off Ra's Al Ghul for two weeks straight.”

“And?”

“Aaand, I wasn’t at total fault here.”

“It would’ve been better to not even open the sink at all!”

“I was tired, woman!” Then you heard your own son snickering before letting out a burst of warm laughter. The kind of laughter that made you smile while Jason gave a smirk.

“Wow-uh thanks. You guys really sound like my parents.” Jason opened his mouth to say something before you heard a hiss of a vehicle and the rumble of the engine fading in the distance.

“THE BUS!” You screamed as you jumped and ran towards the corner of the edge, the vehicle traveling away.

Your son’s face went pale at the sight of his transportation turning a corner before disappearing the block. Mostly afraid of his parents giving him a lecture for missing the bus rather than attending class.

“Oh shit.”

“Language.” Jason stated and pinched Y/C/N’s cheek as punishment for adding another curse word to the jar.

“Well! It was great knowing you guys! Ah, I would really love an autograph. Especially from you Y/H/N.”

“Me?”

“My dad has a fat crush on you, but don’t tell him that. He says it’s a secret between us men.” Surprised by the news, you glanced at your husband who then avoided your gaze and set his focus on a far off building, pretending he didn’t hear a thing.

Oh, he’s never going to hear the end of this from you. Your son quickly snatched his backpack that was resting by him and sprinted towards the door. As he opened the door to the stairs and was about to leave, he was lifted from the floor by his backpack, his legs still swinging as if he was running.

“Whoa there.” Jason placed your son down to his feet before gesturing between you two. “Why don’t we drop you off?”

“Really!?” Y/C/N’s eyes glittered with excitement that he’s going to receive the experience of traveling like a vigilante until a realization dawned on the boy. “But wait...I need my parent’s permission for that.”

“Don’t worry. All of the parents in Gotham trust us with their kids.”

“Wait really? You sure they won’t mind?”

“Crystal.”

“Yes! Ah, we gotta hurry. My bus might be a little far from here now.”

“Who said anything about taking you to the bus?”

-----

You and Jason were more than positive to never patrol in broad daylight unless it was an emergency. There are two reasons why. One, anyone can track you easily. Villains and crooks in Gotham don’t rest. Not only that, they have henchmen and machines that can detect vigilante activity which means a higher rate of danger to kidnap or take those who you interact with as hostage.

Two, the nosy journalists trying to snap a picture and give an odd headline to the Gotham press. It wasn’t anything new. This happens occasionally without the masks. So the Batfamily wasn’t bothered much by it. But it is rather important to not make the headline. Depending on what is put, it would falter the trust and hope that civilians have in the heroes of Gotham. Also, they would interview those who interacted with the vigilantes therefore more problems would complicate.

That’s when you both gave a conclusion of dropping off your son in an alleyway close by the school. As he was placed down from you, with wobbly legs and hair out of place, it took a load for you from fixing Y/c/n. But as a mother, you couldn’t help it. You bend down to his level and fix his hair and his shirt in place.

“There. All better.” You smiled at your bewildered son before pulling him in for a tight hug. “Have a great day, baby.”

“You really act like my mom,” you pull away from him, “she’s always picky that I would look nice for school.” You resisted the urge to pinch his cheek from that comment.

“I am not picky.” You stated with a serious tone and face.

“You are.” You heard your husband say.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Not.”

“Are too.”

“You’re not helping, Red.” You motioned at your son who is internally debating to join the small argument or leave it between the two of you since you remind him so much of his parents.

Your husband glanced at your son before winking at him, motioning that his wife is definitely picky. Y/c/n snickered before going silent as your focus landed on him.

“Ok, Y/c/n. Time for you to go to school.” Jason pats Y/c/n’s shoulder

“But...But I don’t want to go.” He wrapped his arms around yours and Jason's legs.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to face my parents when school is over. I’m really scared. What if they want to split up?”

“That won’t happen.” Jason’s tone was serious now.

“How do you know?” It was now Jason’s turn to crouch down to Y/c/n’s level, similar to what Y/c/n’s dad does.

“I’ll say this fast because you need to leave but if I were your dad, I would be an as-” You cleared your throat indicating to Jason to watch his vocabulary, “-idiot to even divorce your mom. Let alone to think of it. I love your mother so much to the point where I would still love her if she’d turn me into a frog. I would rather die again than to lose my family.”

“Wait, you died before-”

“Ah bap bap. Let me finish.” Y/c/n pouted.

“No fair.” Jason smiled under the helmet.

“I would also lose my precious kid. My partner in crime and a part of me. Even though we fought, big-time, I’d still love you and your mom. Relationships aren’t perfect. And neither are families. They’re rough around the edges but they’re still a part of us and we have our roles in them. And for your parents’ roles, they won’t split. I can assure that.”

There it goes again. Y/c/n’s eyes expressing his emotion. He wasn’t sad at all. More as if he’s relieved and content for someone to tell him that all is well. Y/c/n immediately wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and hugged the living hell out of him. Jason didn’t hesitate to hug back his son. As the two parted, your husband stood back up in his usual height.

“Now, get in there. You don’t want your teachers waiting.” Jason ruffled your son’s hair before Y/c/n left out of the alley and stepped on the school grounds.

As Y/c/n looked over his shoulder, he found the couple on a building waving him goodbye. He did the same and disappeared into the building.

-----

The two of you returned to the apartment. It was silent for the most part since the you both agreed to ‘get some air’ when you found Y/c/n. But none of that occurred when you helped Jason inside through the fire escape. He was slowly stripping from his suit and placing his pajamas on with caution. Another hiss from him caused you to place your mask down and help him pull down his shirt.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” It took you a second to process the meaning of the words. Did he apologize? Wait- He apologized?

“...What?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk with Bruce about patrol and-”

“No, I should be the one who’s sorry… You… You always worked alone and risked yourself to get missions done. I should’ve trusted you more that you can defend yourself and come home safely. It was my fault.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m just afraid. Afraid...That you’ll die and leave me and Y/c/n alone. Like how you passed away and left your family and I when we were in high school.” His eyes widened at your confession. “I know! I shouldn’t even worry because you’re so much stronger now. But damn you. Damn you, whenever you come home ripping my soul from my body by how you suffer from your injuries. I know we have schedules for patrolling and taking care of Y/c/n but I’ll stop complaining and overreacting-”

You didn’t expect yourself to be in his arms, his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, and your fired up spirit to be calmed by listening to the soothing beating of his heart. What a day.

“I think we have enough stress for one morning.”

“...Agreed.”

“I’ll talk with Bruce about patrols. In the meantime… let’s get some rest before Y/c/n comes back from school.”

“Alright…” Jason pulled away and was going to lead you to your shared bedroom before you stopped him. “I also have something else to say.”

“That is?”

“Well...more like an important question.”

“Ok?”

"How long have you had a crush on me?”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #Red Hood X y/n #red hood x you #red hood x reader #first time writing a big fic #4am my dudes #WHOO #dc x y/n #dc x you #dc x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #jason todd imagine #batboys x reader #batboys x y/n #batboys x you

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whumpywhumper · 4 years

Text

Friends

I needed to release some comfort into the world. This skips some of the Hospital Arc, but the pieces will be connected.

Masterpost

@misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog

Thank you guys so much for your support, putting up with my questions at weird hours, and being excited about my characters: @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @walkingchemicalfire

TW: Intubated whumpee

V***V

Markus isn’t quite sure when he wakes up the first time. Isn’t actually sure if he’s even really conscious. He’s aware, but the world is muted. It feels like early color TV, the hues not quite right and turning into an oversaturated mess the more he tries to force it. So he doesn’t, he stops struggling, just lets everything come back in stages.

His hearing comes back online first.

He hears the steady whoosh, gurgle, and hiss of medical equipment. The occasional urgent toned beep of a IV drip. The soft rustling and hushed voices of people doing their best to be quiet while shoving all of their worry and care into a box.

It’s all muffled and distorted through the cocktail of heady drugs in his system. The sounds swirl, clinging too long to his eardrums before slipping away to nothing. It’s disorienting, confusing, and he welcomes each wave of quiet that surges up to take away the noise.

There’s a growing anxiety that’s sitting heavily in his chest, but it’s not quite reaching him. Leaving him to teeter on the edge, giving him a hard place to fall with any gentle nudge.

Time flows syrupy slow, and it feels like he fades down back toward unconsciousness and up again before anything else becomes relevant. But, eventually, he becomes aware of his body too. He’s numb in the way that means that he’s on the heavy duty kind of drugs, administered correctly so that his pain is far away. Like the anxiety, the fear, the pain is just waiting on him to acknowledge it so that it can take over.

So.

He does his best to ignore it. To float in this absence of pain.

It’s better.

He doesn’t want to think about better than what, he just knows that it’s better.

So he focuses on anything other than the pain. He’s sunk into the softness of the mattress beneath him. The slightly harder cushion of pillows under his side and shoulder. The rhythmic compression and release around his lower legs, the not-painful pressure almost comforting, so much like a kind touch that he hasn’t had in what feels like years.

He almost feels cradled—safe—as something clicks on and warm air curls around his limbs and envelops him. He floats there, up and down, darkness closing over his head in staggering intervals as his body fights its way through the sedation.

It’s quiet, peaceful, for a while, real, deep sleep engulfing him and blotting out the awareness that his body has painstakingly been building up.

He wakes up again, not knowing how long has passed, not really remembering being awake at all. The world is still soft and liquid, slipping through his fingers faster the harder he tries to hold on to it, so he lets it go. Soaks in the myriad of conflicting and confusing sensations.

Time is skewed, but Markus is just starting to struggle with the thinning line between the numbness of his body and the morass of pain when the quiet clack of a curtain moving disturbs the quiet, the heavier tread of boots on hospital tile joining with the hiss-thunk of one of the machines. The sounds swirl around him, swimming up and burbling through thick water.

There’s a lingering silence as Markus feels the weight of this new person’s gaze on his lax limbs. An instinctive fear of the unknown bubbles up in his chest, and suddenly, he feels exposed. Vulnerable. At the mercy of a stranger when he doesn’t remember what mercy is anymore.

Viscerally, his body recalls harsh hands that pushed and pulled at his defenseless body. Hurt him, took advantage of his weakness, callously disregarded him as anything other than an inconvenience.

The silence lasts until there’s a heavy sigh, and the clatter of metal and plastic on tile. The blankets shift, and there’s pressure around his hand, the artificial, sticky feeling of latex that manipulates his limp fingers.

He gets nothing from that pressure other than the sensation of another person touching him without his permission. Desperately, Markus wants the simple comfort of someone holding his hand, that yearning striking a cord deep down, buried under the lingering fear and terror, reminding him of safety and home. But this touch is nothing but latex and a firmly artificial barrier between him and whatever supernatural sense he could gather of this person, leaving him with nothing other than the primal desire to curl into and away from the touch at the same time.

But.

It doesn’t matter what he wants. He’s still far from being able to move, even if he wanted to. Divorced from his flesh, only able to suffer and exist inside of it.

His soul cries out for safety, for someone, anyone, to hear him and take him home.

Something tickles the side of his face, and the person next to him shifts, another latex soft touch brushing over his cheek bone, feeling wet and cold. His hair is gently stroked, and the touch settles over the top of his head. The pressure around his hand tightens briefly, “Markus? Can you hear me, sugar?”

The voice registers, but it’s muffled, the words whisked away just as he’s comprehending them. The sound and the touch though anchor him out of the soupy mire his consciousness has become, but he can’t really respond, doesn’t want to respond. The person doesn’t push, just hums, shushing him nonsensically.

“Alright, sugar, alright,” the low voice rumbles, the words coming tentative and slow, “I know you’re still sleepin’, but David told me that you were tolerating the lowered sedation this time. That maybe a little more of what we’re sayin’ will start stickin’ with ya.” Soft, soothing patterns are drawn into the cold skin at the back of his hand. “Catrina told me not to, uh. . . not to overwhelm you, not to talk about any heavy stuff, just to try and get you to respond, ya know?” A thick, huffed laugh. “She’s kinda terrifying, doesn’t put up with any a’ us trying to bully her for information. So, I’m. . . I’m just gonna hold your hand, and you squeeze when you’re ready, okay?”

The man clears his throat roughly, and the pressure around his hand leaves for the rasp of what sounds like days old stubble, and Markus feels an unexpected, surprising burst of warm affection. An absent thought tiptoed its way across his muzzy consciousness, there and gone moments later: Clint never did like to cry.

The voice—god, it’s familiar, so fucking familiar—quiets for a while, and Markus is so exhausted. He drifts, pulled down by growing fatigue and thickening tendrils of pain. Maybe he slips down into actual sleep again, but the next time he’s aware there’s another voice filling the room.

“—seems kind of distressed.”

“Yeah, I hit the call button just before you came in, Catrina should be here in a second.”

“Good, good, he probably just needs them to check his drip, maybe increase it a little. It’s not easy to titrate these meds.”

He’s too confused, overwhelmed to realize how tense he’s become, to feel the way that his brows have gathered together, the way the muscles in his arms and torso have tightened, or the way that his lungs have started to fight against the tube in his throat.

His chest and throat are sending him urgent messages that there’s something wrong, the intrusion of something hard and unyielding that isn’t supposed to be there making him move automatically. Clumsily, he reaches for whatever is making him hurt, uncoordinated limbs heavy and unwieldy.

“Woah, hey, heyheyhey—” he’s intercepted, and Markus flinches from the gentle restraints as they pull his hands away , “—don’t do that, sugar.”

“Markus, can you hear me, buddy?” The pressure around his hand tightens, cold latex rubbing over his knuckles. “Can you squeeze my hand if you can hear me?”

Reflexively, he tries to pull away from the restraints, ignoring the request as his heart gives a discordant thump at the whistle of anxiety thrumming through his chest. He stiffens at the brief flash of real pain through his system, muscles protesting as he begs silently for release. Please, please no. He can’t stand the thought of being held down again, being helpless. But even that small of a movement seems to push concrete through his veins, and he doesn’t know if it’s the fatigue weighing him down or the way the others slowly, gently push his hands back to bed that has him settling.

“Shhh, okay, okay,” his shoulder is engulfed by a soft touch, the deeper voice continuing to soothe him, “you’re okay. Markus, can you open your eyes? It’s Evan and Clint, we’d really like to see you, yeah?”

Clint? Evan? It can’t be. . . He wants to see his friends so badly it hurts, even worse than the building ache in his body, but his eyelids must weigh a hundred pounds. He feels the build up of tears behind his eyelids, the heavy droplets slipping free without permission. Please, please be here. . .

“Fuck, Markus,” one of the voices whispers, cracking over his name, a sniffle accompanying it, “Clint, where’s Catrina? I think he’s hurting pretty bad.”

“I’m gonna go see if I can find her, maybe Olivia’s available. I’ll be right back.” There’s the rush of displaced air, sudden coolness of his skin, but Markus’s weak attention is drawn back by the other’s calming voice.

“Okay, buddy, we’re gonna get you taken care of, alright? It’s Evan, Markus, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? I promise.”

Markus wanted to sob. He wanted it to actually be his friend so, so much, he remembered how he’d prayed for his friends but they’d never come. His face creased as a wave of pain rolled through him, teeth clamping down around whatever was in his throat. He heard a muted curse, “Fuck this.”

There was the snap of latex, warmth cupping his cheek, and then the overwhelming sense of Evan had Markus drawing from some reserve of energy that he didn’t even know he had. He turned into the palm against his face, fighting his eyelids until they lifted, light and shapes crossing his vision in a blur, and he heard a wet gasp. “Oh my god, hey,” a calloused thumb swiped over the apple of his cheek, smearing the tears across his skin, “hey, buddy, I’m here, you’re safe, okay?”

He blinked sluggishly, taking too long to reopen his eyes, but he finally found a modicum of focus as he took in the image of one of his best friends. He was still blurred, but the salt and pepper of Evan’s hair was visible over the blue of the mask covering the lower half of his face. He didn’t need to make out the details to know his friend now anyway, the skin contact lighting up parts of his magic not used in months. It was enough to push the pain back momentarily, dulling to a hum rather than a roar.

Evan’s other hand closed back around Markus’s, squeezing gently. “Can you understand me, Markus? Squeeze my hand if you can understand me.”

Slowly, his fingers closed around Evan’s, and he heard his friend give a shuddering gasp as Markus blinked slowly again. There was a rush of movement behind Evan, and the other man turned slightly. “He’s conscious and responsive.”

A startled exclamation, and another broad shouldered figure appeared in front of him, leaning over him. Markus drug his glassy stare over, not quite focusing as even these little movements drained whatever energy he’d gathered. “Hey, hey, sugar,” his free hand was scooped up between two latex covered paws, “God, it’s good to see you awake.”

“Take your gloves off,” Evan ordered, “skin contact seems to help. His vitals dropped back down, too.”

The figure did as he was bid, and Markus shuddered, eyelids dropping as relief and the safety of Clint flooded through him. “Fuck,” Clint whispered, voice broken. As well as he could, Markus drifted his thumb across Clint’s hand, and heard a startled exhale that turned into a shaky, surprised laugh. The relieved joy of his friends was bright, buoying him in reality as it curled up in his chest.

Even with the safety of both of his friends surrounding him, the pain came back with a crescendoing wave. He tensed again, eyebrows pulling together as he shifted minutely. God, my chest hurts, it hurts. A few more tears slipped free, and he tugged weakly at Evan’s hand.

“You hurting, buddy?” He squeezed Evan’s hand, and he heard the entire room shift as Evan gave some sort of signal.

“And that’s where I come in,” a friendly, warm voice interjected, coming closer as Clint released his hand. The impersonal feeling of latex took his friend’s place, and Markus was terrified again. Clint, please don’t let him, please. There was a starburst of panic, and Evan hissed in surprise. The beast master’s hand snapped from Markus’s face in time with a sound of alarm from the faceless entity as the latex was pulled away.

“Sorry, doc,” Evan chuckled lowly, “if you’d felt what I just did, you woulda done the same. Gloves, you’ll understand in a second, trust me.”

There was another snap of latex, and a new, slightly cool hand slid into his own. The sense of deep caring and logic accompanied the doctor’s surprised inhale. “HooKay, that’s new.”

Markus relaxed slowly as he felt the other man’s alarm turn into curiosity and concern, but nothing malicious, as Evan explained. “His magic’s coming back. He’s always been extremely empathic, normally has great control of what you sense from him, but in this circumstance. . .” he trailed off with a sigh, bringing his hand back to brush through Markus’s hair.

“Alright then, no more gloves if we can help it,” the other man’s friendly voice turned back to Markus, taking the news in stride. “Markus, can you open your eyes for me?” His tone was authoritative, but gentle, and Markus did his best to obey as a thumb dragged across his skin.

He only saw a bright sliver of light before his heavy lids became too much. Instead, Markus managed to tighten his hand minutely. That was easier for some reason, he didn’t have to try and make sense of the room, could focus on the safety net Evan provided. His friend hadn’t let go of his hand, the warmth of Evan’s skin warming Markus’s even with his poor circulation.

“Okay, Markus, I understand. Can you squeeze my hand again if you’re in pain?”

His fingers twitched, but Markus’s brain was becoming fuzzy on stress hormones, mired in the negative sensations. His lungs felt sticky, like his heart was turning over in his chest. “Okay, yeah, that heart rate is getting elevated again,” the voice was distant in a way that told him he wasn’t being addressed, “Catrina, let's give him one time dose of 50 mcg fentanyl, intravenous, and he can have an as needed dose of 25mcg every hour, if that’s not enough call me. Monitor for how he continues to tolerate the vent.” The voice came back to address him, “Markus, hang on just a second, okay?”

Evan’s hand swept down to drag the back of his knuckles across the side of his face, the touch exactly what he’d been begging for for months. “Go back to sleep, buddy, we’ll be here when you wake up again.”

“You’re not alone anymore, brother.” Clint’s voice trickled in as a wash of cold flowed over his chest, black swallowing up his lingering consciousness. “I promise.”

#Markus/Lucien Series #Intubated Whumpee #Sedated whumpee #whump #hurt/comfort #urban fantasy #magic #magical whump

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theasteriae-arc · 4 years

Text

five times kissed ( selectively accepting! ) / @diabolicaltendencies said:

❝ Five times kissed. ❞ ( for BASH & SAM )

[ also feat. august, @epiitaphs’ sebastian, and @gunmetalgrey’s severin ]

Two sets of blue eyes fixed, unblinking, on one another. Two pairs of lungs working overtime. Sebastian can feel his pulse beating in his ears, hear the rush of blood. His ear drums ( aptly named ) are pounding. He drops his gaze to Sam’s lips, which are compressed into a tight line. His nostrils are pinched, he’s trying so hard to stay in control, but with that one flicker of Bash’s eyes, something breaks. The invisible string, growing tauter by the second as it tries to hold them apart, snaps, and they lunge for one another at the same time. Mouths ( teeth, tongues ) clash, and hands, fingers, nails scrabble against cheeks. Sam grunts as his shoulder collides with the corner of a shelf, but he only kicks the spilled packets of gauze aside as he presses forward, backs Bash up against the door, and seizes hold of his wrists.

“By your sides.”

This has been a long time coming, weeks of flirting ( sideways glances, smiles that didn’t extend past the corners of the lips ) that could only have culminated in one thing after Bash dragged him into this supplies cupboard in the middle of his shift. Sam’s not complaining, but if Sebastian thinks making the first move gives him the upper hand, he’s sadly mistaken. The other’s chest is heaving, his desperation evident in the way his hands keep leaping back to Sam’s waistband. He draws back minutely, not letting their lips touch until Bash’s palms are flat against the wood again. Then he rewards him with a trail of light, biting kisses down the side of his neck. They have both waited long enough.

ii.

Stolen: one kiss. Sometimes, if they are lucky, they can snatch fifteen minutes to themselves ( thirty is a miracle ), but today, no sooner has Bash shut the door behind him than his radio crackles with an incoming call. “Bash, this is Seb. We’ve got a shout. Get your arse back here. Now. Copy? Over.” He sighs and looks at Sam, sprawled out on the bed, before unhooking the radio from his belt and responding, “Copy. Over.” But though his cousin’s voice sounded urgent over the airwaves, he can’t resist ( before he goes ) planting one knee on the mattress and leaning forward to touch his mouth to Sam’s. He’s barely there when they’re interrupted again by a beep from Sam’s pager. The doctor puts a firm hand on Sebastian’s chest and pushes him back.

“Multiple GSWs incoming,” he reads. Sev needs him in the pit. Bash is probably going to be on the scene. That gives him pause. “Are you going to be all right?”

Bash doesn’t talk about it, and Sam doesn’t like to ask, but the scar on his back tells its own story. He’s been under fire before, and if the gunman hasn’t yet been apprehended … Even if he has, how will Sebastian react to the sight of the bodies?

“Fine.” His voice is level, and he doesn’t look concerned as clambers off the bed and straightens the front of his jacket. “Just a part of the job, isn’t it? I’ll come and find you later, if things aren’t too mad.” But what Sam doesn’t see is Bash pausing just outside the on-call room, trying to get a handle on the breaths he’d been holding so that he wouldn’t know how much shouts like this still got to him.

iii.

For someone who works in, or at least alongside, one, Sebastian’s dislike of hospitals might seem ironic, if you don’t know the whole story behind it. He’d spent months lying in a bed just like this one, surrounded by machines that bleeped and buzzed when he managed to detach the monitor from his finger, and patronising nurses who told him, recovery takes time, when they restrained his wrists and ankles to keep him from toppling himself off the mattress again or messing with his drips. Months when he hadn’t been able to feed himself, clothe himself, go to the toilet. He couldn’t walk, couldn’t stand. For a long time, he couldn’t even sit up. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling more helpless than he had ever felt before.

Years later, the feeling still pervades, but this time, he’s not the patient. He’s sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair beside a bed in the ICU, waiting to see if Sam will wake up. He was unconscious when August brought him in, his brother’s broad frame sagging not only with the weight of the doctor but under the burden of his own injuries too. He’d been patched up in A&E, put back together with glue and gauze and tape, while Sam, bleeding from two bullet holes in his stomach, had been wheeled straight up to an operating theatre.

That had been three days ago. The surgeons are trying to stay positive—his vitals are good, brain activity remains constant, his heartbeat’s strong, he’s stable, Sebastian—but his eyelashes haven’t so much as fluttered. There’s a machine breathing for him, and besides, Bash can see them beyond the glass, heads with scrub caps on bent close together, voices lowered to a whisper. They’re not confident, and he’s not leaving.

He opens his mouth to tell Sev as much when he drops in to check on Sam’s progress a little while later, but Sev just checks the monitor, checks the charts hooked over the foot of the bed, and almost as an afterthought, chucks a cheese and tomato sandwich, a bottle of water, and a packet of crisps from the canteen into Bash’s lap. “I don’t want to see you in the bed next door because you’ve not been taking care of yourself,” he says.

Bash tears open the plastic wrapper and shoves half the sandwich into his mouth at once, washing it down with several gulps of water. This is the first thing he’s had to eat in he doesn’t know how long. Severin sighs and pulls up a chair. “Slow down, if you don’t want to make yourself sick. And- No offence, but after you’ve finished that, you’ve got to at least shower. You stink.” He relents a little by adding, “You can use the showers off the attending’s locker room,” but he’s not going to back down entirely. “I’ve got some charts to finish off, but I can do those here. He won’t be on his own, Bash.”

Bash swallows, but instead of arguing, he nods at Severin. He is grateful for this little bit of direction. With Sam unresponsive, he’s felt so untethered, on the verge of a spiral, ever since the news came in. He finishes his meal in silence, then stands, brushing crumbs off the front of his shirt. It feels a little awkward with his cousin, and Sam’s boss, watching, this was supposed to be a secret, but he can’t leave without saying goodbye, and sorry, in case this is the last time.

He strokes Sam’s hair back, out of his eyes, and brushes his lips over his forehead. “Won’t be long, love. You just hang in there, yeah?” And leaves the room without a backward glance, because he knows, if he looks at Sam again, he will never be able to go.

iv.

“Sit still.” The command in Sam’s voice helps, but it doesn’t stop the string of curses that leave Bash’s mouth when he probes at the purple flesh around his ribs. Pacifist his arse. Severin had kicked him hard enough to break his ribs, and then jammed his knee into the same spot not long later. Standing had not been an option after they’d stumbled into the flat, Sam supporting most of his weight before he’d collapsed into the nearest seat, but he can’t help but fidget and wince as his boyfriend pokes and prods at him with all the impersonality of a doctor. “Bash …” There’s a quiet warning in Sam’s tone and Sebastian does his best not to squirm anymore as he finishes up his exam.

He’s rewarded, when it’s over, with a soft kiss. Sam tilts his chin up with two fingers and strokes his cheek as their lips meet. “You did good. Very good. Now, let’s take a look at your hands.” His knuckles are in almost as poor a state as the other Sebastian’s face, and smeared with blood. Some of it is his and some of it is not.

“We got called out to a car accident today,” he says, as if that explains it all. Sam closes the minuscule gap between them and kisses him again. “Shush,” he says against his lips. “Shush. The why can wait till later. I just want to get you cleaned up first, okay?”

Sebastian has always loved being by the sea—salty air, bracing wind, the sound of the waves lapping at the shore. These days, holidays to the east coast also involve buckets and spades and surfboards stacked up by the door, a heap of sand-covered towels, and two boys with bright eyes and cheeks falling asleep straight after dinner. Bash carries them up to bed, tucks the covers in around them, and creeps back down to the living room, where Finding Nemo is still playing on the television.

There’s a beer waiting for him on the coffee table. He hasn’t got that far when the dog comes up, wagging her tail and nosing her way into his palm in search of treats. He laughs softly and strokes her behind the ears. “I know you’ve been fed, girl. Go on.” He picks up the bottle and takes a sip, then wanders through to the kitchen, where Sam is washing up the last of their dinner things. Sebastian sets his beer down on the nearest surface and winds his arms around Sam’s waist from behind, blond hair tickling his nose and lips as he kisses the nape of his neck.

It’s a shame that they have to go home to London tomorrow, but Bash feels comforted knowing that this house will be here for them next summer, and all the summers after that. It will get plenty of use, he is sure.

#injury / tw #diabolicaltendencies #( i. message )#sebastian. | muse #how to save a life. | medical au #( iv. i'd sit with you in the trenches | sebastian & sam )#( ix. august moran )#( ix. sebastian moran | epiitaphs )#( ix. severin moran | gunmetalgrey )#( ix. max prescott )#( ix. liam prescott )

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petterworld · 1 month

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Petter World Orthopedic Memory Foam Dog Bed with Removable Sherpa fur Cover Petter World

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oneofyatosfollowers · 5 years

Text

One Of A Kind Chapter 2

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191861/chapters/47843311

FF: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13360973/1/One-of-a-Kind

Yato's alarm went off the next morning, slowly pulling him out of a deep sleep. The noise was less urgent then the warning from last night's dust storm, but bounced around his skull none the less. He heaved himself off the mattress with a groan, his limbs and eye lids heavy. As he woke up, so did his systems, the screens blinking to life along side his vision. The first message saying his charge was low and would need to be replenished soon, while the other gave him the usual schedule of clean-up.

Getting up to a low battery was like waking up sore with a hangover. No wonder he turned in early. Yato groaned and stubbled towards the door. Pawing at the wall to get his oxygen-mask and ascot off the hook. He put both on, looking down to see he slept in his boots again. He debated putting on another pair but decided to wear these ones out completely.

The brown-tinted sunlight blared down strong this morning. Yato unzipped the top of his brown wearalls, tying the sleeves around his waist. Along the underside of his forearm, flat green panels were where the soft skin should be. Embedded there was a flexible solar panel, the easiest way to charge his battery. Yato laid back down on the top of semi-trailer, belly down with his arms at his side, and let the sun light soak into his systems. Due to smog-covered sun, this way of charging took half the day. But it was necessary, where as eating and drinking was not. It also lasted much longer than any food had previously done.

Yato opened his eyes at the sound of the battery being full. He stood and zipped back up his uniform. Nodding to Nora who had crawled her way up, he climbed back down the ladder and grabbed his cooler after locking his compactor to his back. When he stepped on Nora as he made his way down the ramp, he quickly got on his knees to apologize. The cockroach buzzed at him in irritation before making her way up his leg and on his shoulder. Yato nodded at her, then set off to work, his compactor still clasped on his back.

The hours ticked on as usual. The cubes of trash forming a large square base as Yato's cooler filled with the treasures he found. He made his way to the next pile, tossing aside a fire extinguisher- having already learned his lesson- and found an old refrigerator. This was tricky, he would have to remove everything then bring the large object to the dump to have it compresses by a much larger machine.

When the door wouldn't open, he pointed his right finger at it, signaling the laser to shoot. He started at the top and slowly made his way to the bottom, allowing the door to split down the middle and fall apart. What was behind the door had him pause.

"Nora...What is?" Yato's voice was nothing but a whisper. He gazed at the anomaly that shown a bright green. Stark against the dark brown waist land. 'Prunus Serrulata- Japanese Cherry Blossom' his main frame supplied. After a moment he thought on how to best take it back with him. The instructions on how to properly relocate a plant showed up, he read them while Nora jumped down to take a closer look. After some shifting through the trash, the plant was carefully placed in a short glass bottle, then put safely in the cooler. Reading the rest of the information his drive provided, Yato decided it would be best to return the plant to his house.

The trip back went by quick. Yato tried to search his own memories, from before his Father modified him to be a Wall-E. He couldn't remember plants, not even in his earliest memories. He remembered the fake leaves kept on the main table. But the plastic look-alikes where dull and rough in comparison to what Yato carried. He rubbed the leaves and had his scanner check again and again, his data coming back assuring him of the object was in fact a living organism. An extinct one at that.

Once Yato placed the plant safely on it's own shelf, he made his way back out the door. Another bright color caught his eye. Yato had just opened the door to his home when the red dot appeared. Nothing flickered into his view to give him any help to the second oddity of the day. It was a big red dot. A light the size of his palm. He slowly picked up his foot, eyes going wide for a moment before he slammed it on the door. His head whipped to the side as the dot darted out of the way just in time. After a pause it took off down the path, stopping a couple meters.

At this, Yato moved much slower. Placing the cooler down, he sneaked down the ramp, keeping his hand in front of him. When he was close, he moved slower, eyes fixated, and reached for it. When he did, the light shook. Circling Yato in a sort of dance, who danced with it in order to keep his gaze focused.

Suddenly, Yato was running. Taking off after the light that rocketed across the land. It's been a while since he's ran, but he wasn't wiped of such an instinctive human ability. It took a second for his tech system to kick into high activity mode. After a few meters, Yato was bounding over trash heaps and vaulting over fences. It helped he knew every inch of this city down to the last newspaper.

When it stopped again he was over what was once the ocean, now solid pollution. Yato let out a puff of satisfaction, its been a while since his lungs and heart had to work so hard. He looked around to see where the dot brought him, only to notice more of them coming down in a line. The red came down the city and the dunes and Yato realized he was surrounded. Good thing his mainframe was still buzzing because Yato turned tail and ran to the nearest, largest pile of trash.

He threw his body behind it, his systems blaring in his skull, pounding against his heart and breaths. The ground began to shake and the wind picked up. Yato dug his hands into the trash heap to hang on as the whole world seemed to shake. He faintly recognized the sounds of a space ship engine, but was too busy hanging on for dear life to get excited.

After a while, it quieted down, not nearly as silent as before but Yato was already starting to forget what that was like. Machines and engines began to hiss as the orbital maneuvering engines whined and slowed down. The atmosphere immediately cooled again, but the air smelled burnt.

Yato peeked around the corner, hand ready on his compactor in case he had to start swinging. A new, rounded tower stood tall, silhouetted against the sunlight. The bottom of the ship hissed open and a white cloud fell out of it like a water fall. Blue light streamed out of it, scanning the surrounding area. Yato crept out of his hiding spot when the light disappeared. He subconsiously fixed his hair, tried to rub any dirt off his face, then patted down his uniform.

Yato slowly made his way closer, stopping again when a large tube came down from a crane. It was placed not two inches off the ground. More mechanic arms came from the ship, one opening the locks along the side, the other typing in a code on the keypads at the top. Yato decided these machines weren't sentient and made his way behind a closer-much smaller-pile.

Whatever the machine typed in had the entire pod glowing a bright blue. The front was a glass case, one that had the shadowed shillohette of a person. At this, Yato nearly leaped out of his skin. His human half was almost thrilled to tears. It had been so, so long since he'd seen anything that even resembled a human. Just when he was starting to think this planet had been long since left behind. On the other hand, his mainframe panicked. The other Wall-Es were all dead, and he wasn't nearly done with the work he was supposed to do. What's worse is that he was sitting doing nothing in the presence of someone who was defiantly above him, instead of doing said job.

Yato's thoughts were silenced as the glass door of the pod slid open and the creature- who he assumed was a human- sat up and slid out. It stood in a white skin-tight suit with little glowing buttons along the hip and light up blue lines that stretched thoughout. Tyed to the tail bone was what looked like a small hand gun, long and futuristic without any sort of handle. The human reached up at the helmet it wore and clicked the buttons. The helmet seemed to disappear into thin air and long brown hair fell out. Yato gasped in awe at this, the hair flowing beautifully as the human looked around at it's surroundings.

The human waved at the pod, allowing it to shut before walking a few steps to the left. One hand on the side of their head- the white parts of the helmet that covered where the ears should be, still visible- and allowed the other side to scan the ground, just as the ship had done. After a second, something on the human buzzed, and it walked a few more paces before scanning again. It continued this process even as the ship began to fold back into itself. Yato ducked as the engines turned on, eyes not leaving the new guest.

The Earth rumbled and heat waves pushed past Yato with great force. But his eyes were able to keep open, even under such conditions, so he braced himself and watched over the human. The ship took off, the charred ground where it once stood the only evidence of it being there. That and the new two-legged organism walking around.

By now, the human had turned so Yato could get a good look at- oh. It was a human. Not just any human. A female. Yato figured he should had guessed, what with the nicely kept long hair she had, but then he reminded himself of the few men that kept their long hair in ponytails. But, her face look soft too. The skin was smooth and unshaven, her cheeks rounded along with her jaw. She had a delicate swan neck, delicate collar bones, and yep. Defiantly female.

Yato finally remembered how to close his mouth and his systems flashed a quick reminder he would need to breathe soon. So he did, watching the girl as she continued scanning. Maybe she was a cyborg like him? His systems hadn't picked up another signal, but it hadn't mentioned the ship either. Maybe they were both too advanced?

The human stopped, and so did Yato. She turned to watch the ship leave the atmosphere, now just a ball of light. She didn't show any emotion. Yato hoped she wasn't sad. As much as he was happy to finally have company, he knew what it felt like to be left behind. Yato took a breath, ready to go introduce himself and tell her it wasn't so bad here. Until she suddenly let out a yell.

Yato fell back behind the pile, freaked, before he realized the cry was one of joy.

"Oh my..." Yato's voice was caught in his throat when the woman's boots opened up two motors on the bottom and she took off in the air. She spun around, letting out a type of feminine laughter similar to the last sound Yato heard from another person. Yato 'Ooo'd and 'aw'ed as the girl flew around, kicking up dust, and dancing on telephone wires like gravity had no hold on her.

Yato worried about her flying off, somewhere he couldn't find or reach. But she stayed within sight, breaking the sound barrier now and again. After her laughter died down, she skidded into a landing right back where she started. Her hair was barely disheveled and her suit didn't have a speck of dirt on it.

As she caught her breath, Yato made his way toward her. He thought about how best to indroduce himself, how best to explain the mess and the lack of superiors, and maybe how best to invite her over for dinner. Once he was a meter away from her back side, he took in a breath through his mask.

"Hello-AH!" Yato threw his body to the side, his back hitting the dirt hard. Past him, the ground ruptured and exploded, dust billowing up. Yato still felt the heat of the blast long his chest, her calm focused face playing on repeat in his head. Yato realized he made a grave error: he hadn't even considered this person could be an enemy.

When the smoke cleared Yato sat in the fetal position with his compactor held out in front. Even the heavy iron and steel squares that blocked his head would be no match for whatever just fired at him from close range.

The girl made a string of noises. Firm and controlled, at normal volume.

Yato peaked around his compactor to see she still had the gun pointed at him. From this close he could see her eyes were brown.

She made the sounds again. Yato realized she was trying to speak to him in a language he- or his systems- didn't understand. There was so much to say, but he addressed the first issue.

"Don't shoot me. I'm not dangerous." Yato mimicked her tone, if not a little more passive.

He watched her eyes flicker to the down slightly to the right and knew she was reading something. She pressed her lips together, looking between him and her info, unsure.

"You-" she took a breath. "You speak the old dialect?"

Yato figured the question was rhetorical, noting that she still pointed the gun at him. He pointed his gaze at the gun then returned it to her with a hard, pleading, expression.

The young woman looked at him just as hard before pointing her gun to the floor. Yato noticed it encased her hand, stopping just above the wrist.

"You are not human." She spoke again while looking off to the right again, her voice choppy and unsure.

Yato shook his head, slowly putting down his compactor but not letting go. Yato may be a Wall-E, but there had been more than a fair share of fights. He swung this thing around day in and day out, his enhanced bone structure able to carry it like a baseball bat. He could also tell that she was new, or at least never pointed that at a sentient being before. Yato was confident he could defend himself.

"No. Are you?" He held his gaze. And his breath. Wanting desperately to know the answer. Her eyes finally left his and widened at something just below his chin.

"You're a Wall-E." she spoke in awe, and continued to look him up and down. "But I thought they were-" she shut her mouth and look at him again when he spoke.

"What? You don't have Wall-Es?" Yato forced a joking smile, but the words came out more nervous than he indended. The young woman let the gun fall to her side.

"No." she informed him, almost sad.

Yato immediately felt bad for upsetting her, even if he didn't know what he did.

"That-That's okay! What about you? Are you human or a hybrid, like me?"

"That's classified." she looked stern again, but a forced practiced stern.

"Well that's rude," Yato huffed.

"Sorry. That classified, Yato."

Yato perked up at the unfamiliar sound of his name. His smile returned when she put her gun away and he scrabbled to his feet. His name sparking the energy he had during her arrival.

"What's your name?" he asked excitedly, stepping close to her.

She stepped back with a funny look, "S-Sorry, but that's classified too."

Yato suddenly remember a joke his father often told.

"Nice to meetcha 'That's Classified Too'! Welcome to Earth!" Yato did a bow and flayed out an arm to gesture to the garbage land that surrounded them.

"There's lots of things here I think you'll like! And I'll be happy to show you!" Yato took walked towards her again, frowning when she backpedaled.

"Th-That's okay! I'm on a mission, so I'll have to pass." Her boots clicked on again. "It was- uh- nice meeting you!" she waved a bit awkwardly and took off again, this time toward the city, out of sight.

Yato stood and stared after her. His heart felt odd in his chest. Like it was telling him to follow her and never let her out of his sight. A high pitched chirp brought his attention away from the sky, to the ground behind him.

"Nora! Did you hear that! She said it was nice to meet me! And those boots! Did you see she could fly? Oh, wasn't she amazing Nora?"

Nora shook her body at the volume he shouted, instead crawling up his legs to his shoulder. She squeaked again.

"If you wanted to go home you should have went on without me. You're just using me as a ride 'cause you're lazy."

Nora hissed at him as Yato put the compactor back in it's holder. The smile still planted on his face. His cheeks were hurting, not being used to the activity, and he knew the future was going to be much more fun.

After Yato brought Nora back home, he tidied the pace up as best he could. Then he washed his hair and clothes with a leaf blower. And finally, soaking both in fancy-looking cologne he found. It was the middle of the night when Yato found her in the city. She had ended up in an old mattress store asleep in her pod, but this time with a blanket.

Quietly sitting in the parking lot outside, his gaze was zoomed in as far as it could go. His night-vision gave him high definition as he scanned the length of her body. He concluded some things. One, she was human, or at least a lot less cyborg-y than he was if she required sleep. Two, her knowledge about this world was basic at best. Other than her shock at his existence, she seemed to have an idea of what things were. It was like she had only seen things in pictures or read about them in books. Three, she was not here for a long time.

Next to this pretty human, the space ship also set aside a small crate. And if this person needed sleep, it was safe to assume she needed substance as well. Something that the crate most likely provided. If that were the case, the amount of food that thing could hold- even dried- was three months tops. Yato had hooked up the city's security system to his TV and his mainframe, it alerted him of any movement. He watched her take a meal out before finding a place to sleep.

Yato saw her sigh and roll over, pink lips parted, her breath fogging the invisible helmet. The Wall-E sighed longingly as she drooled, it's only been a couple hours but he couldn't remember life without her. Yato wouldn't let her leave. He couldn't. There was no way Yato could go back to that loneliness.

#noragami #noragami yato #yato #hiyori #Hiyori Iki #iki hiyori #yukine #noragami fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #wall-e #wall e #one of a kind

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bucklikethedollar · 6 years

Text

home

Bucky had known that Steve was Steve since the tenth grade. Steve, Sadie then, had pulled Bucky into a back alley on their way back from school.

“Bucky, I gotta tell you something.” His voice was hushed and urgent and shaky and not at all hiding the lump in his throat.

“Oh God, Sadie, is it another diagnosis? Is this one fatal??” Bucky started to sweat, genuinely expecting to hear his best friend’s expiration date.

“No, God no, Buck. Chrissakes.” He forced out a chuckle. “Listen. You- you gotta stop calling me Sadie. It ain’t right. I ain’t Sadie.”

Bucky furrowed his brow. “What’re you trying to say, Sa-” he stopped himself and paused, “...friend?”

Steve took a deep breath and sighed it out. “Jesus. Look, the- the dresses, the makeup, this goddamn hair,” he motioned to the blonde ringlets hanging from his head, “they ain’t me. I ain’t a dame, Buck. Every sick, crippled bone in my body is tellin’ me that livin’ as a girl, or woman, or whatever, is wrong. I’m s’posed to be like you. I’m s’posed to be a man.” Steve was clenching his fists by his sides, avoiding eye contact with his best friend. The way he was shaking with fear or anger or whatever it was made his light blue dress flutter around his knees.

“Fuck’s sake.” Bucky turned away for a moment, running one hand through his hair, resting the other on his hip. “Um, uh…”

“Steve.” He had never said it out loud before, but it felt warm and soft on his lips.

“Steve.” Bucky sighed before continuing. “Okay, um, if you’re not a dame, then I guess you’re not a dame.” Steve finally brought his his head up to look into Bucky’s deadly blue eyes, brow rumpled above in sympathy. “You’re still my best friend Sa- no, Steve.”

Steve relaxed his fists and looked down at his feet, then up at the grey Brooklyn sky, exhaling tightly through his mouth. When he looked back at Bucky his eyes were very obviously watering. “Thank you.” His voice cracked. Bucky flung one arm above Steve’s left shoulder, and wrapped the other below his right armpit, holding him tighter than he’d ever been held before.

In the five years since Steve’s confession, he’d cut his hair, moved in with Bucky on the other side of Brooklyn, and started wearing his hand-me-downs. Shirts and trousers and shoes from at least ten years ago that only barely fit Steve’s slender and unfortunately feminine frame. Steve loved wearing Bucky’s old clothes, it was like finally going home after a lifetime of not knowing what or where home was, but they showed him off in all the wrong places. The shirt hung off his shoulders and the sleeves ended far beyond his wrists, the pants made a travesty of his already wide hips and pooled around the shoes that he had to stuff with newspapers. They couldn’t afford a tailor.

Thankfully, the economy was still bad enough that it wasn’t uncommon for two young men to board together. Their landlady did think it rather odd how often one of them needed a new mattress, or one would push the other into their flat as fast as possible, shutting the door behind them not quite fast enough to cut off their giddy laughter, but she shrugged it off as youthful rambunctiousness, and hardly gave it another thought.

Blissfully revelling in their proprietress’ ignorance, the two would smother each other in kisses, tender and violent and urgent all at once, hiding themselves and their secrets from the world in their tiny suite, hushing each other with poignant caresses and thirsty embraces, vowing never, ever to let each other go.

And then James Barnes was drafted. Dragged by the collar into a war other men started, forced to leave warmth and comfort and home in his past. Bucky and Steve spent their last night together wrapped in each other. No kissing, no sex, just holding each other. Each of them cherishing the warmth the other provided, knowing that once it was gone, they’d be colder than ever, but clinging onto the last few moments of heat and love before they had an ocean planted between them.

Steve wasn’t drafted. He enlisted. Voluntarily, of his own free will. By Abraham Erskine. His thick syrupy accent had intrigued Steve since the moment he stepped into the examination room, ready for his sixth rejection. But the man behind those round glasses enthralled him with his offer of a chance, however miniscule, in helping the American cause. As exciting as the whole ordeal was, Steve had to be Sadie again. Erskine had found his original birth certificate and medical records and insisted that if this agreement were to proceed, Sadie would leave all pretenses of masculinity behind. He had to be her again.

His bones were on fire. White light was bleeding in through his tightly closed eyelids, burning his eyes while he screamed. He was being pulled and compressed and torn open and forced shut all within an instant. He heard Erskine’s muffled orders to abort the experiment.

“No!” The word burst through him like a cannonball, the pain and heat bubbling through his body shot it out through his mouth with force and volume he’d never felt himself conjure. “I can do this!” He didn’t entirely believe himself, but he had to prove that Erskine’s trust was not misplaced. He had been told that this procedure would make him more. More good, or more bad, or more whatever was inside him. For Steve that could mean more sick. More small. More terrified. He certainly felt terrified as his body was squeezed like an orange and then pulled taught like fresh saltwater taffy.

Through the din of his agony rattling about his brain, he heard the machine whirr as it powered down. The pain stopped and Steve took a deep breath. He took a deep breath. All the way through his lungs, smoothly through his windpipe, and flowing to every inch of his sore body. The steam that had accumulated within the pod floated to the ground as the pod’s doors opened. He relished in the cool air now surrounding him. The only thing that prompted him to open his eyes was the thunderous gasp that seemed to come from every person in the facility.

“I did it.” He forced the words through his throat, but it wasn’t his voice. It rumbled in his chest and the deep timbre settled beneath him, giving him shivers.

Everyone hesitated to even breathe. Dr. Erskine managed to speak: “You did it.” Peggy approached him, and he couldn’t read her face, just acknowledged her furrowed brow and her mouth hanging agape. She looked him up and down. “How do you feel?” Her voice was weak and contemplative.

“Taller.” There was that voice again, resonating from deep within him and pouring out of his mouth like mist, vibrating in his throat. He finally looked down. He was….. him. His body rolled and rippled below him, like a photograph of a great wave, frozen in time, three dimensional and elevated. His chest was square, shoulders broad and intimidating, even to him, and his abdomen narrowed down to thin hips. He noticed a new presence between his legs and his stomach dropped. He looked at his hands, large and strong, reaching up to touch his face, finding a sharp jawline above a pronounced Adam’s apple.

He didn’t get a chance to examine himself more. There was an explosion, and then Erskine’s body, and then the taxi, and the boy in the water, and hail HYDRA.

He sat in the examination room after the nurse had left with his blood samples. They had given him the luxury of a full-length mirror leaning against the wall, and allowed him to examine himself in peace. Indulging in his own vanity, Steve admitted to himself that he resembled one of those ancient sculptures of Greek gods. Muscular and expansive. He closed his eyes and felt himself occupy this body. He took his shirt off and ran his hands over all the curves and canyons of his new body. Where his breasts previously fell were now square and solid pectorals, residing above distinct abs. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling pressure against his sides as muscle collided with muscle. He squeezed his vast shoulders and slid his hands down to his narrow hips, which lead into thick, sturdy thighs. In between those thighs was something he had never even dreamed of, never allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of his very own masculinity. Real, tangible, large masculinity.

He was overwhelmed. Eyes still shut, tears drifted down his angular, yet still familiar, face. He allowed himself a deep whimper as his arms wrapped themselves around his biceps once again, taking deep breaths and enjoying the oxygen now completely filling his lungs.

He hadn’t noticed Peggy walk in until she put his hand on his wide back, tender, yet almost fearful. “Sadie….” her voice was thick and wet. “Sadie, I’m so sorry. If I had known this would happen I never would have let you do this.” She stifled a sob as Steve opened his eyes, still just as blue as the day he confided in Bucky, and turned to face her. “I- I need you to know that you’re still the same beautiful woman in my eyes, Sadie. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Now it was her turn to hug herself as tears streamed down her delicate face, now wrinkled into the paragon of sorrow. Steve didn’t know how to tell her.

“No.” His voice rumbled through him like a car engine.

“Wh-what?”

“No. Don’t be sorry. I’m not. Sorry. Listen.” He wet his lips and his eyes darted every which way. “This is… me. I was always s’posed to be this, don’t you see? The serum was supposed to make more of what was already there. I’ve been a man for as long as I can remember, only now everyone else can see it too. I never thought I’d be able to look in the mirror and be happy with what I saw.” He turned back toward the mirror. “I’ve had dreams where I would wake up and be a real man, go about my business ‘n have everyone call me ‘sir’. And now I’m not dreaming. I’m looking at myself and seeing me.” He knew Peggy didn’t understand. Her mouth was hanging open, eyebrows curling up toward her forehead, hand resting on her heart. “I’m sorry.” Steve got up and headed out the door into the crowded hallway.

“Sadie, wait-” Steve stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around to face her.

“I never thought I’d be able to tell anyone this.” He chuckled and clicked his tongue. “My name…. is Steve. Steven Grant Rogers. I have never been Sadie.”

“S- Steve…” she was shaking. “What are you doing to do?”

He walked toward her and covered her in a strong embrace, his head resting on someone else’s for once. “I am going to live, and be happy, and change my name, and be in love with myself. I am going to be more myself than I have ever been before.”

Steve sat at the piano in the church they had requisitioned for barracks. He hadn’t played since his mother died. He laid his long fingers on the keys and took a breath before he began singing. His fingers could finally reach all the keys in the chords he played.

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day…” He was probably singing a whole octave below where he used to, his new baritone range sinking onto the marble floors of the church and evaporating into the arched ceiling above. He stopped and let it echo. He hoped they would meet again. And they would.

Steve saw Bucky lying on a metal table in the middle of a damp, empty room.

“Barnes… Sargeant…. 32557….. Barnes…” He had obviously been drugged.

“Bucky!” As Steve ran toward his friend, his heart rose to his throat and his stomach dropped to the floor. Bucky would finally be able to see his Stevie the way he had always wanted to see himself. But what if he was unrecognizable? What if Bucky didn’t like all the muscles and the strength? What if he only called Steve Steve throughout their affair because he wanted to maintain access to his feminine body, and now that he didn’t have that anymore, he would be disgusted? Bucky hardly responded until Steve reached him.

“Bucky, oh my God.” Steve held Bucky’s face in his hands while he stared into Steve’s new face, clearly having trouble comprehending the situation. “It’s me, it’s Steve.” His fear solidified into a sturdy lump in his throat.

Bucky took a moment. “Steve?” Steve sighed like he had never sighed before. He was recognizable.

“I thought you were dead.” Steve helped his friend to his feet.

Whatever drugs they had given Bucky were evidently very strong, as Bucky only replied with “I thought you were smaller. What happened to you?”

“I joined the Army.”

“Is it permanent?”

Steve felt a grin spread across his face. “So far.”

Captain America had only just gotten out of the shower when Bucky came into his tent. Steve was wearing a t-shirt and camo pants, and his hair was dripping wet. Once again, a tidal wave of anxiety rose in his chest.

“Hey.” Steve set down his towel and slowly approached his friend.

“Hey.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Disoriented I guess. But I feel like I should ask you how you’re feeling.”

“Steve chuckled and leaned his back against a post, crossing his hands in front of him. “It’s been… it’s been a lot to get used to.”

“Yeah.”

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“That day, sophomore year, when you told me that every bone in your body was telling you you were s’posed to be a man. Is this what you meant? Is this who you’re supposed to be?”

Steve hesitated. That was a tough question. “I- I think so. I never really had a clear image of what I thought I should’ve looked like. It was always just me as I was, but with no tits and a better jaw.” Bucky smiled. “When I stepped outta the pod I was in when this all happened, I didn’t really even notice it at first. I just thought I was taller. I really only had a moment or two to take a look at myself before the explosion. Afterwards though, I had some time alone with a mirror and slowly I managed to fit into this body. I recognized that my reflection actually was my reflection, not just a moving picture. To be honest, it still surprises me when I wake up. I always expect to open my eyes and be 5’4” and skinny again. But I’m always so happy when I see this. It’s like I’m finally me, after all these years.”

Bucky paused and stepped closer to Steve. “I- I like your voice now. I mean, I liked it before, but now it sounds like the voice matches the words.” Bucky examined him. “Can I- can I see?” He gestured vaguely to Steve. Steve stood up, confused, and slowly took his shirt off. Bucky breathed him in. He looked up at Steve’s face (he would never get used to having to look up at Steve) with inquisitive eyes. Steve nodded, and Bucky raised his right hand and settled it on top of Steve’s left pec.

“It’s like… It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time. Not some poor kid in my clothes, but you.” Bucky circled his right hand onto Steve’s bicep and couldn’t help but squeeze, making Steve smile the same smile he’d had in tenth grade. Bucky’s left hand reached onto his abs, making sure to feel each crevice, each tendon beneath the skin. He lifted his hands off Steve just barely and circled around to see his back, rolling and dipping like the ocean in a storm. For the first time in his life, Bucky couldn’t see bones sticking up under Steve’s skin. Instead, there was solid, round muscle covering every area possible. Bucky circled back around to face Steve, who brought his hands up onto Bucky’s shoulders the way Bucky’s were already on his.

“Steve. We’ve been… something for a long time now. Up there, at Azzano, you were all I could think about, you were what kept me going. All those nights spent in our apartment in secret, I thought that was as good as it was ever gonna get. Looking at you now, is so… different though.” Steve’s heart dropped to his feet and he felt his mouth open, expecting rejection. “I still see your eyes storing everything to sketch later, and your nose is still crooked from all the times you didn’t know to leave a fight. And now I get to look up at you, and spread my arms just to touch both of your shoulders, and it’s like I don’t have to be scared for you anymore. I’m…. I-”

Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He cupped Bucky’s jaw with his right hand, placing his left on the small of his back, pressing their lips together like a jigsaw puzzle that had been missing a piece for years. Bucky grabbed Steve’s face, taking in the strong jaw, the Adam’s apple, relishing in tilting his head back to look up at him. Steve wrapped his strong arms completely around Bucky, squeezing and holding on for dear life, almost afraid he would hurt Bucky with the strength he didn’t quite know how to control yet. But Bucky let out the faintest moan and pressed himself further into Steve’s new stature, allowing himself to let down the guards he had built up in the previous months. Steve opened his eyes, and parted from Bucky, just far enough to see his whole face, still close enough to feel his breath on his chin.

“You are you breathtaking to me.” Steve cupped Bucky’s face again. “I have missed your face… so much. I’ve missed your lips and your voice and your cheeks and your eyebrows and every little thing about you and I’m never going to let you go again.”

Bucky blushed and gazed into Steve’s blue eyes. “I- I think everyone’s probably asleep by now. No one would notice…” Steve read his mind, and guided Bucky toward his cot. They sat down, not daring to break contact at all.

“Yknow, Bucky, the serum, it…” Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and gaze down sheepishly between his own legs.

“No shit.” Bucky grinned. “Oh my god. You lucky son of a bitch.” Steve guided Bucky’s hand toward his lap as they made excited eye contact, both new to the sensation of the mass in Steve’s pants. They pressed their lips together once again, never stopping kissing, even as they both undressed.

They were finally at home.

#trans steve rogers #trans!steve rogers #trans!steve #steve rogers #bucky barnes #james barnes #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #steve rogers/bucky barnes #ftm #captain america #project rebirth #mlm

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sweetmoxiety · 6 years

Text

Behind This Mask Is a Desperate Heart (Part Four)

Hospital AU

AU Summary: A fall. A single fall. It may seem like nothing until it’s all consuming. What happens when the doctors struggle to diagnosis the disease responsible for Virgil’s rapid deterioration?

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan.

Pairings: Moxiety and Logince.

Word Count: 1830

Warnings: Swearing, death, and speaking about it (not main character death).

“Logan... Lo-”

“What Roman!” Logan snapped, whipping his head Roman’s way. Sweat dripped down his brow as he kept pressing the heel of his interlocked fingers down.

“He’s been down forty-three minutes,” Roman said softly, fingers latching onto Logan’s arm.

To his dismay, Logan roughly shook off his grasp. Nothing was working; the defibrillator atop the crash cart had done nothing to restart the child’s choked heart.

Training his jaded eyes back onto the monitor, Logan watched on as the desperate pressing of his hands forged fleeting peaks. Ceasing again, Logan rattled his fist, his nails digging gratingly into his sweaty palm. And the crests were rapidly replaced with the shrill of the flatline buzz.

‘Fuck,’ he cursed under his breath, disregarding the throbbing ache in his arms and the sticky feeling of sweat hugging his skin as he began compressions again. The line of nurses waiting to take over had dwindled. And instead, tired eyes watched Logan’s adamant refusal.

“Logan,” Roman hesitated to reach out a second time, but the larger the crowd of patients that framed them, the faster he knew he needed to bring it to an end, “Lo, you need to stop.”

“People have come back after having been down for longer,” Logan countered, rhythm faltering and voice strained.

“Lo.., he’s been deprived of oxygen for too long.”

Logan knew Roman was right. The longer the brain was deprived of oxygen, the worse the damage would be. Logically, he should stop. He should stop. What he was doing defied logic. But reason, faulty or not, told him that there was a chance; he’d seen it happen before. So, no, he can’t stop from pressing the heel of his palm down. He-

“Stop, Logan,” Roman firmly grabbed Logan’s sweat-slicked arm, dragging him off the patient and onto the tile floor.

“No-,” Logan spat coldly, trying to tug his arm free from the attending pulling him away, but that didn’t halt Roman from tugging him further as the monitor shrieked out a dying cry. It screeched at him, wailed at him, and squawked at him. And he wilted. He wilted hearing the shattering whine of the flatline. And he stopped fighting. He slumped, watching the nurses’ unplug the heart monitor; the call of the monitor vanishing like ships crossing the Bermuda triangle. Absent was the rise and fall of the child’s chest, and absent was the reassuring beep. Instead, reassurance was replaced by machine wheels being dragged away along scratched floors.

Teal lips and muted, cold skin glaring at him from the corner of his eye sunk their teeth sharply into his memory. But what had, had tears springing into the corners of his eyes was the withered flower visage, the sagged shoulders, and the child’s arms limp at his sides. It was seeing them shelter the child in a flimsy, white sheet that caused Logan to truly depress.

“F-Fuck off, Ro,” Logan shook, finally yanking his arm free. Stumbling, he turned, wiping away the tears before anyone could see them leave wet trails in their wake.

“Logan-”

Logan cleared his throat, shifting, and abruptly cutting off Roman.

“The beta-blockers should have worked,” He, then, said all too controlled, fists clenched and watching on stiffly like a switch had been flipped. The Propranolol should have worked. Why hadn’t it worked?

“I know, Lo,” Roman frowned with unease, guiding them both down the achromatic hallway. He’d never observed Logan as anything other than the stoic, calculating logicistian he so frequently gloated on being... “You know you didn’t do anything wrong, right?” Roman watched the other scrunch up his nose as if he’d been asked to try escargot.

“The facts would seem to suggest otherwise,” Logan scoffed under his breath.

“I know you know that sometimes people can’t be saved,” Roman opted to use logic against him as he ushered him through the mess room’s ajar door.

“I’m aware.”

“Then you’d know it wasn’t your fault. Sometimes we just lose patients,” Roman said, shutting the door and steering Logan’s stiff frame to sit on the mattress beside him.

“Yes, well-” Logan muttered, peeling away from the look Roman offered children to comfort them through a particularly painful injection, “I haven’t.”

“Never?”

“That is what I said.”

When Roman fell silent, Logan glanced back at Roman to see his mouth curled downward like a bad omen. He was about to speak up when Roman suddenly interjected, “Do you know why I went into pediatrics?”

“You’re too exuberant and animated for any other field,” Logan joked jadedly, scooting back further onto the bed, the mattress faintly creaking underneath him as he did so.

“No- well, it does help with dealing with children, but no, that's not the reason,” Roman shook his head, a choked laugh caught in the back of his throat.

“Why then?”

He’d piqued Logan’s interest, but Roman had fallen silent a second time - two times too many. For a man that was so boisterous and noisy at every possible opportunity, him sitting there with his hands resting limply in his lap was unnerving. It was far from the childlike energy he typically exuded.

“...Roman?”

“In my third year of med school.., I was assigned a pediatric oncology rotation-”

“I do remember you mentioning that quite a few times. It would appear it had an impact on you.”

“Yes...,” He wasn’t past the point of return, but in a moment of trust he proceeded, “but I’ve never told you about Layla.”

“Layla?”

“She was the bravest princess,” Roman smiled ruefully, head lolling forward slightly, “She adored my marvelous story telling; her favorite tale was the battle of the dragon witch and the strong, fearless princess!”

Pausing to collect himself as history painfully nudged its way into the present, Roman continued, “Oh, Lo, if only you could have seen the dreams reflecting in her eyes and the way she lit up every room with her contagious smiles.”

“More contagious than dear Patton’s!” Roman’s fragile smile straddled the edge of sinking again as his fingertips swiped away new tears over old memories.

“What happened to Layla, Roman?”

“She had acute myelogenous leukemia...,” he let out a shaky sigh as he reached into the past to tug those memories looser. Memories of Layla were fragile treasures, priceless glimpses of hope. Memories of her enacting a battle with Roman and striking him with a foam sword before she was too sick to get out of bed weren’t allowed to simply fade away. Those memories once left his heart mangled and weeping. But memories of Layla going wide-eyed as Roman spoke frivolously of the adventures of Princess Fiona and of Layla giggling wildly as Roman’s attending poked fun at him sprung forward with dizzying speed; short, happy time capsules of history nestled in Roman’s mind.

“She was nine, Lo, and I blamed myself. I was the one that encouraged the transplant.”

“But you know what?” Roman continued, drying his downcast eyes with his white sleeve, “she helped me; her story shaped mine.”

When Logan didn’t say anything, Roman resumed, his voice freckled with an incurable ache, “There was a time when I tried to shake the memories because it hurt. It pained me too much, but it was Layla that made me fight for pediatrics.”

And a silence fell over them.

“I- I.. I don’t know what to say.”

“Lo, what I’m trying to tell you is that we can’t save everybody no matter how hard we try, and I know you won’t admit how much it’s eating at you and how much it’ll eat at you because ‘it defies logic’, but I want you to get it into your brainiac head of yours that you’re not alone.”

Glancing over at Roman, Logan saw the fences torn down by the man himself, “I- Thank you, Roman.”

-------

“Ye- yes, Patton,” Logan nodded quickly, interrupting Patton’s distressed rambling, and eyeing the way Roman disappeared back into the E.R., “I am fine. It was just a moment of weakness.”

“Having emotions isn’t a weakness.”

“Emotions are messy and unpredictable and precarious.” Emotions were far from the safe clutches of reasoning and deduction; emotions just weren’t Logan’s thing.

“You shouldn't feel guilty or view having feelings as a weakness,” Patton set the fact free from its fetters, “sure, sometimes, your feelings may not make sense, but it's not your feelings job to make sense. You just... experience them. And you have to do your best to deal with them.”

Logan stopped, pondered even, only to recycle pages of his own inadequate words and cycle through dozens more he wouldn’t share.

“Yeah?” Patton cocked his head, picking up again, “understanding them and being in touch with them can give us a better outlook on our issues and our situations. And by understanding how they influence us, we can better evaluate ourselves.” He could tell he was starting to sway Logan, but Logan had long ago cocooned himself in the safety of rationality.

“Have you heard of Antonio Damasio?” Patton pursued changing Logan’s mind like he chased after a second cookie.

Logan shook his head.

“Well, Antonio Damasio noticed that when his patients lost the part of the brain that controlled emotions, the patients’ decision making abilities became very poor. So, where would we be if we didn’t have the emotional side of our brains?”

“Huh...” Logan furrowed his brow, eyeing Patton incredulously, “you seem to make a sound argument, Patton.”

“Hmm....,” after another wordless moment of careful contemplation, Logan spoke up again, “it would seem you are.. right, Patton.” Patton was right? What..? Patton was right...

“Oh my juice! Really?” His spirit danced with reason to celebrate, lips stretched into a shocked grin.

“...Yes,” Logan admitted, though he much preferred not having to say it a second time. It was like pulling teeth to hear him verbally acknowledge when he was wrong, but maybe that’s what made it so astonishing to hear.

“Come ‘ere, hug time!”

“Fine..” Logan grumbled, letting Patton wrap his arms tightly around him, his own limbs trapped underneath the sweet sunshine’s arms circling his torso.

“Just know that I’m here for you, Lo,” Patton squeezed, looking up at Logan before letting go. He knew Logan didn’t particularly enjoy long hugs even if they were from him.

“Thank you, Patton.”

“Now, how about we go get a nice warm cup of hot cocoa?”

“That would be satisfactory.”

“Yay! Let’s g- Oh-” Patton started and then stopped, cogs turning before setting his own universe back in motion, “maybe I should see if Virgil’s up first? You did say you wanted me to keep an eye on him. Last time I checked in on him it was three ish?”

“That’s right,” Logan said, waving his hand, “go ahead, Patton, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”

“Okay! I’ll be right behind you!” Patton leapt into motion with a pep in his step. He’d done good.

Tag list (ask to be added): @buckydeangirl91 @bunny222

#sanders sides #moxiety #logince #virigl sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #hospital au #thomas sanders #ts virigl #ts patton #ts logan #ts roman #romantic moxiety #romantic logince #sanders sides fic #logicality

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justwritingscibbles · 6 years

Text

Don’t Leave Me

Commissioned by the lovely @lovejanetteadams for the anon who requested a deathly ill reader x Phantom angst fic. This was commissioned for you in the spirit of giving!!

I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: ANGST!!! LIKE...A LOT!

Want a Commission? See Prices Here

Phantom was up earlier than usual. He stretched lazily and turned over in his bed. Your warm body was instantly cuddled into as he reached out. Gently dragging you back into his embrace as he tucked the blankets better around the two of you.

You murmured a drowsy greeting and Phantom pressed a kiss to your shoulder. He said nothing, only snuggled into your form and sighed in blissful contentment. You two stayed like that for another hour. Letting the morning pass you both by as the day began to start outside your windows. Cars drove pass and people walked by on the sidewalk. You could hear the club downstairs begin to bustle with cleaners and workers. Here to do their daily routine after a hard night of customers. Phantom had a suite on the top floor of his busiest and best club. And it was this very luxurious and expensive looking place that you and he spent most of your nights. Especially on your weekends and his rare few days off from work.

“I need to pee.” You mumbled suddenly. Phantom barked a soft chuckle and squeezed your waist tighter. Making you groan in annoyance and slight discomfort as your bladder was compressed.

“But we were having such a nice cuddle session.” Phantom whined. His grip tightening as you tried to squirm out from under his arms.

“And we can continue the cuddling after I visit the bathroom.” You replied. Laughing as Phantom gave an exaggerated groan and rolled onto his back. Releasing you from his grip and allowing you to bound from the bed and run to the bathroom. You slammed the door shut and Phantom sighed when he felt your side of the bed begin to lose it’s warmth.

He loved these days. Where there was absolutely no need to get up. No rush. No business calls. Just you, him and the plush blankets of the bed. If he could buy this moment and have it every morning, he’d gladly spend every cent to keep this bliss.

Phantom looked over to the door as he heard the toilet flush. You hurried back to bed. Throwing yourself over Phantom as you leapt onto the mattress. Phantom laughed and grabbed you. His lips capturing your mouth as he rolled you under him. Laying himself on top of you so you were basically trapped beneath him. You didn’t mind. You wrapped your arms around his bare torso and gladly melted into the kiss.

“I love you.” Phantom hummed against your lips. You felt his heart-beat thundering against your chest. “So much, baby. I’m sorry days like this don’t happen as often as they should.”

You hushed him with another feather light kiss against his lips. Pulling him down so you could embrace him properly. Your hands running down his back and up to his hair; where you entangled your fingers with the silky smooth strands.

“I love you, too, Phantom. And don’t worry. I’m not so needy that you need to be with me 24/7. I’m an adult... in most ways. Plus...” You paused your sentence to kiss his cheek and playfully tap his nose. “Days like this are something to look forward too. Give me a sense of hope during a horrible, terrible, agonising week.”

Phantom smiled. Those three words catching most of his attention. He didn’t say it much. And he kicked himself for it too. He wanted to show you his affections in all ways possible. Gifts, kisses, hugs, small touches, soft spoken words or songs written in devotion to you. Theatre shows displaying his love through actors or giant bill-boards of a photo with the two of you. Of course, he knew most of those things were a bit too much. But it was what he knew you deserved. What you should deserve. Phantom lifted his hand to trail his fingertips along your jawline. Watching your chest rise and fall with every breath. The way your hair fell over your cheeks when you moved. He loved every little thing about you. Whether you saw it as imperfection of your body, or not. You were just.... perfect to him.

“Phantom, you’re doing it again.” You whispered. Your smile was wide and flustered as Phantom rolled his eyes. The glazed look in his gaze flickering back into reality.

“You’re distracting. I can’t help it.” Phantom said defensively. Playfully pinching your sides. Laughing when you yelped; your body convulsing on instinct.

“Hey! No tickling. You promised.” Your pout was the most adorable thing about you. And Phantom had so many photos on his phone of your smile and pouts. Even though you hated selfies. Phantom loved you too much to pass the opportunity to capture and frame a moment.

“I only promised because last time we had a tickle fight, you broke a lamp.” Phantom reminded you. Laughing when you playfully smacked his arm.

“You broke that lamp. I was only a witness to your shame! You thrash like a fish out of water when you’re tickled.” You scoffed. Smiling at the memory of the loud crash of broken porcelain and glass. The defending silence as you and Phantom both stared at the broken shards with shocked expressions. And then, the eruption of laughter when you two looked at each other. In all honesty, you didn’t know who broke the lamp. You were both a little hysterical.

Phantom only rolled his eyes and kissed the top of your head. He rolled off you and then got to his feet, slipping on a deep red bath-robe to protect himself from the chill morning air. “So, what would my love want for breakfast, hmm?” Phantom asked. Snatching up his cane and giving it a showy twirl between his fingers. The glass orb glowed a bright purple. Awaiting Phantom’s commands on who to summon. He had three chiefs within the orb, always ready to cook and prepare your meals for you.

You yawned and shivered at the loss of Phantom’s body heat. You curled up under the covers; thinking of different things you’d think would be a good breakfast. But unfortunately, your stomach was not in the mood to give a proper answer. It only gave a painful twitch at the thought of food. You frowned and shook your head. Cuddling into the pillows as you felt a wave of drowsiness come over you.

“Maybe a little later. I’m not hungry yet.” You told Phantom. And the man frowned. Worry creasing his forehead as he came around to your side of the bed and sat next to you. He laid the back of his hand against your head. Feeling only a slight warmth there, Phantom sighed and moved his hand to rest over your hip.

“(Y/N), you’ve barely eaten the last few days. And, to be honest love, I’m sensing there is something wrong.” Phantom’s playful tone lowered into concern. He had been sensing a drop in your Soul. The colours were dulling and something within you was growing. He didn’t know what, but he just knew it was beginning to effect you more.

You hummed thoughtfully. Knowing that it was unusual for you to stay in bed for so long. And to refuse breakfast from a 5-star chief? You had an inkling you must be getting sick. “Would you be able to make a doctors appointment for me?” You asked. You hated the doctors but you knew that you wanted to put this behind you.

Phantom nodded and leaned down to press a kiss against your temple. “I’ll go and get the Doctor I go too. She’ll know how to help. Stay put, alright? And call me if you need anything.”

---------(One Month Later)---------

Phantom hasn’t moved from your beside in two weeks. He’s had his Collected go and get him food and water. He only leaves if it’s life or death. He lays next to you in the hospital bed. Careful of the tubes and drips that hooked you up to the machines. He spoke to you in a gentle tone. Clutching your hand with the utmost care. As if he’d break you if he held on too tightly. And he was terrified he was going to. Even a small kiss to your pale pink lips made him worry.

“Phantom...” Your laboured voice woke him from his half sleep. Your fingers loosely gripped his. The small amount of strength you had was set on keeping a hold of him. You were scared. Just as he was. And you didn’t want to let go, in case you fell away from him. “I love you.”

Phantom’s lips trembled as he pushed forward a smile. He lifted his hand, the one that wasn’t clutching onto you, and cupped your cheek tenderly. His lips pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead and he rested his cheek against your hair. “I love you too, (y/n).” Phantom whispered to you. His chest squeezed as he held back his sorrow. He could feel you slipping away. Your once bright and vibrant Soul was fading. Slipping out of his vision as your breaths became more laboured.

His entire being screamed for him to take you. To nurture your Soul into the Orb where he can keep you safe and with him forever. But he left it too late. Your Soul was dying. You were dying. And if he were to take you now, you’d forever be trapped in this tormented state. Phantom, even though he loved you, you were his everything. His world. His stars and moon.

He could never keep you in such pain. Even if he was selfish, he loved you too much to do such a thing to you.

“I’m going aren’t I...” You sighed. And Phantom nodded. A tear slipping from his lashes as he moved closer against you. He hugged you tight. A soft sob escaping his lips as he whispered to you.

“I’m sorry. I should have done more.”

“You did all you could.” You replied. A smile, that wonderfully beautiful smile. Now becoming a bitter sweet memory to him.

“Please don’t leave me.” Phantom wept. Hugging you so close now that you were buried against his chest. He was trembling. Holding you as if he could keep your Soul inside you. Keep it burning bright and with him.

“I love you.” You whispered. And Phantom cried out as the last bit of light in you faded away. The machines confirmed what he already knew as he wailed into your hair. Begging you to come back. But you were gone. Travelling somewhere Phantom could never follow.

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