#CRACKING OPEN A COLD ONE WITH THE BOYS AND IT IS ALWAYS THE DOCTOR | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

star--anon · 3 months ago

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I'm bored, let's talk Minho's trauma post-WCKD

Minho refuses to acknowledge his injuries

his back looks like cracked mud with how many scabs he has

and there's a faint sour smell

he tries to cover it up by wearing three shirts

which are abrasive and do nothing but tear his scabs open whenever he moves

if anyone offers to take a look, he practically bites their hand off

it's mostly the doctor trauma

strange adults wearing clinically white lab coats, pushing unknown chemicals into his body while they promise to "fix" him

he can barely handle sleeping in the dark

he doesn't need doctors touching his back

kids in Paradise avoid him like the plague

the older kids try to give him encouraging smiles

the younger ones run away at the sight of him

He's pretty sure he looks horrendous

just a lumbering mass of scar tissue and bruised flesh, deep dark bags under his eyes

his friends give him big sad looks

the doctors eye him like he's prey

He's sick of it

sick of being different, sick of being delicate, sick of being changed

He's still the same Minho that ran in the Maze

and nothing WCKD did to him will ever change that

...because if WCKD changed him... then they won.

And Minho can't handle that.

Minho won't allow that.

He's forced to go to a therapist once a week

it's that or get strapped down and have his brain get cut open

(Thomas' idea to substitute brain-chopping with therapy)

(Minho's grateful for it, and he hates Thomas for it at the same time)

every session, his therapist runs him through some "identity-reaffirming practices"

"My name is Minho" means nothing if the boy Minho used to be is still rotting in a cold, dark cell somewhere

while his husk is being forced to sit through 30 minutes of a glorified Feelings Circle

(which is a real thing Chuck tried to start in the Glade)

(....Chuck.)

(Alby, Newt, Winston, Newt, Jack, Newt-)

He doesn't realize he's lost control and is beating at his own head until he wakes up in a hospital bed with a pounding headache

..Nobody in Paradise seems interested in the Old Minho either

he always has to be "Minho the WCKD Survivor"

or "Minho the Patient Who Suffers From Hallucinations"

or "Minho the Patient Who Needs To Be Strapped Down And Sedated During Operations"

or "Minho the Brainwashed Idiot Who Needs To Be Told His Own Name"

even Thomas doesn't understand

and Thomas used to understand everything about him

Thomas, who offers to sleep in the same bed as him

because he knows the nightmares tear Minho apart

Thomas, who cradles Minho so, so gently when he wakes up sobbing

Thomas, who patiently feeds Minho pudding if Minho's too weak to lift his own spoon

Thomas, who treats Minho like a fucking time bomb

Thomas, who's just waiting for Minho to explode

Minho doesn't need that flash of pity in Thomas' eyes

He doesn't need a seat or a hug or a cup of tea or a "cuddle night"

He doesn't need Thomas!

He doesn't need Thomas, who begs him to please, just let him at least wash the wounds on his back

They're infected, Minho! Can't he tell the scabs on his back are infected?

Can't Minho see how he's hurting himself?

and not a single goddamn person in Paradise seems to understand that Minho doesn't want to be hurt anymore

He just wants to be... Minho.

He snaps one day.

He can't help it.

One moment Thomas is holding a bottle of alcohol and two ibuprofen pills with shaking hands and tears sliding down his cheeks

and the next moment...

Minho doesn't know what happens in the next moment

He just remembers blinding white lights in his eyes as he feels those familiar straps get tightened around his arms

plastic gets stuffed between his teeth, and he opens his mouth automatically to let them gag him

he's bitten too many guards for them to take chances anymore

they shouldn't have let him near Thomas. They shouldn't have let Thomas take a chance with him either.

the doctors reassure Minho that it wasn't his fault.

they tell him that Thomas is bruised, but not permanently injured

"Gave him quite a scare, though," one of the doctors says. She laughs, too, like that's supposed to be funny.

then they secure the straps and sedate him and cut him open

it all passes in a blur that feels just a little too much like WCKD

sometimes he's aware of someone crying in the room

sometimes he's aware of nothing at all

the person crying might be him. it's usually him.

sometimes it sounds like Thomas, but that's probably just his ears playing tricks on him

sometimes the doctors like to be cruel, and they lie to him about how Thomas tells them all the time that he misses Minho

and that Thomas is eagerly waiting for Minho to get better

and how Thomas forgives him

he's let out of the hospital, but he's not allowed into Paradise anymore

they keep him in a small room, and they monitor him with a camera

there's another camera in the bathroom. They don't even bother hiding it

He hates it at first. The lack of privacy

He screams at the doctors who come by to give him food

to the point where they end up having to strap him down and just pump his lunch and dinner into his body via mysterious liquid

after a while, he accepts it

it seems to make his therapist happy when he accepts it

(because of course they still make him go to therapy)

...This is who he is, after all.

not "Minho the Glader"

or even "Minho the Tortured Boy"

and especially not "Minho the Friend Of Thomas"

he's just another lab rat

just something to be locked away and studied

it's a name WCKD gave him a long time ago

and it's stupid to keep pretending like WCKD doesn't control him

A7. The Rat.

#tmr minho #tmr thomas #thominho #the maze runner #rambles #headcanons #I'm bored let's talk #I don't take constructive criticism because I'm not wrong

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sangwooooh · 2 years ago

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Why won’t you speak?

“As I am standing over your dead, rotting body, I wonder: are you cold?”

Story: between Dick and Jason, Bruce adopts another hurt boy. M/n was around before Dick left, so he really considers him his older brother. When Jason comes around, M/n can’t help but feel jealous. After all, M/n is weak. He can’t be Robin.

Warnings and additional notes: M/n is using crutches to walk because of a car accident in which he took part at the age of twelve, the car accident that killed his parents. Bruce Wayne takes him under his wing, making sure he gets all the medical support he needs, making sure he is cared for. M/n is envious of Bruce’s soft spot for Jason. Major character death. Canon compliant… ? There are things added by me, of course.

—. —

The large doors of the library open with a burst of uncharacteristic storm.

“When has Batman died and put you in charge.” Jason’s shoes make an almost soundless approach in M/n’s direction.

M/n chuckles, “Oh my, aren’t you an opinionated little brat?”

Jason’s tongue clicks. No. He ain’t doing this shit. He takes a few more steps towards his tormentor.

“ I am Robin.” He points towards his chest. “Me. Not you, M/n. I should be in charge, not you.” He might not be in his suit, but he is Robin. And not even this bastard could take that away from him.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen here, you little asshole. You need to calm down. I don’t like you getting in my face. You annoy me. ” M/n rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms, leaning on the windowsill. The library is getting too crowded for the both of them. “Well, you don’t really have a choice. I’m older, more responsible. Don’t you have to listen to me or something?” Jason locks eyes with his fake brother, watching the words fall from his lips like boredom in the wind.

“You’re only two years older. Don’t act superior just because you’ve been here a little longer than me.” Jason wants to scoff, instead he draws back. Only to rethink his decision and bite. “Even so, I am Robin. And you’re just sickly prickly M/n. Nothing special there.”

There is a crack in M/n’s smile. Small, but noticeably there. Almost makes Jason regret it. Almost.

M/n scoffs, hiding the hurt, “You need to calm down, little asshole. It’s Alfred who holds the rule anyway. Don’t even know why you’d think it’d be useless, little me.” M/n tilts his head tauntingly, picking up his crutches and making his way out of the library. “Congratulations though. You’re pathetic.”

Jason rubs his eyes in exasperation. They will never get along. Never.

“Master M/n, is everything alright?” M/n tries to calm himself, almost bumping into Alfred. He feels like he’s gonna burst, but he can’t let the tears fall.

“Oh, Alfred… Sorry. I didn’t see you there.” M/n forces a smile. And he is sure it doesn’t fool Alfred. The elder man always knows.

“It’s quite alright, Master M/n. My question stands, however. Is everything alright?”

M/n averts his eyes, “Of course.” He stumbles a bit with his crutches as he tries to pass Alfred.

“You should try and get along with Master Jason. He is family. You two are family now, Master M/n.”

M/n doesn’t even feel like protesting. This Jason boy came after Dick left, almost as if their father was trying to replace his oldest son. And M/n can’t bear the thought of that. Of course he doesn’t like Jason. They’ll probably never get along.

“Alright then.” Alfred smiles and helps M/n down the stairs. “How about some tea?”

M/n relaxes slightly in the comfort of Alfred’s warm arms, “That sounds great, Alfred.”

Going down the stairs is becoming harder and harder for M/n. It’s like his legs are becoming lazier and lazier, which is normal considering the doctors already informed them about the changes waiting to happen. M/n doesn’t dwell on it most of the time. However, there are those moments of silence in which he can’t help but want to hit his head with something or accidentally drop one of those candles onto his own clothes. Jason had caught him in one of those moments in the library earlier. M/n gets nastier in terms of behavior around then, and truly he doesn’t have any interest in insulting Jason that much (just a little). The little prick just knows how to find his moments.

They get to the bottom of the stairs, but Alfred doesn’t let go. The man really knows everything.

When Bruce gets home, things haven't necessarily changed in any way. Alfred meets Bruce in the foyer, as it usually is when Bruce comes back from business. And then there is Jason who runs ahead of his brother and forcefully throws himself at Bruce with all his young years and fire thrumming in his veins, like he owns the world and Bruce, as well, with it. The man once young boy himself remembers owning the world once, it was not bare then. Behind, with struggle unfit for a child, M/n staggers forth with his ebony crutches. Jason does not let go of his hugs easily, in fact he holds on as if Bruce would disappear if he ever dared to let go earlier than he should. Thus, the man lets his son hug him tight. Moments later, Jason reluctantly lets go, making way for his older brother, who visibly stumbles on an uprise in the carpet.

M/n yelps as one crutch gets caught in the crimson material. He falls in front of everyone's eyes, but is caught by Alfred who is nearer to him. Bruce wants to reach out, he would've reached out. Yes. If, just so, he were closer to his son. Alas, distance is great in between them.

They head into the living room where Jason tells Bruce all about his exploits around the manor and how Bruce’s bedroom is actually haunted when he isn’t there. That gets a smile out of the man, rare as they are. His life has become increasingly livelier since Jason became part of the family. After all, the quiet of Dick’s departure was sadly difficult for one little M/n to fill, though the efforts were there. Bruce just… couldn’t make himself meet his son halfway.

After dinner Alfred corners him in the emptiness of Bruce’s study (not his, his father’s study). The older man wears that look on his face, the one he shows only to Bruce and especially when he ‘s done something bad, like stealing a cookie when he was younger, or choosing to dress up as a bat.

“You should talk to him more.” Alfred keeps his eyes on Bruce and the man once boy under that gaze doesn’t know if he should look away or try to dominate the stare down. It’s an automatic response, he reckons. It would never work on Alfred, either way.

“Jason is fine, he talks to me now.” That gets another smile out of Bruce. He fears these days he is getting stiffer, body hardening with the darkness and the years. Maybe he is actually growing softer?

“It’s not Jason I’m worried about, sir.” Alfred leans forward and places a tray with two cups and a teapot on it. It smells good, roses and camomile?

“M/n? Should I think there’s something wrong with him?” Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, sir. Should you not?” Alfred continues to look at him, almost as if his eyes harden. It’s hard to tell, even with the bat’s experience.

“Is something wrong with him?” Bruce takes a seat on his father’s old leather chair that was once black but now tints to brown. The chair sighs underneath him with tiredness becoming of age.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, sir?”

Bruce would ask. He really would. He should… but it’s late. The boy probably sleeps already. “It’s late, Alfred. Some other time, perhaps?”

Alfred scrutinizes him, yet ends in a half concealed sigh. He wasn’t going to tell his Bruce, the stubborn and with years worth of guild child he so much wished fulfillment to about how his son still stands at the dinner table, ashamed to ask for help and beating himself down over how he would never be good enough to help his father the way his younger brother does. No, Alfred shall deal with that himself, as he always does. Foolish master Bruce. He ends with a, “You know best, sir.”

Bruce doesn’t know best. He’s never felt himself as holding the power of knowing whats and ifs and what ifs. The ‘what if’ of the situation, it always arises at the time when his weakness fills him with the dread of what has been. What if he’d said “let’s stay for another movie” the night his parents died. What if he’d spent more time trying to talk with Dick instead of arguing foolishly and towards nothing, like the boy wasn’t the son he so cared for, like he hadn’t been the only once. What if he’d listened to Alfred and talked with M/n more, mended the disruption between him and Jason. What if he’d protected Jason the way he should’ve protected him, the way his soul screamed to keep the boy safe because how can you let someone else suffer when it is you who should have been? It should never have been Jason. Not his Jason. Not his boy. Not his hope and his dreams and the one he holds as if he were holding his younger self. Not the Jason who laughed so hard whenever something remotely funny came to light. Not the Jason who ran to the door to welcome Bruce, jumping into his arms with all his young years and fire thrumming in his veins, like he owns the world and Bruce, as well, with it. ‘Welcome home, dad.’ Not… Not Jason. Not Jason, God, please, not him. Don’t let it be like this, Bruce’s soul screams as it trashes and shoves and splits, stabbing and scratching and killing to get out.

Jason Todd, beloved son and brother, full of fire and full of life

with all his young years and fire thrumming in his veins, like he owns the world and Bruce, as well, with it

The morning Bruce has to come home and let Alfred and M/n know that Jason won’t be home for dinner tonight or any other night, the sun shines on a clear sky. It smiles upon the Wayne lands, over the gardens and the pond. M/n is there with the flowers, reading a book. ‘The three musketeers’ the title reads. Does M/n enjoy reading? Maybe he does. Bruce isn’t around enough to figure out a pattern.

M/n’s eyes raise from the pages, smile a bright one, as the sun above them with a glint in his eyes and hair tussled with sleep and the ends of dreams.

Bruce must look all the wiser and the better and the all powerful because his son’s smile becomes smaller with what Bruce can only read as surprised… a little concern as well.

“Welcome back, dad.” The boy speaks, voice carried by the breeze and the petals of the flowers.

Bruce says nothing. He can’t bring himself to. Because how can you ever begin. How… How do you tell your son his brother has died before they even had the chance to make up after an argument? How do you let your son know, he will be in a quiet house yet again? How do you tell your son you’ve killed his brother?

M/n’s smile falters yet again. And he must sense something because he looks around. Behind Bruce, to the gate, to the flowers and to the door where no one but Alfred stands.

“Where is Jason?” His smile is gone by now, replaced by something akin to curiosity. “Did he get lost?” A small laugh bursts at that.

M/n locks eyes with Bruce again.

Bruce isn’t smiling. His lips haven’t even twitched. In fact, Bruce thinks he is getting worse by the second and it must be showing in some way because M/n forces himself to keep a smile on as he struggles to get up with the help of a crutch. He almost falls twice, but stands almost straight soon, book closed in hand, a finger inside to keep the page. The boy is pretty far into the book. Bruce doesn’t know if it’s the first, the second or the third volume.

“Dad… are you alright?” His son asks him with those alight eyes that speak the language of the sun and the moon. He looks around again, maybe he hopes to see the brother he so is annoyed by. There is no annoyance in his eyes. “Where is Jason, dad? I didn’t see him go inside.”

There’s a shake in Bruce’s eyes, a tremor of the lips. M/n pushes himself forward on the crutch. It gets stuck in the grass for a second, but it does not stop the son from approaching the bat with no suit, no protection.

A shove closer, half a stumble backwards.

“… dad?” Bruce lets his son see his head fall down, down, down, looking at the grass next to his shoes. Bruce thinks he shook his head somewhere in between the burn of the sun on his neck and the thud of ‘The three musketeers’ by Alexandre Dumas, fallen to the earth. For a moment, Bruce imagines the volume as his own head, rolling on the too green grass, blood dried and burned by the sun.

“M/n… Why do you hate me?”

“…”

“Have I… done something that wrong? I know I can be annoying and loud and sometimes want attention, but I don’t mean what I say to you. I never do, not the bad stuff at least.”

“I… I don’t hate you, Jason. How could I? You’re everything I wish I was.”

“Why?”

“Aha… I think I say all I say and blame you all the time because, not so deep down, I’m envious of you.”

“Envious? How could you possibly be envious of me? You’re older and you’re smart… and you don’t get into trouble with the teachers.”

“Ha, well, I suppose I’m envious because dad is close to you, the way he isn’t with me. And… and because you are with him the way I could never manage.”

“But… it’s really not that hard. Just talk to dad, I’m sure it’s gonna be alright.”

“Aren’t you wise.”

“Ha ha. I’m serious, M/n. If you want something, just do it.”

“See? That’s why I’m envious of you.”

… or maybe I admire you for it. Is what M/n imagines late at night, a conversation that could have been between Jason and him, especially close after the funeral, when Dick drinks in his room and their dad drinks in his study and Alfred cleans up the dinner none of them really taste any more, but only eat as unfeeling corpses coveted in a quiet house.

Part 2:

#batman angst #batman #male reader #batfam #bruce wayne #jason todd #alfred pennyworth #angst #character death #dc comcis #dc universe #dc batfam #dc batman #bat brothers #disabled character #reader insert #dc x reader #batman x reader

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st-kitten · 2 months ago

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UCHIHA SASUKE, THE MENACE THAT YOU ARE

sasusaku

synopsis it was no news that uchiha sasuke hated most people. stoic as a boy, an absolute wrathful presence as a teenager, he had a penchant for taking what he wanted without remorse. despite calling sakura 'annoying', he couldn't help but feel burning jealousy when he heard just how many men were confessing their love to her after the war. now now, wasn't she supposed to be obsessed with him?

warnings: !! characters are 18+, possessiveness, degradation (he gets really mean ˙◠˙), rough sex, sharingan use, his version of missionary ig, doggy style, throat fucking, hair pulling, choking, loss of virginity (both), aftercare (because sakura deserves the world) sasuke has 2 arms in this one *not canon

sakura was liked by everyone at the hospital. known for her warm smile and reassuring presence, she has a way of brightening everyone’s day. patients, especially the male ones, often find themselves smitten—some sneak glances her way, while others try their luck by bringing her flowers. though sakura handles it all with a mix of professionalism and good humour, her focus always remains on her work and ensuring the wellbeing of her village.

however, a certain raven haired guy felt bile rise in him upon seeing the girl who used to fawn over him be admired by others. seeing her out and about in the hospital lobby, chirpy and greeting, but also dedicated and focused was a sight that sasuke never expected to find alluring. gone was the sickly, frightened girl who begged him to stay. she had turned into a beautiful woman who was self-assured, stronger than most, and ambitious. so why was the sight of her being pursued for who she was making him sick?

sakura ended her shift and returned to the cosy apartment she'd bought with the money saved from missions. she took her coat off, washed her face and clipped her hair up. she went about her nightly routine, cracking open a can of cold coffee, waiting for a dinner for one, and putting on music, slowly swaying to it. when the food arrived, she collected it and paid the delivery guy. she went to her room to put her wallet back, passing by red eyes that glowed in the dark.

she tensed and whipped around. she'd recognise those eyes anywhere.

"s-sasuke-kun?"

the brooding man stepped out of the darkness of her room, standing in front of her. for a moment he simply stared down at her, taking her homely appearance in.

"what are... you doing here?"

seeing the man she'd loved all this time suddenly spawn in her bedroom of all places had her mind running off to uncharted places and her heart on steroids.

"what. can i not be here?" he asked curtly.

sakura shook her head. "that's... not what i asked."

oh? sasuke held back an amused grin at her assertiveness. years ago this girl would've crumbled at the mere image of him. yet now she confronted him plainly.

sasuke spotted the pile of bouquets on her dresser. "from your fans?"

"patients."

he scoffed. "become popular, have we?"

sakura frowned. she didn't know what he wanted. or why he was being so cryptic. had he walked in through the front door, she'd have gladly let him in. but something was off about his sudden visit.

before she could enquire, sasuke's mangekyou sharingan set the flowers aflame with his amaterasu, eliciting a gasp from sakura.

"what are you doing!?" she tried to pick up a bouquet to salve it from the spreading fire but sasuke caught her wrist tightly.

"stop entertaining your patients. half of them are married men anyway."

"i'm their doctor... i can't just—"

sasuke silenced her with a dark gaze, reminding her of all the times he'd looked at her that way. but this time, it didn't hint at hatred. no, it was something else.

"what's gotten into you, sasuke-kun?"

his grip on her wrist tightened as he pulled her closer. he looked down at her, watching her bright green eyes sparkle in the ambient moonlight.

"hmm? thought you'd enjoy this... enjoy my... attention," he quipped.

sakura tried to pry her wrist away from his grip but who was she kidding; a part of her knew his strength could overpower her if he truly wanted it to and another part of her didn't want him to let go.

he tilted her chin up, running his thumb over her lower lip. that was enough to get her to blush. as he leaned a little forward, sakura panicked and pulled away, but sasuke's grip kept her in place.

"don't fight it. we both know you want this just as much..."

sasuke pressed his lips to hers, sealing with a kiss. her lips were softer than his. her little gasp enabled him to nip at her lower lip, his tongue gliding over it. sasuke wasn't someone who cared about 'first kisses'. but he had to admit, it felt sinfully good to kiss sakura.

"come on... haven't you waited long enough for this?" he whispered against her lips.

sakura, as her mind raced with a million thoughts, kissed him back gently. with a hum of approval, sasuke resumed kissing her. he was far from gentle. he carded his fingers through her pastel pink hair, using it to control her movements as he forced their mouths in a bruising kiss, eliciting another gasp from her. he took the opportunity to slide his tongue in, past her parted lips, claiming hers with an authority she knew not to challenge.

he freed her wrist and let his hand roam around her slender waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him. he let his hand travel down to cup her ass, squeezing the flesh he knew was a recent addition to her grown body. sakura's shaky hands rested on his chest, in an attempt to keep distance from his sudden barrage of kisses, but that was to no avail.

sasuke's hand came back up, kneading at her breast through her red shirt. sakura whimpered at how forward he was being. her childhood insecurity of having smaller breasts was diminishing with every passing second as sasuke's fingers deftly played with her breast, running his knuckles over her clothed nipple, feeling it harden immediately.

he bit her lower lip, before soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. he pulled away momentarily, holding her jaw, watching the strings of saliva stretching as their mouths pulled away from each other.

"you know your so called patients want you, right?" he murmured, letting his lips hover near her ear.

"w-what, n-no."

"you may be annoyingly professional... but you're no fool, sakura." he let his hand slip her her shirt, making her stomach recoil with arousal as his fingertips touched her soft skin.

"no? want me to let you in on their thoughts, hm?" sasuke leaned down to kiss her neck, whispering into her ear as he pressed wet kisses on the column of her throat. he let his hand explore further, tugging at her bra cup, and slipping his hand inside to cup her breast.

"every day you put that coat on and walk into their rooms, talk to them, check their pulse. let me tell you, sakura, all they want is for that hand around their wrist to be around something else instead."

sakura's breath hitched at the obscenity sasuke was whispering in her ear. she knew he was brutally honest to a fault, but she didn't know if his words were meant to scare her or confuse her.

sasuke slowly began pushing her towards her bed. "the 'hot' doctor, the 'pretty' doctor... the doctor with pink hair... don't tell me you can't hear them... don't tell me..." sasuke bit into her neck, then licked the spot and sucked on it till it turned red and blue.

"don't tell me you don't see them practically eye-fuck you every time you look at their stupid charts."

sakura didn't know whether to be embarrassed or shocked. she knew all that. but the way he was describing it...

"why do... you... care?" she asked, her voice a trembling murmur.

sasuke pushed her by her shoulders, letting her fall into the bed. he watched her jaw fall agape as she gasped, her hands gripping the mattress, her breasts bouncing a little as she landed on the bed.

he crawled on top of her, straddling her hips. he snaked his hands under her shirt to pull it off. reflexively, her hands crossed over her uneven bra. not that he cared. he forced them apart anyway, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand while the other pulled her bra down, letting the cold night air waft around her exposed breasts. he yanked the bra, the hooks snapping, and tossed it away.

"i don't. but you should." he leaned down to press kisses on her collarbone. "you shouldn't lead them on, sakura..."

"i'm n-not... i—"

"...not when you're mine."

sakura froze when he said that. mine. the way that word spilled out of his mouth was like a commandment carved into stone.

"it was fucking torture. watching you smile at them. smile at me, sakura. blush at me. look at me..." sasuke mumbled, his face pressed on the valley of her breasts. he freed her wrists and used his hands to cup both her breasts from the sides, pushing them together till he was nosedeep into the swells of her breasts.

"don't tell me i'm not the object of your desire anymore," he said mockingly, knowing very well just how much he occupied her mind. he captured one of her nipples between his teeth, tugging gently before soothing the ache with his tongue. he sucked harder when she didn't respond, letting his tongue swirl around the bud.

sakura squirmed under him, welcoming sasuke's impatient touch with god knows what eagerness. if she had any self-respect, she'd stop him, talk to him, clear things out. the rational part of her was screaming at her to sock the shit out of him. but her fluttering heart won over with every thump.

"sasuke-kun... we... we're not... too... soon," she rambled, flushed.

he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. "how utterly pathetic."

he leaned in closer, his face inches away from hers, his voice, a menacing whisper. "let me make one thing clear. i don't give a fuck if this is 'too soon'. hell, i don't even care if you have some weak excuse of a boyfriend i don't know about, who, let's be honest, isn't gonna keep you satisfied." he had an inkling as to what she was afraid of. "you worried we're not 'together' enough to do this?" sasuke descended once more, his lips trailing fire along her jaw before catching her mouth in a searing kiss, plundering with reckless abandon, teeth clashing, tongues in a frenzied friction.

"let's get real, pink. you've always been mine."

sakura blushed like a tomato, and sasuke chuckled darkly, his hand trailing past her flimsy shorts, diving straight between her legs where he was met with pulsating heat, and dampness that made him feel proud of himself.

sasuke's fingers found the slick heat of her core. he stroked through the folds, keeping his touch feather light, applying pressure here and there. he pressed a finger against her entrance, circling the rim before pushing inside, feeling her walls clench around his invading digit. sasuke groaned in satisfaction. "fucking... tight."

withdrawing his finger, he brought it to her lips, smearing the glistening evidence of her arousal across them.

"taste yourself," he said as he pushed his finger inside sakura's mouth, and watched as her lips involuntarily wrapped around it.

"that's it, take it all in," he rasped, letting his finger shove as deep as he could. he removed it with a lewd pop, and replaced it with his tongue, thrusting deep to foreshadow what he was about to do to her soon, moaning into her mouth. sasuke devoured sakura's mouth with a ferocity that bordered on feral.

breaking the kiss, leaving her lips swollen and her cheeks red, he sat back on his heels, his chest heaving with mild exertion. he hoisted himself up on his knees.

"strip."

with shaky hands, sakura undid her shorts. sasuke's impatience got the best of him and he yanked her panties down harshly, the sound of fabric tearing echoing in the room. with a fluid motion, sasuke shed his clothes too, revealing his chiselled physique in all its glory. his rock-hard erection sprang free, throbbing with anticipation. but it was worth seeing sakura's reaction.

"poor baby... never seen a dick?" he cooed.

sakura resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "seen plenty at the hospital," she smiled slyly.

sasuke's brow twitched. of course. she dealt with patients of all shapes and sizes. it wouldn't be her first time seeing a man naked.

grabbing her wrist, he effortlessly pulled her off the bed, to her feet before forcing her own onto the carpet by her bed. he loomed over her, his imposing figure casting a shadow darker than the room.

"look at me," he commanded and she did so.

"this is what power feels like. forget what you've seen." he toyed with sakura, his fingers wrapping around the delicate column of her throat, while his other hand brandished his dick mere inches from her face, its tip leaking just enough.

"i think it's time you paid proper homage to the man you claim to be obsessed with, hm?" he purred, his thumb brushing over her pulse point.

"worship me with your mouth, sakura, and maybe— just maybe, i'll grant you the privilege of feeling this cock inside you."

the more candid he became, the more sakura felt her world shift. he was harsh when he could be. but in this setting? sakura couldn't want anything else.

she timidly gave his tip a few kitten licks. "aww," sasuke hummed.

"come on..." he encouraged her, his grip on the back of her neck tightening ever so slightly. "open wide... and show me how much you know about 'anatomy'... doctor."

with a subtle push, he guided her mouth to take him in, feeling her lips wrap around his head. he paused, savouring the warm, wet heat enveloping him before withdrawing a little.

"so pretty when you're pleasuring me..." sasuke murmured, his eyes gleaming.

his breath hitched a little as sakura's head bobbed, taking him deeper with each to and fro. the sight of her dainty hands clinging to his thighs, nails digging into his skin sent a jolt of excitement through him

"that's it... take it all," he groaned, his hips instinctively thrusting forward to meet her efforts.

sasuke heard her choke and gag around his girth and oh how he revelled in that power. this was submission incarnate, and he intended to wring every last drop of pleasure from sakura.

"fuck, look at you," he panted, his fingers tangling in her soft pink hair as he began to fuck her mouth with increasing vigour. "so desperate for my dick, aren't you?"

sakura's muffled moans vibrating around his shaft only heightened his arousal. he could feel her throat constricting around him, the slick of her saliva coating his thick length as he pistoned in and out of her mouth.

a low animalistic grunt escaped his lips as he caught the sight of tears streaming down her face, a perverse sense of pride swelling in his chest.

"that's right, cry for me," he whispered, his pace faltering for a moment. "let everyone know who owns this pretty mouth."

with renewed fervour, sasuke resumed his relentless thrusts in her mouth, both his hands grabbing her head, chasing the edge of climax. the raw lust in his gaze intensified as he watched sakura's swollen lips stretch obscenely around his cock, her doe-eyes pleading mercy even as they submitted to his domination.

"fuck, you were made for this," he growled, his voice strained with the patience of holding back his impending release. "built to worship my dick... me..."

with a final, brutal shove, he buried himself to the hilt in sakura's mouth. a guttural moan tore from his chest as he came hard, spilling wave after wave of scalding seed directly down her gullet.

for a long moment, he remained frozen, his hips twitching with the aftershock. as sakura's throat involuntarily milked his spent cock, every last drop of cum from him, he felt a shiver run down his spine. her easy acceptance sent a thrill of possessive triumph through him.

"swallow it all," he commanded, a croak escaping nonetheless. in that moment, perhaps, sakura was more courageous than sasuke.

he reluctantly pulled out from her puckered lips. he watched, transfixed as her tongue darted out to lap at the traces of cum lingering on her lower lip.

"such a good little slut you are, pink."

sasuke's expression softened ever so slightly as he noticed the underlying vulnerability flickering in her eyes. he reached out, his calloused fingers gently tilting sakura's chin up to meet his gaze.

"this isn't a hate-fuck, okay?" he said quietly, his voice lacking his usual arrogant edge. "if anything... it's the opposite."

sasuke's thumb brushed over sakura's trembling lip. "i'm... not some cruel sadist who gets off on making you suffer. but... when i take something... it's because i crave it, because i need it to survive."

sasuke felt an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him, a longing to shield this vulnerable girl he'd known since they were kids, more from his own corrupted desires. in that moment, the cold, terrorising uchiha seemed to soften a little.

"it's... another kind of hell to crave you knowing what i've put you through." he pulled her up to stand, steadying her with his hand on her waist.

"but you know me..." he said softly, leaning forward to kiss her, tasting the salty tang of his own cum on her lips.

with a predatory glint in his eye, sasuke pushed her back onto the bed, making her sit on the edge. he knelt before her, his fingers parting her thighs to grant him unfettered access to the goddess between her legs. her scent filled his nostrils, making him wonder just how privileged he was to be able to do what he was about to.

licking his lips in anticipation, he leaned in, his warm breath fanning over her slick folds. with no preamble, he sasuke dove in, his tongue lapping at her weeping core, the velvety texture sending pleasure straight to his aching cock.

sakura's thighs shut tight around his head in response to that, but he didn't let it deter him. instead, he used the opportunity to bury his face deeper between her legs, his nose nestled against her clit as he continued to devour her pussy with hunger.

the slight pressure of her thighs only spurred him on, his tongue probing and diving in with the same passion he showed when he fought battles against ghosts of his own clan and extraterrestrial gods. her could feel sakura bucking her hips against his face, her desperate attempts to grind herself against is skilled mouth.

sakura looked down once, only to find his deathly sharingan and rinnegan already looking up at her in the darkness, adding to the fearful thrill of their intimacy.

"fuck yes, ride my face," he grunted, his words muffled by her soaked folds, "take what you need, pink."

sasuke grabbed her thigh and threw one leg over his broad shoulder, gaining easier access to her dripping sex. he wasted no time, his tongue plunging deep into her clenched channel with no remorse. the lewd sounds of sloppy oral pleasure filled the room as sasuke feasted on sakura, his lips and cheeks hollowing with each suckle.

"bless this cunt... you're... divine," he rambled, eating her out like a rabid dog.

as sakura's orgasm crashed over her, her honeyed release flooded his mouth and chin and sasuke lapped up every drop. as her breathing steadied, he withdrew from her pussy with a final, sensual lick. wiping his damp mouth with the back of his hand, he looked up at her.

"let me fuck you, sakura," he said bluntly, his gaze boring into hers as he climbed back up on the bed, pushing her down into the sheets, both scooting back.

equal parts terrified and eager, sakura blurted out "sas-sasuke-kun, i've never... i.... I'M A VIRGIN!"

sasuke simply look at her, blinking. "yeah, me too."

it was a brief moment, but both of them felt a wave of relief wash over them knowing they were just as inexperienced yet yearning for each other.

sasuke reached for the condom in the pocket of his pants, feeling no shame to imply that he came to her room with a purpose. as he tore the wrapped, he ran her through the process. part of it was to turn her on, spoiling what she was going to experience, but another part was to simply reassure himself that he was really about to do it.

as he rolled the rubber on his rehardened cock, his breath fanning over her face, he spoke, "you better be sure, pink. because once i'm inside you, there's no turning back."

he brushed his thumbs over sakura's hip bones, pulling her half onto his lap as the rest of her lay on the bed. he followed, looming over her. he could sense that she was zoning out, ready to let it happen to her.

"one last time, sakura... tell me you want this."

sakura whimpered like a frightened kitten, but nodded.

"use your words, baby," sasuke said softly.

"yes... yes. i... i want this."

his lips curled into a small smirk at her timid acquiescence. he pressed forward, the thick crown of his wet cock running up and down her slit a few times before pushing in, breaching her tight passage with a single, slow thrust.

sakura whimpered in pain, hissing at the tear, her gummy walls clenching instantly, as if to push him out. sasuke groaned, his head falling down.

"fuck... relax... please..."

he remained still, savouring the sensation of deflowering sakura haruno. he stayed buried halfway, till he felt her breathe and slowly loosen up. then with a sharp exhale, sasuke began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained within her before plunging back in, slowly pushing more of his inches inside her. her bed creaked under their momentum.

sakura cried out initially, her hands clawing at his shoulder and bicep as her back arched. his grip on her hips tightened as his cock pumped in and out of her, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room.

"good girl..." he rasped. "let every" thrust "goddam" thrust "man out there" thrust "know who's... fucking you senseless right now."

sakura let out girlish, lewd moans, all of which sasuke devoured, kissing her open mouth frantically, messily. with a particularly brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside, grinding against her cervix.

"shit... you feel me, pink? i'm... balls deep... in you."

sakura whimpered and whined and moaned like a braindead, dumbfucked girl. sasuke gripped her throat, mildly cutting of her air supply.

"fucking take it, you... pathetic little slut," he snarled, his thrusts growing harsher, more punishing. "you're... so mine."

sakura trembled and shook as her orgasm hit her like a train, her staccato moans matching sasuke's erratic pace. he shoved his cock to the root and exploded inside the condom, which he wished didn't exist.

he rode out the aftershocks, still hard as ever. just as he felt sakura's body relax into the bed, he chuckled with sadistic delight as he grabbed her limp body and flipped her over onto her stomach, her sticky ass in his view. with a mean slap, he spanked her ass, watching the flesh jiggle.

"keep those legs spread, whore," his voice dripping with playful disdain. "i'm not done with you yet."

any other day, had someone addressed her that way, sakura would've pummelled that person to the ground, six feet under. but sasuke was her one weakness... her guilty pleasure. she kept her shaking legs steady and parted.

sasuke discarded the condom and tossed it on the floor. he leaned forward, his hands on her waist as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

"i only brought one... do you..."

she shook her head.

sasuke let his head fall down on her, his sweaty forehead resting on her shoulder.

"you can... piss it out later, right?" he asked, half ashamed, half pleading.

sakura knew the risks all too well, being a doctor. "yes... but—"

a rare whine escape sasuke's mouth as he murmured in her ear. "please, baby... i still need you... let me... let me fuck you raw. please... please." he went on and on as if he was begging for his life.

sakura sighed, feeling just as needy. "if i end up pregnant, you're dead."

sasuke chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "come on... gotta restore the uchiha clan somehow, right?"

he pulled back, and without pause, gripped her ass and drove his cock back into her, raw, without any layer stopping him from feeling her inside out.

"oh... god..." he groaned as he felt her anew. this position too, allowed him to penetrate even deeper, his balls slapping against her reddened ass with each merciless thrust.

sakura moaned into the mattress, barely holding on, but fucking her hips back into him.

"you love being used like a cheap fucktoy, don't you?" he sneered, his hips snapping forward. "admit it. say yes."

sakura's girlish whines of 'yes' fuelled his ego and his expression twisted into a smirk as her desperate admissions. he continued to pound into her, each stroke designed to claim her.

"that's right, beg for it," he taunted. "beg for my cock to ruin you again."

as if to punctuate his words, sasuke reached around to roughly pinch and twist one of sakura's nipples, adding another layer of agony. her high-pitched whines were music to his ears.

"perfect... i'm gonna keep using you... until you're nothing but a cumdrunk mess, pink."

if heaven ever existed, sakura wished it felt like the exact feeling she was experiencing as sasuke's methodic thrusts stretched her out. but she was just as crazy as her black-haired boy. "h-harder..." she muttered.

a chuckle rumbled in sasuke's chest at her wanton plea. he slammed into her with savageness, the force shaking her entire body.

"you want it harder, slut?" he growled, his hands slapping both the cheeks of her ass before he grabbed her hips tightly, using it for his own gratification. "then take it."

with brutal plunges, sasuke bottomed out inside sakura, his cockhead kissing her cervix as he rammed into her repeatedly.

"i'm going to fill this dirty cunt with so much cum... you'll be leaking for days," he promised. "and then i'll do it again, and again..."

with a roar, he surged forward one last time, burying himself further as both their orgasms crashed over them.

"fuck..." he bellowed, his cock throbbing and pulsing as it emptied its load inside sakura's cunt, his hips twitching with each spurting jet of cum, painting her insides white. when he finally stilled, his spent dick remained lodged inside her, their bodies slick with sweat and copious amounts of fluid.

with a satisfied groan, sasuke pulled out of her, only to immediately smear his cum over her ass. not content to simply leave her dripping pussy untouched, sasuke reached down and plunged two fingers into her depth, scooping up the remnants and bringing them up to his mouth, licking his fingers clean.

"much... fucking better, than that dumb ramen naruto keeps making me eat."

sakura lets out a snort of a laugh into the mattress. with god knows what strength, she gets out of bed, limping to the bathroom, leaving sasuke knelt on the bed in a pool of the mess they made. he manages to wipe himself clean with his own pants. laying against the headrest, he collects his breath, left alone to reflect on what had just happened.

the sound of the toilet flushing jogs him out of his thoughts and he glances at the door, looking at a dishevelled sakura, leaning against the doorframe, shyly looking back at him.

despite the rough treatment he'd put her through, there was an undeniable glow to her post-coital state. with no forethought, sasuke held his hand out to her, a hint of a knowing smile on his face, which only widened into a grin as sakura's face lit up and she trotted to his side, her hand in his.

"not bad for our first time, yeah?"

"call me a whore again and it'll be the first and the last time."

"yes ma'am."

#sasusaku #sasuke #uchiha sasuke #sasuke uchiha #uchiha #sakura #haruno sakura #sakura haruno

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bluwavez · 7 months ago

Text

“Even death has a heart.” ― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief.

IN WHICH ... Did Noah ever really get to be a boy? Or has he been deemed a man from the beginning?

FEATURING ... NOAH SON + SON JINHWA

WORD COUNT … 3K

NOTES AND WARNINGS ... Hospitals. Comas. Talks of death. Medical talk. Jinhwa. Abusive parents all around the board minus Naomi, love you legend. Noah is sixteen here. Crying. Grief. Barely proofread. rbs, comments, and asks are always appreciated ♡

“He’s her next of kin.”

“He’s a child.”

“He’s listed as her emergency-”

“He is sixteen,” The doctor sharply whispers to the nurse. Noah can hear them despite them stepping outside the room, so he doesn’t. He bites the inside of his cheek, blinking at his mom as she lies still in her hospital bed. There’s a loud series of beeps from the machine beside her bed. Noah believes that’s the ventilator, and it only makes that noise when she breathes against it. Her eyes flutter sometimes, and her hands move, but she hasn’t spoken a word since yesterday morning. She’s so still.

Noah held tightly onto her hand, finally feeling her skin against his despite having been holding her hand for what had to be hours at this point. She’s cold. She’s really cold. He blinked, a tight feeling in his chest as he rose from the chair he drug over to sit next to her. He lifts her hand to his lips before placing it softly back on her stomach, only taking a few steps to be in the doorframe of her small room.

Rooms are so small in the ICU.

“She’s cold,” Noah’s deep voice announces to the whispering pair outside the room, making their whispers hush and heads turn towards him. “Can I get another blanket for her, please?” His dark eyes bounce between the woman in purple scrubs and the man in the white coat. He has greying hair and skin wrinkles when he forces a smile at Noah, nodding.

“Of course. She’ll get her one right away,” The man in the white coat says, nodding his head to the left, sending the nurse away. Noah watches her before stepping back into the room, the man trailing behind him. He told him his name but Noah can’t remember. He thinks it’s Dr.Han, but he could be Dr.Lee. He’s not too sure, and he can’t bring himself to care. All he can think of is his mother’s name. Naomi. Naomi Tsui. She’s 35 years old, and she likes to make things. She loves to cross stitch, crochet, and paint even though she doesn’t think she’s good at painting. She loves deer and the summertime. She loves Noah more than Noah thinks she should. It’s all Noah can think about now as he sits next to her bed again, knees cracking when he does.

He takes her hand into one of his while his other hand goes to his mouth, chewing on his bitten-down nailbeds. The doctor stands a few feet away from Noah, but Noah doesn’t look up at him. He can’t look away from his mother. His throat gets tighter the longer he looks at her.

“There’s no easy way to say this.” Noah thinks that’s an awful approach but he figures that’s the only way you can approach a situation like this. The doctor takes a deep breath. Noah clears his throat. The machine obnoxiously beeps again, causing Noah to shut his eyes. He hears the doctor shuffle over to mute it for a minute. It’s a process he’s seen various people in scrubs do over a million times now.

Noah opens his eyes when the room is quiet.

“But your mom is not breathing on her own.”

“The machine beeps when she breathes against it.” Noah looks up at the man, who nods sadly. “She has to breathe on her own.”

“Well, yes, but if we take her off the machine…She won’t breathe well enough on her own to fight off the infection. She’ll-”

“She’ll die. She’s already dying. I’m not blind.” Noah doesn’t mean to sound so disrespectful, but he’s not stupid. The doctor clears his throat, nodding and letting a tense silence fall over the room. Noah blinks at his mom, wishing she could tell him what to do right now. There’s a tightening in his throat that turns into heat behind his eyes, making him hold tighter onto her limp hand.

“Son…I wish I could give you good news, but her blood pressure is dropping. When her blood pressure drops, she’ll crash, and her organs will begin to fail. On her paperwork, she’s listed as an organ donor. I’m not saying we-”

“There’s no we,” Noah interrupts, pitifully this time, covering his eyes with the hand not holding his mother’s as his bottom lip quivers and tears begin to spill out. This has happened all day. On and off, he just starts crying because the reality hits him harder than he expects. He can only swallow down his circumstance before it all just comes up in soft sobs and hot tears. The doctor clears his throat.

“I’m sorry, son. I truly am.”

Noah sniffles loudly, uncovering his eyes to rest his elbows on his mother’s bed, holding her hand to his lips. He pitifully looks at her face, making another sob fall from his lips. She doesn’t look like herself. There’s a tube in her throat and in her nose, leaving her mouth slightly ajar. He hates seeing her like this, and he knows she would hate being seen like this. His mom hated leaving the house without some kind of makeup on. She likes to dress up, be pretty, be presentable, as she would say. She would hate this so much.

“What do you want?” Noah asks, not talking to the doctor, but he knows it looks like he is, and he lets him believe it.

“We need to know if you want to sign a DNR for her.”

Noah’s dark brows knit at the words. Doctors have come in and out of here all day saying words he doesn't know, nor do they explain them to him, so he either nods or asks them to dumb it down for him.

“What’s a DNR?”

The doctor gives Noah a look of pity. Noah’s stomach drops. It can’t be good.

“It stands for “Do Not Resuscitate” which means if her heart were to stop beating-”

“She would die.”

“We would not attempt to resuscitate her.” The doctor finishes with a sad nod. Noah sniffles, looking out the glass window of his mom’s room as he squeezes her hand again. Silently, he pleads to whatever God may exist to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him what to do. He doesn’t even believe in God, but now he wishes he did.

Footsteps fill the otherwise deathly quiet room. Noah sees a man in a suit rushing down the hall outside the window. Noah stands from his seat, gently placing his mother’s hand on her bed again, rushing past the doctor to the door.

“Dad!” Noah calls, voice shaking when he calls out to him. Jinhwa’s head lifts towards Noah’s direction, a wave of relief crashing over his face as he rushes towards his son, arms open.

“Hanbin,” Jinhwa sighs, taking Noah into his arms when he reaches the threshold of Naomi’s room. His hand rests on the back of Noah’s head, cradling him as he presses his face into his father’s shoulder, sobbing loudly into the fabric of Jinhwa’s fine-pressed suit. Jinhwa rests his cheek on his son’s head, his other head rubbing his back as he soothingly shushes him as if Noah were an infant. Noah holds onto his father’s torso tightly, whimpering and sobbing into his chest, releasing every pent-up cry he’s bit back throughout the entire day. Jinhwa rubs the back of his neck to calm him down, reminding Noah of when he was a child, and he would come in to put him to sleep.

“What happened? I thought she was doing better,” Jinhwa asks Noah quietly before his gaze settles on the doctor. “What’s happening? Why are you talking to my son about this? He’s sixteen, for Christ's sake.” Jinhwa pushes Noah back slightly to look at him, making Noah choke back his sobs and hold his tears back to look stronger when face to face with his father. Still, his jaw clenches, and his bottom lip wobbles. Jinhwa’s hand rests on Noah’s wet cheek, wiping away the remainder of his tears with his thumb.

“What did they tell you? I told you to call me if they started using words you didn’t understand,” Jinhwa reminds Noah, his voice soft and consoling but tears still run down Noah’s cheeks as he balls his father’s shirt in his trembling hands.

“You didn’t pick up,” Noah whispers, his voice pitching slightly. He sees regret flash in his father’s eyes as he tilts his head slightly at his son. “They used words I didn’t understand all day. I-I didn’t want to bother you after the fourth time, and then you didn’t pick up, and I-”

Jinhwa shushes Noah again, pulling his head to his chest again, holding him like a child. Despite being only sixteen, Noah is massive. He’s already six feet two with wide shoulders. His mother says he got that from her father, but he’s never met him and probably never will.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Binnie. I’m here now,” Jinhwa whispers, kissing the side of Noah’s head before pushing him back again to make eye contact, nodding when their eyes meet, his hand still on the back of Noah’s neck. Noah nods, a tight sob leaving his throat despite his fight to keep it bottled in. “And we’ll figure this out together, okay?”

Noah nods, sobbing again.

“Okay.”

Noah is alone with his mother again. His hand holding hers again. Now, she has a pink blanket draped over her unmoving body. The machines are beeping annoyingly again. The sun has gone down. His father is still talking with the doctor.

Noah doesn’t understand the legalities of the DNR. He doesn’t care to. All he’s grasping is that his father isn’t married to his mother and isn’t mentioned in her will, leaving Noah as her only kin. When asked about her parents, the doctors told them that they refused to speak to them, claiming they didn’t have a daughter named Naomi anymore. Noah heard whispers of her parents disowning her for his birth, but he didn’t know it was so deeply rooted they would refuse to acknowledge her dying. It leaves Noah with a rock in his stomach. His mother was nothing but kind. She was a good mom and took care of everyone. She was supposed to be a nurse before Noah was born. Noah bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at the aluminum tiles on the ground as the nurse in the purple scrubs came in to fix her breathing tube.

While looking at the ground, he sees a bag of yellow liquid attached to her bed with a tube going up and under her blankets. Noah blinks at the bag, unsure of what it is.

“What is that?” Noah asks the nurse calmly. The nurse looks behind her shoulder to where Noah is pointing.

“That’s her urinary catheter,” She answers, causing Noah’s brows to knit, blinking at the bag a few times before finally looking up at the nurse.

“So, that’s her piss?” The nurse blinked at him, unable to read how he felt as his face read of nothing, but his tone was hard. She nods.

“Basically. She can’t control her bladder right now, so the tube drains it into that bag.” It’s the most straightforward anyone has been with him all day. He nods, forcing a small and short smile before looking at his mother’s face again.

She would hate that. She would hate this. Having a bag of piss attached to her bed–God, just the thought of the face she would make has Noah sitting up straighter and biting the inside of his cheek. He looks outside the window, watching his father talk to the doctor with a look of agitation on his face. Noah blinks, looking back at his mom, nodding as he leans in closer to her face.

“Mama,” Noah whispers in English. She never spoke Korean to him. She didn’t think she was good at it. Her hand twitches, and he can feel his eyes get wet. “I love you. I-I really love you so much. I should’ve told you that more, but you’re my favorite person in the whole world. I love you so much. You…You’ve taken such good care of me-” Noah stops when his throat closes on him, making his eyes shut tightly and tears slip down onto his sheets. A droplet lands on the back of her hand, making Noah bring her knuckles to his lips again. He kisses her cold skin once more.

“I’m going to take care of you now, okay? I’m gonna–I’m gonna take care of this, okay? You don’t have to fight anymore unless you want to,” Noah tells her with a deep breath, reaching up to brush her long black hair behind her ear. “You can rest now. It’s okay.”

Noah leans forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. She’s cold even with the blankets.

Noah sniffles, looking at the nurse who stands by the ventilator with a sorrowful look in her eyes. Noah clears his throat, motioning towards his mom when he stands from his chair.

“Can you stay in here with her? Please?” For a moment,, it looked like she might refuse, but when she saw Noah still holding her hand like a lost child, she nodded and offered Noah a superficial smile.

Noah gently lays his mother’s hand down on the bed to leave the room, walking over to where his father and the doctor were. He can hear them talking about options and procedures that could be done to give his mother more time but they fall silent when Noah approaches. Jinhwa puts his hand on Noah’s shoulder but Noah doesn’t look at him.

“I want to sign the DNR.”

“Hanbin,” Jinhwa says sharply. Noah’s eyes divert to the floor at the sound of his father’s voice. “This isn’t your choice. You’re far too young, and there are options–”

“Are there actually options, Dad? Or is this prolonging the inevitable?” Noah asks, looking up at him to be met with a cold gaze. Jinhwa’s hand tightens on Noah’s shoulder, making Noah grit his teeth slightly at the dull pain that shoots through his body. Noah’s gaze turns towards the doctor with a raise of his brows.

“Give me the DNR.”

“Noah.” Jinhwa’s voice echoes through the halls, causing nurses to look up from their paperwork. Noah turns his attention to his dad, pointing towards his mother’s room.

“She has a bag of piss hanging off her bed. You know her, Dad. She would hate this. This would be humiliating for her,” Noah explains to him, but Jinhwa looks unwavering, causing Noah to shake his head. “This isn’t what she wants, and you know it.”

Jinhwa exhales a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding, clearing his throat as he rubs the lower half of his face. He shakes his head, letting go of Noah’s shoulder.

“You’re letting her die.”

“That’s not fair, Dad.”

“You’re just giving up on her,” Jinhwa persists, motioning towards Naomi’s room. “He’s giving us options–”

“The options are shit, Dad! We either keep letting them pump her full of drugs, ruin her organs, and then she dies anyway! We get what? Two? Three more days of her unconscious in a bed? You know she would hate that! She would hate this!” Jinhwa gives Noah a warning look when he raises his voice at him, letting go of his shoulder to turn away from him with a loud sigh. Noah knows he’s calming himself down. He’s heard that sigh plenty of times throughout his life.

The doctor looks between the two of them.

“Ultimately, it’s up to Noah–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jinhwa groans when the doctor starts to speak again, turning away from home with a frustrated groan. The man nods with curled lips. Noah stares at his father, who avoids his gaze.

“I’m doing what she wants. Do you think she wants to be a vegetable? You know her,” Noah says. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to reason with his father about this. When his dad is pissed, all he cares about is being right or getting his way. Reason and logic don’t matter whenever he’s angry. Still, Jinhwa meets Noah’s gaze, jaw tight and eyes dark.

“You’re being selfish.” Noah feels the sting of his words in his chest, but he tightens his posture and grits his teeth to prevent his bottom lip from wobbling.

“I’m doing what she wants. I’m sorry you don’t like it,” Noah says with the strongest voice he can muster. He looks back at the doctor, who stands with his hands locked in front of him, only looking up over his thin-rimmed glasses when Noah looks at him. Noah nods, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“What’s next?”

Noah soon learns that there’s a lot of paperwork revolving around dying. He’s scribbled his signature what feels like two thousand times before it’s finally done, and he’s back in his mother’s room. He’s sitting on her left side, and his father is sitting on her right. They both hold one of her hands. Jinhwa hasn’t stopped looking at her face since he got in here. Noah just stares at her hand. She stopped twitching hours ago. Any sign of life seems to be made by the machines she’s attached to.

The room has been silent for a solid hour. Noah wishes his dad would say something to break the silence but he doesn’t. He holds onto it to punish his son like he always did. Noah looks up at his mom’s face, sighing softly.

“She wouldn’t want you to see her like this,” Noah whispers. Jinhwa doesn’t say anything. “She told me she didn’t even let you in the delivery room because she didn’t want you to see her sweaty and crying.”

Jinhwa shuts his eyes, chuckling softly. He nods.

“I tried to go in, and she told me to get the fuck out,” He reminisces quietly. Noah laughs through his nose, smiling genuinely for the first time in what feels like years. Jinhwa looks up at Naomi’s face, stroking her cheek silently with the back of his hand. “She never knew how beautiful she was…I never understood it.”

Then, there was silence again. Noah rubs his lips together, biting the inside of his cheeks when he looks at his mother’s face, realizing he’ll never see her eyes fully open again. His lips curl in as hot tears flash in his eyes, making him hold tighter onto her hand.

“I don’t understand why this happened to her,” Noah admits softly, not expecting a response from his father. He doesn’t get one. Jinhwa doesn’t even look at him. “None of this makes sense. I don’t know why her. She’s such a good person. This shouldn’t have–”

“Hanbin,” Jinhwa interrupts sharply, causing Noah’s teary eyes to look up at his father. Jinhwa’s gaze is filled with disappointment and contempt, making Noah feel like he’s two feet tall. “Stop crying. You made this choice. Deal with it like a man, and stop fucking crying.”

Noah’s watery eyes stare at Jinhwa for a sign of remorse or even some comfort, but he’s granted none. All he’s given is a coldness a judge would give a murderer. Noah feels sick, but he doesn’t move from his chair. He blinks at Jinhwa a few more times before turning his gaze back to his mother.

Noah doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

#˗ ˋ 🌊 dive deeper ﹕ chapters !#fictional idol community #fictional idol group #kpop fanfic #idol oc #kpop oc #fake kpop oc #kpop au #ficnetfairy #idol au #kpop addition #idolverse #oc girl group #bts addition #fake kpop girl group #fake kpop idol #oc kpop group #stray kids addition #fictional idol oc

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rafesvoid · 2 years ago

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(Rafes drawings)

Summary: Rafe tells you about his mother

—

You and rafe had been dating for 3 months. Your relationship to you was as close as you could get to perfection. Rafe Cameron the cold blooded boy with steel walls towards everyone. Everyone but you

Rafe opened up quickly to you. Not just his mouth or his heart but his mind. Rafe allowed you to explore his mind both literally and figuratively. Everyone’s room reflects their mind.

Rafe never let anyone in his room. Sarah or wheezie always being met with a cracked door. But Rafe let you right In as if it were your own home

You never spent too much time exploring the walls of his room but today that was different. After a long conversation Rafe had gotten up to use the bathroom while you had gotten up just to walk around the Rafe filled space.

His room was neat. The dark blue walls pushing you away and mysteriously inviting you in at the same time. The smell of his expensive cologne hugging you.

You came across his desk to find his notebooks. You knew Rafe was an artist. You’re probably the only one that did know. Picking up the first notebook you began to admire the pencil markings on the paper

Page after page filled with pictures no one other than you and Rafe had seen. A smile formed on your face until you flipped to a page to see a woman. Under it captioned “ma 1978-2011”

You turn around to find Rafe staring at you intently. Rafe didn’t mind when you looked at his drawings, in fact he adored it. But the look on his face was far from adoration. Knowing you had been caught you knew you had to confront it.

“Rafe, who is this woman?” You asked quietly. Stepping toward him holding the page near him. Rafe shut his eyes quickly as if dust had filled them.

“Look at it,” he replied. You faced the drawing back towards you. The deep bright blue eyes, just like Rafes. The tan skin, just like Rafes. The freckles are even in the same places as Rafe.

“My mom” Rafe spoke before you could even get a word out. “She passed away right after wheezie was born. Doctors say it had nothing to do with the pregnancy but then again they couldn’t give us a clear reason for her passing. Ward threw every memory we had of her in the trash. Sarah and I were able to find a few pieces of her jewelry but the drawings are all I have. Haven’t spoken about her as a family since the funeral”.

You knew Rose wasn’t Rafes biological mom but it never registered in your mind to think past that. You walked over to Rafe sitting you both down on the bed.

“She would’ve loved to meet you y/n”

“She would’ve love to meet the man you became Rafe”

#date rafe cameron #dating rafe cameron #drew starkey #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe Cameron.#rafe x reader

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ravennaortiz · 1 year ago

Note

Can I make another one? With Tiggy 21 and 23. Thank you!!!!!

You may have as many as your heart desires! Lets see Tig with prompts 21: Like, what you see? and 23: You are more than a one nightstand. Alright as always 18+.

More to Me

"She looks mad" murmured Juice to Chibs as he caught sight of you entering the clubhouse with your medical supply bag. Chibs nodded as he finished putting in a local block into Tigs ass. He had suspected you were upset when he had called you. Normally bubbly you had been cold and distant.

"Tig is there any reason that the only doctor we know would be upset with you?" inquired Chibs as he leaned down to next to Tig. "Not that I can think of. I showed her the time of her life couple weeks before we went on this run" replied Tig right before you opened the door and stepped in.

The men nodded to you but you ignored them as you set your bag down and sat up what you would need. After putting gloves on you examined the wound on Tigs ass. "This is the last time I help. You guys need to find someone else to call when you get shot in the ass" you stated as you continued to examine the wound. Juice nodded as Chibs sighed sending a look to Tig.

"I got this" whispered Tig before lifting his butt and wiggling it. "Like what you see Dollface?" inquired Tig mischievously as he turned to face you. "Stop moving Trager. I get you think I'm a joke but this isn't" you stated through gritted teeth. You wanted nothing more than to be at home. "I was just joking babe. Whats wrong?" asked Tig the smile wiped off his face and replaced with concern.

"It's stupid" you mumbled as you looked away. "Please, just let me do this so I can go home" you added you face turned down to the floor. "Boys can you all step outside" stated Tig as he watched you curiously. "Talk to me" whispered Tig once the others had cleared out. You sighed before speaking your voice cracking as you fought back tears. "The other night meant more to me.... I thought it meant more to you too. Its obvious now I was wrong, just another notch in your belt" you replied as you moved back to the table to start closing the wound.

Tig closed his eyes giving himself a mental kick. How could he have been so stupid. He had taken that call from Clay and hit the road without any explanation. He left you sleeping soundly in that hotel room with the intention to call you. Things had gone wrong on the run and he hadn't had a chance until today.

Tig remained silent as you worked. He didn't want to distract you and he wanted to make sure he had the right words. Once you started cleaning up he moved himself to a siting position. "You are more than a one nightstand to me. I didn't mean to hurt you. I forgot you don't get exactly how the club works, because you make me forget about all that bull shit when I'm with you." stated Tig as he grabbed your arm gently holding his eyes on yours. "I should have been more clear that night. "I want you. I understand though if you don't feel the same now" finished Tig as he gave you a soft smile.

Want more Tig? Click here

Want to see how to make your own request? Click here

#ravennasmasterlist #sons of anarchy #ravennasrequest #soa fanfiction #soa fanfic #alexander tig trager #tig trager #tig trager headcanon #tiggy #tig trager fanfic #alexander trager x reader

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black-is-iconic · 8 months ago

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Sweet Sweet Apathy

"Are you going to save my brother?" Those words gave you pause and made your stomach twist uncomfortably. "Um" you muttered scratching your cheek as you gaze down at the boys heterochromia eyes, "I'll certainly try" the words felt….wrong on your tongue.

You always tried to stray away from saying something along the lines of, yeah I'll save them guaranteed don't worry because that's not always the case.

There's been at least five people, so lost and twisted in their own minds that your words weren't able to pierce the protective barrier they built up, and as a result….they died….and the families were left grieving and heartbroken.

But the media never put a spotlight on that, no doctor miracle or whatever they call you's fuck ups are always carefully hidden under wraps and swept under the rug.

"You seem tense" Ms. Rei Himura spoke softly brown eyes gazing at you so gently yet her smile was strained with worry.

"I know I should be used to it, but the weight of someone's life in my hands always just" the words die on your tongue as a cold chill slips down your spine and you gaze off into nothingness with a pensive stare. "…makes things harder"

Ms. Himura says softly her voice full of sympathy, "but you will bring him back to us, right? You're Doctor Divine saving people on death row is like your whole stick" one of her children…Fuyumi asked hands balled into tightly clenched fist.

"I know he was a criminal" she spoke rubbing her arm anxiously, "a-a pretty bad one….but he just got mixed in with the wrong crowd…..that's all…..somewhere under all that loathing and hurt….is Toya" her voice cracked under the weight of her tears as she gently clung to the coat of your jacket

. "S-So please save him" she asked staring up at you expectantly. The tears spilling down her precious pale cheeks plucked at the strings of your heart, your anxiety sky rocketed and your hands trembled in your pockets.

They all looked at you with hopeful gazes, and it hurt that you couldn't give them a clear concrete answer, "you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink, I can only fix what he allows me to" you whispered grimly but truthfully.

Eyes downcast so you wouldn't have to see their faces, "but I'll certainly try" said hopefully with a little more conviction.

"I will try my hardest to bring your brother back, but nothings guaranteed" the Todorki family looked a bit glum but Rei smiled exhaling deeply "yeah that's fair".

With the more pressing matters out of the way you let out a deep breath of relief as Enji Todorki drove you to where you'd be living for the next two years where you would try and fix the damage he caused, the drive was silent.

Not a word spoken, only thick silence filled the air, and the only thing filling your ears was the heavy hum of the car engine, the screech of wheels against the pavement, and the sound of your own breathing. As the car slowed, stopping in front of a lavish condo complex you swallowed nervously again.

Somehow word got out about that the famous Doctor Divine would be making an appearance, and so the side walk was flooded with people clamoring against each other to get a glance at you or maybe even a chance to speak with you, flashes from cameras overwhelmed you and you slunk deeper into your seat.

As the door was opened by an attendant the light came poor in and the sound of a thousand voices morphed into one loud cacophony. It was impossible to tell who the voice belonged to, and it made it hard to focus with so much noise competing for your attention.

Your eyes stayed glue to the floor as you walked towards the condo, trying to tune out all the citizens calling for you, as you reached the condo you breathe a sigh of relief as the noise became muffled behind closed doors.

Resting your hand on your chest, you took in your surroundings. The lobby was lavish, a modern sleek look with rich black carpet, and large mahogany desk set, white walls, and glass windows that overlooked Musutafu.

A gentle touch to your shoulder spooked you from your thoughts, your hands instantly latching onto the wrist person who startled you and glared at the perpetrator. "Sorry Doc" a charming voice chimed in and your eyes squinted, a handsome young man stood before you grinning widely.

"I suggest you keep your hands to yourself" you murmur before letting his wrist go, "sorry sorry I just wanted to introduce myself, you can call me Hawks"

His eyes like golden embers stared deep into your irises and you averted your gaze "and why are you here hawks" you asked skeptically readjusting your coat the man smirked down at you "well I'm going to be your body guard for the next two years - starting now" he said with a cheerful smile.

You sighed heavily at the thought of being tailed for two years but you simply nodded "okay" you said smacking your lips and turning to reach for your things, "oh no let me" Hawks said snatching all of your bags and walking towards the front door.

"Where are you going?" You asked confused throwing a thumb at the clearly empty and available elevator Hawks simply smiled and shrugged "oh you're staying in the pent house, and the elevators slow give me a sec and I'll be back for you gorgeous",

He clucked his tongue and winked at you before flying off you huffed already exasperated.

Deciding to take the elevator, you walked inside through the glass doors and pressed the p button as the elevator slowly ascended you pulled out your phone scrolling through text tomorrowwould be a day

#black reader #dabi x reader #hawks x reader

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i-didnt-do-1t · 5 months ago

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Day two of @ailesswhumptober

Unfortunate fall/ car accident/ “don’t move, you’ll be okay”

<33

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

Morris never checked before he crossed the street. The carriages always seemed few and far between and if one did get too close for comfort while he was dragging his feet across the cobblestone on the way to work then it just gave him an excuse to flip off whatever rich bastard was riding in it.

Oscar had grabbed his arm more than once, hauled him back just enough from the oncoming carriages that the worst he’d ever gotten was a broken toe Wiesel had forced him to work through when a wheel had run over it that morning.

The limp was less obvious these days.

But Oscar wasn’t with him this morning, had accidentally slept in a little too late. Morris could’ve woken him up when he did as the first rays of the sun came in and roused him mid nightmare, but Oscar had refused him a smoke last night. Claimed he was at the last couple in his pack like Morris hadn’t finished his days ago and been shaky with the need for another cig since.

It was easy to swipe ones from the newsies, but annoying; it was better to get a full pack like he had as his first port of call after he left the shithole he called a house this morning, pocketing the box some poor fucker setting up a bread stall had accidentally left out on a statue plinth.

He didn’t check before he crossed over toward the distribution gates. The sky was bright now, but gray, a constant drizzling of rain that had been ever present since the night before. It was cold. He wanted warm smoke in his lungs.

He didn’t see the carriage, was too busy awkwardly striking a match while holding his cigarette in his free hand.

He didn’t see the carriage, but he felt it.

Felt the way the pain scraped through his body, all at once and so excruciatingly slow; the way he felt the bones crack in his foot at first, and the breath knocked out of him with the force that carriage hit him, made worse when his shoulder blades and the back of his skull cracked against the ground. The bloody mangling of his leg, bent in ways it shouldn’t bend amongst the carriage wheel.

The horse whinnying.

The world was spinning and dark at the edges and he was sure he heard some rich ladies voice, all posh and distressed. But he couldn’t quite. Process it.

Thinking was hard.

He was tired and everything hurt.

He thought about Cowboy’s little brother that died like this years back when he was trying to run away from the refuge.

He didn’t remember closing his eyes. But he remembered not wanting Kelly’s dead brother to be the last person he thought about.

He wouldn’t ever tell Oscar,

But he was surprised when he opened them again.

Though his brothers face was blurry above him and patchy with black spots and his leg was numb with a searing burning pain.

He tried to speak, tell Oscar he couldn’t see him right, but he couldn’t quite force out the sound.

“Thank fuck. Jesus Christ. What the fuck mo.” His voice sounded unfamiliar, panicked like ma’s used to get when Morris would hide from her and she’d spend hours looking only to find him minutes before da walked through the door.

He tried to shift, to move his head somewhere comfortable that didn’t feel like there were nails being hammered into him but Oscar’s hand on his forehead came quick and practised, forcing him to still.

“Jesus, don’t move. You’ll be okay. They uh- they got a doctor comin’. The fuck were you thinkin’ mo.”

He tried to speak again. Could only swallow the spit that had pooled in his mouth and instead shut his eyes to focus on the feeling of Oscar’s burning hot palm pressed against his forehead.

He didn’t want to die like this. He didn’t want to die.

But if he was going to he preferred it was like this, he thought, not alone like Kelly’s brother bleeding out on the cobblestones for all the boys staring out the refuge windows to see.

At least his brother was here, at least he didn’t realise too late like Kelly had, the realisation that his brother wasn’t clinging to the carriage next to him only settling in once he got beyond the refuge gates that had already shut behind him.

He remembered the way Kelly’s face crumpled, even at a distance.

Morris let himself drift to the thoughts, and the feeling of Oscar’s hand keeping him still, (he wondered if his neck was fucked) and the sound of his voice as he kept muttering out angry reassurances.

Christ, Morris wanted a cigarette.

#newsies #the delancey brothers #morris delancey #oscar delancey

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medusapelagia · 11 months ago

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Learning to Love 2

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,..)

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve /Billy Tags: enemies to lovers, mention of parent's death (Steve's mom), mention of domestic violence Words: 1870

Harrington's place is a solitary house in the middle of nothing, surrounded by the woods and nothing else. Billy appreciates the privacy; no noisy neighbors that might call the police if they hear a few screams, like it wasn’t a normal thing, and no one around to see him limp the day after. Not bad at all.

Neil was even proud of him when he told him that he was going to tutor the richest boy in town.

He literally said, "Kid, I'm proud of you." Which is a first in Billy's life.

If the big house and the heated pool didn't give away how rich Harrington's family is, the doorbell would, it sounds like the doorbell they have in the old big mansions and Billy is almost expecting a butler in a pressed uniform showing him the living room instead of his schoolmate.

"You came." Harrington says, almost surprised.

"Told you I would. Are you disappointed, pretty boy?"

Steve shrugs, moving from the door and gesturing to Billy to get inside. The house is super modern and cold, the living room seems ready to be the set of a sitcom, the kitchen is so clean that it almost shines and Steve's room is the most boring room he has ever seen; there is nothing personal, not a trinket, a picture, a sporting trophy, nothing at all, just a desk and few books there are lying on the side.

"Do you want something to drink?" Steve asks, annoyed.

"I'm not here for a courtesy visit, I'm here to help you because you are too stupid to do your fucking homework and you need a babysitter." Billy snarls, ready to fight, but Steve doesn't take the bait, he sits at his desk and stares at his books.

"Where would you like to start?" He asks, pointing at the pile of books.

"What do you need more help with?"

"Math."

"Let's start there."

Steve takes his book and opens it, staring at the first problem.

"Come on! It is an easy one!" Billy sighs, taking the book and quickly solving the problem while Steve stares blankly at him "Can you just concentrate a little for Christ's sake! You didn't even write the right numbers! Are you stupid? Can't you copy some fucking numbers?"

Steve flinches, moving away from Billy. Billy sighs, this is not going well. He takes a deep breath and thinks about the waves of the ocean, trying to calm himself and when he feels a little bit settled he asks "Why... why didn’t you write the correct numbers?"

"I did!" Steve replies, "I can copy some stupid numbers, ok?"

Billy stares at him for a long moment and he sees how the boy squints while reading.

"Do you wear glasses?" He asks and Steve glares at him.

"Of course I don't, jackass!"

"Well, maybe you should. Have you seen a doctor recently?" After Billy broke a plate on his head.

"I... I don't like doctors." Steve confesses blushing in embarrassment.

“Are you scared of doctors?” Billy mocks him and Steve turns his face, avoiding Billy’s stare “Are you serious?”

“I’m not scared… I just… I don't like them.”

Billy stares at him for the longest time before Steve finally cracks. “When mom went to the hospital… she never came back, ok? I know that’s stupid but I can’t deal with the smell of disinfectant ok? And I’m young and healthy, I don’t need a doctor!”

Billy can understand the fear of the doctors, the few times Neil brought him there with a broken arm or to fix his nose, he was always terrified that those doctors, who asked so many questions about how he got hurt, would have taken him away. Living with Neil was no fun, but living in a foster family didn’t sound much better either.

“I’m not saying you should do a complete checkup, I’m just suggesting that you might want to see an eye doctor, so maybe everyone will stop thinking that you’re stupid.”

“I don’t give a shit about what everyone else thinks about me! I was their fucking god and now what? You came to town, took my place and all my friends forgot about me. I guess they weren’t my friends after all and you are not my friend either! And I don’t need to study all this stupid shit because I’m going to work with my father as soon as I get out of high school! So what the fuck do you want from me? I’ll give you a good review, I’ll say that you were the best tutor ever. Let me copy you from your test and we’ll be good!”

Billy shakes his head “No.”

“What?!”

“No. I will not let you copy from me and I don’t give a fuck about your stupid opinion of my tutoring skills. I just gave you a suggestion, you don’t want to follow it? Fine.” Billy replies, ready to get back to his place. Harrington is avoiding his stare, he is clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles are white.

“Stop being such a baby. You can’t take any criticism!”

“What about you? You come here, to my house, telling me that I’m either stupid or blind! What did you expect?” Steve snaps.

Billy gets up, grabs his things, and pushes them in his backpack. Fuck Harrington! Billy doesn’t have to help him! He doesn’t owe him anything! It’s not his fault if his sight is shitty!

Only… maybe it is.

Only… Steve actually tried to help Max.

Only… Billy is not the dickhead he pretends to be.

“I could… I could come with you.” He suggests, keeping his back to Harrington, his hand on the handle of the door.

“And what? Hold my hand like a fucking child?” Steve snarls, throwing what’s left on the desk to the ground.

Billy dares to turn, this time it’s Steve who has his back turned. “If that’s what you need.” Billy steps forward, not daring to touch the other boy but wanting to let him know that he is there, that he is listening “Where is your father?”

“Russia? China? Don’t remember. He must have written it on the calendar, I don’t really check anymore.” Steve replies and Billy sighs. He never really understood how lonely Steve must feel now that his friends have turned their back on him and even his girlfriend left him.

“Was she worth it?” Billy asks, and Steve’s shoulders stiffen “Was she worth losing your privileges? And your friends?”

“If I lost my friend it is not her fault. She is… She was… well, she was everything I wanted, the only problem was that I wasn’t enough for her.” Steve says in a self-deprecating tone. “It’s the story of my life. I’m not bad, but I’m never enough, no matter how hard I try. Even my father thinks that I’m not enough and he should know, right? He is my father.”

Billy gets closer to Steve and forces him to turn toward him, “Listen to me. You are the only one who knows your worth, ok? Not Wheeler, not your father, not those stupid boys at school! And if you keep repeating to yourself that you are not enough, you’ll end up believing that! So look me in the eye and tell me something good about you.”

Steve tries to free himself from Billy’s grip “What the fuck? I don’t do this stupid shit. If I needed a therapist…”

“Look me in the eye and tell me something good about yourself.” That’s a game Billy’s mother made with him every time Neil belittled him, and it worked every single time.

“I… I…”

“One thing, I know you can do it.”

“I’m… I’m brave.”

Billy smiles “Yes, you are. Good job, Harrington.” He tells him, patting his back, ready to leave.

“Hey…” Steve calls him, finally getting up from the chair. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I was going to order pizza and watch a movie.”

Billy stops, wondering if Neil would get mad at him “Can I call home? I’m not sure if Susan already cooked.”

“Sure. The phone is in the living room.”

Billy and Steve get downstairs and Billy calls home, it’s Susan who answers and tells him that Neil is not home yet but that he can stay out for dinner, he just has to be home by ten.

They order pizza and watch a movie and for Billy it is the first time ever. He never invited anyone to his place and he didn’t get invited much, always too unpredictable to be invited to someone’s home. Maybe that’s why he and Steve are perfect; Steve feels like he is not enough, and Billy feels that he is too much.

“Will you book a visit to the eye doctor? I’ll drive you.” Billy asks while they are watching an action movie.

“I don’t know.”

It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either, so Billy nods and goes back home. As soon as he enters his father calls him, asking him where he was, and when he tells him that he was at Harrington’s house his father seems really pleased. “Those rich boys are always stupid, aren’t they? But my boy is so clever that he is the one who is going to help that stupid kid. You’ll do great things, I know, you are just like me.”

Every time that Neil says that they are similar Billy feels some disgust about himself. He doesn't want to be like Neil, and even if he knows that his outbursts are so similar to the one his father has, he is trying his best not to become like him. Waking up one day and seeing Neil Hargrove in the mirror is Billy’s greatest fear. Not being beaten to death by his father, not getting married to a woman he will never love because he likes boys, not being trapped in a life he knows he will hate every single day. The only thing that terrifies him, the only ones he prays from every night, kneeling on the side of his bed, folded hands and eyes closed, is not becoming like his father.

He always lived a life where he was always ready to fight for dominance and he is so tired of being alert at all times.

Max is sitting next to Susan, watching a television show together, “Steve’s house is so cool, right? Did you see the heated swimming pool?”

“We studied, I wasn’t there to have fun.”

“I know…” Max snorts “I just thought that maybe… but you are right. You are no fun!” She rebukes, finally leaving him alone.

Billy’s room is full of music posters, he has a big stereo and a vanity made with plastic crates where his few precious belongings rest: a strong male perfume, the same brand his mother bought him years ago, and the golden necklace he received as a gift for his christening.

He stares at himself in the mirror, somehow he feels a little bit less angry and skittish, is it possible that spending time with Harrington might really be beneficial for both of them?

#stranger things fanfic #steve x billy #harringrove #medusapelagia #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Harringrove #Billy x Steve #Stranger Things Fanfiction #Harringrove fic #medusapelagia fanfic #my fanfic #learning to love

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paperbackribs · 1 year ago

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The Gift (3b of 15) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 3 Boys Are Witches Too (Part A) next: Chapter 4 Break the Illusion Ao3 Link - Chapters will be updated ahead of Tumblr Content: steddie fic, 2K words

Last chapter, Steve had a haunting vision of his Nana before comforting Dustin about Eddie's near death. This chapter, family weighs in on Steve's decision to save Eddie (Part A) and it's time to explain himself to his friends (Part B).

Chapter 3 Boys Are Witches Too (Part B)

…Over the phone, Steve gives his mother a brief outline of the past week, leaving out the more violent events.

Her gifts have always leaned more towards the earthy than the ethereal, like Steve’s and his Nana’s. So, when he tells her that he Knows this is done, a deep sigh of relief comes down the line. She hadn’t been able to convince him to leave Hawkins in ‘83 and now she won’t need to keep trying.

He hopes, a week later, standing in his kitchen this time, that his friends likewise accept his story.

Everyone has rested and is mostly healed and now the whole group are in Steve’s living room waiting to interrogate him.

Not that this is what they’re calling it, Steve thinks wryly, as he gathers drinks and chips to take back. He’s careful as he walks through the door so as not to overcompensate for the absence on his left.

This is just a ‘gathering’ for everyone to catch up on the latest Upside Down escapades.

Except they had already heard about Hopper’s insane tale of Russian capture and escape. Steve sort of had the image of Mrs Byers in an Emma Peel-like leather catsuit, which, frankly, was sexier than he wanted to think about.

He had shared the thought with Robin over the phone last night and was embarrassed at how quickly she’d moaned at the image.

“Steve,” she had warned. “Joyce is a stone-cold fox, and you need to respect that.”

It still leaves him with a smile on his face as he enters the living room, only for the entire group to swivel and stare at him, clearly having been just talking about him. Steve almost unconsciously steps back, alarmed at being the focus of their collective attention.

They’d caught up on the California crew too, including the chilled dude with the best hair Steve had ever seen in Hawkins. And he begrudgingly counted himself in that comparison.

El had come back with a stoic confidence that he supposes comes from having confronted and won against the most shit potluck of a family daring to call themselves brother and father. Still, she had stuck close to Hop ever since they’d reunited.

He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her, but Erica had been a little too quiet. It was easy to get lost amongst the rambunctiousness of the boys, but he’s watched her and wondered if there was more to it than that.

He still regrets not approaching Max after Billy’s death last year. Maybe if Steve had been present, she wouldn’t have gotten to the point where Vecna could scuttle his way through the cracks of grief and confusion losing her stepbrother had forced open.

By force of Hop’s return and Doctor Owen’s machinations, Eddie is in the midst of being freed from all charges. But no mobs have shown up at his doorstep in Forest Hills yet. So far, so good.

Everyone had eventually shared their stories.

Everyone but Steve.

So here he is, he thinks facing them with an uncertain smile, ready to share his part in Eddie’s return from the dead.

Eddie had also been quiet; at least when Steve was in the room. Quiet, but following him with that intent gaze again.

An extension of Steve’s powers has always been the knowledge of when he was the at centre of someone’s attention. It had been a heady feeling when fuelled by popularity at school. It had also been a considerable deflator of his ego in the later years while he had sat alone in the cafeteria, nursing a bruised face and body more than once. Now, he thinks he could feel Eddie’s gaze even without any ethereal awareness.

Steve looks over; his eyes, one warm hazel and the other a vibrant white lock onto Eddie’s brown gaze from across the room. That hum of connection strikes like gentle lightning between them; Steve faintly hears the beginning of a song.

Gone are the two deep pools of warm melted chocolate that once graced Eddie’s face, one now replaced by a lighter version that mirrors Steve’s remaining eye. Where Steve has given loss, Eddie has received an unexpected gift.

“Are you going to tell us now,” Eddie’s voice carries across the room and Steve nods in resignation.

However, he refuses to stand in front of the group as if he’s giving a class presentation like some nervous sophomore. He props himself against the chair arm of Robin’s seat, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded. She leans against his right side in support.

Steve pauses to gather his thoughts, trying to figure out where to start with such a complex explanation of history, family, and hidden practices.

And it’s not that he’s ashamed, but nor is it in his nature to share and this has always been held tightly to centre of his being, unspoken from all others except family and Robin.

As if reading his mind, Robin squeezes his knee before leaning forward, “Dingus here is a Witch. Like Capital W, can cast a spell on you, see the future, and save a life.” She waves her hands next to him like Vanna White revealing the letters on Wheel of Fortune. He decides not to correct her use of the term spell.

The room explodes.

“You can see the future?” Says Lucas.

“Witches are girls,” calls out Mike. Will elbows him in the ribs, “I bet boys can be too. He’s like a wizard.”

“Are there others like you,” Dustin leans forward, fingers folded under his chin like a miniature detective only missing a magnifying glass and pipe.

“Where’s your broom,” Max heckles, though her eyes are a little too wide to believe the sass in her tone.

“What about your family, Steve,” he hears but doesn’t see Mrs Byers ask gently, who is to his far left.

Nancy holds out her hands, trying to rein in the chaos. “Hey, let him speak. He said he’s going to tell us, so let him.” Steve appreciates it, even though she looks like she’s about to whip out a pad to take notes.

Steve points a finger at them one at a time. “Witches are girls and boys, Mike. Thanks, Will, but don’t call me a wizard. I’m a Witch, there’s no gender. It’s like saying I’m American. I just am. Dustin, yes, there are. Not a lot, but enough. My mom and her side of the family are Witches, it’s how I knew what to do.”

He simply glares at Max briefly, refusing to dignify her with an answer. She pokes her tongue out in response.

“And what is it that you did,” asks Hop, still so strange with his drawn face absent its moustache, the harsh lines on his face speaking of the hardship he had suffered as a prisoner in Russia.

“Because I saw you in that room, Steve. Eddie may have been the one in the bed, but you looked like you were going to keel over at any point.”

Dustin whips his head back to Steve like he hadn’t even considered he could have been anything but okay.

Steve appreciates the sentiment when, even now, his body aches from being dragged over the Upside Down and torn into by those bats. Despite the healing pouch his mother had overnighted to him, he’ll still have a lot of scarring, including the red ring around his neck from a demo-bat’s whip-like tail.

Flashing to the feeling of blood-slicked wounds closing under his hand, Steve thinks he’ll probably be far more marked than the guy who actually died.

But he is recovering. He’s okay. And he says as much to the waiting group. “I’m fine. It was… powerful, what I did. But I’m alive and Eddie’s alive,” Steve points to the other boy like that will win his argument. “So, it all worked out fine.”

Eddie’s lips tighten in response, but he remains silent.

“Yeah, but Steve, what did you have to give up? I’ve been holding back so you only had to do this once, but come on, look at your eyes.”

Steve looks back down at Robin’s upturned and suspicious face in betrayal. He knew she had been too blasé. Too accepting. Too ready to joke about Mrs Byers as an international spy of mystery.

Robin’s brows are drawn, and he can see that she is deadly serious. She’s not going to let him get away with a muttered ‘It’s okay.’

Steve takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling. “It was powerful. And… It’s called The Sacrifice for a reason. But it was worth it!” He looks over at Eddie, whose face is stone for all that Steve can work out what he may be thinking.

“All I needed to do was give away one little thing and you would live. I could See that. You were going to die otherwise and… this just needed to happen. Okay?”

Eddie’s lips relax somewhat, “Okay. Don’t mistake me, I’m grateful, Steve. Thank you. I like living, you know. But I get the sense that this was a Gandalf moment. You threw yourself over into the abyss with the Balrog.”

Steve shakes his head in confusion, “Come on, man. I won’t use sports metaphors on you, and you don’t use fantasy stuff on me. Yeah, I had to give something up, but it was small in the scheme of things. I wasn’t killing myself with a Bolrag.”

He looks out at everyone, noticing varying degrees of conviction reflected in their expressions.

He sighs, “It’s just an eye. I have two, I’m fine. I just run into the walls a little now.” He says it with a light grin, but he gets no laughter back. Which, rude. He had bumped into doorframes somewhat until he began to adjust, so they should acknowledge the joke.

“Too soon?”

“Steve!” Dustin’s eyes are wet again and Steve’s heart sinks. He keeps failing this kid. “Did you nearly die?” He demands.

“Uh,” Steve panics. And, in panicking, forgets that he could just deny it. “A little?”

He flinches at the roar of the room. The kids start shouting questions and accusations again while Robin pushes him in anger so hard that he slides off the chair arm and onto the floor with a thump. Steve winces as the impact painfully spreads through his backside.

Everyone stops, mute. Robin’s shocked face looks down at him from above before she snorts in laughter. He looks up at her face as her eyes and nose crinkle and starts laughing too.

The rooms presumably look on in surprise as the two of them giggle and laugh like loons.

Robin slides out of the chair to heavily land on him, hugging him fiercely to her. “I knew it. I knew you were doing something dangerous, you absolute idiot.”

“I love you too, Robin,” he says dryly, knowing that she will hear the simple truth of it despite his tone.

“Shut it,” she hiccups wetly into his neck with a weak giggle.

The two of them go tumbling as the kids suddenly pile onto the top of them too. For a moment, under the heat and weight of the love of the party, Steve sees a flickering image of them all as if he were watching through his spirit eye, outside of his body. It lasts for only a moment before Mike’s pointy knee connects hard with his inner thigh.

“Mike! Get off!” Steve pushes and the children scatter like petals around him. He rubs at his leg, trying to lessen the sharp feeling of assault. Stops himself from rubbing at his sides too, which feels stretched and uncomfortable over the healing skin and further aggravated by the weight of the squirming kids.

Mike grins unrepentantly, “Sorry.”

Hop starts to update them on the latest rounds of government NDAs to expect and his negotiations with the Sheriff’s office. And Steve knows that they have all accepted it. Steve is a Witch. He’s down one eye. But he’s one of them and that’s that.

Eddie, he notices, picks up a bit more energy. He joins in with a few sharp criticisms of his own for the treatment he’s experienced from Hawkins PD. But Steve doesn’t get to speak to him again until everyone has left. While people trailed out saying their goodbyes, Eddie kept himself busy with taking out the empty Coke cans and chip bags to the trash.

Robin lingers by the front doorway, head cocked to the kitchen in question. He answers with a shrug and nod, and she’s accepted he is fine for whatever is coming, on the condition, she notes by waggling her eyebrows, that he fills her in later.

He shoos her away in agreement and turns back into the house to find Eddie.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

Taglist

My taglist is always open so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed let me know too. :) If I've missed you, definitely let me know because it's an accident!

@a-gae-af-racoon

@a-lovely-craziness

@aly-reads-alot

@bookworm0690

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@ellietheasexylibrarian

@everyrandomthing

@finntheehumaneater

@geekymagicalpotato

@goodolefashionedloverboi

@hallucinatedjosten

@ilikeititspretty

@just-a-tiny-void

@ledleaf

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@manda-panda-monium

@matchingbatbites

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@newtstabber

@obliosworld

@oliver-sykes

@platonicbesties4life

@probablyscreamingintothevoid

@rajumat

@scoops-stevie-archive

@spectrum-spectre

@tartarusknight

@whackyrach

Edit: @swimmingbirdrunningrock

#witchsteve #steddie #platonic stobin #stranger things #steve harrington #for chapter notes on references you can check them out on ao3 #paperbackribs writing

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klausinamarink · 1 year ago

Text

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 15)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 | ao3

not gonna give any excuse for the update delay uhh but massive thanks to @panicatthediaz for helping me out with the adults’ dialogue!

Eddie’s really sick so cw for gross descriptions of vomit, flu-like symptoms, urine, etc.

For the first time in days, Eddie is running hot aside a few spots where the coldness still lingers. He would like it better if his stomach could stop trying to bust itself out of his withered-tasted mouth.

He moans pitifully. His head is pounding fiercely like a pair of hammers banging together inside a pot and it’s getting worse, barely helping with the nausea. Squeezing his eyes just makes the pounding worse but opening them does nothing to make the blurriness vanish.

Somewhere in the house, Will is running around like he’s in the track and field team. Eddie has no idea what the boy might be doing but he wants to yell at him to stop stomping his feet so loudly unless they want to attract another monster and it’s making his headache worse. But he can’t because every time he opens his mouth, his throat constricts painfully and the sickness comes back at full force.

Eddie grips tighter at the blanket around him, but it’s too thin to stop his shivering. Every few seconds, it seems the fever stops just to let the cold sink in before it returns and sweats up his entire body. His bladder feels full too, ready to burst at every violent shudder.

He tries to move his ankle. As expected, it spikes up in agony but doesn’t black him out. He moves it again because he’s always been a masochist while sick, but he doesn’t feel himself trying to wiggle any of his toes.

A sense of panic suffocates Eddie. If his ankle is bad enough that he can’t feel anything below or above it, then it might have to be amputated. That’s what happens to the really bad injuries, right? And wouldn’t that be a crazy story that Eddie would galvant to the rest of the world once he’s out of this hell? “Oh, this leg? Well, I lost it to a terrifying monster with dozens of teeth that had dragged me into a horrendous landscape!”

Laughter sputters out of his cracked lips. Eddie can’t help it. He laughs and laughs until his throat feels like it’s breaking glass from the inside and then he’s hacking his lungs out. Then he’s throwing up again because his stomach hates him, his body hates him, everything in this fucking Vale of Shadows hates him. And then he’s sobbing because he wants to just get out of this place and take a long hot shower and pretend this is just another realistic nightmare. But then he remembers that if by some miracle he and Will find that precious exit, Eddie’s going to be alone again.

He’ll be left with nothing to his name anymore except his renewing cycle to fend himself from the world that wants to shred him with its teeth.

As his sobs start to tighten his chest, Eddie hears (or rather feels, with his face pressed against the floor) Will loudly returning before his footsteps pause.

“Oh, Eddie.” Will says quietly. His tiny arms loop around Eddie’s neck and his fingers start combing through his tangled dirty hair. For the first time, Eddie wants to smack Will, push him away, and tell him to just leave him alone. He doesn’t get why Will still bothers to be so nice despite throwing up on his pants and forcing him to drag Eddie around like a sack of flour. But the pang of guilt strikes him as quickly as that thought. If he really were to tell Will off, then the kid will listen and then die somewhere and Eddie would be the only living human in this world. Another wail burns from his mouth as Eddie further stains the kid’s already-filthy pants with snot and tears.

After some time, Will carefully moves over to his injured leg. Eddie hears him shuffle the blanket back. “I’m changing the bandages.”

“The mummy cast not good enough, doctor?” Eddie tries to say but all that comes out of his mouth is an unintelligible string of “mmmuuggkaaa…” Apparently it’s funny enough that it makes Will snort.

Eddie winces when Will has to tear off the last layer, the blood sticking painfully to his skin. He thinks he smells something but his sinuses are blocked, which is great. His eyes start drooping, more than ready to fall asleep, only to fling open when Will pours something on the wound. It’s less painful than the first time right after the demogorgon attack, but it still stings badly enough that Eddie shouts. Will cries out, ‘sorry, sorry!’ as he hurriedly wraps it up.

After it’s done, Will returns to Eddie’s side. “You gotta sit up. I’ll help you.” Eddie barely nods back when Will’s hands dig into his shoulders and starts pulling him up. Eddie tries to move on his own but his whole body is sunken lead. He just groans as Will positions him against the wall, nudging him so Eddie wouldn’t fall over. It feels nice not to lay on his back anymore, but his head disagrees.

A dizzying spell comes over him and Eddie tips forward, but Will catches him in time, hands pressing against his chest, gently shoving him back. Eddie tries to thank him, but the dizziness turns into nausea and he heaves again. Nothing comes out this time.

If he starts throwing up blood next time, then Eddie will just accept his doom right there and then.

While he attempts to steady his breathing and ignores how it feels like glass shards, Will asks, “Do you want some soup? I managed to heat up a can with my lighter.”

Soup. Yeah, hot soup always helps when he’s sick. Wayne usually makes chicken and wheat.

Eddie nods gratefully, his eyes drooping shut again. It feels like a decade passes when Will pokes his cheek and then at his chin. Eddie automatically opens his mouth and a warm spoon enters his mouth. It only takes a second to recognize the taste of thick mushroom broth before the texture immediately disgusts him that he spits it out. A bud of vomit catches in his throat and Eddie can’t help but retch again.

Collapsing on his side, something warm passes right through his groin and- oh. He literally just pissed himself, did he?

Will’s at his side again, his cold small palm cupping the side of his head. “Eddie?!”

Eddie-

Eddie laughs.

Or at least, he makes an intimation of a laugh. It comes out just as broken as he feels. His throat is clogged up and rusty with the muscles scraping at each other like nails on chalkboard. Every part of his body hurts. He definitely smells gross like the trailer trash he is, which is why Will is back to wearing the cloth mask again. He can’t stop vomiting no matter how concave his stomach is. He’s burning and freezing. He-

He wants his uncle Wayne to scoop him up in his arms and hold him tight, murmuring gruff words that are always full of safety and love.

But Wayne’s not coming for him. All he has is a tiny kid who already has a loving mother and brother waiting on the other side. Even then, Will Byers would leave too.

When Will tries to lift him up again, Eddie refuses to budge. Even when he starts pleading because what is the point?

Finally, Will stops shaking him. Sighs in clear frustration. Sits down, pulling Eddie’s head onto his dirty jeans again. Eddie wishes to hug the kid but his arms are weak as shit.

Moments pass in loaded silence. Tremors rake through Eddie’s body. He’s getting cold again. The fever momentarily settles, allowing his brain to start crushing itself from the mushy pressure that’s now residing somewhere between his left ear and the top of his head. Bile laps around the middle of his throat.

“We have to go to the hospital.”

Eddie makes some kind of disbelieving noise because Will starts rambling, his hands flapping in the air just like Eddie does. The motions spark a small warmth in his cramped chest. “I know there won’t be any actual doctors there, but it’s the general hospital! There should be much more medicine than in this house or other places in this neighborhood. Maybe going there will make you feel better!”

That’s… not really a bad idea. It would be fantastic to move to a building that is literally equipped to make sick people better. Eddie’s surprised that he and Little Byers made it this far without thinking of going downtown.

However, Hawkins General Hospital is over an hour’s walk. And if Eddie had to take more than two steps on his injured leg, he probably wouldn’t move ever again.

“G-gonna bike ‘s there?” Eddie rasps, feeling proud of himself for speaking coherently without throwing up.

“Yep!” Will chirps excitedly.

It takes a few moments for Eddie to register his answer. He slowly turns his head up towards Will. It takes a long time before his mouth finally spits out a flat, “What?”

—

“But the lab is right there!” Joyce says, throwing her hand up to a vague direction. “We could walk inside like you did, Hop-”

“I did that by pure luck and the fact there weren’t any people in the lobby.” Hopper counters back with a tired tone. “Not to mention I was tranquilized.”

“When they took you back home and bugged your house?” Wayne asks, getting a nod of confirmation in response. He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. If those laboratory folks and their state friends had given Hopper a kinder approach to let him go after seeing their secrets, then would it guarantee they would do the same to Wayne and Joyce?

His immediate gut instinct says no.

“Which means they’re definitely hiding something!” Joyce insists, “And if it’s our boys they have there, we should go now!”

Hopper takes a deep breath and presses his hands together, pointing them towards Joyce. “I looked around the basement before I got to the ‘gate’. It was just a few corridors without any doors except for the one that I had walked inside.”

”But you went to the lab’s basement, Hop! How many floors does that building have? How many rooms are there that they are keeping Will and Eddie for god knows I don’t want to even think about!” Joyce falls back down on her chair, hands anxiously pulling through her hair before stopping herself and letting out a weary sigh.

After Hopper had shaken out of his stupor, he was quick to share what else he had learned about Hawkins Lab and quicker to join the next course of action (though he still looks a bit weary of Wayne and Joyce being now official graverobbers. Too bad because Wayne has no regrets and neither does Joyce). However, he and Joyce have been arguing back and forth about the possibility of just breaking into the lab and making demands with whatever suited devil held Eddie and Will for about a good hour now.

Wayne’s tempted with that idea - his trusty shotgun is in the truck, ready to be used. But with the overwhelming presence of the state folks and the odds that they could just shoot at anyone, tranqs or not, who gets too close. Even to go so far to create dead dummies, one of whom would eventually look exactly like Eddie just to make Wayne grieve-

Hopper continues, “Even if we just march ourselves in, without weapons, and make peaceful demands, do you really think Brenner would allow that?”

“If we-” Joyce starts, but Hopper cuts her off.

“They’re practically the government, Joyce! They wouldn’t let us live!”

The room falls silent. Hopper rubs his hands over his face and Joyce stares at him agape. Her gaze turns over to Wayne. For a moment, it almost feels like he’s a child stuck between a nasty parental argument, forced to pick sides. Wayne takes in a deep breath, keeping the nerves that have chanting find Eddie, find Eddie at him all week into a quiet buzz.

“So we can’t go to the lab because they have something underground that’s worth knocking us out.” Wayne starts slowly, “Even if we pretend that we don’t know anythin’, the best they would do is just ignore us. But we can’t pretend that everything is fine and that the boys will be back home any minute.” He looks at Joyce, “And we’ve seen those lights and heard their phone calls. Wherever they are, they’re not here where we can’t find them easily. And the fact we haven’t heard from them for over a day is concerning.”

Wayne turns back to Hopper and locks eyes with him, spreading his palms out, “So enlighten us, chief. What can we do?”

Hopper chews on his lip, quiet for a moment. Then he says, “There is one lead that I’ve been meaning to check. It might be a stretch and probably a waste of time but-” He stops, waiting for Wayne or Joyce to interject. When neither of them do, he continues, “Terry Ives. She was the one who had a case against Brenner in court and lost. Apparently she still lives somewhere close to Hawkins.”

“Do you think she can help us?” Joyce asks, her face hardened with skepticism. Hopper shrugs.

“If she hears us out with our story of Eddie and Will being missing, then it’s up to her.”

“Would it be worth a trip even if she may not be somewhere close to Hawkins?” Wayne crosses his arms.

Hopper shrugs again, “All I need to do is call a buddy and ask her address. If she’s too far out of state, then maybe a phone call would do. Can’t waste anymore time.”

“Then we can’t waste it.” Wayne agrees.

“And then after that?” Joyce asks, looking between them. “Whether or not Terry Ives gives us help, how would we even rescue our boys?”

Hopper stands up, “To be honest, I’m starting to agree with your plans, Joyce. But for now, let’s go.”

——

Taglist: @unclewaynemunson @hellion-child @steves-strapcollection @sidekick-hero @penny00dreadful @hbyrde36 @mmmmwaffles94 @princessstevemunson @sirsnacksalot @tartarusknight @lyriclight @kodaik97 @plsdontdrinkmylavalamp @bookbinderbitch @gutterflower77 @soaringornithopter @angeldreamsoffanfic @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch @manda-panda-monium @newtstabber @little-trash-ghost @niniel-karenine @tinyplanet95

#eddie and will in the upside down au #klaus writes #will byers #eddie munson #wayne munson #joyce byers #jim hopper #stranger things

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beanghostprincess · 1 year ago

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Aight… Have I got something for you. I have been sitting on this head cannon for MONTHS and I need to tell someone so prepare cause i’m strapping you into this (head)cannon with me :D

A lot of people say buggy could be necertari but bare with me, what if he was half a necertari?? What if, his father was a king of alabasta but had an affair with a nameless woman and she got pregnant with buggy. The woman was the most kind and selfless and took care of her son until he turned 5. The king found out however, and he knew that a blue haired kid walking around would raise suspicion. Keep in mind, buggy doesn’t have his signature nose (ITLL MAKE SENSE TRUST ME)

So a group of men are paid off to kill this nameless woman and child to cover up for the kings sin. Buggy’s mother finds out and takes her son to run away, but they don’t get far. They reach an alleyway and buggy’s mother pushes him aside into some crates or something just when the men turn the corner. She tells them she sent her son away so there’s no point looking cause he’s long gone. Buggy is unconscious, lying under a mess of garbage as the men beat and kill his mother (it’s dark, ik)

When buggy wakes up and sees his mom he’s understandably traumatized, and doesn’t know what to do so he lays down under his cold mothers arm and cries for a bit until he falls asleep. However, it isn’t long until some people find him in the middle of the night, and figuring out that he has royal heritage, take him with them for a cashgrab. The people are slave owners/traffickers, and decide to sell on the idea that buggy is a nefertari. (Gross/Warning) They “prep” him until he’s around 8-9. (Done) To keep people or marines from finding out who he really is, they sew some pigskin onto his face. Hence, the peculiar nose.

Buggy at this point has given up, he feels nothing. His back is covered in different emblems of different slave houses and he’s about to be sold again. Until…. a certain red haired kid shows up and sees through the cracks of a cellar window. It’s shanks of course, and shanks, already traveling with Roger, goes to get Rayleigh. He tells them all about the boy he saw and they “by coincidence” do some shopping during the auction and pass by. Roger of course makes a mess and steals this traumatized angel and brings him back to the Oro Jackson.

Buggy is freaking terrified, he doesn’t understand what’s happening bless his heart. But years of training had prepared him so when the doctor stretched out a hand he did too. “I-It’s 10 berries….” he whispers, leaving everyone nauseated and shocked (I’m evil, ik) Roger and shanks however make a plan, and instead of 10 berries, shanks gives buggy his old hat. It was just a hat, but it opened buggy up to the idea of freedom. To the possibilities of happiness.

TO SUM UP WHY I THINK THIS SHOULD BE CANNON:

-Buggy acts a lot like roger, which I think is because Buggy sees him as his hero and new father. He was everything freedom embodied, which was what buggy was missing

-We don’t know buggy’s backstory or where he came from, we don’t know why it hurt so much when shanks left or why roger took him on

-THE NOSE JOKESSSS. The nose has just grown into his skin at this point, and now it’s just part of him. But he always has a twinge of PTSD when someone mentions it, he hates it, it’s his past

-It makes the whole “I looked up to shanks/sacrificed everything” sooooo much angstier/juicier. Sure, maybe he was just an apprentice, but Shanks was his everything. Shanks saved him, and saved him again, and again, and again, and-

-Why is he a coward? He’s not. He does it for his crew. His crew as most likely been through similar situations, being freaks and all. He puts on this mask to keep them safe. If he plays the coward yet terrifying pirate, they’re safe. No one below will mess with them, and no one above cares about them.

-It would make sense with why he’s so weak. He doesn’t use haki because (ANOTHER HEADCANNON) he’s too physically traumatized. Luffy was able to become more than his trauma with ace and everything, and so were shanks and others. But buggy’s was too much, he didn’t know how. So when shanks threw away their dreams, that was it. The final strand was gone and so was his haki

-yes it’s dark, but I think there’s a reason for how he acts, and he is odas favorite. So when crocodile and mihawk beat him up, yes it’s horrible and brings him back to his past, but it’s for his crew. To keep them safe

-The big plushy costume keeps anyone from seeing his scars/what about impel down?? we never see his back, and we know the systems corrupt so no one probably cared anyway.

*shows off my traumatizing headcannon* Thank you and good night

I- I wish I could give a detailed explanation of how this makes me feel but I can just stare at my screen and say "wow". Because what the actual fuck this is great???? I mean. I've always loved the whole "Buggy being a Nefertari" thing but THIS???????????? And I've always supported the whole "oh yeah he was probably a slave" because, you know, makes sense. But?????? Wow. Okay??? Also, Shanks being the one to find him??? You're killing me here, anon. I think I want to open up your skull and kiss your brain.

#this is just amazing i have no words #i'm just gonna drop it here and see where it goes #one piece #buggy the clown #roger pirates

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evereinefaust · 10 months ago

Text

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 ࿐ྂ

Pairing: Kaito Shion X afab!Reader

Synopsis: MC, terminally ill with a rare form of cancer, shares a tender moment with her best friend and longtime crush, Kaito Shion, on what they both know will be her final day.

Word Count: 498

"K-Kaito-kun..." your voice cracked as you shakily held out your hand.

"Yes? [Name]-chan?" The bluenette asked through sniffs, gently cupping your raised hand with his. Tear-streaked face shows great sadness as he glanced at you.

"Please... smile" as you requested, his cerulean hues dilated in shock.

[Name] [Surname], Kaito Shion's best friend and long time crush, has been laid in the same hospital bed for months now. He knows about your disease, the rarest kind of cancer a person could have. One in a thousand only has this kind of disease. But unfortunately, you are one of them. He often visits the hospital to check on your condition after he heard from your parents the news. The doctors were surprised that you can still survive this long, but they know that your time is coming up. Everyone was informed about this, and so for the last time, they visited you. You also know that your time is ending, and so you plan the last day of your life be the happiest.

As Kaito reluctantly forced his lips to curl upwards in a slow motion, you began to cough, alarming the boy.

"[Name]-chan!" He panicked.

"I'm fine... it's alright," you assured him with a weak smile.

"No, you're not!" Kaito argued, his voice raised, surprising both of you.

He isn't usually the kind of person to get angry.

Noticing this, he averted his gaze away and muttered a small sorry. Your eyes softened and your very pale hand touched his face, making him look directly at you.

"It's alright, Kaito-kun," you told him.

Kaito's eyes teared up once again as his hand touched yours, tilting his head to the side, eyes open halfway. "You arr always smiling through hard times, especially when you are about to d—"

The male stopped his sentence, realizing his mistake, he glanced down.

"I know, Kaito-kun. That's why I wanted you to smile for me one last time," you urged, placing your other hand to the other side of his face.

He finally returned to your gaze, he took a moment to process what you said, before smiling a pained smile accompanied by hid streaming tears.

'Yokatta...'

Suddenly, your arms went limp. Both of your hands fell down and your eyes closed for the last time, a smile gracing on your lips. Kaito's eyes widened and his pupils shrunk. His body trembled as another batch of newborn tears went down his face. He screamed and cursed, embracing your now cold body into his. His wails could be heard outside the hospital room.

Meanwhile, a ghost-like entity stood behind the grieving boy, as the latter didn't stop his sobs. The ghost hugged him from behind, resting its head on his shoulder.

'Arigatou, Kaito-kun.'

Kaito's heart dropped once again as the ghost of yours disappeared from him, leaving him alone and empty. He cried again.

#fanfiction #fanfic #alternate universe #oneshot #one shot #reader insert #x reader #fluff #drabble #female reader #vocaloid #kaito vocaloid #kaito shion #vocaloid kaito #kaito

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 27: Eyaytir (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Eyaytir. v. to flee, to escape.

Chapter Summary: You escape the mountain base, but you're still stuck hiding on-world.

Chapter Warnings: fear, anxiety, being chased/hunted, Crosshair being a snarky little shit, angst; if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 3,313

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By the time you’ve limped Crosshair to the nearby lift, you’re sweating and your legs shake with the effort, muscles screaming in protest. As you round the corner, the troopers on guard all freeze for a moment, before snapping into action. Two blasters raise in your direction.

Mustering as much anger as you can—of which you have plenty to draw on, the heated emotion always simmering just below the surface, you spit out, “What are you doing!? I was assured that I would have a stretcher for this clone when I arrived to retrieve him.”

The two troopers glance at one another and, after a moment, lower their blasters.

“Well?” you snarl, straining under Crosshair’s dead weight.

Crosshair stirs at your voice. “Wha—”

You shush him, silently praying that he remains quiet for another few moments as one of the troopers rushes off. The remaining trooper makes no move toward you to help support Crosshair, a fact for which you’re grateful. No karking Imperial will get their hands on him again so long as you can help it.

The trooper reappears a minute later with a floating stretcher. You ease Crosshair down onto it, not bothering to snap the straps into place across his body. Fixing your cap, you straighten your shoulders and give a silent nod to the troopers. One of them presses the lift button; when the door opens, you push the repulsor-lift stretcher into the enclosed space.

Only when the doors whir shut do you let yourself breathe.

Keying in level 50, the ground floor, you slump against the curved, cool durasteel wall as the lift effortlessly descends. A pounding headache has begun to take up root at the base of your skull, throbbing dully in time with your pulse. Thoughts whirl through your head. What did they do to Crosshair? When did he try to escape? How long has he been here? How long have the other clones been here?

How the kark are you going to get out safely?

You want to stay and help the other clones escape, you really do, but as the lift trundles downward, no ideas come to mind. The Marauder can’t possibly fit all of them—even the Redthorn would be hard pressed to squeeze the hundreds of clones that must be imprisoned here. You’d be committing these men to another firefight and probably even worse punishments when they are inevitably recaptured. A deep pain blooms in your chest as you accept that you can do nothing for them. Not right now.

Crosshair croaks out your name.

You flinch, jolting out of your emotions. Crosshair’s eyes crack open to peer blearily at you. Confusion and fear pinch his brow. With a tight smile, you reach tentatively to hold the back of your hand to his forehead. He recoils before taking a deep breath, then leans his head forward to touch your hand. Concern bolts through you. His skin is cold and clammy; you curse yourself for not bringing any medical supplies.

“I’m getting you out,” you say.

“You— You got my message.”

“Sure did.” You retract your hand, idly wiping away the dewed sweat there. “The boys are gonna pick us up.”

His eyes widen a bit at that, searching your face. You’re not sure for what, but as he slumps back against the stretcher, his expression relaxes a fraction.

“I might need your help getting out,” you say. The digital panel above the doors steadily ticks down the numbers, counting the floors. “I stunned a woman on my way to you, so I’m expecting other resistance.”

“Did you see a doctor?” Crosshair asks, voice still weak, but the note of dread rings clear.

“I don’t think so.”

“Good.” The quaver in his voice gives you pause, but you’re only a few floors from the bottom. You’ll have to get that story another time.

“Listen.” You sigh, repositioning yourself at the foot of the stretcher. “I’m going to get us as far as I can. There’s a landing pad about a mile out from the base; there might still be a ship there, or we’ll hide out and wait to get picked up. And that’s best case scenario.”

He cracks a faint, sarcastic smile. “It won’t be best case.”

“I know.”

You straighten as the lift comes to a halt. When the doors glide open, you half expect a whole battalion of armored troopers waiting for you—but there are no guards. Rather, the entire hangar bustles with activity, Imperials scurrying every which way as they go about their tasks. Most of the figures here are clad in gray uniforms identical to the one you wear, but you do catch sight of a handful of groups of armored soldiers, white buckets gleaming.

“Stormtroopers,” Crosshair breathes as you begin to push the stretcher.

“What?” you murmur. You don’t dare move your mouth too much; your eyes stay fixated on the path in front of you.

“The new soldiers,” he explains. “They’re Stormtroopers. Nat-born soldiers. Our replacements.”

You know he means the clones’ replacements. A grim, chilly sensation settles in your bones. That could have been you behind that imposing, skeletal plastoid armor once upon a time. With a shudder, you shove that thought away. The massive blast doors to the hangar are still several hundred feet away. If they’re activated, you won’t have much time to react.

To your bewilderment, you’re nearly halfway there before a voice calls out to you. “Hey, where are you taking that prisoner?”

“Medical transfer,” you lie over your shoulder, not daring to stop or even look back. Picking up the pace, you lock eyes with Crosshair for a moment. Your breathing comes in shallower gasps.

The person behind you scoffs and audibly hurries to catch up.

“Her name is Emerie Karr,” Crosshair mutters. At your flash of confusion, he elaborates, “The woman you stunned. Had to be.”

You nod in thanks. When your pursuer catches up, their legs working to keep pace, you stare straight ahead, eyes fixed on a point beyond the blast doors. The sunshine outside has begun to fade—you’ve spent most of the day here. Kriff, you don’t want to have to outrun the Empire in the dark.

“Unless I am mistaken—” they pause, and in your periphery you catch them inspecting your badge where it bounces on your hip “—First Lieutenant, I am your superior, and you will look at me when speaking.”

You glance briefly. Nondescript, wearing an officer’s uniform. Standard regulation blaster on their far hip. But you keep walking, again lengthening your stride. “Apologies, but I have emergency orders from Emerie Karr to transfer this clone immediately.”

The officer stumbles at that. “I—”

You cut them off, three-fourths of the way to the blast doors and so close to freedom. “There’s a transport waiting at landing bay one-seven-six-five. Shall I comm Dr. Karr for you, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary,” another voice, clipped, smooth, and cold, cuts in.

Suppressing a shiver at the dead tone of voice, you risk a glance over your shoulder. Stalking in your direction, hands clasped behind his back and a calm look on his face, is an unfamiliar man with skeletal features and graying hair. His uniform identifies him as high-ranking—your eyes widen at the grand moff designation pinned to his chest. Snapping your head forward, you push harder against the stretcher.

“Tarkin,” Crosshair mutters, eyes narrowed.

Fear jolts through you, slick and ferocious. You’d forgotten about him, his name uttered in a Coruscanti prison cell not that long ago; every nerve in your body screams at you for keeping your back turned to the enemy, but you can’t stop. Stopping means death.

Tarkin calls your name, your full name, and rattles off your chain code. Breath feeling frozen in your chest, you grit your teeth as you continue forward. Around you, Imps in uniforms and armor alike have stopped. Most stare. Some fidget with blasters. None of them get in Tarkin’s way.

“Such a shame we must meet under these conditions,” Tarkin says. “I was most displeased to hear when you escaped Coruscant. I was quite hoping that this conversation would be a pleasant one. As it is, unless you halt right now, I will be forced to take drastic measures.”

Locking eyes with Crosshair, you see the same terror and anger clashing in him that wars within you. He shakes his head imperceptibly. You set your jaw and break into a jog, shoulder muscles aching in protest. Ahead, the fading sunlight glimmers and warm, humid air kisses your skin, beckoning you forward.

“A pity,” Tarkin says, in a tone that makes you certain he’s never felt less pity in his life. “Kill the clone. Capture the imposter.”

Red lights flash as the klaxon blares. You stumble, flinching at the sudden piercing sound. Around you, the hangar comes alive with shouts of “stop them!” and “seal the blast doors!” Blaster fire, hot and intense, screeches in every direction.

You bolt.

A grinding of metal on metal screeches; your ears ring. The blast doors are closing, and they’re gaining speed. You’re only a few dozen feet away now.

“Give me your blaster!” Crosshair snaps. He props himself up on one elbow, dodging a red blaster bolt that goes whizzing past both of you.

Acting purely on instinct and reaction, you yank free your blaster from its concealment at your waistband and pass it to him. The stretcher begins to fishtail. Stabilizing it, you push your feet harder. The doors are closing fast, faster than you first anticipated.

Crosshair takes aim over your shoulder. When you don’t hear any cries of pain, you know he either missed—unlikely—or he found his mark with deadly accuracy, just like he’d been engineered to do.

He calls your name in warning, glancing back at the doors.

The world seems to hold its breath, leaving only your own harsh panting to ring in your ears. You shove. The stretcher hurtles across the door’s tracks, spinning. You leap.

Searing heat burrows into your shoulder. A moment later, the massive metal doors slam shut behind you with a resounding crash.

Smoke curls from the gray fabric of your disguise. Gritting your teeth, you attempt to take a step—but you’re held in place. Panic clawing at your heart, you tug. Your jacket is snagged between the doors. Reaching with your uninjured right arm, you use the hole burned through the jacket to tear it open. You slip out of the tattered garment, leaving you only in a similarly-singed black undershirt.

Against your sweaty, heated skin, the humid air nearly feels like a balm. But you can’t take a moment to catch your breath. Instead, you catch up to the stretcher as it drifts down to a slower glide. You grab the edges with your good hand and yank it to a halt. You cradle your left arm close to your body; that blaster shot struck a nerve, and you can only feel electricity tingling through the limb. You force yourself to think past the numbness.

Crosshair groans, clutching his head in one hand, the other still gripped around your blaster.

“Can you walk?” you grit out.

“Give me a minute.”

Overhead, familiar, deadly screams of TIE fighters roar. “We may not have that.”

“Where are we going?” he asks as you resume pushing the stretcher.

“Landing pad,” you say. You jerk your chin in the direction you think is correct, but suddenly you can’t recall which way you need to go. Brain refusing to cooperate, you recall in pristine detail what the area looked like, but not where it is in relation to your position. Besides, it’s nearly sunset; the shadows stretch in voidlike, gaping maws. Nothing looks familiar. “Kriff. We’ll just have to hide in the jungle.”

Crosshair shoots you a burning, skeptical look. Then his eyes focus on your shoulder. “Dank ferrik. You got shot.”

“S’not the first time,” you snark. “I’ll be fine. C’mon. You’re gonna have to walk from here, Cross.”

You pull the stretcher to a halt. Behind you the blast doors begin the slow grind to open once more.

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps. But he sits up fully, swings his legs over the edge, and stands on unsteady feet.

Choosing to ignore his statement, you scan behind you to gauge you close the hunting parties are. Satisfied that none seem to be heading directly for you, you kick the stretcher as hard as you can to one side, then grab Crosshair’s bony wrist and pull him in the opposite direction. You forge a blind path into the darkening jungle.

“What’s wrong with the landing pad?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, face burning despite the dimming light. “I just...lost it.”

You can practically hear his smirk. “Impressive.”

“Stow it,” you snap. “If I’m lost, then it means I have nowhere they can check to find us. They’ll have to exhaust every option.”

Completely ignoring you, Crosshair tugs his wrist free.

“Can I at least have my blaster back?” you ask, not caring that you sound whiny.

“I’m the better shot,” he says.

With a scoff, you roll your eyes. He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. You reach in front of you with both hands to make sure you’re not walking into anything sturdier than a few bushes.

After a few long moments of crashing through the underbrush, Crosshair huffs a quiet laugh. Anger flares in your veins.

“What’s so funny?” you snap.

“You’re good at it,” Crosshair says, voice low.

“What?”

“Lying,” he says. You can’t see his face, but a smirk coats his words.

“I’m not lying to you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you say. “The others worry you might have been setting another trap, so you’re lucky I even convinced them to come.”

“And what made you so certain I didn’t set that trap back there?”

You dig your heels in and halt so suddenly that Crosshair nearly runs into you. Fixing him with a flat stare, you scoff. In the dark, you can only see the faintest outline of him against the even deeper shadows of the trees around you. Very little starlight pierces the heavy canopy. He remains silent as he returns your deadpan gaze.

You finally shrug, sighing. “Because you didn’t tell the Empire that the squad survived Kamino, did you?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, so softly you almost miss it: “No.”

“That’s how I know.”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that.

You’re uncertain how much time has passed since you escaped the mountain base. You’ve spent the entire time trying to confuse the tracks you know you’re leaving. As your vision adjusts to the nighttime darkness, you’re able to make out more and more shapes ahead of you, most of them large trees. Sometimes you backtrack, quite literally walking over your own tracks; sometimes you climb one of the larger, sturdier trees and descend its neighbor. Anything to throw off Imperial trackers.

You even have the good fortune to come across a stream. Crosshair suggests walking in the water for a while, a trick Hunter taught him once, to mask your scent for any pursuing massiffs or bloodhounds.

And now, finally back on solid ground, your boots and pants soaked through, you come to a small hollow. Gnats buzz in the air, and nearby, a cricket sings its plaintive tune. Crosshair grumbles as he ducks past you into the rotted tree trunk, but even in the low light, you spot the sheen of sweat that coats his forehead. He needs the rest, and so do you. The numbness in your left arm has faded into a constant burning static, no matter how you hold the limb.

Crosshair leans his head back against the dry, dead wood and closes his eyes. Satisfied that he’s at least pretending to rest, you crouch in the hollow’s opening and fish through your pockets for your comlink.

Pressing the button, you draw a shaky breath. “Havoc-home, this is Havoc-6 with Havoc-7 in tow. Location unknown. Requesting retrieval.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” comes Hunter’s voice immediately, pinched and low with tension. “We can’t move in just yet. Too many birds in the air. Anything we need to know?”

“Tarkin’s here,” you grumble.

“Sithspit.” In the background, Wrecker growls something unintelligible. Hunter sighs, then says, “Copy. Keep this line open. Keep moving.”

“Copy.” You can’t help the smile that has crept onto your face at hearing Hunter’s voice. You’ve been gone less than half a day, if that. Despite the brief confrontation with Tarkin, your luck with this mission has been beyond anything you could have hoped for.

It makes you worry.

But you don’t have the energy to worry about what-ifs. Leaving the comlink frequency open as requested, you peer at Crosshair. You’re unsurprised to find him already looking at you. Through a gap in the canopy, faint starlight glows, illuminating the twin sparks that are his eyes. The thin contours of his face stretch as he raises one eyebrow at you.

“What?” you say.

“Nothing,” he says, incredibly unconvincingly. “Never heard him sound like that before.”

“He’s happy you’re safe,” you say. You know Hunter is; they all are. But you also know it’s only a partial truth. Hunter is happy you are safe.

Crosshair cocks his head, like he’s following the same line of thinking, and then shakes his head twice. “I suspected a lot had changed since I...left.” You sense that he’s choosing his words carefully. “Omega, for one. But you. A nat-born.”

You can’t read his tone. Frowning, you offer a half shrug. “That’s me.”

He snorts and pushes himself to his feet. “We should get moving again.”

Nodding, you fall in beside him. As the darkness deepens once again, you risk a glance backward. The mountain leers above you still, tall and illuminated from within. If you never have to visit another mountain in your life, it’ll be too soon.

After a while more, the comlink clicks once. Tech’s voice comes through. “Havoc-2 to Havoc-6, we are unable to find an opening. We will try again tomorrow night, when the search has died down.”

You and Crosshair both freeze, eyes locking. With numb fingers and numb lips, you raise the comlink to speak. “Copy, Havoc-2. Stay safe up there.”

“You both stay safe, too,” Hunter says, voice crackling with static. Interference. “We’ll see you soon. Comms still on.”

The line goes silent. Around you, the jungle’s inhabitants continue their nightly routines, bugs trilling, owls hunting on whisper-silent wings, mammals nesting down for the night. But the space between you and Crosshair is tense, ready to shatter.

“We can’t stop moving,” Crosshair says, voice low, like he expects Imperials to be close by. And perhaps they are. “Need to keep going.”

Shaking your head, you give him a hard look. “We both need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” he snaps. “I’ve slept enough. All those sedatives.”

Your heart twinges, but you persist. “Sedation and rest are two different things.”

“Whatever.” He turns on his heel and trudges into the darkness, the brush swallowing him whole.

“Crosshair!” you hiss, hurrying to catch up.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. Reeling from the emotional whiplash, you glare at the back of his head, trying to burn a hole through his stubborn skull. He quite literally called for help, and now he’s surly about being helped?

But you know better than to press him right now, recognizing the cagey way that his shoulders are drawn up, the way his grip on the blaster has not once relaxed. He’s scared.

“Hey,” you call softly.

He grunts in acknowledgement.

“We’re gonna make it off-world, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice is hollow.

You sigh. This is going to be a very long cycle.

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