#Can’t wait to curl up in the fetal position covering my ears for two hours in absolute agony because I can hear people blinking | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shining-red-diamond · 4 years ago

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Ch. 27: Emerald

Cast of Characters//Ch. 1//Ch. 2//Ch. 3//Ch. 4//Ch. 5//Ch. 6//Ch. 7//Ch. 8//Ch. 9//Ch. 10//Ch. 11//Ch. 12//Ch. 13//Ch. 14//Ch. 15//Ch. 16//Ch. 17//Ch. 18//Ch. 19//Ch. 20//Ch. 21//Ch. 22//Ch. 23//Ch. 24//Ch. 25//Ch. 26//Ch. 27//Ch. 28 (coming soon)

Words: 1.4k

Genre: Fluff, some angst

Pairing: ATEEZ OT8 x OCs

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: birth scene, brief partial nudity

Exhausted and fighting sleep, San managed to stay awake long enough to find an empty chair to sit on. Propping his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands, his fingers trying to rub the sleep away from his eyes. A yawn escaped his mouth, but he still fought to stay awake.

“Are you alright, San?” Dalia’s voice asked him.

“Yeah,” he answered before meeting her gaze. “Celestia’s-”

“In labor, we know. Hongjoong told us. How is she?”

“She’s doing fine. I mean, she’s in pain, but no complications that I know of. Dahae’s keeping an eye on her.”

“Good. We’ll land in an hour or two, so we’ll get her to hospital.”

San nods.

For the next twenty minutes, he fights sleep in order to stay awake long enough to know what the plan was for the exploration. He could hear what the captain was instructing, but it all felt fuzzy as Hongjoong’s voice seemed to bounce around in San’s head. Thoughts of Celestia were swimming in his mind, and even started to dream she was walking into the meeting. Wooyoung had to elbow his friend in the ribs a few times to keep him from drowning into dreamland.

“San!” Grace-Anne burst into the door, jolting the young man awake, “you need to come with me, now. Celestia’s water just broke!”

Without hesitating, San leaped from his seat and zoomed back to his bedchambers to find his wife kneeling in a fetal position on the floor, wheezing and moaning in pain. Dahae was next to her, holding her hand and massaging her lower back best she could. Peeking out from Celestia’s knees was a puddle of a liquid substance.

“I’m here, angel,” San whispered as he knelt in front of her.

“I’ll go get the towels,” Dahae said before dashing to the bathroom.

“I’ll let you take it from here,” Grace-Anne excused herself and left the room.

Celestia’s pained whimpers broke San’s heart. He didn’t know how to make it better, but his conscience told him he needed to at least make sure his wife was comfortable.

“San, it hurts,” she whined, her blue eyes now red with tears pooling in them.

“I know, my love,” he nodded just before scooping her up to lay her on the bed. “Just hold onto me if you need to.”

Dahae soon returned with everything she needed to help Celestia through this last stretch of labor: towels, sterile scissors, and a large bowl of water. The rest of the crew’s curiosity got the better of them, and they tried to see what was happening. However, Grace-Anne stopped them.

“No!” she nearly shouted as she held her hands up in a stopping signal. “Leave them be! Celestia needs to focus and needs San and Dahae to be there for her. You’ll all get to see the baby after she’s born.”

“Since we’re landing soon, I’ll call the hospital,” Dinah volunteered.

Grace-Anne followed after her and replied, “She’s not pushing yet, but we can at least look up the number for the maternity ward and maybe get an ambulance.”

As the two women did so, the rest of the crew went about their businesses in preparing for landing. The air was thick with anxiousness, but Hongjoong reminded them to stay focused.

Labor had made the air too hot for Celestia, so she had San pull her night gown off and leave her in just her black bralette. A large but light towel was thrown over her so as to not make her feel embarrassed being nude from the waist down. San was beginning to sweat from being too nervous for his wife that he had to change his exploration attire down to a white shirt and basketball shorts, and Dahae busied herself with trying to make her friend as comfortable as possible and monitoring the baby as well. Byeol had scurried out of the room, frightened by Celestia’s stressed moans.

San did his best to keep his wife cool with a cold, damp towel and kissing her face, hands, and even her still swollen tummy. He was excited to meet his little girl, but he wanted both mom and infant to be healthy and safe.

“I have to push!” Celestia cried after being checked again.

“Okay,” Dahae nodded. “Hold your legs back, and on your next contraction I’ll count down from ten. That’s when you bear down and push hard.”

Celestia just nodded and took San’s hand before he could even offer it. It wasn’t even a minute before the sharpest contraction took over, and she took a deep breath.

“Push, angel,” San encouraged in a whisper.

With every bit of energy she could muster, Celestia bore down, determined to deliver her baby. Every contraction hurt worse than the last. She had known it would hurt but never expected anything excruciating. One hand pulled one of her legs back, and the other squeezed San’s hand so hard she was causing it to turn various shades of red and purple. He didn’t seem to mind, though. All that was going through his head was his role as a husband to support his wife through childbirth. This went on for about twenty minutes, and Celstia did her best to not scream; but she couldn’t help whimper and yelp the worse the pain became.

“You’re doing great, Celestia!” Dahae praised after about the fifth or sixth round of pushes. “Her head is right there.”

Tears were starting to pool in Celestia’s eyes again as she felt what was known as the “ring of fire.” She pushed again. Her toes curled, and she released a squeal as she could feel her baby’s head pass through. Beads of sweat started to form on her forehead, and San was quick to pat it dry with the cold towel. Her body was exhausted, and she almost wanted to give up completely. However, she had to keep reminding herself that her body knew what it was doing, so she pressed on.

After about ten more minutes of strenuous pushes, Dahae’s hands reached out. San took a peek to see what was going on, and he broke into a smile.

“IT BURNS!!!” Celestia wailed. “I can’t do it!”

“Yes, you can,” he encouraged. “You’re almost there. Her head’s out.”

“I’ll guide her from here,” Dahae reassured. “Just one more push.”

While San was seemingly jumping out of his socks, Celestia gave one last push as she screamed in pain. The infant’s small body slid out, and Celestia was able to relax again. A baby’s crying immediately filled the room as she breathed in her first breath of oxygen; Celestia couldn’t hold back her tears of joy the moment her daughter entered the world.

“It’s a girl!” Dahae congratulated as she used a suction tube to extract any extra fluid in the child’s airways.

“Angel, you did it!” San cheered as he busied himself peppering her tear stained cheeks with kisses.

“I gave birth?” she sniffed in near disbelief. Her body ached, but she cared more about how the baby was doing.

“Yes, you did! She’s so beautiful!”

Propping herself up with what little strength she had left, Celestia caught a glimpse of her new baby as she was being cleaned from all of the gunk that was on her. Her face was contorted in a crying expression, but Celestia could identify her ears and eyes as carbon copies of San’s and lips and nose as hers. Thick, dark locks covered her head, and Celestia already couldn’t wait to put little bows in it.

“Please, let me hold her,” she begged.

Dahae complied and gently placed the squealing baby on the new mom’s chest. A blanket was then thrown over them to keep the child warm, but Celestia could at least hold her daughter.

San had knelt down to see his squealing baby girl, and he couldn’t stop his own tears. Kissing his wife, he said, “She’s ours. I know that wasn’t easy, but I’m so proud of you. You’re so strong.”

“I can’t take all of the credit for bringing a new life into the world. We both made her, therefore she shares both of our DNA.” The couple chuckled as the child started to calm a bit, her head resting right over where her mommy’s heart was.

Dahae then handed San a pair of sterile scissors and asked, “Would you like to cut the cord now?”

“Please,” he nodded.

Once he was shown where to cut, San took the sterile scissors and snipped the cord.

“We’re almost to the hospital,” Dahae informed, “so you and baby will get proper treatment there.”

Celestia just nodded as she continued to snuggle the newborn to her chest.

“What are we going to name our little princess?” San asked, kneeling down by his wife once more.

Glancing down at her baby, she smiled and answered, “Emerald.”

Tagging: @ateezlovenet @treasure-hwa

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jessiebanethedragon · 4 years ago

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Scuttle (2/?) Crosshair x reader

Part two warnings: mentions of death, death of loved one (sorry)

Crosshair quickly decides he likes the rain. It’s got a way of blending in so nicely with the rest of the planet that he thinks it would be bland without it.

“Anything?” Hunter asked into the comms, and various grunts and groans of ‘negative’ filled his ear. They’d landed in what looked like an abandoned house, it was situated in the branches of a very tall, and very old tree. How anyone would have managed to climb it was a mystery.

“How do we even know what we’re lookin’ for?” Wrecker grumbled as they rappelled down the enormous trunk.

“All we’ve got is that they answer to the name Wren apparently it’s some animal on this planet.” Hunter grumbled, looking over a tech, expecting a lengthy explanation of what exactly a ‘Wren’ was.

“Fairywren are small birds that live in typical families of small groups, they come in brilliant colours of purple and blue. Very rare in the galaxy, but common to this planet.” Tech immediately replied, as their feet crunched into the ground.

“Okay, Bad batch, let's make this quick.” The sergeant ordered before taking off into the undergrowth.

It had been hours and they were no closer to coming across anyone or anything that looked like a Fairywren. Keeping to the outskirts of a small town crosshair watches as a group of Trandoshan guards (from the look of their intense armour) patrolled the streets.

“What are they doing?” He thought aloud to himself, toothpick ever present in his mouth. His concentration broke when he heard someone laughing at him. A group of teenagers were sitting under a broken piece of metal.

“What does it look like, Laserbrain?” one of them sneered. “The trandoshans are only good for one thing. The hunt.” Crosshair doubled his pace.

You were running faster than you ever had before, and for longer than you thought was physically possible. Your one and only advantage was the extent of your knowledge of the forest paths. The guards would be faster and run longer, they had keener senses than any human, and you knew if they put out a warrant, anyone and everyone would turn you in. But you were so close. So, so close.

It was called the Night Lake by the locals, the canopy here was so dense no light illuminated the water below, giving the area a terrifying essence. But also ensured much needed privacy, and in this particular case, somewhere to hide. You threw yourself into the waters, letting the slightly chilly water envelop you. At least four of them had been on your tail and you knew more of them were waiting at the edge of the city, should you try and circle back.

You swam as deep as you could manage, before stilling in the water, suspended in perfect anxiety as you watched its surface for any movement. Flares began to light up the dark sky and the water below as they tried to clear the area for your whereabouts. Closing your eyes you prayed to anything listening for them not to find you.

Turns out. No one was listening.

Crosshair was sprinting in the forest, creatures disturbed by his arrival scattered in every direction. The Trandoshans had taken off moments before answering a call that he couldn't interpret. But his experience and intuition told him to follow.

It was then that he faltered and fell down the edge of a small but very muddy hill, being followed only by more water filled dirt that almost buried him. Cursing he pulled himself up, checking his whereabouts for signs of a trap.

“So small for such trouble.” Something hissed to his right, clearly unaware of the clone that had just tumbled into their presence. His eyes snapped forward, four Trandoshans sat at the edge of what was the largest and darkest lake Crosshair had ever seen.

“Shall we let her drown or yank her out ourselves?” One asked with a snicker.

“The general wants her alive, something about having fun while making an example.” The first one spoke again. “Right, enough is enough, Drisk get her out of there.” with a nod towards the water, Crosshair watched as the slimmest Trandoshan (who was probably still twice the size of the sniper) dove into the black waters. The ripples dissipated for a moment before the reptile emerged carrying a struggling young girl. She was sopping wet, and struggling and turning so much they had no choice but to dump her in the mud.

“Now, now little roach, don't run off.” The leader laughed as she started to claw her way through the mud, reaching down he grasped her ankle and yanked her into the arms of the other two reptilians. Crosshair lined up his rifle, he could take out the two grasping the girl and then worry about the leader after. He had the Trandoshans in his sight when his comm crackled to life again.

“Crosshair, you missed your check in time, you still out there?” it was Tech, curse him and his punctuality. Because now the other two huge beings were dragging him out of his hiding place.

“Well, would you take a look at this. A clone!” Crosshair was forced to his knees in front of the leader as it spat at him.

“Crosshair! Come in!” Tech shouted into the helmet, thus resulting in it’s not-so gentle removal from Crosshairs head. He watched as Tech’s voice faded away as the bucket rolled into the lake.

“Now that the rude interruption is gone, you wanna tell us whatcha up to in these parts?” he said kneeling down and meeting his newest captive eye to eye.

“Bird watching.” Crosshair deadpanned. Really not feeling in a chatty mood at that present moment.

“Really?” the reptile hummed in thought, pretending to actually believe his answer. “Have you seen any birds yet?”

“No.” Crosshair told him with a smile, “Saw some Bantha-shit - looking lizards though.”He didn't see the flying fist coming, but he sure as hell felt it.

You clamp you both of your hands over your mouth. Hard. in the smallest attempt to muffle your screams. You can't tell the difference from lake water, rain water, and tears. But you know you’re wailing at an unforgiving volume. Your mother's blank eyes stare at you. A single blaster to the head. Your father, you got a blaster to the face is now unrecognizable. You don’t know which is worse. Krexx didn't even bother to keep you restrained, knowing that the horror of what he made you witness would be enough to paralyze you into compliance. The sound of conflict falls on deaf ears as you continue to shriek from your converter of what once was the family home.

The Clone, whose name you either didn't know or couldn't remember, was cuffed to one of the ceiling's support beams by a pair of binders, only just coming to a hit to the head like that will do you in. you watch him lift his head with a groan, the tattoo on his face covered by layers of mud. He starts pulling at the binders before his eyes meet the figure in the corner.

You’re curled in a fetal position, still screaming bloody murder into your hands. And barely, Crosshair sees that the fingerless gloves you wear are embroidered with a bird. A bright blue bird.

“Wren.” He grunted out, the pieces all coming together as his brain shakes the fuzz away. You don't move. “Wren!” he shouts over your tears. And you fall into more of a silent sob, looking over at him. “I need you to get these off of me.” he gestures to the binders with a shake of his hands. You recoil in the corner and shake your head, your cries are picking up volume again.

“Wren, please” Crosshair all but begs. The sound of battle is getting closer and closer. “I need you to uncuff me.” His voice barely registers in your brain. You know you have to move but you feel like you physically can't. There’s no fight or flight left in you, and it appears your entire system has short circuited as a result.

“We are both going to die if you don’t get me out of these kriffin’ binders!” Crosshair renewed his struggles as he shouts at you. But one look at you says that would be a preferable outcome for your current state. So, he switches tactics and tries to remember everything Tech has ever told him about shock and trauma.

“Wren,” he tries once again, softer this time. “I can help you, I can help you out of this. But I can't do that if you don't get these off of me.” Your eyes meet his. ‘Progress’ he thinks. You don't know how you do it, but you try to stand.

“Just keep looking at me, okay?” The clone who you don't know speaks again, and your eyes meet his. You stare not into his eyes, more like past them. You're not focusing on anything you're just taking one step after another until you reach where he’s awkwardly strewn up.

“There's a release button on the-” He starts to tell you, but you're already reaching up with shaky hands and fumbling around until they drop to the floor with a horrible clank. Immediately Crosshair jumps into action checking by each window and door and gathering all he can in terms of intel.

“We need to move, before anyone-” He trails off again when he’s seen that you’ve slid down the wall that he was against. Curling back into a ball. Slowly, he approaches you. He knows the protocol for a clone with shock, but what you're going through looks completely different all together. And Crosshair, well, let's just say there was never any training for caring for a civilian girl whose entire life just got destroyed.

“My name is Crosshair.” He whispers to you, crouching down to our height. You look at him with wide eyes. “Is it okay if I carry you to a safer spot?” You nod in response fumbling with your arms to lock them around his tall frame. His strength surprises you, as he lifts you with relative ease. And slowly the adrenaline wears off and you sink into his arms, vaguely you feel him pull your head into his shoulder the blasts sound deafening now as he runs through the uproar caused by the execution of an innocent family. Your family. Crosshair tells himself he pulls you closer so that you are not recognized. And that he does it so you don't have to see that carnage. But mostly he does it in hopes that you feel just a little more safe, and a little more calm in his arms.

tags: @mangoberry43

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foursideharmony · 5 years ago

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Collateral Damage (Part 3)

Summary: Roman gets into trouble while questing in the Imagination. Rescue arrives, but will the rescuer be all right?

Word Count: 2,108

Relationship(s): Platonic LAMP, with some extra Prinxiety focus

Warnings: It's a whump/hurt/comfort fic, sooooo... hospital/clinic setting, some really disturbing imagery including fire and darkness and other unpleasantness, medical sutures, poison, illness, description of inflamed wounds, Remus mention, nightmare mention

Logan taped down the last bandage and stood back, admiring their handiwork. “There. I think we can put him to bed now.”

“He looks better already,” said Patton. “A little like a mummy, but I think he'd be okay with that. Remember that one Halloween?”

“Patton, that was Christmas Eve.”

“Oh. Right.”

Roman had begun visibly improving shortly after drinking his antidote, which made sense. His scratches remained a bit swollen, but the other two Sides had disinfected them, daubed them with ointment and patched them with gauze, and the prince was now resting peacefully and well on the road to recovery. Logan estimated thirty-six hours before his rapid recuperative powers (something they all enjoyed, as non-physical beings) brought him back to full health.

He waved the examination room away, transforming it into a small but pleasantly appointed hotel room, with Roman tucked into a full bed and a smaller cot alongside. Putting the Creative Side back in his own room would have been ideal, but they couldn't enter it from the common space without him being conscious to allow it.

“One of us should stay with him until he awakens naturally,” Logan said, “and I volunteer.”

“All right,” said Patton. “I'll look in on Virge after he's had a chance to rest up. And I'll keep an ear out for Thomas and let him know what's up if tries to call on us.”

“Excellent plan,” said Logan, changing from his medical garb into a simple combo of tee-shirt and sweatpants. He maneuvered onto the cot as Patton sank out and was soon dozing.

Fire. Fire and hot darkness and and pain, a dull yet insistent pain that was everywhere with no way to locate its source. And the fire was black fire, doing nothing to light up the oppressive, suffocating darkness. And the darkness was made of voices, too whispery quiet to be heard clearly yet at the same time so loud that they were like physical blows to his ears, inflicting more pain and more fire.

He couldn't move and he could barely breathe (the fire was somehow also water) and everything was wrong and everything hurt and he didn't understand why. There was no such thing as time—no past to remember in order to understand, no future to anticipate so he could plan—there was only an eternal present of pain and darkness. And fire.

~~~~~

Roman woke slowly, feeling unusually refreshed for a mere nap. It took him a moment to realize that no, it hadn't been a mere nap. His back was dreadfully sore at first, but the pain receded into the background as his awareness brightened, and he remembered.

He opened his eyes and glanced around as much as he could without moving just yet. A modest bedroom, furnished in subdued colors. Morning sunlight filtering in through medium-weight drapes over either a large double window or a sliding glass door. A framed piece of art on the wall, its image invisible behind the reflection of light on the glass cover. A bureau and a small television. So, a hotel room—not luxurious, but far from the worst place to be. He tried to sit up a little to take in more, but found himself hissing in pain as something twinged in the small of his back.

Suddenly Logan was there, standing up from wherever he had been and fumbling for his glasses on the bureau. “Roman? Are you awake? Is it morning?” He paused to yawn and change back into his daywear. “Don't try to get up too quickly or you'll pull on your sutures.”

“Sutures...” Roman repeated, easing himself up more carefully and reaching around his own back to feel the knobbly knots under the bandage. “Was it that bad?”

“Just in one spot. I put in two sutures to close up a laceration. I doubt you'll need them long.” He paused again, and cleared his throat. “How do you feel?”

“Well enough,” said Roman, just before his stomach rumbled. “Strike that—I'm starving. I don't suppose...I might get breakfast in bed?”

“Not from me, you won't. It should be safe for you to get up and walk as long as you're careful. Come on—Patton and Virgil will be very pleased to see you on the mend.”

“I owe Virgil, for sure,” Roman said. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and gingerly got to his feet. “These are nice pajamas; did you put me in these? I just need to make one little addition for the occasion.” He reached into the hem of his sleeve, like a magician doing a scarf trick, and drew out a swatch of gold-tinted chiffon which whipped around the shoulder opposite and knotted itself, creating an impromptu arm sling.

“Roman, that is entirely unnecessary. Your arm suffered only superficial damage.”

“It's for the 'recuperating hero' aesthetic. Let's go eat!”

~~~~~

Patton dumped an extra spoonful of sugar into his peppermint tea...yeah, it was that kind of morning. He was trying not to be morose, but it was tough going when the last he'd seen of his fellow Sides was Roman unconscious and Logan settling in for a bedside vigil. He wondered whether it was worth making breakfast, and for how many.

There came a soft sound from the stairwell, and then Logan's unmistakable imperious tones. “Descend slowly. Don't disturb your dressings.”

“I know how to walk down stairs, Logan.”

And just like that, Patton's morning was 100% better.

“KIDDO!” he bubbled, his sock-clad feet slipping on the kitchen linoleum as he hastened to meet Roman. “Look at you, almost all better! Wait, what happened to your arm? I thought...”

“Aesthetics,” Logan said flatly.

“So it's safe to hug him?” Patton said, not even waiting before sweeping Roman into a joyful embrace. “Anyway, we should have a special breakfast to celebrate your recovery! We can make it together! You two do me a favor and get out the stuff, and I'll go wake Virgil!” He all but leapt up the stairs, buoyed by relief and delight.

Patton and Virgil had an understanding. Patton was allowed to enter Virgil's room without specific permission under the following circumstances: 1) He was reasonably certain that Virgil was in there, 2) He was entering for the purpose of either gently waking him up or rescuing him from a presumed panic spiral, 3) He knocked first anyway and announced his intention to enter, giving Virgil a chance to deny him if it was a bad time.

Patton knocked on Virgil's door. “Virge? Kiddo? Roman's up and he's doing great! We're gonna make breakfast together.”

There was no response, so he rapped again, said “I'm coming in,” and did so.

And just like that, Patton's morning was 100% worse.

“Logan!” he blurted before he had even processed the entirety of the scene. “LOGAN!”

There was a crash of dropped dishes from the kitchen, followed by the rapid rhythm of someone charging up the stairs. Logan appeared in the doorway, his jaw dropping.

Virgil sprawled fully clothed on his bed—pale, trembling, panting, whimpering. His eyes, open a crack, were rolled back until only the bloodshot sclera were visible. The sheets around him were damp with perspiration. Patton repeatedly reached a shaking hand toward his face to offer comfort, but pulled back every time, unsure whether he should make contact. “What do we do?” he pleaded. “What's wrong with him?”

“I can't say without more information,” Logan confessed. “But it looks like—”

“It's the poison,” Roman said, having just arrived. “That's what it does without the antidote. It's one of my brother's favorite dirty tricks, so I know all about it. But I don't understand; he wasn't wounded! Unless...”

He shrugged out of his bogus sling and gently lifted Virgil's left hand, undid the zipper on the sleeve cuff, and turned down the fabric. Two punctures, one larger and deeper than the other, were revealed in the soft, pale skin on the underside of the Anxious Side's wrist. The flesh around them was horribly swollen and red, with inflamed blood vessels visible through the skin, radiating out from the wounds.

“The thorns penetrated after all,” Roman said. “It must have been so slight that he didn't notice at the time. The poison takes time to fully kick in.”

“Oh, Virgil,” said Patton, finally overcoming his hesitancy and ruffling Virgil's sweat-drenched hair. Virgil flinched away from the touch, his head thrashing back and forth until he finally flopped over entirely, facing away from them, and curled up into the fetal position. “He's burning up,” Patton said, following Virgil to the other side of the bed. “Roman, do you have any more of that antidote? Please say yes.”

Roman rubbed a hand over his face. “It's too late for that. There's about a two-hour window. After that, the only thing to do is ride it out. It's not going to be a good time for any of us, Virgil least of all...but he will make a full recovery. Remus doesn't go in for lethal stuff, on the grounds that dead people can't pay him attention.”

“He's not wrong in that. Roman, you have suffered the full effects of the poison before?” said Logan.

Roman nodded.

“Please tell me whatever you can about it. It may help advise a course of action for treating Virgil's symptoms until his system purges the toxin.”

“Nightmares,” Roman said softly. “He'll be knocked out for a couple days, and the fever will give him fever-dreams...bad enough, right? Now try to picture fever-dreams designed by my brother. Better yet, don't.”

Logan adjusted his glasses. “Would reducing the fever alleviate the visions?”

Roman shrugged. “Maybe? It can't hurt.”

“I'll set up some cold compresses,” said Patton, rising from his kneeling position. “And we should move him. This is no place for a sickbed. You two are already showing some under-eye smudge.”

“I do find myself becoming increasingly unsettled,” said Logan. “Thank you for spotting that, Patton.”

“I volunteer my room,” said Roman. “The atmosphere of pleasant fantasies should help to combat the nightmares.”

“You two work on that, then,” said Logan. “I will inform Thomas so that it doesn't catch him off guard if Virgil's suffering spills over onto him. In fact, he may be able to counter it from his end.”

The three of them nodded to each other, and they got to it.

~~~~~

It was a day and a half before Virgil woke up.

Roman had been watching him, as usual—it was his room, after all, and by concentrating he could modulate the atmosphere to produce only the sweetest and most beautiful of ideas, though he could only hope they were filtering through to Virgil's lowered awareness. He was changing the cold compress, which was a bit trickier than just removing one wet washcloth and replacing it with another, cooler one, because the delirium had Virgil recoiling almost violently when anything touched his head or face. The way to calm him, they (actually Patton) had discovered by accident, was to pick up his hand and gently massage the pad of his thumb.

Roman was in the midst of this process when Virgil's hand abruptly tightened on his, and then the Anxious Side's eyes flew open and he let out a brief, barking yell.

“It's all right!” Roman said on reflex. “It's just me, Virgil, I'm right here and you're safe. You're safe. You're safe, Emo the Frownfish.”

“P-Princey...?” Virgil said, his voice barely a squeak.

“Yeah,” said Roman. “We're taking care of you. You'll be okay.”

“D...d...don...”

“Don't what?”

“Leave. Don't leave. Please.”

Roman had been planning to go inform the other two that Virgil was awake, but after a plea like that, it was completely off the table. They would find out sooner or later. “I won't,” he said softly, squeezing the hand he was still holding.

There was a long pause while Virgil sank back into the pillow, whimpering.

“I know,” Roman said. “It hurts. It'll stop hurting pretty soon now that you're awake.”

Another pause, and then Virgil said, “Have you really been here this whole time?”

“We took turns, actually. But I'm glad I'm here now, so I can thank you properly for rescuing me the other day. You were my hero, Virgil. The least I can do is be yours for a little while.”

“Sap,” Virgil muttered, proving that he was going to be all right.

The End

Taglist:

@today-only-happens-once

@hitmewiththatfanart33

@maryann-draws

@ghosttb0y

@raygelkitty

@theladyoffangorn

@justanothernerdyfandomblog

@imbadatnames8d

@soupspam

@4-s-shadowlink

@ifsomebodyhadsomegarlicbread

@lizluvscupcakes

@soupgromlin

@volde-post-mortem

#sanders sides #fanfiction #lamp/calm #prinxiety #collateral damage

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curiousherbal · 4 years ago

Note

“you don’t understand it now, but I’m trying to protect you” with saeyoung? haha it suits him very well

Ohh thank you so much for being my first request! I am so sorry this took me awhile to deliver, but I really enjoyed writing it~~ please enjoy xx

This fic was tonally inspired by the beautiful song "You are the Moon" by one of my favourite bands -- The Hush Sound. I recommend listening to that to get the sort of mood I was in when writing this.

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The Gentle Grip of Night's Unfolding Arms

Mystic Messenger

*click title to read on ao3*

707 / Luciel / Saeyoung Choi x Reader ; 707 / Luciel / Saeyoung Choi x MC

Hurt/Comfort

1.9 k

Rated: G ; panic attacks, crying, romantic tension

Summary: Despite it having been brewed two hours ago, the cup of tea on the bedside table wasn’t nearly as cold as the hacker sitting before you.

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Despite it having been brewed two hours ago, the cup of tea on the bedside table wasn’t nearly as cold as the hacker sitting before you.

Though you’ve had your fair share of tumultuous events in your upbringing, the past couple hours spent in a dead girl’s apartment surely took the cake for being the most dramatic of the bunch.

One minute you were attempting to fix yourself a mug cake, and the next your phone was suddenly being virtually accosted with increasingly frantic calls and texts.

A sudden crash of breaking glass—

You, whipping your head to gaze incredulously at the broken window of the 14th floor apartment.

A pale, shaky hand with slender knob-knuckled fingers clamping over your mouth.

Erratic, moist breath hissing into your ear.

Bleached white hair tickling your neck.

A flash of ginger and widening honey coloured eyes.

And just like that, your hacker in shining black hoodie had arrived, saving you in the nick of time – as if the entire situation couldn’t get more movie-type cliché than it had already been.

But despite the whirlwind progression of the past 7 days’ events, your fairytale seemed to reach a premature climax.

The cause of your current grief sat on the cold, hardwood floor just meters before you. His headphones were clamped firmly over his ears, his eyes carefully downcast, silently refusing to put you at ease with even the slightest glance.

Not even temptations of steaming Earl Grey nor calming scents of chamomile could entice him.

You turned your cheek to rest it upon your knee, your eyes making vacant sweeps, circling the bright yellow rings on his hoodie.

No, your fated meeting with Seven was anything but what you had hoped it would be.

Seven was…. mean.

Seven was… unyielding.

Seven was… incapable of love??

You shook your head, desperately trying to stifle the telltale warning of tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. I knew him for what?? 7 days? Stop being so pathetic.

But even so, it would be futile to ignore the hurt that now permeated through your core, now plaguing your mind with anxious, restless, relentless thoughts.

You had tried to comfort him after the shock of seeing his long-long, now-tormented, brother:

“Give me some space.”

You expressed an honest desire for mutual expression of your shared emotional traumas:

“Don’t try to get so close to me.”

And, gritting your teeth, you had attempted to take care of him from a purely human-needs perspective:

“Maybe you should just pretend that I’m not here.”

So your tea sat cold. And his tea sat cold. You sat on the bed. And he sat on the floor. You plead silently with your troubled gaze. So he turned his back.

Both of you too stubborn twin stars, chasing the trailing end of one another, but always just slightest out of sync. The alignment of your traveled paths, something as uncertain as the mercurial man in front of you.

And now, here you sat. Your knees cradled to your chest; your arms wrapped loosely around your shins. And you contemplated the possibility that your premature and ill-fated first meeting with Seven had forever knocked you both out of each other’s orbits.

“Seven…”

The click-clack of his fingers over his keyboard persisted.

“Seven.”

Click clack. Click clack.

“I know you’re not ever listening to anything through those expensive headphones.”

His fingers stilled momentarily. A pause.

They resumed.

“You can’t ever listen to anything,” you began as you inhaled a shaky breath, unsure if engaging in conversation with the young man would worsen your already fractured relationship.

“—because you need to be aware of your surroundings. I know you’re purposefully ignoring me. I get it; you need to work, bud.”

Carefully, the hacker gently lifted his headphones off, resting them against his neck. He turned his head slightly to the left, as if to get you in his peripheral vision.

“Did you…. Did you just call me ‘Bud’?”

Your face flushed red.

“An honest mistake, I assure you.” You sniffed airily and turned so that you were lying back down on the bed, your back to him. “You made it quite clear that we aren’t ‘buds’ earlier.”

You waited for a response, hoping he’d dig into your subtle jab as bait, but as the seconds ticked into a full minute, you soon picked up on the faint typing sounds emanating from his corner again.

The pang of hurt realized itself deep within your chest cavity again. The prick of tears resurfaced once more. Your head began to pound.

He doesn’t even care. He doesn’t want to talk to me. He never liked me to begin with.

A cacophonous clatter of conflicting emotions welled within you.

Guilt – for being sad that Seven was neglecting you when he obviously had his own emotional issues with his brother so recently resurfaced.

Shame – for being so openly emotional and weakhearted around a boy you had barely known a full week, and had only just met in person several hours ago.

Embarrassment – for being a vulnerable target for a dignified charity establishment like the RFA.

Fear – the lingering tendrils of distress clawed at your insides, refusing to forget his white hands, his white hair, his empty eyes, the crash of glass shattering, your bruised wrists, your heightened breathing, your—

Oh.

I’m crying.

….

I’m… crying. I’m shaking.

I don’t know why…

A sob stole itself into the vacancy of the night. You curled yourself tightly into a fetal position, desperately trying to stifle the mortifying noise.

Why did I end up here? Why did this happen to me?

Your fingers clutched your aching sides tightly, your nails planting waxing crescents on your easy flesh.

Why don’t I deserve his compassion?

A choked noise betrayed your scratchy throat, dispelling into the room as something nothing more than a soft wheeze.

Why am I so stupid? What young adult female follows a stranger’s text to a foreign apartment?

Who am I to think that I’m important enough to be a part of any of these people’s lives?

I’m crying.

I’m shaking.

…

I’m crying… why does no one help?

I don’t deserve help.

I deserve to cry

I deserve to—

Cool hands cupped your face. Your eyes fluttered open. Your salty tears blurred the already dimly lit room.

I’m shaking.

Two golden irises swam into your field of vision, a rosy pair of lips moving, muttering something below.

I’m crying.

Why does no one help me?

Something cool and fleshy knocked against your forehead. Tears still blinded you from seeing anything intelligible.

Though your ears felt full of gauze, fragments of whispered speech made their way towards you.

“…hhhh… —eathe in…. k?”

Your head pounded. The tears shook your already trembling frame. Your temple felt like it might split from the sheer emotional pressure that you still attempted to conceal. What if Seven sees?? Then I’ll really be a burden…

“No…. it out…. –r me, please.”

The hushed timbre of a voice you were best acquainted with through the tinny speaker of a phone suddenly became recognizable.

You forced your watery eyes to open, the tears still unyielding to a fine focused picture. But the renewed mental clarity was enough. He was enough.

"Seven?" You made a feeble attempt to sit up, to compose yourself, to do anything to hide your mortification that he had caught you crying—

His hands immediately tightened their gentle grip on your weak frame, holding you firmly in place.

“I—" Seven paused when your red-rimmed gaze suddenly met his fully. Though you couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t due to your own waterworks, your eyes widened further when you saw his gaze was returned to you with an unmistakable sheen to them as well.

“Please don’t cry…” Seven’s forehead was placed solidly against yours. His nose brushing the snotty tip of yours. His grip tightened minutely. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He whispered hoarsely.

You stilled in his makeshift embrace. Your torrent of emotions building in complexity at this most recent… yet not unwanted – development.

“It’s okay.” You finally decided.

“No, it’s not!” A stricken voice suddenly boomed in front of you, the cool forehead ripped from yours.

You flinched involuntarily, both the sound and the lack of cool pressure allowing your headache to resurface.

“Shit, no, I’m sorry.” Seven brought the corners of his palms to cover his eyes, the sloppy gesture skewing both his glasses and hair in the process. “I’m messing everything up,” he half mumbled to himself.

“…yeah.” You agreed softly without thinking twice.

You both froze.

Seven lowered his palms, his glasses still askew. You raised your eyes, meeting his self-deprecating gaze.

And then, miraculously, your star paths were knocked back into alignment.

The corners of his lips upturned in the gentlest amusement. You supplied your own involuntary grin in endearment to his apparent mirth.

Before you could crack another joke (in an unhealthy attempt to avoid talking about the situation at hand), Seven skillfully schooled his features and stood from the uncomfortable crouch that he had assumed at your side.

“Don’t be alarmed,” He walked to the other side of the bed, “I’m coming in.” The bed dipped; the covers shifted, and a warm presence announced itself behind you.

“Seven…”

“Shh.” You heard the click of his glasses folding as he took them off. A sleeved arm reached over your form and placed them on the bedside table closest to you.

“Seven…?”

“You don’t ever listen to me, do you?” He sighed good-naturally and relaxed his tense posture. His breath tickled the back of your neck. “Is this okay?” He finally whispered.

You allowed yourself a small smile, pleased that the young man felt comfortable enough around you to be vulnerable like this. “God yes.” You breathed shakily.

A soft huff. “God 7, yes.”

You rolled your eyes, forgetting that he wouldn’t be able to see the gesture anyway.

A thick silence fell upon the stuffy room. Your headache pounded mercilessly. Your lungs still struggled to fill to full capacity as your crying fit had effectively blocked your sinuses.

You were miserable.

You were also sad.

And you were confused, tired, a tiny bit irate, just a ton bit mortified, and worst of all, your heart still panged longingly in your hollow chest.

Just when you were about to ask Seven what the plan now was, the man broke the silence.

“You…” He nuzzled just the slightest breadth away from the back of your neck, sheer millimetres between his lips and the soft skin of your neck, “You don’t understand it now…”

Your eyes were trained steadily on the wall in front of you, afraid that if you moved or confronted Seven directly, he would be scared off easily like before.

You waited patiently for him to finish his thought.

A nervous hand brushed against the curve of your waist; a touch so gentle you weren’t entirely sure it was actually there. Deft fingers curved over your side, a silent question that you readily answered by releasing a relaxed sigh and turning your hips slightly back in invitation.

The hand snaked softly around your waist and rested on the bed in front of you, the arm it was attached to now effectively holding you in a spooning embrace. A solid, lithe chest pressed gently against your back. Lips finally caressed the back of your neck.

“…but I’m trying to protect you.”

Your breath hitched.

The arm around your waist squeezed tenderly. The bed dipped again and the embrace dissolved.

Padded footsteps made their way to the door, paused, and then left.

You lay motionless on your side as a lagging tear dropped from the corner of your eye and landed on the bridge of your nose.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．

ahh hope you enjoyed this not-entirely-satisfying fic! It was very cathartic to write, as I used my own experiences with crying in front of someone I loved and then not getting comfort as a tool when writing this. I have a lot of emotional trauma from situations where I was emotionally vulnerable with someone that I trusted/loved, and then they just sat there watching me cry without giving me any sort of comforting touches, embraces, tenderness, or words. ;__; It made me feel very helpless and alone, so while I left this purposefully unresolved, it was important to me to make sure that Seven did provide some comfort and tenderness and love to the reader. He just can't be entirely intimate with the reader/MC just yet, but worry not, he loves her deeply. <33 Please know that you deserve the comfort you seek, and you deserve to be with someone that can provide you with the most basic things that you need depending on your love language. My love language is heavily touch and caress-based, so that is the perspective I wrote from. have a soothing night lovelies xx

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gustafsnightangel · 4 years ago

Text

Shattered Lives Ch 30 Pt 1

She woke at 3 am, chest heaving, shivering and sweaty, body trembling, the anxiety raging through her system like an out of control locomotive. Trying to suck a breath in she wheezed and sat up, ripping the cover off frantically as if that would help any. Her chest tightened as she tried to suck in a breath and she felt as if her heart would either stop or explode. The swelling ache in her chest and the thought of a heart attack very real in her mind.

“Sildie?” Gustaf mumbled, cracking his eyes barely able to make out her silhouette sitting on the edge of the bed through the fog of sleep in his head.

“Can’t breathe.” She wheezed, hands clutching at her throat, at the sheets around her, struggling to get air in.

“Shit!” He breathed, he was awake in an instant at that tone, that wheeze. Turning the light on, he scrambled to sit behind her, a hand pressing firmly to her belly, the other gently around her shoulders, his mouth at her temple. Her body was so stiff and tense. “Breathe, into here.” He commanded softly, his hand pressing firmly against her belly.

“Can’t.” She was almost to the point of blacking out.

“Yes you can. Inhale and send it here.” He kept his tone gentle letting the weight of his hand at her belly ground her. “There you go.” He praised when she’d taken a tiny shuddered breath. She was trying so hard he thought and his heart broke. “Now another.” He gently kissed her temple letting his lips linger there. “Another.” He prompted as those shuddered breaths became longer on the inhale.

His free hand stroked her head gently, the soothing touch of his fingertips on her scalp helping her to find some measure of calm. She listened to his breathing, deep and restful, his lips by her ear murmuring instruction.

“Another, love.” He said kissing her temple. He closed his eyes and breathed his own silent sigh of relief as her breathing began to even out. “You’re ok.” He didn’t need to ask what had set it off, that was blatantly obvious considering what day it was.

“I’m sorry.” She choked.

“It’s ok love. Breathe for me, nice and slow.” He soothed, preparing himself for what was coming next, the tears, the pain, the grief. This was why he wanted her to take the day but it had to be her decision.

“Can you lay down with me or do you want to stay sitting up?” He asked softly. She turned in his arms as if he’d given her permission to move, to seek comfort, and buried her face in his shoulder curling herself into him as much as she could. Wounded, he thought, she was hurting so much and it killed him to see her like this.

He maneuvered them into the bed again and she curled into the fetal position against his chest. Tucking the covers at her back he snuggled her in and kissed the top of her head.

“Can you get me my phone please?” She mumbled through the tears that were falling without permission.

“Sure.” He reached over and tugged it from the charger and handed it to her.

She was a wreck, and not in a ’I’ve just been fucked into oblivion’ wreck. She couldn’t go to work today, not after that. Where there was one panic attack there were others, and she knew here would be triggers lurking around every corner of her subconscious. She messaged Oliver. He knew what today was, she’d made sure at least one person in the office knew which were the potential fallout days on her calendar.

Hi Oliver. I’ll be out sick today. Please apologize to my 9am and have Vera reschedule at her earliest convenience. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.

She hit send and handed her phone back to Gustaf, turning it off in the process. Without a word she rested her forehead against his chest and let it come, the tears, the grief, everything.

He felt the sobs rip themselves from her, deep unrelenting grief. He hauled her into his arms and held her tightly, her arms eventually slipping around him and holding on for dear life. The storm raged inside her for close to an hour and he knew that once the tears were done she’d be exhausted. When he could hear and feel her crying jag calm down to mild sniffling he grabbed the box of Kleenex and handed her a few.

“Thanks.” Came her muffled reply from her cocoon. He kissed her head and stroked her back lazily, he just had to wait it out.

“I have more.” He murmured, and her huffed chuckle made him smile, she was coming back to him.

“I think I’ll be needing them.” She sniffed.

“One step at a time love.”

“I texted Oliver.” She said squirming her way up so her head popped out from under the covers.

“Are you staying with me today?” He asked gently as those long fingers brushed the hair from her face.

“If you’re up for babysitting an emotional basket case.” She huffed.

“I’d be up for spending time with my lovely lady on her birthday.” He dipped his head down and kissed her, a tender love that calmed her soul. He knew there would be tears today but he’d make sure to see some smiles too.

“I won’t be going far.” She mumbled. “I kinda don’t want to leave here today.”

“Then we won’t. We can sleep, watch movies, soak in the tub, have wild monkey sex, whatever you want to do.” He kissed her again and got the giggle about monkey sex that he was after.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” He said sharply. “Don’t do that.” He kissed her hard. “Like the anniversary, it’s an apology free day.” He softened his tone. “You don’t have to apologize for grieving Sildie. We’re working through it together, you’re not alone.” She nodded and he kissed her tenderly.

“I have to get the boys up for pancakes. They wanted to help.” He said softly as his alarm went off.

“I’ll get Lily.” She said quietly.

“You sure?”

“Yes, it’ll keep me occupied until it’s time to eat.” He rolled so she was pressed under that lanky body she craved.

“I know you don’t want to do this love.” He said gently, those ice blue eyes latching onto his briefly.

“It’s fine. It’s important for the boys. I’ll be ok.”

“You’re one of the most beautiful, courageous, compassionate, giving souls I’ve ever known.” He said honestly as he brushed his finger along her jaw before kissing her. “I love you, Sildie.”

“I love you too.”

He climbed out of bed, slipped his sweats on and went to rouse the boys. As she got up to see to Lily she could hear the excited voices from the other room and had to get her head out of her ass and deal with it. This was important to them and she couldn’t let her grief get in the way. It was just breakfast and then they’d be at school. Surely she could suck it the fuck up for an hour or so.

He found her and Lily playing on the bed when he came in to collect her for birthday pancakes. He shut the door and sat on the edge, fingers brushing the hair at her face. Those ice blue eyes locked onto his and he dipped down to kiss her tenderly.

“Dad dad dad. Sooch.” Lily squealed.

“My two best girls.” He chuckled. “You want one too little lady?” He asked and the tiny girl lunged for him. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He smooched her until she giggled before setting her down and holding out a hand for Sildie.

He pulled her into his arms and enveloped her, his scent calming her already freaked out system. “One step at a time love.” He murmured and she squeezed him before letting go. She needed to get this done. She came out to the boys sitting around the table, pancakes, bacon and eggs piled high, and a small stack of gifts.

“Happy birthday.” Gustaf murmured and kissed her cheek, moving away as the boys came and wrapped their arms around her tightly for a group hug.

“We know you didn’t really want your birthday but we didn’t want to forget it either.” Brendan said softly.

“It’s ok B. We need to remember, it was your dads birthday too.” Gustaf could hear the tears underneath, she reigned it in and buried them. Damn she was so fucking strong, he thought, and that’s what had drawn him to her that first day on her threshold. Strength, ballsy, snarky, loving, but most importantly, real.

The teen hugged her tight and went to sit at the far end of the table where the kids had set a place for Quinn. A simple candle was lit and she couldn’t help the sob that escaped. Gustaf bundled her to him, a moment to collect herself as he watched the kids look at each other and then at him.

“You’re ok love.” He murmured softly, a slight smile to the kids so they wouldn’t freak out.

“Sorry Ama.” Finn said and hugged her leg tightly.

“No, love it’s ok.” She sniffed and got down to his level. “It’s ok. I think is sweet, I’m just really weepy today and I miss him like crazy.” She hugged him tight. “He’d be so proud of you guys.” She said her voice threatening to crack.

They sat and started to eat, the boys devouring the pancakes like they’d not been fed for a month. She tried to eat, the only thing she felt like was the bacon so she nibbled as the boys joked and smiled remembering past birthdays with Quinn. This was what they needed she thought, and the man sitting beside her had seen it well before she had.

“Open your presents.” Liam said excitedly.

Gustaf rested his arm along the back of her chair as Brendan handed her the first brightly colored package, his fingers gently stroking the nape of her neck, anything to help keep her calm and hold it together. Lily was chattering to anyone that would listen as she munched on her pancakes.

The boys knew what she liked, books. Brendan had found her wish list at some point and no doubt given it to Gustaf. Lily had bought her a pair of gloves, blue and purple swirls, and super warm and a pretty yellow and white silk scarf that she could wear with a suit in court.

“This is great. Books, which I can never have too many of, and something to keep my fingers from falling off.” She grinned. “I love the scarf.”

“Do you like them?” Finn asked grinning.

“It’s perfect.” She smiled as Gustaf squeezed her shoulder and stood releasing a now fussy Lily from her high chair. He left them to talk while he went and cleaned her up, also to find the nerve to take her next door and give her his gift.

“Are you ready for your present from me?” He asked as he stood beside her and winked at the boys, they scrambled knowing exactly what was going on.

“What? There’s more?” She looked at the boys dumbfounded and then back at Gustaf. Taking his hand she stood and he kissed her sweetly.

“We have to go next door to my place it was a little difficult to hide here.” He said and the giggle from the twins had Sildie looking at Gustaf suspiciously.

“What did you do?” She said quietly.

“Come with me and find out. You’ll love it.” He kissed her again and led her down the hall to his apartment.

“Brendan can you take Lily and the twins?”

“Yep. Come on Lily.” The teen said clapping his hands for her and wizzing her around giggling.

He stood there facing her by the front door, her back to the office that would soon be hers.

“You look highly guilty of something Mr Skarsgard.” She said playfully, half wondering what the hell was going on, half dreading whatever it was he’d done.

“I’m guilty of a lot of things.” He shrugged. “Mostly, I’m guilty of being so in love with you.” He said gently, his kiss warm and inviting. “Deep down I know this is going to freak you out, and quite possibly irritate you, but I want you to know the boys made it into a much better gift once I got them involved. So I only ask that you save the tongue lashing and the flaying of the flesh from my bones until after they’ve gone to school.”

“Ok.” She was highly suspicious now, as he watched that lawyer in her chew it over.

“Close you’re eyes.” He said gently.

“I swear, you prank me and I’m going to do more than flay you.” She said and snapped her eyes shut.

“So trusting kitten.” He growled sarcastically for only her to hear and playfully nipped her ear.

He nodded to the kids to open the office door and guided her through his apartment. Standing her in the doorway he kissed her temple. With a hand wrapped around her hip he steadied her.

“Open your eyes.” He said softly.

Part of her didn’t want to, part of her was shit scared of what she’d see. Forcing them open she took in the room before her. It was a nice office, large desk, bookshelves stacked high with books and nicknacks. Wait, her eyes stopped to look at the spines and she tilted her head to one side as if trying figure out where she’d seen them before. At a distance they looked like law books.

“Happy birthday love.”

“Are those my law books?” She whispered in more shock that awe.

“You’re books in your office.” He murmured.

“My off...” She turned in his arms sharply and looked at him.

“You’re office, love.”

“You did this fo...” She turned back to the office and took a hesitant step inside completely blown away, she hadn’t expected this. Her hand fell away from his chest as she stepped in further, it was like walking into an alternate universe.

“Give her a minute buddy.” He said to Liam as the kid went to step inside. “Let her take it in and process.”

She stopped in front of the first set of bookshelves, her brothers law books sitting collecting dust, Dana’s nestled underneath. She’d often found him nose deep in one when they were studying. Running a finger along the spines she brought back those memories and smiled. The second set of bookshelves made her chuckle, familiarity. She knew these books cover to cover, they were her fathers, even the odd nicknacks were his and she remembered playing with them as he sat at his desk neck deep in a case with an inquisitive five year old in his lap. It seemed like a lifetime ago, was a lifetime ago.

The desk was equipped with a new laptop, a vase of yellow gerberas and white daisies bringing cheer and love into the room. She turned to the wall to find a large digital frame, much like Lily’s with the pictures of the day in the snow, a family that despite their grief had found each other. Turning back to the door she saw the four kids she adored, four kids that had lost so much yet pushed through all the shit to still be functional human beings.

The kids rushed into hug her, the excited chatter and memories flitting between them. Gustaf stayed at the doorway for the moment, this was their time, to reconnect to Quinn, to Dana, to her father.

“We were worried you’d hate it.” Brendan said quietly.

“I could never hate something so thoughtful, it brings back so many memories, good ones and sad ones.” She smiled at him and hugged him tightly. “I’m trying B.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “You look just like him you know.” Her voice wistful. “And you two troublemakers.” She smirked scrubbing Liam’s hair then Finn’s with her fingers. “You look like your grandfather, carbon copy.” She pointed to the picture in the frame on the shelf. “But that mischievous streak is all Quinn’s.” She said wryly.

“Who does Lily look like?” Finn asked as the little lady stayed with Gustaf playing with his longer scruff.

“Lily looks like your mother.” She said softly as the boys hugged her. “Except for her eyes, they’re all O’Rourke.”

“We left some of your stuff in boxes.” Brendan said hesitantly. “Gustaf said you might want to put those in here yourself.” He pointed to the few boxes stacked in the far corner and Sildie tried to remember what she’d actually packed in there.

“Thank you. All of you. This is very special.” She hugged them all before turning to Gustaf, he’d been very quiet, probably half expecting her to explode.

“Brendan can you take Lily and the twins back home and get them ready for school?” He overheard her ask. “Give me a minute alone ok?”

“Sure. You ok Ama?” The teen asked slightly worried. “Do you like it?”

“I’m ok B and yes, I love it.” She watched as the oldest of the four wrangled the twins and Lily and set off back home, she knew he’d be ok for five minutes.

Gustaf stayed where he was wondering if she was going to start flaying him or crumble. It was a shock when she did neither. She walked to him, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, the emotion choking her up.

“Hey.” He soothed, and bundled her into him.

“This is too much.” She mumbled between sobs. “Too much.”

“There’s more, more that the kids don’t know about.” He said and her head shot up and she started at him., that bottom lip trembling.

“I don’t need anything...” It was overwhelming her. “Gustaf you can’t...” She was almost sobbing.

“Stop talking and listen.” He said gently, wiping her tears away. “There’s more because I want to ask you something and I wanted to wait until we were alone.” His kiss silenced her further. He was nervous but it wasn’t the soul consuming anxiety he’d felt before. “I’d like you to move in with me.”

“Move in?” She was shocked to her core and when that happened all her protective walls went up. He saw them slam into place and knew he had one shot at this, one shot to get it right and state his case.

“Yes, move in here with me. We’re practically living together as it is and we’d have a little more room over here.” He said gently. “Lily can have her own room, so can the twins if that’s what they want. If you want, we can even knock out that wall...” He said pointing to the living room wall that bordered hers. “...and remodel your apartment into a family room and additional bedrooms. Or you can rent it out, sell it, keep it for Brendan later. It’s whatever you want it to be, but I’d like you to live here with me, you and the kids, as a family under one roof, together.”

“Gustaf I... I’m...” She couldn’t find the words and was gaping like a guppy out of water.

“Think about it.” He said quickly. “There’s a lot going on and you need time, but I’d like you to think about it.” He kissed her, his own anxiety starting to get the better of him.

He’d rendered her speechless with the office, and now this. It was too much for her grief addled brain to process. He was right, there was a lot to think over, the pre nuptial, the EPA, the kids.

“You’re ok if I think about it?” She asked carefully, she knew this was difficult for him too.

“Of course. It’s a big step, one I’ve had time to think over, now you need time.” He kissed her again. “I love you, Sildie, I’ll wait.”

“And I love you too but this is really overwhelming.” She said honestly, another sob hitching in her voice.

“Think about it. We won’t talk about it again until you’re ready, I know how you like to think things over, especially big decisions. There’s no rush.” His words gentle. She nodded and he had to leave it at that even though his heart wanted and answer right now. “Did you want to come with me to drop the kids off?”

She shook her head. “Are you ok if I stay here until you get back?”

“Of course. This is you’re home too. I’ll bring the kids by before we head out, they’ll want to say goodbye for the day.” She nodded and let herself relax against him. “I’ll see you in thirty and then we can head back to bed or do whatever you want to do today ok?” He hugged her tightly before letting her go.

“K.” She mumbled.

He watched her head over to her brothers books and loose herself in memories, she needed time and he half expected her to be on the floor sobbing when he got back. This would also give her space to think, to process everything that had just happened.

With the kids kissed and hugged and off to school she sat at her new desk, running her fingers over the new surface. It was light and bright, yet oddly soothing, the walls cream with a soft yellow accent wall. She didn’t know when she’d get to use it while they were still living in her apartment. She couldn’t leave the kids over there and work here, even if Gustaf was there with them. It would be too quiet and too lonely, too disjointed. She’d may as well stay at the office and work.

She snorted. “A year ago you would have jumped at the fucking chance for silence and no kids.” She muttered and huffed a chuckle at herself. She picked up the old photo frame with a rare picture of her, Quinn, and their parents.

“Why did you have to leave me all alone?” She asked into the silence. “I miss you all.” She let the tears fall as she stroked her thumb over each face and gently as if she was trying to remember what their skin felt like. She placed it back on the shelf. Running her fingers over some of the nicknacks she let the memories come, of her father, of Quinn, her mother. They didn’t consume her, just made her sad.

Looking at the gerberas and daisies she smiled, he’d done this for her, got the kids involved in something that could have easily been done solo. He wanted her to move in. Her mind automatically wanted to ask what the catch was, but she knew him better than that, there was no catch, no agenda. He was giving her a home, a place where they could become a family.

She wandered through his apartment with the sole purpose of trying to imagine them living here as a family unit. Gustaf was right, they were essentially living together. “Just the legality to worry about.” She mumbled to herself as she stood in the living room staring at the wall that divided their apartments as if trying to imagine it joined together.

She moved down the hall and opened the door at the end to see what used to be his workout room was now painted a soft yellow similar to her office but a brighter shade, and furnished with everything Lily could ever want or need. There was a crib and bed for when she transitioned, a larger change table, a rocker, an armchair that reclined, a toy box and a bookshelf full of books that he’d obviously spent a small fortune on. He’d made her a room and she felt her emotions roar to the surface. Sweet man, she thought, I don’t deserve you.

She was so caught up in her discovery she hadn’t noticed Gustaf in the doorway.

“You weren’t supposed to find this yet.” He chuckled and smiled as she jumped a mile at his voice. That died in his throat when he saw the tears. “Hey now.” He said coming to her and pulling her close.

“You did this for her?” She asked, her voice muffled into his chest, the sobs catching in her throat.

“I was hoping you’d say yes and when you did it would be ready for them.” His voice gentle as he kissed her brow.

“Them? You mean...” That bottom lip trembling almost destroyed him.

“The boys rooms are done too.” He said softly and kissed her brow as his hands cupped her head tilting it back slightly. His thumbs brushed the tears away and he kissed her sweetly. “My lovely lady I want you and the kids here with me, as a family, together. If that happens now or six months from now, I wanted to be ready. I want to give you and those four incredible kids a home.”

“Can I see?” She asked hesitantly, trying to get a grip of the myriad of emotions swimming through her system. She was floored, the kindness was in him was overwhelming.

“You want to see the rest?” He asked, his heart lightening at her nod. He kissed her forehead and took her hand in his. They left Lily’s room and opened the next door along the hall. A double bed complete with a study area was perfect for Brendan. The wall of floor to ceiling bookshelves making her smile, the kid would flip out over that.

“This is perfect for him.” She said wistfully, it was like someone had placed her in an alternate reality and given her every hope and dream she’d had for the kids.

“It’s the second largest room. I gave the largest to the twins because, well, two tiny humans.” He shrugged.

“No, this is perfect.” She wandered around taking every detail in from the hockey prints on the walls to the mountain of books Brendan had stowed away in storage. He’d unpacked their things from storage that she’d had to box away because they didn’t have space.

“You found his books.” She sniffed, her brain was functioning in slow motion.

“Yeah I’ve kinda been pawing through your storage unit.” He said sheepishly, half expecting her to be angry at him. “Sorry. I just wanted it to be perfect.”

“It’s fine.” Her voice was drifting and he noticed the sentiment of him doing this was hitting her hard.

The twins room had larger bunk beds, they could still curl up together if they wanted to or sleep separately. There were two desks where the boys could have their own study area, another wall of shelves, but not as big as Brendan’s. Two large toy chests sat empty waiting for them to move in. Harry Potter featured heavily but it was all removable so when their interests changed they could change the decore without a complete remodel of the room.

“I’m never going to be able to get them out of here.” She said so softly Gustaf almost didn’t hear it. “They’re going to love it.”

“And this room is now my workout room.” He said opening the door. “It’s a little smaller than Lily’s room but it’ll do the job. Then there’s the bathroom and our room.”

She liked the sound of our room. A room of their own, no sharing it with a baby.

“I made some changes to our room.” He said gently and chuckled when she looked at him slightly hurt.

“But I liked your room.” She said a little defensively. It was in similar tones as her own and she’d always felt comfortable in it.

“That was my room, not our room. Go on in.” He said starting to enjoy the slightly skittish, unsure woman he had on his hands. She wasn’t sure whether to run away, burst into tears, kiss him, or all of the above.

She opened the door and gasped. It was a similar color scheme to her room, blues and cream, new light fixtures that suited the modern yet soft furnishings. A new bed, he’d bought a new bed.

“These drawers are yours, and the right side of the walk in closet.” He said gently as he pointed to the two tall boys. “And I thought your quilt would look good in here.”

“You bought a new bed.” She stated more than asked, Gustaf smiling at the fact her brain hadn’t quite caught up to her expanded wardrobe space.

“I did, this is our bed.” And he meant every syllable. This was their bed, no one else but them had or would sleep in it. When he purged his system of Ana, his living space got the same treatment, he did a deep clean and he felt so much better for it. “There’s one more thing. Go check out the bathroom.” He said and grinned at her sudden ’oh my god’ as she stepped inside.

“I could do laps in this thing.” She said as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

“Maybe not laps but you can fit more than just your lower half in there, and stretch out those gorgeous legs. I might be able to fit in there with you.” He kissed her neck and breathed her in.

She turned in his arms and looked at him. “Pinch me.”

“What?” He chuckled.

“Pinch me because I’m dreaming right?” She said skeptically.

“You’re not dreaming love.” He kissed her, that toe curling lip lock that made her go limp in his arms.

“I don’t know what to say, or do. I...” He kissed her tenderly.

“Think about it. There’s no catch, no rush, just the the love from a man that wants to give you and the kids the world if you’ll let him. I love you Sildie, that’s never going to change.”

“Do the kids know about all this?” She rested her hand on his chest and took a steadying breath.

“No. I wanted to ask you first. I didn’t want to get their hopes up in case you said no.” Which was still a possibility, he thought. “If you said yes, I was going to give it to them as a Christmas gift.” He shrugged. “But there’s no rush, no pressure, we can wait.”

“Ok.” She sniffed. She needed to chew on it. She needed to think with a clear mind, without all the emotional upheaval today had brought to their door. “Why yellow?”

“Why yellow what?” He kissed her temple and lingered, willing his own anxiety to settle.

“Lily’s room why yellow?”

His grin was wide as he threaded his fingers in her hair and kissed her. “Because she’s my little ray of sunshine.” He said softly. “She stole my heart Sildie.” His voice tight with emotion.

“Sweet man.” She kissed him and wrapped her arms around him tightly burying her face in his neck. “You have no idea of how loved you are.” She mumbled.

“You and the kids are everything to me, love.” He kissed her again, that loving warmth filling both of them.

“You’ve made my birthday beautiful again.” She sniffed and huffed as the tears fell.

“It was always beautiful love, we just had to chase a few dark clouds away.” He kissed her tenderly. “I love you Sildie, with everything that I am.”

She stood wrapped up in him and wept. His hands stroking the length of her spine as she let it out. He had such a sweet soul.

“So.” He kissed her sweetly as she regained some composure. “Would you like to snuggle here and christen our bed or go back to your apartment?” He kissed that one spot on her neck that he knew undid her.

“Here.” She breathed.

“Oh and one more thing.” He said walking backward into the main bedroom with her still bundled in close. The silliness of their walk making him smile and getting her to chuckle. “There is now a layer of soundproofing on this room. And we have the en-suite, bathroom, and workout room between us and the kids.” He kissed her seductively. “Which means you can scream all you want when I fuck you.” He growled.

“Really?” She chuckled and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Even the door.” He kissed her and pulled the soft sweater up and over her head.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” He kissed her again and lingered. “I love our sex life and I love the kids. It was a good compromise to have both under the one roof.” His mouth claimed her, hot and hungry, a need fueled by desire. “Now. I hear it’s your birthday kitten, and no birthday should go without birthday sex.” Not only would sex take her mind off things, it would also get a shit ton of endorphins running around her system. She needed those in abundance today. “What does my birthday girl want?” He growled playfully as his finger trailed her collarbone, his lips kissing the dip, tongue tasting.

“I don’t know.” She said quietly, still not completely comfortable with being asked. What she did know is she didn’t want to think of anything except what he was making her feel.

“Would you like to hear some options?” He asked kissing her sweetly, that magic tongue teasing hers.

“Options?” She chuckled. “I didn’t know I had options.”

“Mmmm. Today I have options for you to choose from kitten.” He purred, his hands deftly removing her baggy sweats and steadying her while she kicked them free.

“Oh?” She wasn’t sure where this was going but her belly buzzed with the thought of what those options might include.

“On a serious note how tender or stiff are you from the weekend?” He asked looking at her.

“I’m not too bad, a tiny bit stiff but not tender.”

“Good.” He said in that low timbre she loved and felt her pussy clench before he devoured her mouth.

“So what are my options?” She asked hesitantly.

“Short and sweet, deep and long, hard and rough, or would my birthday girl like to try something new?” He left the question hanging. He wanted to elaborate on what he’d started this weekend to bring her more pleasure but he couldn’t rush it.

“Something new? What would that be?” She asked and he noticed she was trembling slightly, it wasn’t out of fear. The thought of it was arousing her too.

“Ahhh now that would ruin the surprise.” He whispered and kissed her deeply until her body went lax. “But I will tell you this. I want to do things to you.” He purred. “Erotic, sensual things.” He deepened the kiss pulling her under. “What option would you like to choose birthday girl?”

“Something new.” Her breath hitched as he nipped that one spot below her ear. She was safe him, knew he wouldn’t hurt her and today she just wanted to feel anything but the grief she had sitting in her chest. She wanted to lose herself to him.

“Do you trust me?” He asked gently and waited for her to take a calming breath.

“Yes.” Her eyes met his and he knew she was ok with it.

“Let me make you feel good kitten.” He said tenderly, his fingers slipping the black lace from her shoulders. “I love you in black lace.” He purred. “But I think the birthday suit is more appropriate for today.” His joke made her chuckle.

“You’re such a goofball.”

“You love it.” His grin wicked.

“I love you.”

“I adore you kitten.” His kiss took her under as his fingers stripped her bare. “Stay there and close your eyes.” She looked at him for a split second longer before closing her eyes, complete and total trust.

She could hear him move over to the window doing what could only be described as searching through a drawer. She felt his massive frame tower behind her, the heat and power radiating off him as the cool silk covered her eyes, the soft material dark enough she couldn’t see through it. He was giving her one of her fantasies, had the guy crawled into her head at some point and taken notes, she wondered? Because she sure as hell hadn’t voiced them, to anyone. His one finger scooped her hair and pushed it to the side revealing her neck to him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He rasped, the heat of his breath against the nape of her neck making her shiver. He kissed her there, the contact sending a shot of arousal straight to her core. His finger drifted down her spine and over the swell of her ass cheeks before disappearing off her skin.

She wouldn’t have thought standing naked and blindfolded with someone could be such a turn on. She felt him shift to stand in front of her and her body yearned for him to touch her, kiss her. A finger gently hooked her under the chin and lifted her head up. She knew his eyes would be roaming her face, her body.

“So alluring.” He murmured. His kiss was like an electric shock to her system and she couldn’t help the small squeak that escaped before he pulled that delicious moan from her soul.

“You like it when I kiss you like that.” She could hear the humor in his voice. Out of instinct she searched for him, a need to touch, her fingertips brushing his chest. “Hands by your sides kitten.” He said with enough of a command to have her obey, but gentle, this was new and he didn’t want to scare her before they’d started. His finger left her chin and she was left with nothing but the presence of him standing there, only touching her again when her hands were resting at her sides. She would learn, he thought.

He didn’t leave it very long before that finger stroked her jaw and his lips ghosted hers, the tip of his tongue tasting her. That finger ignited a trail of destruction down her cleavage and along the underside of her breasts, first one then the other. He watched as her nipples hardened, her mouth opening slightly and her breath hitch in anticipation. Peeling his shirt off he went to his knees, those stunning breasts waiting for him to pleasure.

She could hear him moving, taking his shirt off, the absence of touch making her feel a little self conscious. That finger started at the dip in her throat, winding its way down over her breasts again in much the same pattern as before. It was arousing beyond her wildest dreams, she knew she was soaked between her legs and he hadn’t really done anything. The anticipation alone was enough.

With a hand behind her but not touching he sucked a nipple into his mouth. Her cry was one of shock and pleasure. He steadied her as the contact rocked her body backward and released her nipple and the hand at her spine. He lightly blew a breath over her wet nipple and watched it pucker into a hard bud. Her soft whimpers were sending his own arousal into the stratosphere. He waited a moment before repeating it to the other side, her cry making his cock twitch, the strain against the denim almost painful.

He kissed his way down her torso, slow, teasing kisses, the tip of his tongue tasting and leaving a trail to the apex of her pussy. He kissed her there and her hands went to hold his head but she caught herself before she touched him, placing her hands at her sides again. He hummed his approval and peppered slow lingering kissed over the softness of her belly as he started to remove his jeans.

Naked on his knees before her he trailed a finger up the backs of her calves, tracing the swell of her ass. She squirmed and giggled when he went over the skin at the back of the knees and gripped them more firmly before kissing each kneecap. Steadying her he gently forced her legs apart slightly. Kissing her mound he drew away so she was standing untouched.

With the hand behind her in case she swayed backward he sucked a nipple into his mouth and kept it there, tongue swirling. He steadied her and released his hand. Alternating between each breast he made her body tremble, made her nipples extra sensitive. He let his teeth graze the acutely aroused buds, her whimpers of pleasure the only sound in the room. He wet her nipples and blew gently on them again, sending her brain into overload.

Kneeling between her feet without touching her he stopped his ministrations to watch, to look up at the goddess in front of him. The flush of arousal over her body, those full ripe breasts, those curves, he devoured those curves with his eyes. She jumped slightly as he ran a finger up each calf from foot to the crease of her ass cheeks.

She was so aroused she was surprised it wasn’t running down the inside of her thighs. With a fingertip caressing her ass she could feel his hot breath on her mound, hovering, waiting. It was maddening but so erotic.

He could smell her arousal, the sweetness of her. With his hands behind her ready to steady her, he ran the tip of his tongue along her silken folds with just enough slipping in to brush every aroused nerve endings she had. Her body jolted at his touch like he’d electrocuted her, the cry of pleasure making his cock throb. Placing his lips on her labia he stroked his tongue along her again, each pass venturing deeper. He hummed his approval at her wetness, she was soaked.

She’d never had an orgasm standing up but if he kept doing what he was doing she was about to. He teased her slowly, tongue relentless in its pursuit of everything she had to offer him. She gasped as he licked her from entrance to clit and sucked, teasing her bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue.

“Gustaf.” It was a hoarse cry, his only warning that she was going to come, yet he continued on his current course.

Her legs shook as she cried out, climax tearing through her. She felt his hands at her hips, a steadying force as she let it take her. He stopped and peppered her belly with slow kisses. She felt him pull away and stand before her, his towering presence unmistakable. The one finger hooked her under her jaw and tipped her head back. He kissed her slowly, savoring everything she gave him.

“You’re my favorite dessert.” He purred. “So sweet.” He kissed her jaw. “So erotic.” He kissed the other side and devoured her mouth. “Would you like me to continue?” He asked softly, his finger trailing over her breasts, pert nipples begging to be attended to. He would push her boundaries, he would reveal the sex kitten he knew was hidden away, show her what this kind of release could give her, physically and emotionally.

“Yes.” She whispered, her breathlessness a combination of having just come hard and anticipation.

“Do you trust me?” He stayed where he was and let his finger drift.

“Always.” She replied with no hesitation.

“Don’t move.” He commanded as he stepped away briefly.

She could hear rustling of covers, sheets, he was doing something on the bed. She shivered, whether from cold or anticipation she didn’t know, she was sure of one thing though, she felt alive, energized at the thought of what he might do to her next. She sensed him behind her before his hands gently gripped her hips.

“Are you cold?” He asked.

“No.” He breathed.

“Walk forward.” He murmured, a kiss below her ear making her moan. He stopped her at the foot of the bed and gently nipped her neck. “Hands on the bed.” He growled. He watched as she searched and came in contact with the mattress. “Now your knees.” He instructed and she climbed onto the bed until she was on all fours, her feet hanging off. He left her there and climbed up onto the mattress where he’d wait for her. He hooked a finger under her chin. “Crawl forward.” That low tone made her pussy throb.

His lips suddenly met hers, the kiss demanding she stop where she was.

“Sit back on your knees and hold your hands out in front of you.” She did as he asked, each instruction arousing her more and more.

His one finger drifted along the forearm of each arm and took a hold of her hands. “Come up on your knees and lean forward, the headboard is right there.” He placed her hands along the top rail of the headboard, the sleigh bedhead offering her forearms some support.

He watched her carefully, there was no fear in her body, only complete trust and arousal. “Now listen carefully kitten.” He said gently, the single digit under her chin holding her head up. “If at anytime you are in real pain and need me to stop you tell me. You don’t wait for me to ask. Tell me you understand kitten.” He would take his own pleasure in this and give it to her a hundred fold, but he’d make damn sure not to hurt her, he’d never forgive himself. Safe words or colors were there to be used but if you did it right and paid attention to your partner, they would never need to be used. They were nowhere near venturing into resistance play and he wasn’t into it, a simple stop from her would halt him in his tracks.

“I understand.” Her voice was shaky but firm.

“Do you trust me?” He asked as he began to bind one of her hands to the bar.

“Yes.” Her breath hitched at the new sensation of the silk against her skin and he stopped once the first binding was done. He kissed her shoulder, the brief contact settling her nerves.

“What do you say if you need me to stop?” He asked as he bound her other wrist.

“Stop or red.” Her answer was immediate. Even though she’d never done this before she knew the rules, read enough to know, and Gustaf had obviously done this at some point, he was way too skilled to call it beginners luck.

“Mmmm that’s my smart girl.” He purred, he kissed her, that sweetness clouding her mind. “Relax kitten.” His kisses along her arms were slow and lingering. She felt him place something soft under her forearms and gently pressed down on them. “Relax. I’m going to do wonderful things to you.”

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

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea

#gustaf skarsgard #gustaf skarsgard fanfiction #shattered lives

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strawberry-skies-xx · 4 years ago

Text

forget the bottle

C H A P T E R T W O

tags: geralt / jaskier, yennefer, PTSD, post-s1e6, s1e6 fix-it, a fix-it of sorts, pyschological trauma, psychological torture, magical fuckery, mind manipulation, aftermath of psychological torture, emotional/psychological abuse, torture, nilfgaard, captured by nilfgaard, fringilla, fluff and angst, protective yennefer, yennefer ships it, idiots in love, love confessions, happy ending, solitary confinement

author’s note: scheduled tuesday + thursday posting.

main masterlist || story on ao3 || next chapter >>

-0-0-0-

Jaskier fell asleep seven songs later, woke up, and didn’t know whether he was even awake. The cell was still completely dark, there were no sounds, nothing to indicate if he was awake or in a dream. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to ignore the panic dancing at the edges of his breath, the edges of his vision and his mind, and focused on the way he shivered in the cold.

He sat silently against the wall for several minutes, not knowing what to do. He didn’t know what they were going to do to him, but he had barely been here for two days and he was already longing for human contact other than that damned sorceress and soldiers. He wanted to see light, wanted to see the sky and the sun and the flowers. Jaskier couldn’t believe he’d ever taken that for granted.

He felt too much, all the time, and loneliness was no different. Heartbreak was needles, fear was spiders, dread was cold. Loneliness was just empty, hollow. Something in him that was just… a void, filled with nothing. Jaskier hated the feeling of loneliness more than most everything else, most likely because he so rarely felt it he didn’t have any defense against it. Singing and talking to nothing only lasted for so long, and Jaskier knew his limits. He wasn’t going to last, no matter how hard he tried. He was going to break to Nilfgaard, tell them everything he knew about Geralt, and he’d become their slave, he guessed. There were rumors that Nilfgaard participated in slavery. Or, he’d become some noble’s songbird. That was also a fate he didn’t want, but he supposed he wouldn’t have a choice.

Jaskier leaned his head back against the wall again, brought his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, and started singing again.

-0-0-0-

On the fourth day, Jaskier finally roused himself to move, driven by his parched throat and cracking voice. He found a bucket of water in the corner, almost spilled it when he found it with his roaming hands, and found a cup beside it. The water seemed clean - and even if it wasn’t, Jaskier would take anything he could get. They certainly weren’t giving him food anytime soon, so this was all he had to survive on.

He dipped the cup in the water, finding it cold, and pulled it back out before drinking his fill greedily, like he hadn’t had water in days - which, he hadn’t.

He filled it up three more times, and even the water didn’t fill the void of loneliness spreading in him. The water didn’t help the heartbreak needling at him, the fear making his skin itch, the dread trickling down his spine like ice. He had nothing to defend against his emotions, nothing to distract himself with except for a bucket of water and a cup, and he could feel himself falling, slowly breaking.

Jaskier sighed, feeling the exhaustion of being starved for days pulling at him, and set the empty cup down, leaned back against the wall, and let sleep take him. Or not. He had no idea if this was a dream or if he was awake, it was so dark and he was so cold and so tired.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier’s voice gave out on the eighth day.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier was curled on his side on the floor on the sixteenth day, silent and shivering and so fucking hungry. The cramps bit at him, devoured him from the inside out, and he was left with only his mind - which wasn’t even at optimal speed either.

He gave a soft whimper and curled up more, felt the cold stone press against his too-sharp, bare shoulder and too-thin feet, cried out as the sharp hunger pains lanced through him followed by the heartbreak and loneliness and fear and dread. It was all too much, far too much, and the smell of his piss in one corner he had designated wasn’t helping.

Jaskier was breaking, slowly but surely, and Fringilla and all of Nilfgaard was waiting for it.

-0-0-0-

Come on, Jaskier, came Fringilla’s voice, in his fucking mind, and he jerked awake, eyes wide and darting around the room.

He cried out, regretting the movement instantly as the hunger pains shot through his stomach and he returned to the fetal position, staying there after he realized it was all in his head.

Come to Nilfgaard. We can help you, we will help you. All you have to do is open up to us, tell us the Witcher’s behavior, came the mage’s calm voice, magic weaving around him.

Jaskier groaned quietly, burying his head in his knees. Fuck off, he thought.

You’ll see sense soon, she said, and retreated just as Jaskier felt the magic sharpen into singular intent and sleep dragged him down.

-0-0-0-

He’s not coming back for you, Jaskier. Don’t you want to get revenge? He discarded you like trash. That’s all you were to him. A nuisance, an annoyance. Nilfgaard will help you. We will help you make him see the wrongs done to you.

Get the fuck out of my head.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier tried to sing again on the twenty-eighth day, but his voice gave out on the first syllable and Fringilla’s voice replaced his, strong and smooth and so, so persuasive.

He never liked your singing, she said in his mind, magic twirling and weaving around him, fluid and easy. Jaskier envied it. Never gave it a compliment, never called it something good. He insulted it, despised it. You would do better just to be quiet, like he wanted, if you were ever to go back to him.

Jaskier threaded his fingers in his hair and pulled, added the sharp pain of it to the pain of his hunger, the pain of his heartbreak and the numb of the loneliness, the ice of the dread and the acrid fear. No, he thought weakly. Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off.

Fringilla didn’t pay any mind to his protests. He always told you your chatter was annoying. Didn’t you see what you were doing to him?

Jaskier gave a full-body flinch when the magic around him sharpened into intent, drove into his mind, and ripped out the scene he tried so hard to forget, forcing it to flash through his mind in vivid color and sound.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

The magic left as quickly as it had come, and Jaskier started to shake as Fringilla’s voice continued. He hated this, hated it all so much, wanted to cry and scream and rage, but he was stuck in a weak human body, being starved and isolated with nothing but the same fucking mage talking in his head for hours on end. He felt the hope still glowing inside him crack as he shook, splinter as tears started falling and he went limp against the floor.

He never loved you. He is not coming for you. You can’t truly care about him anymore, not when he never cared for you. You annoyed him, you made it worse for him. Give up, Jaskier. He doesn’t care about you. No one is coming for you.

Jaskier cried, and shook, and didn’t even have the energy to tell her to fuck off.

-0-0-0-

Thirty one days passed, though Jaskier wouldn’t know that. He was stuck in a haze of near-insanity, mentally talking to himself when he wasn’t talking to Fringilla, startled by every noise - not that there were many - and his heartbeat pounded constantly in his ears, like a drum. The cell smelled even more strongly like piss, and it was a miracle Jaskier still forced himself to move enough to get himself water and use the bathroom in the same corner. He couldn’t distinguish the magical dreams put in his head, of being held down by man’s hands and forced to relive his worst, most painful memories, from being truly awake in the unbroken darkness of the cell.

He didn’t hold back on crying, now. His emotions had taken over sometime in the darkness, and they rolled over him like waves, tossing him around and ripping through him, leaving deep wounds behind. He shook and cried and lay there, his hope slowly draining, curled up and slipping into unconsciousness more often than out of it.

Fringilla stopped talking to him, but her words echoed in his head often enough, and Jaskier was beginning to believe it. There wasn’t any evidence that Geralt loved him, in any of his memories. He saved his life because he was human and Geralt thought it was his duty, there was nothing more to it. Jaskier had been nothing more than a burden to the Witcher for all twenty-two years.

He could feel the mage’s magic weaving around him still, and he could feel the darkness creeping up on him. He sighed, went limp against the floor, and felt all his thoughts and feelings and strength drain from him like water in a tub, until he felt numb. A shell, to be used and reused and filled with whatever they wanted.

You win, he thought, just before sleep took him.

I surrender. I’ll do what you want. Just please make this stop.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier woke to the sound of screaming.

It took him a moment to recognize it wasn’t his, and then he had to pinch himself to figure out it wasn’t a dream, and then he flinched at the loud clang of steel against steel coming from outside his door. It was too loud; his heartbeat pounded in his ears, the noise was too much from the silence he’d been in for a month. He curled up tight, covering his ears, feeling his breath come shorter and shorter.

Fuck. He smelled smoke. Something was burning, there was a fire. He was going to die here, he thought hysterically, in a cell cold and alone and half-mad. He wanted Nilfgaard to save him; at least he knew they needed him, they were predictable. They wouldn’t kill him, and somehow that was a comfort to Jaskier.

The door to his cell opened, the hallway glowed with fire burning orange behind his eyelids and Jaskier screamed, scrambling away from the intruder he could feel stepping towards him. It wasn’t Fringilla, he knew, and it wasn’t the Nilfgaardian soldiers, because the footsteps were too quiet.

In another life, he might’ve recognized the strong scent of leather and sword oil, but he was too scared and everything was happening too fast, the light was too bright and everything was too loud, too much.

Jaskier struggled against the arms wrapping around him, struggled with the blind desperation of a cornered animal. There came a displeased, confused grunt above him - good, he thought, they weren’t supposed to take him from Nilfgaard. Fringilla wouldn’t like it, and he had promised he’d be good for her if only to stop the isolation. He was so close to being free, as free as he could be, and now it was being ripped from him.

Pain shot through him, but that was nothing new - he was starving, on the verge of panicking, nearly hyperventilating. He’d been in pain for a while now; it had become a fact of life to him. The strong arms fought against Jaskier as he thrashed in his blind panic, and it was only when they finally let him go that he scrambled away, to the far edge of the cell, until his back hit the bucket of water. He didn’t open his eyes, finding it hurt too much in the sudden light, and he covered his ears, curling up there.

The footsteps came closer, slower this time, yet Jaskier could sense the edge of anxiety on the movements - makes sense, he thought. They were in a burning building, after all. Though, why they’d want to save him while risking themselves was beyond him.

“Jaskier,” came the deep rumble, and something in Jaskier knew that voice. But - no, this couldn’t be real. This was like - it was so similar to another time he’d been kidnapped. Some bandits, a dark cell, a burning building, the Witcher he didn’t know anymore coming to rescue him just like this. This had to be a dream. Nilfgaard was fucking with him.

He shook his head and curled up further. He was so tired of this, these dreams of things he’d been through, all the pain and hurt. Fringilla was effectively disillusioning him, ripping away all optimism he may have had about the world with cold, clean efficiency. He just wanted it all to stop.

Jaskier felt the tears coming on, and he didn’t stop them. He started shaking, silently crying - he’d stopped talking around day twenty-eight. What was the point of talking or singing, anyway, when all it got him was a sore throat. No one cared about his thoughts or opinions anymore.

This time, he didn’t fight against the arms that picked him up, even curled into the broad, armored chest that he found his body pressed against. He inhaled the scent of leather and sword oil and blood, and somewhere deep in him felt safe, like he knew this person wouldn’t hurt him.

If only I knew his name, he thought before he shook weakly one last time and fell into unconsciousness.

-0-0-0-

“What did they do to him?”

Jaskier was on something soft when he woke up, and there was talking around him. There were people around him, too, standing around his-

His bed?

He pushed himself up without opening his eyes, suddenly panicking as the memories came back. He had been taken from Nilfgaard, taken from his only shot at relative freedom, and now he was going to be taken and tortured by whoever else wanted information from him. The same vicious fucking cycle, he just wanted out. They already broke him, what more did they want? What more could anyone take from him now?

Hands came to rest in his hair, and Jaskier realized he had fallen back onto the bed and was panicking, he couldn’t breathe. The hand went back and forth, threading through his hair roughly but gently, and a voice that something locked away deep in Jaskier found soothing came with it.

“In, out. Breathe, Jaskier. In, out.”

He couldn’t help but follow the instructions, slowly dragging his breathing and his heart rate down until he could slowly open his eyes, adjusting to the light and the noise. It was a shock to his body from spending so long in utter darkness - but, he was still in the darkness. This was a dream, brought on by Nilfgaard. Fucking with his head, as always.

Huh. This was a different dream than Fringilla had ever given him, he thought as he looked around at the small, sparsely furnished cabin they were in. And, Fringilla had never allowed him to get to the actual escape when she made him relive his kidnappings and various tortures. She usually cut it off when he thought he was out, only to find himself back in the cold darkness of the Nilfgaardian cell. It was a brutally effective method of making him lose hope, he had to give her that.

There was a Witcher right next to him, someone that seemed familiar, and somehow that didn’t strike fear into him like it should’ve. Well, he always had terrible self-preservation instincts. The sorceress with violet eyes standing near a wooden table didn’t strike fear into him, either, though they both looked as if they could snap him in half.

Maybe Fringilla was ripping away his hope by giving him entirely new scenarios. It wasn’t necessary, he thought. They’d already broken him; she was wasting her energy.

“Jaskier?”

That was the Witcher. He turned his gaze on him, staring into golden eyes and white hair and a face he should’ve recognized but really didn’t. He commended his past self, though, for managing to become friends with such a handsome man. Or, whatever they were. He didn’t care for deciphering the general feeling of safe that the Witcher gave him, underlaid by the faint needling of heartbreak.

He didn’t say anything, either. Fringilla had taught him he needed to be quiet. No one cared about his thoughts and opinions anymore, and whatever Fringilla needed from him she could simply rip from his mind anyway. So could the violet-eyed sorceress, too, he figured. His voice wasn’t necessary - not that he wanted to talk, anyway. Thinking about talking and singing, being so loud and carefree, made something in him shrink away in fear and anger. He’d been so careless about others' feelings before, he hadn’t known just how to be quiet and good for them so he wasn’t annoying and a burden.

“Jaskier? Can you hear me?”

He gave a soft hum and closed his eyes. That was all they needed. The darkness was better, anyway, softer and easier. Much less to think about in the darkness - he could already feel sleep tugging at him once again.

His eyes flew open when there was a sharp pain in his side, and the sorceress was standing next to the Witcher. Her violet eyes burned, but they were also soft, holding compassion and sympathy and-

Jaskier didn’t want to think about that. It wasn’t his place to figure out others’ feelings - he was there only to give information and do what they’d like with. Something in him still rebelled at that idea, pounded against the door he’d locked it behind, but Jaskier paid no mind to it. It was locked away for a reason.

“Jaskier,” the sorceress said sharply, and he resisted the urge to sigh. Of course he wouldn’t be allowed to sleep.

The Witcher looked concerned. “What did they do? He’s not talking.”

The sorceress’s attention turned to the Witcher and Jaskier closed his eyes again, listening to their conversation in the background of the fuzziness of his head.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to recognize us.”

There it was again, that recognition. Both of them seemed familiar, but their names and the memories of them were behind that locked door, and opening that locked door was too difficult. It would make it worse for him - he remembered fighting when that door was open, being hurt, screaming, unimaginable pain ripping through him.

It was better to keep the door closed.

“Can you fix him?”

Jaskier wanted to laugh. Fix him. As if he needed fixing. He had broken for them, just like they wanted. He didn’t need to be fixed.

“I’m not sure. Fringilla’s magic is powerful. She could have done any number of things to him and we’d never know unless I can get to his memories.”

These two were weird, Jaskier thought distantly. Acting as if getting to his memories was so difficult, when he knew she could just rip them from him with a flick of her fingers. She seemed to know Fringilla, she must know that Jaskier was theirs to do what they’d like with. It’s not like he had the power to defy them, anyway. His defiance was behind that locked door with the rest of his memories, and he wasn’t planning on opening it anytime soon.

“Jaskier,” the sorceress said. He opened his eyes reluctantly and looked at her. “Can I go through your memories?”

He hummed again in affirmation and returned his gaze to the ceiling, studying the wood of the rafters and the beams crossing above him, bracing for the pain of having his memories searched through. The sorceress shared a worried look with the Witcher that Jaskier still didn’t understand, before two fingers landed on his forehead and the cold, icy feeling of magic washed over him.

The sorceress’s touch was… gentle. There was none of the pain ripping through him that Fringilla had given him, he didn’t so much as whimper as he felt he’d magic poke and prod at his mind. He did twitch, though, he flinched and tensed up despite himself.

The magic poked at the locked door and Jaskier gave a full-body flinch, jerking violently away, eyes widening as he shook his head. He felt her magic retreat instantly, and she gave a small gasp when she saw his visceral reaction.

“Okay, okay,” she said soothingly, hands put up placatingly. “I won’t go there.”

Jaskier relaxed, though he was still wary, and the Witcher looked at her. “Go where? What did you see?”

The sorceress’s face fell, eyes grave and sad.

“That’s the thing. I found nothing.”

-0-0-0-

“Nothing?”

Geralt frowned. He wanted to hit something, kill something. Jaskier had left him on the mountain, and now he was here after being tortured by Nilfgaard, and it was all his fucking fault for yelling at him on that damned mountain.

Yennefer shrugged. “I didn’t find anything. He doesn’t have memories of us, or anything really. It’s just… cold and dark in there.”

Geralt sighed and resisted the strong urge to hit something right then and there. “What the fuck, Yen? How are we supposed to fix this?”

Yennefer looked at Jaskier, who had his eyes closed again and was unnaturally silent, like he had been since they found him in that cell. “I’d say he was guarding against his feelings.”

“What does that mean?”

She sighed and returned her gaze to Geralt’s worried golden eyes. “It’s a defense mechanism. People who are excessively tortured retreat into themselves. For some, it’s to prevent them from saying anything - if they don’t remember, they’re not useful. For Jaskier… I think it’s because of his feelings.”

Geralt stayed silent, though Yennefer could see the guilt flood his eyes, and she fixed him with a firm look. “What did you say to him on that mountain?”

He glanced down. “I told him… I wanted him gone.”

Yennefer watched him, but he didn’t continue and she didn’t push, though she knew there was more to it than that. She sighed. “Your bard has always felt too much. Far more than other people. Other people may be sad, but Jaskier is devastated, or lonely. If he’s happy, he’s not just happy. He’s ecstatic, joyful. You’ve seen him when he’s happy and you’ve seen him when he’s not. There’s a very visible difference there.”

“So whatever is said to him, or whatever he says himself, he feels on a far deeper level than anyone else I’ve known. And, I suppose, in that cell, he didn’t have anything to defend against his emotions, so he locked them away completely. Everything that made him feel pain was locked away, and everything that made him feel joy, or anger, or despair, was dragged with it too. We went with the rest of his memories.”

Geralt sighed. “Fuck.”

Yennefer nodded. “The Jaskier we know isn’t gone, just buried. And I can’t pull him out with magic.”

Geralt frowned. “Why not?”

“You saw him flinch, right? That’s when I touched the wall his memories were behind. He’s the one who locked away his own memories; I can’t just undo another mage’s magic here. It would be extremely painful, and also risky, to try to force him to open the door. We have to make him want to open it.”

Geralt deflated and groaned. “And how do we do that?”

Now Yennefer smirked, and Geralt knew he wasn’t going to like this. “Be nice to him. Treat him as a friend, not as someone you tolerate.”

Geralt could sense the bard’s breathing had evened out into sleep. “I don’t tolerate him,” he said defensively as Yennefer walked to the other table.

“You have to show him that,” she replied.

Geralt frowned harder, but he looked at Jaskier laying on the bed, face peaceful in sleep, and knew he was going to do it. He’d do more things than he’d like to admit for Jaskier.

“Fuck.”

“Swearing won’t heal him, Geralt.”

author’s note: because i’m paranoid that people won’t understand how jaskier broke, i’m going to explain it here. next chapter i’ll explain why he won’t come back because this kinda turned into an essay 😅

the whole premise of the fic is that jaskier feels too much. he could be completely overwhelmed and controlled by his emotions, or he could cope with them, like he does normally. nilfgaard found out that emotions were his weakness when fringilla rifled through his mind, hence the reliving memories, especially the most recent, freshest, deepest wound - the mountain.

without coping mechanisms, without light or human contact or even food, jaskier had no defense against his emotions. nothing distracted him from thinking about what geralt said, thinking about everything in his life that someone said he was annoying or too much, or left him because of it. so his memories brought on emotions and he had no defense against them.

so he locked away his memories, for two reasons. one, memories means that he fights for something - getting out of nilfgaard, getting back to geralt, etc. fighting means nilfgaard hurts him more, and solitary confinement is harsh torture. so no memories means not remembering what he’s fighting for, means no fighting, means no pain. and two, memories means he feels everything the memories brought on, and no memories means not as many feelings, like numbing a wound, hence no pain.

#the witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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introvert-no-chameleon · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 4: Making Amends

AO3

The snow crunched under Stan’s knees, soaking his pants and making the cold burning his skin. The pines that made up most of the forest towered over him more than he remembered, making it impossible to see more than a few patches of the inky, starless night sky. Snowflakes fell around him, their gentle descent a mockery to the cruel helplessness that was tearing him apart.

He couldn’t get back up, despite his brain screaming at him to do something, because Fidds was right there, and he couldn’t lift a finger to help him, he couldn’t stop it.

He couldn’t protect him—

“…ley…”

Wait. That was…but Fidds was in front of him—

“…up…”

He was—

“Stanley!”

Stan blinked, gasping like a man who’d just gotten a gulp of air after almost drowning. He wasn’t in a forest, or anywhere outside, but in a warm bedroom. His bedroom, actually. He recognized the long scratch on the roof from that weird octopus thing that attacked them once. Crickets chirped outside, and one glance out the window confirmed that it was nighttime. A few stars hung on the navy blue sky.

The mattress that squeaked and groaned as he shifted on it while he got his bearings. The lamp was on, emitting a soft light that illuminated the face of the man who’d called his name. His Fidds, who still had those funny antlers and cute ears, and was, more importantly, okay.

“Oh, thank goodness….” His boyfriend held his hand to his heart, shoulders slumping with relief, eyes brimming with tears. He was about to let out the waterworks, and Stan wasn’t about to let that happen if he could help it, reaching to wipe the rims of his eyes with his thumbs.

“Hey there, Fiddlenerd.” He sounded like he had just gargled gravel, but at least he could still talk. His throat felt dry for the first time since he changed. “What I’d miss?”

Fiddleford sniffed. “Aside from ya bein’ the biggest damn fool to ever walk upon this here world?” There wasn’t any bite to it, although his waspish tone suggested Stanley would be hearing about this of the next few weeks.

Stanley chuckled. “Uh-oh. I’m in real trouble now.”

“Damn right ya are!”

“Y’know Fidds, you’ve been getting’ an awfully big potty mouth lately.”

Fiddleford snark back at him like he usually would. He didn’t even scold him. He just sat down at the edge of the bed, hands running through his hair.

Stan grabbed his hands before he ended up pulling at his hair, like he tended to do whenever his stress got too intense for him to handle. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m super sorry. Whatever I did—”

“What ya—Stanley, ya threw yerself at a monster expectin’ me an’ yer brother to up and skedaddle without ya! Then ya got yerself cracked!”

Ah. That explained the bandages and his aching back. “Hey, come one, I couldn’t risk ya or Ford getting’ killed. I thought I stood the best chance. How was I supposed to know that it had weird magic nightmare powers?”

“You were a wreck, Stanley! We thought—I thought that…ya weren’t gonna make it. An’ then I heard ya yellin’…”

It occurred to Stan right then and there that he had cried and curled into the fetal position in front of both of them like a giant baby. He groaned, covering his eyes. “I can’t believe ya saw that.”

Fidds sighed. He got in the bed and cuddled up to Stan. His hand went to his cheek. Fidds had heavy bags under his eyes, and he looked almost as bad as Stan felt. “It’s nothin’ to be ashamed of, darlin’. That creature’s neurotoxins do a number on ya.”

Stan, who had begun to pull his boyfriend closer, paused. He pushed him back far enough to look into his eyes. “How do ya know that?” He began scanning Fidds body for injuries and froze when he saw the bandages on one of his legs, stained with blotches of red.

Stan sat up, ignoring the first genuine wave of pain he’d felt since he transformed. “That thing—it. I’m gonna kill it.”

Fidds huffed and pushed him back down, scowling. “You’ll do no such thing. It’s long gone, anyhow.”

“Wait. I was out for hours, an’ ya got hit with that magic mumbo-jumbo too. Why’re ya up?”

“Well, I shook myself outta it.”

Stan’s jaw fell open.

Fidds said it so simply, as if he hadn’t gone through the same experience, of feeling nothing but panic, being forced to watch a horror show as if strapped onto a chair, unable to do anything about it except experience his deepest fears manifesting right in front of him.

“Fidds. Come on, quit pullin’ my leg.”

“I ain’t.”

Sweet Moses, he wasn’t joking. “How?”

His boyfriend’s face fell. “I know it’s hard to believe, Stanley, but it’s the honest truth.”

Stan remembered their conversation, and he wanted to kick his own stony ass for being such a fucking idiot. “Whoa, hold on just a minute there, Fidds. Let’s get some shit straight. I ain’t lookin’ down on ya. I never did. I guess I shoulda made that clear, but I ain’t the best with words.” He gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts, to piece together something he could say that would get his point across. “Fidds, do ya know how it was around here before ya came around?”

The man blinked, obviously not expecting the question. “No?”

“Ford was barely able to get himself to eat. He was practically living off coffee and four hours of sleep a day. And don’t even get me started on how much he showered.”

“Darlin’, I have no idea why yer tellin’ me this, especially since yer brother still bathes every three days and sleeps every four if he can get away with it.”

“Believe it or not, used to be so much worse. And I promise there’s a point to this.” He cleared his throat. “He would get almost killed on a near-daily basis by some monster or lab accident. We were using so many first aid kits that we were buyin’ a new one almost every week. I was losing my mind just tryin’ to keep that dumb nerd alive, and we’d fight even more than we do now. Between that and boxing, I thought I was gonna go bald or somethin’ from the stress.”

Stan felt his lips curl up into a smile. “Then he called you. You an’ your banjo and weird southern talk. I’m not gonna lie, when I first saw ya, I thought, “this scrawny nerd isn’t gonna last a day”.”

“Thanks, hon,” said Fidds.

“But! I was wrong. Because before I knew it, Ford was gettin’ his science shit done even faster with another big brain helpin’ him out. I was able to sleep, an’,” Stan gestured to the room around them. “This place actually became livable!”

Fidds was smiling with him, a blush dusting his cheeks. “Aw, shucks.”

“My point is, Fiddlenerd, that if it weren’t for you, me and my brother would’ve killed each other by now or somethin’. Outta the three of us, you’re the one who has a head on his shoulders. We’re a team, and we need ya as much as ya need us. Hell, we probably need ya more. I…I know I do, at least.” He stared down at his own hands. “I’m sorry I ever made ya feel like I didn’t.”

Fidds held on of Stan’s big hands with two of his. “I was bein’ stubborn too. I shoulda just remembered that ya say what ya do ‘cause ya care about me.”

Stan glanced up at Fidds to see the man’s look of utter adoration, those big blues that made Stan’s knees go weak whenever he stared into them. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t be too worried. Especially not since ya did a pretty good job savin’ our assess today.”

“Actually,” said Fidds with a small cough. “I wouldn’t mind maybe talkin’ to Stanferd and maybe hangin’ back more when y’all go on monster hunts once an’ a while.”

Stan held his precious nerd close. “As long as you’re not always stayin’ behind. Don’t wanna haveta drag Ford away from giant goblins all by myself.”

Fidds chuckled. “Speakin’ of, he wanted me to get ‘im when ya woke up.”

Stan made no move to let him out of his arms. “Eh, let the idiot sleep, he needs it. ‘Sides, ya need your rest too, I’ll be here in the mornin’.”

“Oh, alright, but ya best be prepared fer him givin’ ya an earful.”

Stan would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t have weird glowy orbs that probably wouldn’t get the message across. “Not that. Anything but that.”

Fidds didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he was biting his lip, fidgeting like he always did whenever he had something to say and wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“What is it, Fidds?”

The man frowned, his Adam’s apple dancing up and down a bit. “…What did that awful thing make ya see?”

Stan felt sick all the sudden, his stomach (did he even still have one?) feeling as if somebody had pulled it out and was twisting it as tightly as they could. “Why do ya wanna know?”

“Ya just seemed to be in so much pain, is all, and…” He swallowed. “I…I saw you, and Tate and Stanferd had been—y’all were killed. Probably by one of them monsters, b-but…”

He squeaked as Stan held him as tightly as he could without crushing him against his chest. “Jesus, Fidds.”

Already Fidds was shaking, and despite his victory today, Stan knew how those things stayed with you, festering in some corner of your brain and jumping out when you least expect them to. He knew that it wouldn’t be something that would be forgotten any time soon. The man still got nightmares from his kidnapping, and that hadn’t sounded as bad as that shit. Stan began rubbing small circles on Fidds’ back. It was practically a reflex by this point, to comfort Fidds whenever he’d start having bad anxiety.

“It’s alright. I-I know it ain’t—it ain’t real.” He sounded more like he was reassuring himself than Stan. “I…I didn’t wanna see that, but I realized that i-if I wanna make sure that don’t happen, I need to be brave.”

Stan sighed. “You’re already brave, Fidds, and ya probably wouldn’t be so on edge if Ford an’ I weren’t always charging head-on into danger like a bunch of knuckleheads.”

Fidds chuckled. “As if the two of ya would be any more careful if I asked.”

“If it means it’ll stress ya out less? Then fuck it, I’ll guilt trip Ford into being more careful.”

Stan knew that if he wanted, he could say he didn’t want to talk about what he saw, and Fidds wouldn’t push. That had been one of the many things he loved about the man, how he always seemed to know when to give Stan space. He knew that Stan would always come to Fidds when he needed to.

But Fidds had come clean, even when it got him all twitchy, and damnit, he couldn’t just chicken out now.

“You ah…you remember how my pa kicked me out after the…the thing with Stanford’s science fair project, yeah?” He pressed his wings close to his back. Just saying it made the memory come into mind, the hard shove onto concrete, his world destroyed in the blink of an eye as his pa’s red face and cold, beady eyes bore into him.

Fiddleford hummed, nodding. “I do.” The man’s shoulders were tense, and Stan already began to see the tell-tale signs of the thunderous rage in his boyfriend’s eyes.

Stan had only lived in the shack for about a week when he told Fidds about his pa kicking him out. He hadn’t exaggerated when he told Fidds that he and Ford couldn’t even be in the same room without Stan doing something to inadvertently set his brother off. While they had decided to try and make things work between them, all it took was a reminder of the past for things to get tense.

Fidds lasted about a week before he took matters into his own hands. After a particularly nasty argument that had almost ended in a fistfight, Fidds had made Stan some tea, sat him down, and, managing to be very intimidating for someone so scrawny, made him explain everything. He could still picture Fidds’ initial reaction. The shock, then the sorrow so raw that it was as if he could feel Stan’s own pain, then the chilling glare that took over his features when Fidds told him to stay right there, now, I’ll just be a moment.

Less than a minute later, he heard Fiddleford screaming at his brother as if he was about to rip his head off. There’d been so much heat in it, Stan found himself rushing up the stairs to make sure Fiddleford wasn’t going to start exchanging blows with Ford. It had been the first time Stan had heard Fiddleford yell and give Ford talking to that would’ve made their ma proud.

The two twins had been forced to talk out their issues, with Fidds glaring down at them any time they tried to step out of line or fight. They continued like that for hours, until somehow, Stan and Ford had actually ended up hugging things out, a tired yet proud Fidds grinning at them.

He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he’d begun to see Fidds as something more than just some bookwormy dork with a banjo after that.

It warmed him to see that Fidds still got pissed at the mention of it. Stan snorted in amusement. “Easy, Fiddlesticks. That’s all in the past now.”

Fidd huffed. He wore a cute pout as he folded his arms over his chest. “Then why on earth are ya bringin’ it up now?” The realization hit him before Stan could reply, his eyes widening. “Oh, darlin’. You saw that memory?”

“Not exactly.”

Fidds waited, arching an eyebrow.

“He hurt ya real bad. My pa, I mean. And…Ford was there, an’ he was just…letting it happen. I-I couldn’t protect ya. I couldn’t do anything…”

Stan’s lip wobbled. Fucking hell, he wasn’t gonna cry again, especially not twice in one day! He was a man, damnit. He—

“Now, ya listen to me, Stanley Pines,” said Fidds, his voice a soothing balm over his pain. “An’ ya listen well. Yer brother is not gonna kick you out again, an’ he would never let any of us get hurt. An’ even on the wild chance that somethin’ possess Stanferd to even try to do so, well…He’ll haveta deal with me.”

“It ain’t just that, Fidds. I…back with the gnomes, and with this stuff today, I…I wasn’t able to be there in time. The only thing I’m good for is punchin’ an’ liftin’ things. If I can’t protect ya and Ford, then…”

“You hush. Yer so much more than that to me, hon, an’ I reckon Stanferd would agree with me.” He placed his forehead over Stan’s. Fidds had to move his head at an awkward angle so his antlers didn’t get stuck on Stan’s horns, but they managed it, in the end. “So I don’t want to be listenin’ to that nonsense, ya hear?”

Stan let himself relax, uncoil all the tension that held his body taut. “Yeah. Okay.” Then, in a whisper:

“I love ya, Fiddlesticks.”

“I love ya too, darlin’. How about the two of us get some rest?”

Stan yawned. “Sounds good to me.”

His lips curled into a content smile as he drifted off, knowing Fidds was snug and safe in his arms.

On the third morning of the transformation incident, the trio found themselves in the kitchen, Fiddleford at the table coaxing himself awake with a cup of coffee, and Stan just leaning back on his chair as he watched his twin pace. The sun had bun to rise, soft rays exposing the small specs of dust floating in the air, which would disperse whenever Stanford walked through.

A week had passed, and thankfully, all of their wounds were healed. Not only had Stan’s cracks mended, but gold lines trailed his back where the cracks had been. Fiddleford had a hell of a time talking Stan down from trying to chip it off himself to see if it was real, and even more of an issue when Stanford heard the argument and tried to get some off Stan to run some tests. The three of them had run so many tests on themselves that Fiddleford found himself getting burned out. Finding a cure was apparently more complicated than they’d thought.

So, he couldn’t help but place his head on the table and groan when Stanford broke the bad news.

“It seems like we may be stuck like this for a while.”

Fiddleford lifted his head to frown down at their notes, sighing into his coffee cup. “Well, at least we ain’t suffering any severe side effects.”

“Y’mean aside from Ford and his new riddle obsession?”

“As long as he ain’t eatin’ nobody, I reckon it ain’t the worst thing.”

Stanley shrugged. “Eh, true. And hey, I gotta admit, this is kinda cool, bein’ like this.”

“Speak fer yerself,” said Fiddleford, whose antlers had been getting caught in the top of doorframes all week. “It’s to darn hot fer me to have this much fur.”

“While I do share your sentiment, Fiddleford,” said Stanford. “This does give us a wonderful opportunity to continue to study our new conditions. Perhaps we’ll find a cure then.”

Stanley had that goofball grin on his face. He pulled in Fiddleford with one arm and Ford with the other. “Hey, if anybody can figure this out, it’s you two nerds.”

Stanford smiled at his twin, adjusting his glasses. “You just want us to do all the work.”

“That too.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes. “Yer still comin’ with us to that cave, so don’t ya start thinkin’ we’ll just let ya lay around the shack.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s so special about this cave, anyhow?”

Stanford playfully shoved Stanley away. “It had some very interesting inscriptions on the wall, and a few spells I have yet to add to the journals. Some of them even appeared to be prehistoric! I managed to catch a glance at some of them while I was chasing Mothman.”

“He still hasn’t paid ya back?” said Fiddleford, raising his I-told-ya-so eyebrow.

Stanford cleared his throat rather quickly. “That’s not important. There was a curious mural in particular that drew my attention, of a strange creature we haven’t encountered yet, that may be native to Gravity Falls. If anything, it’ll at least provide insight on the town’s history.”

“Sounds creepy. I’m in,” said Stan. He gave Fiddeford a gentle nudge. “Ya feelin’ up to it, Fiddles?”

Stanford paused, catching on to Stan’s soft tone. He gave Fiddleford a reassuring smile. “If you’re not feeling it, buddy, I’ll understand.”

Fiddleford took a moment to appreciate the moment. He realized, not for the first time, how fortunate he was to be here, doing what he did with two of his favorite people in the world. How he could ever convince himself, even for a moment, that he didn’t belong here amongst the strange and the unknown with the Pines, was beyond him.

“And leave the two of ya alone wanderin’ some caves unsupervised? I think not.”

This was his home, his life.

He wouldn’t change it for the world.

#of monsters and mcguckets #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #young fiddleford #young stanley pines #young stanford pines #young stan bros #gravity falls #mystery trio au #mystery trio #monster falls #my writing #archive of our own

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emoboijk · 5 years ago

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jjk | calla lilies

“The calla lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower—suitable to any occasion.” (Katherine Hepburn) or You're trying to help set him up with his boyhood crush and things don't go according to plan. —hanahaki disease au, non-idol au, friends-to-lovers au, flora & fauna series

6,222 words

p.cred

The waiting room is beige with a dark brown carpet, the kind that has either always been that color or is that color as a result of years of use. There are paintings (ironically) of flowers on the walls, and potted plants stationed randomly between the chairs. A receptionist sits behind a counter, typing on a computer and answering the phone when it rings. Aside from her, there are seven people scattered about the room.

Jeongguk sits in the corner, eyes flicking between the different patients without paying any real attention, bouncing his leg and drumming his fingers on his thighs. He’s always been an overachiever, but this takes the cake. Of all the flowers to infest his lungs: calla lilies. And black ones at that. How fucking emo.

He presses against the earbuds in his ears even though they aren’t falling out; he wants to disappear. It’s easier with loud music, so he’s been blasting Linkin Park (a favorite from his teen years) ever since he first coughed up the dark black calla lily petal three days ago. Although he didn’t so much “cough it up” as pull it slowly, painfully from his esophagus, because calla lily petals are long as fuck. But even with the reverberations of Linkin Park in his ears, he can’t escape the image of the woman stumbling to and from the bathroom, or the boy all but curled into the fetal position in his chair. His jaw is clenched as if that’s all it will take to keep any more flower petals or blood from coming up his throat.

Jeongguk nearly jumps when his music is interrupted by a harsh ding in his ears. He takes out the earbuds, wincing when he can hear the girl vomiting harshly in the bathroom; he immediately puts them back in. Of course, he thinks once he pulls out his phone, you have a sixth sense about these things.

Hey, is everything okay? It’s been like 12 hours since you texted me so ofc I’m freaking out :D

He smiles at his phone like an idiot.

JK: haven’t been feeling well

JK: at the doctor’s now

Oh! Want me to stop by with some soup later?

He chuckles and wonders if soup could burn up all the flowers in his lungs.

JK: no soup but you can stop by if you want

There are immediately three little dots beneath his last message, so he already knows what you’re going to say. And then a nurse comes out; despite the music he knows she’s said his name. He raises his hand as if in school, flushing at his embarrassment, before removing the earbuds and stuffing them and his phone into his pocket.

“Come on back." He follows behind her noiselessly, hands balled up into his jacket pockets.

The nurse asks the questions with a bored tone, typing his information into a computer, measuring his blood pressure and pulse. She has to scold him three times before he can finally calm down enough to stop drumming his fingers on the side of the table.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” she says before closing the door. He wished she’d given him some kind of indication of how bad it was.

His fingers hit the metal table even harder and when he can hear voices outside the room and the clock on the wall ticking slowly, he stuffs the earbuds back into his ears.

Cool! 3 okay?

JK: yes!

It makes him feel better, knowing you’ll be there to talk to later. He hasn’t told anyone about his…condition; he wanted to wait until he knew for sure what was going on. But if he was going to tell anyone, it would be you.

He takes his earbuds out again when the doctor walks in, smiling warmly at him before perusing his chart. The doctor isn't old but he has started graying; there are laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. Jeongguk immediately trusts him.

The doctor raises his eyebrows and looks up at him, “Calla lilies, huh?”

Deep, deep sigh. “Yes.”

The doctor almost chuckles at his patient’s whiney tone. He pulls a stool over and sits in front of him. “I’m Dr. Moon.” He holds out his hand and Jeongguk takes it, bowing his head respectfully.

“I’m going to listen to your lungs and take a look down your throat, but we may need scans to survey the full extent of the infestation,” the doctor says. Jeongguk nods. He feels like the tortoise trying to catch up with the hare. Dr. Moon continues, “But before we look at the physical signs, I have to ask about your mental state.”

“My mental state?” Jeongguk cocks his head to the side.

“Yes. Truth be told, Hanahaki starts with the mind. There are many cases in which the patient only believes that their love is unreciprocated, and yet that is enough to kill a person. Grief, despair…those are the killers.” Dr. Moon looks solemn for a long moment before continuing, “So. What’s your story?”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen because it feels like such a personal question. He’s barely told you all of the details, how is he supposed to tell a stranger in a lab coat?

Dr. Moon senses his hesitation and pats Jeongguk’s shoulder, “Trust me. I need to know.”

Jeongguk sighs and says, “Um. I don’t really know her, I guess. We went to school together for a long time, had a few classes…” He flushes as he speaks, his cheeks going beet red because what kind of an idiot gets Hanahaki disease for a boyhood crush? He hides his face behind his hands.

“I see,” the doctor says, standing and patting his shoulder again, “Okay, let’s take a listen.”

Dr. Moon presses the stethoscope to Jeongguk’s chest and back; he breathes deeply when cued, only having to stop once when a matte black calla lily petal inches up his throat. Jeongguk frowns as he holds it between two fingers, dropping it in the trash can Dr. Moon offers.

“So,” the doctor says when he’s finished, “it doesn’t look too bad.”

“Really?” Jeongguk’s face brightens.

“You’re in the early stages. But you’d be surprised how quickly things can escalate. You have some options for now; I’m going to prescribe some anti-growth pills that should keep the flora from progressing too much. And…” he pauses, choosing his next words carefully, “I would recommend finding a way to get over this woman. It’s always best to avoid surgery if you can, but if there’s no way of overcoming the mental and emotional hurdle, you might want to consider the surgery…” The doctor twists around to retrieve a pamphlet from the counter.

Jeongguk takes it carefully, the cover reads Flora Removal Surgery: What You Need to Know. He takes his bottom lip into his mouth and worries it slightly, frowning at the image on the front of a man with a rose growing in his chest.

Dr. Moon scribbles on a pad of paper before ripping it off and handing it to Jeongguk, “Get this filled today, and let’s make an appointment for a follow up in a couple of weeks.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk whispers, head swimming with the doctor’s words.

An hour and a half later Jeongguk is walking home, toting a small paper pharmacy bag and a wrinkled brow. The pamphlet the doctor gave him is burning a hole in his pocket, and he’s so lost in thought that he doesn't see you.

You're learning against the door of his apartment in a patch of sun, squinting as you see him round the corner. He's stressed. You can tell by the way he carries himself: the hunch of his shoulders, the wrinkle in his brow, the downturn of his lips. Right now he resembles the quiet boy you knew in middle school, not the confident young man he actually is.

As soon as he’s in touching distance, you press the back of your hand to his forehead and say, “How are you feeling?”

Jeongguk jumps at the sudden contact. But once he realizes it’s you he chuckles and shakes your hand off, “I’m fine.” But even he doesn’t believe himself. He unlocks the door to the apartment and sighs in relief for the air conditioning.

You follow behind him, picking up the supermarket bag you’d abandoned on the ground as you do so. He said no soup, but he hadn’t said anything about snacks…so you bought all of his favorites.

When you finally get in, closing the door behind you, he’s buried in the fridge (unbeknownst to you, he drops his prescription there in a rush). He’s chugging a carton of orange juice in large gulps. You avoid looking at him (sweaty and shedding his layers of clothing so that his shirt rides up…) and make yourself comfortable on his couch, dumping the contents of the bag onto the coffee table.

“Sick!” Jeongguk grins, swiping a bag of chips from the table and landing next to you on the couch.

There’s a pain in your chest as his arm brushes against yours but you can’t make yourself move away. Instead, you press your hand against his forehead again and frown, “You feel warm.”

“I’ve been walking in the sun for fifteen minutes,” he shrugs, chewing with his mouth open.

You wrinkle your nose at this; it’s one of his more annoying habits from childhood that, unbelievably, has grown on you.

“What did the doctor say?”

Jeongguk clams up. He puts down his bag of chips awkwardly, wiping his mouth to buy time before saying, “It’s not…that bad.”

“What?” Your eyes narrow.

Jeongguk avoids eye contact with you. Jeongguk “Golden Child” Jeon is pretty much good at everything, even lying (when the occasion permits it). He’s like Korean Superman. But his Kryptonite?

Sitting next to him on the loveseat and watching him so closely it burns.

He shrugs and bounces off the couch like he’s spring-loaded, rubbing the back of his neck, “Nothing. A cold.”

You cross your arms and lean into the couch, watching him twitch nervously as he tries to decide why he stood up. “Which is it?” you ask, “Nothing? Or a cold?”

He still won’t look at you. “I mean…it’s a cold. But it’s not anything serious. So it’s nothing. A nothing cold.”

You stand up and touch his arm gently. He finally turns to look at you, his expression guilty. You brush a piece of his hair from his face, and say, “For the record: I don’t believe you. But, fine, you don’t have to tell me.” You shrug, then hit the back of his head, “But you do have to tell me if it gets serious!” You narrow your eyes again before picking up a box of Poky and plopping down on the couch.

Jeongguk stares at you for a moment too long, his chest feeling the lightest it has in days. He adores you, his best friend, his confidant, his person. Watching as you sink deeper into the couch, pulling your knees to your chest and scrolling through Netflix on the TV…it feels like he can breathe again.

But he only gets through half an episode of Hwayugi (a recent discovery on Netflix and an instant favorite of yours and his) before his chest begins to feel tight. Jeongguk coughs harshly into a closed fist, feeling something wet on his palm and already knowing what it is instinctively.

“Gguk?” you gasp when he rises suddenly, bolting across the room and dropping to his knees in front of the toilet. He heaves violently and when he opens his eyes there’s a mix of blood, bile, and dark calla lily petals swirling in the water. Ironically, the sight (and the smell, dear god) makes him nauseous.

He leans away from the bowl, resting his back and head against the wall, trying to calm his heart and get the taste of blood from his mouth. A surge of thoughts hit his mind and he jumps when the toilet flushes.

Your face is confused and concerned as you watch him breathing heavily. Chewing on your bottom lip, you sink to your knees to sit across from him in the small space. "So...it's nothing, huh?"

Jeongguk almost smiles, his lips quirking upward just slightly, dyed red from the blood. He shrugs, his chest hurting with the effort of breathing, “Well…the doctor said it didn’t look too bad.”

“Jeongguk,” you sigh. You reach forward and push his mop of dark hair away from his forehead. There’s a sheen of sweat shining in the light that filters in from the window and you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows down blood and bile, his chest heaves with the exertion. You have to bite your tongue to keep your composure.

You twist around so that you’re sitting next to him, knees touching as he almost subconsciously starts to lean into you. Fighting against the pain, you rest your cheek against the top of his head, sighing again, “Who is it?”

Jeongguk scrunches his face together and you can feel shame shed off him in waves, “Lisa.”

There’s a split second where you can feel a fresh pain in your chest and you almost cry out. Instead, you smile and force a seemingly involuntary snort from your nose, nudging him with your elbow.

“Lisa Em,” you chuckle. Lalisa Manoban from Bangkok. She’d transferred in the middle of fourth grade and had thus made quite an entrance; she was popular instantaneously. All of the teachers had struggled with her last name (for reasons unbeknownst to you) and had unanimously called her Lisa Emmmm.

You remember the first time Jeongguk saw her. He was ten years old, eyes wide like galaxies and in awe of her. She’d been assigned to your and his reading group; ten-year-old Lisa had pulled out her chair, smiled and bowed shyly at the group, then complimented JK’s sketch of the tree in the courtyard. You’d watched from across the table as a new kind of light hit his fourth-grade face.

In retrospect, after you’d received your official diagnosis, you’d wondered if Hanhaki could start that early. You guessed probably not. But then again…

“Don’t laugh,” Jeongguk whines, but he’s smiling as he buries his head in your shoulder.

“I’m not laughing,” you grin.

“I know I’m an idiot,” he chuckles.

“True,” you joke, pinching his knee playfully, “but not because of this.”

“What should I do?” he whispers as if contemplating it out loud will cause the room to shatter.

“What did the doctor say?” You’re whispering; such delicate and sensitive topics are not meant for the light of day.

“To get over it.”

You roll your eyes, “They did not say that.”

Chuckling despite himself, he clarifies, “He suggested I do what I can to get over her. But he gave me some meds for now, and a pamphlet on the surgery.”

You let out your breath abruptly as if his words were a sudden weight on your chest. You cough almost violently, and Jeongguk pushes off your side to get a good look at you.

You wave your hand at him so he won’t worry, but when you manage to swallow the clotted dandelion seeds in your throat (a habit your doctor has told you multiple times will speed up the progression of your disease) he still has that same expression. To distract him, you say, “Do you want to get over her?”

Jeongguk watches you for another long second, pouting when he decides to answer, “No, of course not.”

“Well then let’s fix you two up!” You’re a little too loud with your explanation, like a goose squawking. You hope he doesn’t notice that your teeth are now stained pink.

“What?”

Awkwardly you lick your teeth, tasting iron on your tongue, before you turn to face him. “That will make the flowers go away! Hanahaki disease is motivated by the brain; you think it’s unreciprocated which makes the flowers grow. If you two get together, you no longer think it’s unreciprocated, the flowers go away!”

Jeongguk runs a hand through his hair and you try not to watch the way his fingers move or his arm flexes. “But in my case, it really is unreciprocated. I only see her when we pass each other on campus. We just…wave,” he says lamely.

“So? Even if you go on a couple of dates, that will do it!”

For the second time, he watches you suspiciously, “Why do you know so much about Hanahaki disease?”

“Um,” you look at the grimy blue bath tile, “I had to research it for an elective?” You mean to make it a statement, but your voice goes up on the end like a question. But the plan has had enough time to percolate in Jeongguk’s mind and he’s too excited now to notice.

“Where do we start?”

Three days later and you’re hiding behind an untrimmed hedge in the quad with Jeongguk. He has his hand shoved into a bag of chips and you keep twisting around to shush him because it’s too noisy.

“I think you’re taking the stealth thing a little seriously,” he chuckles, loudly crunching on chips just to be annoying.

“You’re the one dressed all in black.”

“This isn’t for stealth, this is my aesthetic.” He puts a dramatic emphasis on the word aesthetic, but it’s ruined when he immediately starts crunching loudly on his chips.

You finally look away from the central part of the quad to side-eye him, “Are you sure they meet up here?”

Jeongguk nods seriously and you can see he’s using his tongue to pry chewed chips from his teeth. “I always see Lisa and BamBam sitting around here after my three o’clock class.”

“BamBam” is BamBam Kunpimook, an exchange student from Thailand. He and Lisa were friends from childhood (before she moved) that had reconnected last year. After a couple of strategizing sessions (in which you and Jeongguk played video games and talked aimlessly about Lisa), you'd decided he posed the biggest threat to Jeongguk’s future success.

You turn back to look at the quad, squinting against the sunlight and Jeongguk puts his chin on your shoulder to watch with you. He stuffs the empty bag of chips into his hoody pocket and frowns, “Are you sure about this?”

You find it hard to concentrate with him all but sitting on top of you. Ever since you’d learned about the Hanahaki disease, he’d amped up the skinship. You’d always been close, and not necessarily shy about skinship, but lately it seems like he’s been hanging off you constantly. Normally, you wouldn’t complain, but it makes it hard to breathe. Literally. The doctor said one of the side effects of Hanahaki, although rare, was that any kind of touch from your unreciprocated love could make the flowers grow.

Jeongguk leans against you heavily, his back pressed against yours and his chin almost digging into your shoulder. He inhales deeply; you smell like soap and laundry detergent (his two favorite things) and it makes his heart flutter. He lets the scent settle in his mind, conjuring up images of you that make him smile. Then he takes another deep breath because it’s easier when he’s close to you.

“Of course,” you whisper, but you don’t turn to look at him. You can feel how close he is and if you turn he’d be right there and with so many possibilities. “This is your life,” you add, shrugging him off gently when you see BamBam’s lithe stature from across the quad.

You stand and raise your arm in a wave, “BamBam!”

Jeongguk almost falls on his ass without you there to steady him. He takes a shaky breath, wincing at the stabs of pain in his lungs now that you’re gone.

BamBam cocks his head at you but doesn’t stop walking, taking his earbuds out and saying your name like a question. His confusion is warranted, considering you’ve only ever had one class together and it's not one in which you’ve ever talked.

“Do you have a second?” You stop in front of him, squinting because he’s standing in front of the sun, “I lost the homework assignment for composition…”

He shrugs good-naturedly and swings his backpack off, turning to place it on a bench as he digs through the papers. You catch sight of Lisa and turn to wave discreetly at Jeongguk.

“Shit,” Jeongguk whispers, bouncing up once he’s seen her. He doesn’t realize his strength and flies about half a foot in the air from the force, landing shakily and almost losing his balance. He jogs across the quad to meet her.

You snort at his antics, shaking your head to turn back to BamBam. He’s holding out the assignment and watching you with a curious expression.

“You like him.” He’s smirking and it isn’t a question.

You hope your blush can be attributed to the mid-afternoon sun. “Of course, he’s my best friend.”

BamBam shakes his head and puts his homework away. You don’t even bother with the ruse anymore, too focused now on your defensive strategies. “Not like that,” he says. He looks above your head now and you turn to follow his line of sight.

Lisa is laughing happily at something Jeongguk’s said and he has his nose scrunched him in a smile so you know he’s pleased. It creates an odd mixture of feelings for you. You’re happy for him because he’s happy; you’d do nearly anything to get him to smile like that. But there’s a sharp pain in your chest, and before you know it you’re coughing up blood.

“Oh my god,” BamBam says, his hand on your back, “Are you okay?”

You wave your hands around as if to say I’m fine, don’t worry, but it just comes off as frantic. BamBam digs into his bag again and pulls out a towel, “Here.”

You take it and wrinkle your nose because it smells like sweat but use it to wipe your mouth anyway. You swallow, but the seeds won’t go down and you cough again, holding the towel to your face and covering it in blood.

Lisa’s the one that points it out to Jeongguk, pointing in your and BamBam’s direction. He turns casually and with a smile, expecting you to be watching his success with pride. But his blood runs cold when he sees you collapsed on a bench with BamBam leaning over you.

Jeongguk can’t think. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest that it’s knocking against his rib cage. It only takes three seconds to run across the quad, but it feels like that dream where no matter how fast he runs he can’t get to where he’s going.

Until he’s there, heaving painless breaths without noticing and crouching over you. His hand is hot on the back of your neck and he’s startled by how cold you are. When he tilts your head to look at him there’s a little crease between his eyebrows.

You’re a bit delirious and all you can think about is kissing that crease.

But then he says your name so earnestly that it cuts through the delirium and the blood loss. You feel BamBam’s towel still in your hand and swiftly push it off the bench, waving your other hand at Jeongguk carelessly.

“I’m fine,” you insist.

“What happened?” Jeongguk whispers. Never, in the entire time you’ve known him, have you seen Jeongguk get loud when he’s upset. He always gets quiet. Lots of people, particularly in high school (pre-Junior year when he went through his growth spurt and started working out), took this as a kind of meekness. You know that to be the furthest thing from the truth. There’s a strength in the depths of his eyes as he watches you now; it makes sharp dandelion stems stab your lungs.

“I just got lightheaded,” you say softly. In his eyes, crouching down beside the strength, you see fear. You place a hand atop his wrist so that he knows to let you go. His hand travels to yours and he helps you stand, tightening his grip when you wobble. “Dehydrated,” you try to explain, watching as BamBam notices the blood on the towel and opens his mouth to contradict you. You make a face before he can and add, “Haven’t had any water today.”

Jeongguk calls you an idiot softly under his breath and you would be annoyed but you’re too tired and you know he’s just scared. Instead, you let him loop an arm around your back to help keep you upright (you need his steady hold more than you can say) and let him walk you away.

Lisa stands next to BamBam and watches the two of you go, “That was weird.”

Only when you’ve both turned the corner does he reach behind the bench and retrieve the bloody towel. He holds it out to Lisa and frowns, “She’s sick.”

The next two days are spent on Jeongguk’s couch because he won’t let you leave. You gave up trying midway through day one because, frankly, he’s bigger and stronger than you. And he has a nice couch.

But he’s been force-feeding you water (8 ounces every hour, on the hour) and you’ve missed nearly all of your classes by now.

“Where are you going?” Jeongguk says when he sees you toeing on your shoes in the entryway. He’s standing at the other end of the hall with a bag of gummies and a hurt-puppy expression.

“Home. To shower. And then to class.” You tighten the straps on your backpack and reach down to get the lip of your shoe over your heel.

“But—”

“I can come back afterward,” you say, smiling at his forlorn expression. “But I have to go to class today because he’s handing out midterm assignments. And if I’m going to class, I have to shower. I’m surprised you put up with it this long.”

Jeongguk frowns, “You do smell pretty bad…but you can use my shower!” He flings his arm in the direction of the bathroom and gummy candies fly out of the bag.

You chuckle and say, “Gguk, I’ll be fine. I’m so hydrated I’m practically a liquid.” You wink at him boldly and disappear out his front door.

Jeongguk stays frowning at the door for a long moment. He places a hand over his heart self-consciously, muttering unhappily, “My chest hurts.” Then he turns on his heel, abandoning the gummy candies he’s spilled.

You get winded walking back to your apartment and you have to pause before you climb the stairs. As you unlock the door you make a mental note to schedule another doctor’s appointment. Even not having taken any the last couple of days, you know you’re running out of anti-growth pills.

You’d thought about sneaking some from Jeongguk’s stash while he held you hostage but it left a sour taste in your mouth. He needed those. Instead, you did your best to hide the coughing and the blood.

You take off your shoes, drop your bag on the ground and immediately turn into the kitchen. The anti-growth pills are sitting on the counter like always and when you twist the cap open you’re disappointed to find you only have ten left.

“I guess that’s what happens when you take them five at a time,” you whisper, shaking out that many and gulping them down without water.

Then you choke. Because you’ve never been badass enough to take pills without water, so you scramble for a glass as you cough. Your phone buzzes as you lean against the sink, breathing heavily.

JK: make it home ok?

The message causes a warm stir of fluttering in your stomach and you smile down at it.

Yes! Stop worrying!

JK: don’t tell me what to do!

Jeongguk has put on jeans and he regrets it. They’re a couple of years old and while he stares down at your messages, waiting for you to reply, he keeps adjusting his crotch in them. They’re a bit tight.

But since you’re going to class, he figured he might as well. Not Calculus, of course (he still thinks that’s some kind of elaborate practical joke pulled by the university), but probably Advanced Photo Comp. and Music Theory. So he showered and pulled a giant black t-shirt out of his closet and the only clean pair of pants he has (he’s been too busy hydrating you the last two days to do laundry): three-year-old jeans.

He stares at his phone the entire walk to campus, checks it every two minutes in both classes (enough that Mr. Kim actually snaps at him), and is still watching it as he crosses the quad on his way home.

“Hey, Jeongguk!”

Lisa Em. He’s startled when he sees her because, as terrible as it sounds, he had kind of forgotten she existed.

Jeongguk furrows his brow, placing a hand on his chest. Nothing but a dull ache. His jaw drops at the realization.

“Lisa,” he smiles at her, “What’s up?”

She shrugs, “I was just wondering if your friend was okay. BamBam and I have been worried.”

His head tilts to the side in confusion.

Lisa says your name and points to the bench, “The girl you’ve been hanging out with forever? The one who was coughing up blood three days ago?”

Jeongguk freezes like there’s ice in his veins. His heart is pounding so loud in his ears that it’s all he can hear. “What,” he whispers. His mind is racing back to the day, to the last couple of days. Why would you cough up blood and not tell him!

Lisa is saying something but he doesn’t listen. “I have to go,” he says, rushing past her.

The professor has just begun explaining the midterm project when you reach down to your bag for a fresh pen and your head starts to swim. You steady yourself on another chair, unable to right yourself.

“Woah,” you whisper. Breathing is like wading through cement.

Your vision goes black and you hit the floor with a loud thump.

When Jeongguk gets to the Modern Languages Building, he’s sweating and out of breath. One of the knees on his jeans has ripped from when he tripped and fell; blood is seeping into the fabric from the scrape on his skin. His lungs burn with the strain but there’s none of that prickly feeling he had grown so used to.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees the ambulance turn the corner. His knees feel weak and he might’ve hit the ground if BamBam hadn’t come up behind him.

“Hey,” he says softly, patting Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“What,” Jeongguk is panting, still watching the spot he last saw the ambulance, “What happened.”

“She fainted,” BamBam says and holds out a bag. A jolt runs through Jeongguk as he recognizes it; the dorky video game and anime buttons, the spot where Jeongguk scribbled a cartoonish sketch of himself your senior of high school, the orange juice stain…

Jeongguk tugs the bag from BamBam’s grip and clutches it tightly to his chest. BamBam seems to sense his thoughts before he voices them and says, “They’re taking her to Seoul Central.”

Jeongguk is gone.

By the time he arrives at Seoul Central Hospital, Jeongguk has convinced himself that it’s too late. That whatever’s wrong with you has progressed too far and you’re gone. His eyes hurt from holding back the tears.

He approaches the counter of the emergency room like a man walking to his death. His grip on your backpack is so tight the pattern on the handle has dug into his palm. The nurse watches him with a concerned look.

Jeongguk clears his throat and his voice is polite as he says your name. The nurse looks it up on the computer and he can tell she’s found it. But she hesitates.

“We’re not supposed to let anyone but family back,” she says.

“We’re family,” Jeongguk insists, “We’re family,” he repeats it several more times like a mantra.

“Okay, okay, honey,” the woman stands, “Room 1132, two lefts and a right. Go on back.”

Jeongguk nods and pulls your backpack up to his chest, hugging it tightly as he wanders down the hall. All urgency has left him, now he only feels a sense of doom. But she would’ve said something if you were dead…

He doesn’t notice the tears that slip down his cheeks and hit the floor.

“1132,” he whispers, opening the door with a shaky breath.

You’re. Awake.

Jeongguk drops your backpack in surprise and stares. Now he does fall to his knees because he’s so relieved his body can’t hold him up.

“Woah,” a nurse says, jogging from your side of the bed to Jeongguk’s crumpled form on the floor. He lifts him by the armpits and places him in a chair, waving a hand in front of his face. “You okay?”

“Jeongguk?” It hurts to say aloud. Your voice is raspy and raw and soaked in emotion.

At the sound of your voice, Jeongguk is up so fast that he sends the nurse reeling. He takes your hand and squeezes, “What happened? Are you okay? Why did you faint?”

The nurse rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He walks back over to your other side, “That’s what happens when you put off life-saving surgery,” he jokes. He cracks the ice pack he’d been prepping before Jeongguk walked in and then presses it to your head (the spot that hit the ground when you collapsed), “Keep this here. The doctor will be right in.”

“Surgery?” Jeongguk wonders but you won’t meet his eyes. When he finally looks away from you he spots an x-ray in the corner. He assumes it’s yours. A ribcage, dark shadows in the shape of lungs and…a messy infestation of flowers. His eyes turn wide and fearful, “Hanahaki?” His voice cracks.

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. Jeongguk stumbles back in disbelief.

“But,” he whispers, over and over again. “Who?”

Tears are spilling over your eyes unbidden, seamless and silent like rain on a window. You try to look at him even though your vision’s blurred. “It’s you, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk is a statue. Frozen in time. The gears in his brain try to process that statement and they refuse to. He blinks and that’s how you know he’s alive.

You keep crying, still noiselessly, but you cover your face. You’re mortified. And your chest feels like the crack in the concrete where flowers bloom, split open by nature and forever scarred.

It’s a long minute before Jeongguk finally says, “What.” His eyes flick to you and stare like you’re an abstract painting he doesn’t understand.

You frown and your face is itchy with wetness. Your voice is soft and raw, “You’re my unrequited love, Jeongguk.” Your voice cracks on his name.

He points to himself as if you may have gotten him confused for someone. “Me.”

You almost laugh. You do smile. He’s ridiculous.

“What do you mean unrequited?” he frowns, and it’s really a pout. He can’t believe that you could be friends for two decades and you think he doesn’t love you.

You sigh; your smile is gone. “I know I’m your best friend and you love me, but…”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurts and then looks sheepish.

You shake your head, “Don’t just say that.”

Jeongguk furrows his brow, “I would never just. Say. That.” He’s balled his hands into fists and he’s about as angry as you’ve ever seen him. He chews on the inside of his cheek and stuffs his hands into his pockets. He can’t take it anymore.

Jeongguk lunges forward boldly, clumsily taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours. He’s determined and his lips stay frozen against yours for a long time; your eyes are open as you stare at him, bewildered.

When he pulls away there are tears in his eyes, “It’s not going to work if you don’t kiss back.”

“What’s not going to work?” you whisper, brushing a tear from his cheek.

“Making the flowers go away,” two more tears, “If you kiss me back, you believe that I love you…they’ll go away. Kiss me back.”

This time when he kisses you you’re ready. He tastes like mango chapstick and desire. His hands are warm against your cheeks and his kiss makes you feel warm everywhere else. When he pulls away so you can breathe, he lands soft butterfly kisses all over your face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kiss, kiss, kiss. On the side of your mouth and your cheeks and your nose and you’re forehead. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

A doctor clears their throat and Jeongguk leaps away from you like he’s been electrified. He stares at the ground sheepishly and it makes you giggle and blush. The doctor is standing in the doorway watching with a bemused expression.

“Well,” the doctor says, standing in the doorway casually, “I guess we should do an x-ray to confirm there are no more flowers.”

author’s note—happy birthday jeongguk-ssi (now watch this tweet go crazy)

for more of my works check out my m.list

#bts #rosynamjoon #bts x reader #jeongguk #jungkook #bangtanbudsnet #bangtanbuds #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jeon jeongguk fic #jeon jungkook

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beckzorz · 6 years ago

Text

A Hands-On Exercise

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Word count: 5631 Summary: You hate your job, your life, and the cracks in your bedroom ceiling. Fortunately, you’ve got the chance of a lifetime after hacking—ethically hacking, that is—into Tony Stark’s systems. Unfortunately, your interview ends with you inadvertently pissing off the Winter Soldier. Will he forgive you for hacking into his arm? Warnings: mild swearing, mild sensuality, mildly unethical behavior A/N: Some of you may recognize this as my entry from @themaskedwriter! Thanks for reading—let me know what you think! xoxo

Your index finger hovers over the enter key.

“Should I do it?” you ask.

“No.” Kim’s voice brokers no argument, even with the slight lisp due to the highlighter in her teeth. She turns another page in her book.

“Hmph.”

You’re lying on the floor in Kim’s room, your legs stretched up the wall and your laptop digging into your stomach. It’s uncomfortable, but you’re trying to make the biggest decision of your life. Moving would be suboptimal.

The program you’re maybe about to run is one you’ve been working on for years. One that might land you the job of a lifetime. A teenage dream, and now a potential reality.

If.

If, if, if.

“So as far as I see it,” you start, sitting up, “there’s three ways this could go.”

Kim groans and tosses her book and highlighter aside.

“First,” you continue, holding up a finger, “this program doesn’t actually work and nothing happens.”

“That would be ideal,” Kim drawls.

“Second.” Another finger. “The program does work, but either not well enough or he’s not impressed, and I get arrested or something. Third—” you stick up a third and final finger— “it works and he’s so impressed he hires me.”

“I don’t see how any of those options are good,” Kim mutters. “You’re a failure, you get another mark on your criminal record, or you have to move.”

“For this, I’d move without complaining.”

Kim snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

You prop yourself up on your knees and lean over the edge of Kim’s bed. You bat your eyelashes at her. “So you do want to see what happens.”

“Uh, no.” Kim drops her hand on your head. Her gaze is serious. “I’d be a terrible friend if I actually encouraged you in this. It’s illegal.”

“Well…”

“You have a steady job,” Kim continues.

“With a below-market salary,” you retort. You shake her hand off your head and frown up at her. “Besides, it’s boring. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life making sure social media conglomerates can steal our private information in peace.”

Kim rolls her eyes. “I don’t know if you’re using the word ‘boring’ correctly.”

“Well, whatever. I’m doing it.”

You grab your laptop off the floor and hit enter. The program starts to run.

“Oh my god, it’s working!” You jump to your feet and bounce around the room, squealing with delight. “It worked!”

The program finishes with a happy beep, and you collapse next to Kim.

The two of you wait with bated breath, staring at the screen. Minutes pass.

Nothing happens.

You glance at Kim. Her eyes are as big as saucers.

“Nothing happened,” Kim whispers.

“I realized that,” you snap. You slam your computer shut and ball your hands into fists. All that, for nothing?

God damn it.

—

“Tony?”

“Hey Bruce, c’mon in. Check it out.” Tony wheels his stool back and holds up his latest project.

Bruce Banner shuffles into the lab, a tablet under his arm and a pinched look on his face.

“What’s with the long face?” Tony asks.

“You have a message.” Bruce untucks the tablet from his arm and holds it screen side up. A holographic message appears in the air, rotating slowly.

Tony blinks as he waits for it to turn enough for him to read it. “‘Hacker for hire?’ What the heck is this?” He grabs the tablet; his free hand moves in a dizzying blur over the white code, scrolling through it at lightning speed. “Bruce, what the heck—”

“I dunno, Tony! It just showed up.” Bruce shifts his weight and crosses his arms tight across his chest.

Tony sits back in his chair and goes through the code slower. Bruce hovers at his side, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

After a minute, Tony Stark begins to laugh.

—

Three hours have passed, and still nothing. You cried on Kim’s bed, on Kim’s shoulder, and now you’re recovering from crying into your own pillow. The pillowcase is damp with your tears, but you can’t bring yourself to flip the damn thing.

You spent years working on that program, and nothing had come of it. Of all people, you thought Tony Stark would work fast. If he hasn’t reacted by now, he doesn’t care.

Or it failed, and you just don’t realize it, chimes a nasty voice in your head.

You flip onto your back and glare up at the ceiling, eyes still smarting. There’s just enough ambient light for you to make out the cobweb cracks emanating from the ceiling lamp, the yellow stain over the door, the peeling paint in the corners of the room. All the trappings of being stuck.

God, you hate this life.

You huff and curl up in a fetal position, arms tight across your chest. Luxury is absurd to imagine, but solid comfort? Something lasting, something beyond okay?

You’d almost kill for that. Hell, you’d spend years working on a project to infiltrate Stark Industries. And you hadn’t done anything really wrong. You’d just… left a message. Exposed some hairline fractures in their security.

If it had even worked.

It’s the not knowing that’s the worst of it. At this point, even the police barging in would be a welcome distraction. Then at least you’d know.

But no. You have to continue with your bland, boring, banal life.

And you have work in the morning. Your alarm is set to go off at six—public transit takes forever—and now it’s closer to one than twelve. You close your eyes and try to force yourself into serenity.

Just as you’re finally drifting off, your phone starts to ring. You jerk awake with a gasp. You snag your phone from the windowsill next to your bed—it’s an unknown number calling, one that has somehow bypassed your do-not-disturb mode. You answer it with trembling hands.

“Hello?”

“Pack a bag,” Tony Stark’s voice says. “You’ve got an interview at nine am.”

Click.

You sit up slowly. Blood rushes in your ears. It’s so loud—did you imagine the whole thing? No, the number is still there in your call history, and an email pops up—flight information for a private flight to New York.

Well then.

Maybe you don’t have work in the morning.

—

The entire travel experience is beyond bizarre. Someone—you assume it wasn’t Tony Stark himself—arranged for a taxi to pick you up at four am, and someone met you right at the airport’s entrance to take your bag. You didn’t have to lift a finger, at home or in New York.

It felt wrong. But not so wrong that you didn’t sleep on the plane, or in the car to the compound. You dread to think what you’re going to look like at nine.

By the time the sleek black car pulls up to the gates of the Avengers compound around eight thirty, you’ve straightened yourself out. From what you can see in the dark mirrored glass separating you from the driver, you look… presentable. Not your best, perhaps, but as good as could be expected on three hours’ sleep. Your clothes aren’t wrinkled, at least. Thank god you’ve kept your interview outfit hung up.

The gates open, and you stare around in wonder. You don’t know enough about architecture to name the style of the buildings, but they definitely cost a fortune to heat. Not today, though. Today it’s unseasonably warm, and the sprawling lawns are dotted with people exercising. Yoga, sparring…

You press your nose against the window, heart racing. The two men sparring not fifty feet away are Avengers! Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Your mouth goes dry at the sight—both of them are in sweatpants and short sleeves, and they are ripped. In the few seconds they’re in view, you can see clearly that the Winter Soldier’s mismatched arms are equally buff.

Now there’s a feat of engineering.

You sit back and fan your face, a private grin growing on your face. If you can keep Tony Stark’s attention, those guys are going to be your coworkers.

Nice.

From there, it’s a blur to the conference room where Tony will be meeting you in—you check your phone—twenty-two minutes. There’s a tablet waiting for you there.

“See what you can make of that before Mr. Stark arrives,” your chauffeur-cum-tour guide says as he leaves. The door shuts behind him with a click, but you’re already buried in code.

—

“Your credentials certainly are impressive.”

“Thank you,” you say.

Tony Stark tosses the clipboard with your resume on it back onto the table. He leans back in his chair and knits his fingers together in his lap. He’s dressed casually, with a band shirt under his sports jacket. “So why’d you hack into our systems?”

“I want to work with you.” You sit up even straighter and tighten your lips in determination. “The work you do is incredible. It’s as advanced as anything outside Wakanda.” Tony screws up his mouth; you suppress a smirk at his display of ego. “I’ve always wanted to be surrounded by innovation.”

“Well, your application was certainly innovative. Full of, what’s the word, gumption.”

You grin and press your hands tighter together between your legs. “I’ve got that too.”

Tony holds up the clipboard again, covering half his face. He looks between it and you, a teasing look in his eyes. You bite your tongue and wait.

Through all those years that you were working and dreaming, you’d never really thought about the interview. Somehow, you’d skipped entirely over it. Impress Tony Stark, get hired. But there’s a middle step in there. And here you are, in an interview, trying not to mess everything up.

“So what did you think of that little project I set up for you?” Tony asks, nodding to the tablet in front of you.

You flinch. You hadn’t had that long to investigate. What you had figured out seems too bizarre to be serious, but it’s all you have. And you certainly aren’t going to bullshit your way through this one.

“It’s like an artificial nervous system,” you tell him. “Or part of one. From the shape of things, I’d say it was an arm, bu—”

“Yes!” Tony jumps up from his chair, clipboard abandoned, and hurries out of the room. You stand slowly, heart pounding. Tony sticks his head back inside, a wicked grin on his face. “Bring the tablet, and come with me.”

—

There’s an arm in a box.

A metal arm in a black box on a table in a lab in the Avengers compound.

What even is your life right now?

“So here’s your hands-on practical,” Tony says gleefully. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, one hand on your shoulder, as you both peer into the shallow box on the lab table. “Get it? Hands-on?”

“Hilarious. I’m dying,” you deadpan.

“Don’t hurt yourself. Your assignment is to hack into this arm and give me a thumbs up.”

“Is that all?” you blurt.

Tony stills, eyebrows inching towards his hairline. “You say that in a very unconcerned tone of voice. That makes me concerned.” He steps back and crosses his arms. “Alright then. Your assignment is to hack into this arm and give me a thumbs up. In under thirty minutes.”

“You got it.”

You hop onto the edge of the table and cross your dangling feet. Piece of cake.

—

You stare at the arm in the box, your heart in your throat. It’s been twenty-seven minutes, and you’ve just run a program that should have reshaped the dormant arm in front of you.

But nothing happened.

Tony Stark is standing at the window overlooking the main lawn. He’s gone back to his bouncing—is something happening out there? You turn away, eyes stinging, and clear the program.

“No, no, do it again,” Tony exclaims.

You blink. You run the program again, and Tony laughs loud and bright.

“Amazing!” He shakes his head, still chuckling. You look down at the arm in the box. It hasn’t moved.

“Wha—”

There’s a slew of shouting from outside that’s muffled by the windows, but you can very clearly make out some derogatory remarks directed at—Tony?

Oh no.

“Damn,” Tony says. He pats the window and meanders towards the door, counting quietly to himself as he does.

You back away from the arm in the box, hands and tablet frozen in front of you. The arm in the box hadn’t moved.

The arm in the box wasn’t supposed to move.

That could only mean…

“Three, two, one.” Tony’s murmured countdown comes to an end.

The doors burst open, slamming against the wall and shaking the whole room. The Winter Soldier barrels inside, the muscles of his right arm in sculpted definition thanks to his tight fist. His metal arm, on the other hand, is stiff and awkward.

Stiff, awkward, and with a thumbs up.

He stalks towards Tony, who backs away quickly, his eyes snapping to you. You steady yourself on a stool and surreptitiously cancel the program.

Bucky Barnes stops in his tracks halfway to Tony and stares down at his left hand. He wiggles his fingers, bends his elbow, and makes a fist.

“What the hell did you do?” he growls at Tony.

“You think that was me?” Tony asks, hand over his heart. “Bless. It was her.” He tilts his head in your direction.

“What? No!” you gasp.

Bucky takes a single menacing step towards you before stopping in his tracks. He wrinkles his nose in surprise as he looks you up and down. When he meets your eyes again, his eyes are dark with what you assume is rage.

You’re frozen in place, too shocked to move or even speak. You’ve been obsessed with Tony Stark for years. Bucky Barnes? Not so much.

What had past you been thinking? Bucky looks ready to murder you, but he’s the sexiest person you’ve ever seen. The distant view on the drive over hadn’t done him any justice. The arms, the abs, the face, those piercing blue eyes… You can’t fight the heat rising to your cheeks. You can’t look away.

Bucky’s gaze lands on the tablet in your hand. He glances at the arm on the table between you with sudden realization. When his steely eyes dart back to yours, you suddenly realize you’re staring. You look away, cheeks hotter than ever.

“I didn’t know—” you start.

“Obviously not,” Bucky snaps. “Who even are you?”

“She’s my new hacker,” Tony says before you can answer. “So be nice, or she’ll do the same thing again.”

“I will not,” you retort. “I’m an ethical hacker, Mr. Stark.”

Tony raises his eyebrows at you. “You will not hack into Manchurian Candidate’s arm, or will not take the job?”

You blink. Oh my god. You got the job? You got the job!

“I’ll take the job!” you say quickly. Relief rushes through you; you feel like you’ve just gained ten years of your life back. You take a steadying breath and jab a finger towards Tony. “But I don’t usurp bodily autonomy for fun. Or revenge.”

“What do you usurp bodily autonomy for?” Tony asks curiously.

“Now there’s a loaded question,” you quip.

Bucky huffs and storms out of the room. You stare after him, your sudden good mood evaporating, but Tony laughs and takes the tablet out of your slack hands.

“Touché. Let’s get out of here and hook you up with the paper shufflers over in human resources.”

You follow Tony out of the lab, but your stomach sinks as you give one last look to the immobile arm in the box.

You’ve got the job. You’ve got the respect of acclaimed genius Tony Stark, your lifelong idol.

So why are you so damn upset?

—

Three weeks later is your official start date. Not enough time to find a subletter for your room in Kim’s apartment, but the salary is good enough to cover your rent for a couple months while you wait for Craigslist to work its magic.

Your new dress code is even more lax than your old job, but you still take care on day one. Everyone will be there, apparently. It’s your chance to meet the other programmers and—more excitingly—to meet the Avengers.

It’s your chance to start fresh with Bucky Barnes.

Thoughts of Bucky had plagued you from the moment he’d clapped eyes on you. If at first you’d been stunned speechless by his looks, by the time you get back to the compound on your first day you’ve been consumed by more than just his face, or his body.

You’re caught in an endless loop of admiration, shame, and desire. Admiration for his body, shame for what you’d done, and desire for forgiveness—and, if you’re honest, desire for him. You’d noticed his first surprised stare, one tinged with awareness, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d thought of you before that scowl overcame his perfect features. You’d read about him, too; you’d known some of his story, but the entirety of it was overwhelming. He’d survived the worst, and come out still a hero.

Thinking back on your own story, you wince. How often had you whined to Kim about your less-than-ideal circumstances? You can only dream of Bucky’s strength.

When Tony’s assistant shows you into the lounge, you hover awkward and unnoticed in the doorway. Most of them are sitting around a coffee table on low couches and chairs, all very upscale and very clean. You spot Tony, of course, but your eyes are drawn to Bucky. He’s at the end of one of the couches, scrolling through his phone, his metal hand toying with his hair. Even at this distance, you can see the way his eyelashes brush against his cheek. The sight of him there, so calm and—dare you say—vulnerable makes your stomach flip.

Was he still angry at you? You’d give anything to see his smile…

Tony finally notices you.

“You made it!” he calls.

Bucky whips his head up and meets your eyes. For a brief moment, his face is clear, his lips barely parted as he looks at you. Then his face darkens and he looks away. His mouth is pressed into such a thin line that his usually full lips have all but vanished. Your hopeful smile falls, your heart falling with it.

Still angry, yeah.

“Chill, man,” Tony says to Bucky. He ambles over and slings an arm around your shoulder. “You know Barnes, of course. Did you know he killed my parents?”

Bucky stalks away without another word. You shrug Tony’s arm off. Ice settles in your veins.

You do know who killed Tony’s parents.

And it wasn’t Bucky Barnes.

“Tony—can I call you Tony?”

“Absolutely.” He beckons over the others, who approach slowly. You recognize Falcon, Scarlet Witch, the Black Widow. There are others too, but you pull your focus back to Tony. You set your jaw and steel your nerves.

“If you use me as an accessory to pull any more bullshit on Mr. Barnes over there, you will not like the results.”

Tony raises his eyebrows and whistles low. “Alright, alright. Just having a little fun.”

“I guess we have different ideas of fun,” you say stiffly, arms crossed.

“Tony grows on you,” the Black Widow says. “But she’s right, Tony. Anyway, she’s new. Don’t drag her into the drama on day one.”

“Wait until day two, at least.” Falcon—Sam Wilson—elbows Tony aside and grins at you. “If you aren’t going to introduce us, Tony, get out of the way, will you?” His smile is contagious; there’s a gap between his teeth that only makes him look more charming. “I’m Sam. Nice to meet you. A real pleasure.”

You beam up at him. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

You shake hands with the rest of the team—Wanda, Natasha, Scott, James, and Vision—while Bucky ignores the proceedings in favor of burying himself in his phone once again, this time at the other end of the room.

By the time Tony escorts you out ten minutes later, you’re already struck by the familiarity they all have together. There’s a camaraderie you’ve never had with a group of friends, much less at work. Latent tensions are there too—Tony or Bucky seem to be the center of most of them—but they aren’t enough to split the group.

It’s like they’re a family.

Your heart clenches at the thought. A family. Not a perfect one, but a real one. Maybe one day you’ll be part of it.

One day.

For now, you trail after Tony as he leads you back to the same lab you’d been in when you met Bucky Barnes. Tony’s talking about the launch of his last project; you’re too distracted to pay proper attention.

You hadn’t anticipated how much things would change. None of your other job changes were this hard—but none of your other jobs had ever been anything as insane as this. You’ll get used to it, in time.

You hope.

“You know,” Tony says out of nowhere, “you have got gumption. I like you, kid.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Barnes and I don’t get on great. For obvious reasons. And he’s a real easy target—he goes right off. Guy has no chill.”

You bite your lip. If Bucky has no chill, maybe Tony shouldn’t push at him. But you’re not sure you want to say that out loud. You’ve served enough gumption for one day.

God forbid you ruin everything.

But Tony glances at you and grins. “I can tell what you’re thinking. Pepper says the same thing, really. Sorry I dragged you into it, but I hadn’t managed to crack the safety features on his arm, and I’ve been dying to do it since he got here. Thought it’d be pretty harmless, all things considered.”

He pushed the doors to the lab open. If you weren’t so damn distracted, you’d be giddy with delight. This is where you work now. Holy shit.

Still, you can’t get to business while you’re still so distracted with thoughts of Bucky Barnes and his scowl.

“Well,” you say hesitantly, “after decades of having no autonomy, I can see why he was so upset. And I don’t really want him to hate me. I have to work with him, after all.”

“Eh, he’ll get over it.” Tony settles in his wheeling stool. From a workstation, he makes a hand gesture and—holy shit, blue holographic images blow up into life-size. And thank god, it’s not Bucky’s arm.

It’s the Iron Man suit.

Half of you is screaming internally. The Iron! Man! Suit! This is real! It is real! You let out a slow breath as you approach.

Meanwhile, your other half wants to strangle Tony for his callousness. And of the two halves, you’d rather talk about Bucky than let Tony Stark know how impressed you are. Even if it means that Tony gets an inkling of how much Bucky is consuming your thoughts.

“He seemed pretty pissed at me,” you say. You reach up and play around with a holographic cube that Tony sends your way.

“There is that.” Tony strokes his goatee as he runs through the schematic. He highlights a few areas—knees, blasters, visor—and then says, “How about I let you get away with one—just one—little bit of revenge?”

You blink. “Revenge?”

“Yeah.” Tony keeps up with his work even as his words come fast and easy. “You can make peace with Barnes by hacking into something of mine. Just once, mind, and nothing dangerous.” He slants a grin your way. “You’re ethical, right?”

“It’s in the job description,” you answer automatically. You sit against a lab table, bemused. Tony Stark is weird. Who volunteers to get hacked? By their employee, no less.

But you’re intrigued. Working with Bucky, redeeming yourself in his eyes by playing a harmless prank? He seems serious, but maybe this will be the thing to mellow him out. Maybe this will be the thing that makes him smile.

All you have to do is get him to listen to you, and you can do it.

“Alright,” you say. “You’re on.”

—

Of course, getting Bucky to listen to you involves actually getting within speaking distance. It takes two and a half weeks. You get to know everyone else—Sam, Natasha, Wanda, even Pepper to a degree—but Bucky avoids you like the plague. Every time you catch sight of him, you only just manage to catch his attention before he flees. Sometimes he blanches, sometimes he flushes, but regardless of his expression he’s gone before you can corner him.

If you didn’t have a mission, you would have given up on day two. But you have a plan, and you’re too set on it to focus on the pain in your chest every time his eyes widen and look pointedly away.

Finally, you catch him. You’re heading down the stairs in the atrium, humming gone off-key with the bounce in your step, when Bucky starts up. He’s buried in his smartphone—typical, you think—and you stop short in surprise. He’s in exercise clothes again, a tight t-shirt and low-slung sweats that make your mouth water and your thighs clench. You’ve been surrounded by superheroes for weeks, but the sight of this one is still enough to bring fire to your cheeks.

Bucky only looks up when he’s five steps below you, and he freezes like a deer in headlights. His blue eyes are wide as dinner plates. He backs down a step.

“Wait,” you blurt. You take a step after him and hold out a hand. “Please don’t run away again.”

Bucky glances around. There are people in the atrium. No one is looking at him, not yet, but you can guess what he’s thinking the second he turns back to you with his jaw set. If he runs off, someone’s bound to notice.

“What do you want?” he says curtly.

It’s the first word he’s said to you since your interview. You swallow.

“I wanted to apologize,” you tell him. His eyebrows go up, and you surge ahead. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I thought I was working on the arm in the box. If I’d known, I never would have—”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I know.”

What? What the fuck!

You gape. “If you know that, why are you still angry at me?”

He blinks. “I’m not—” He runs a hand through his hair, looks aside, shifts his weight. “I’m not angry at you.”

You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows in disbelief. Is he for real? “You literally run out of the room every time I come in.”

He draws his lower lip into his mouth, then lets it out with a pop. Your eyes drop to his perfect mouth, even as you scold yourself for staring so blatantly. But when you finally meet his eyes again, he still looks nervous.

“It’s not ‘cause I’m angry,” he mumbles, dropping his eyes. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. You take the opportunity to drag your eyes down his body, but you catch yourself before you stare too long.

“Well, then what is it?”

How did this go from you apologizing to you grilling him?

“It’s ‘cause you’re cute and I yelled at you,” he blurts.

Oh.

Well.

That changes things. You lick your lips, heart beating as fast as rainpatter. “But… you didn’t yell at me.”

Bucky shuffles his feet. His shyness is the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen. With his cheeks tinged pink and his eyes low, he’s every inch the bashful daydream.

“Maybe not,” he says, “but I wasn’t nice. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Okay.” You step down a step, then another. Bucky’s head inches up until he meets your eyes. You smile down at him, too happy to care if he thinks you’re odd. “You know, while we’re on the subject, you’re cute too.”

Bucky’s breathless laugh is full of relief. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and steps closer to you, his blue eyes bright. The little crinkles on his nose and around his eyes are to die for. “Doesn’t it bother you that I was a jerk?”

You shrug. “You apologized. Tony was more of a jerk than you, frankly.” You glance back upstairs towards the lab with a frown. “I do not get how a guy that smart didn’t realize how awful that prank was.”

“I survived.” Bucky’s lips curve into a smirk. “So did he, thanks to you.”

He comes another step up, and you’re suddenly all too aware of how close you’re standing. You catch your breath, eyes flitting from his eyes to his mouth and—

Bucky stiffens and steps back, cheeks pink again, as someone goes down the stairs, passing you without any acknowledgement. A stranger, one of many you’ve yet to meet. You watch them until they’re out of earshot, then smile hopefully at Bucky.

“So,” you drawl, “how do you feel about some revenge pranking?”

—

“These vents are too small even if I lose the arm,” Bucky complains. He screws the grate back over the vent in your room with a sigh.

You snort.

“It’s almost like they were designed with you in mind,” you tease.

Bucky sticks his tongue out and throws the screwdriver at you; you duck. It bounces harmlessly on the mattress by your outstretched legs. He laughs when you sit back up and make a face.

“Wasn’t gonna hit you,” he tells you, leaning over to retrieve it.

Your heartbeat ramps up; he’s close again, dangerously close. When he grins up at you, you clench your hands into fists to keep from pulling him closer.

Bucky goes back to screwing in the grate, and you bury yourself in your computer, cheeks blazing.

—

You’re sitting next to Bucky on his enormous bed, both of you with laptops on your knees. He’s got a video feed of the conference room open; you’re watching over his shoulder. Your computer has a program waiting to be run.

You both watch with bated breath as Tony makes his way into the conference room, flanked by Happy Hogan.

“Okay, now!”

You hit enter. The program runs, code scrolling into life on your laptop before you toss it aside and quickly tug Bucky’s computer midway between you.

The projected backdrop in the conference room goes black; the sound system whirs to life.

“Do you seriously think this is going to go over?” Bucky mutters.

“Shh! Just wait.”

A distinctive dance-pop beat blares out of the speakers. The crowd of journalists and media bloggers is silent for a beat, and then lets out a chorus of groans and laughs. Rick Astley’s voice begins the famous refrain: “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…”

You bite your lip to keep your grin from hurting your face. On Bucky’s screen, Tony stares into the camera and mouths, “Very funny.” He rolls his eyes and starts chatting into the microphone. “Sorry, folks,” he says, “we just have to wait it out. But after that, I promise I have something serious to say…”

Bucky sets his computer further down the bed and links his arms behind his head.

“It would have been more fun to watch from a vent,” he muses. “Then again, it would have been more fun if we’d gone with my idea.”

You giggle. “I did promise it’d be harmless.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your ethics.” Bucky’s voice is teasing, warm. He twists to face you, his eyes bright. “Still, shooting a bunch of paint bullets at him during a press conference would’ve been much more interactive.”

“You’re welcome to do that on your own time,” you tell him. “I’m confident you could manage it without my skills.”

“I probably could,” Bucky agrees. He smiles and inches closer. “But why would I?”

You swallow. Bucky’s hip is touching yours; his hand is propped behind you, boxing you in. Your eyes dart to his mouth as he licks his lips. “For—revenge?”

Bucky slides his free hand—the metal one; oh lord, he can feel with that—up your leg until he’s gripping your thigh. The pressure is delicious, intoxicating; he’s so close—

“Revenge is for suckers,” he murmurs. His dark eyes drink you in, and then your eyes flutter shut as he ducks even closer. “The whole point was you.”

Then he kisses you.

There’s a roaring in your ears; it drowns out everything but the feel of him. His lips feel as perfect as they look—soft, plump, warm, alive—and in seconds you’re a mess. His grip on your thigh tightens, and his arm by your back circles your waist. Your hands find their way into his hair, and when you tug, he turns to putty in your eager hands.

By the time he pulls back, you’re out of breath. His lips are fuller than ever, swollen and pink and perfect. You stroke his hair, then trace his mouth as he watches you, eyes dark.

All in all, a much better hands-on exercise than the one Tony had made you do.

The Rick Astley song finally ends, and Tony’s voice cuts through your and Bucky’s heavy breathing. The two of you make a face, and the mirrored expression prompts a laugh from you both. Bucky reaches over and slams his computer shut.

“Well,” he says, eyes twinkling, “what are the ethics of dating a coworker?”

You suck in a breath. “It depends,” you say. “Will you be good?”

Bucky’s smirk is dark and full of promise. “Depends,” he says huskily. You shiver; his voice goes straight through you. He chuckles and strokes your cheek. “For you, I’ll sure as hell try.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier imagine #becca writes

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kimtanathegeek · 4 years ago

Text

Two Brothers, Many Paths - Ch 3

I just realized that pretty much anything I say here is a spoiler, so...

Undertale copyright Toby Fox

Story and original characters by me, Kimtana

Please do not use without both permission and credit.

Read below, or read it on AO3 here.

First

The skull-bursting headache nudged Sans awake as muffled screaming filled the back of his consciousness. He winced and struggled to open his eyes. He gasped when he couldn’t see anything, but soon his vision adjusted enough to show the muted outlines of his surroundings. It was now nighttime—he’d been unconscious for hours. His mind was covered in a thick cloud of confusion. The ear-splitting cries jerked him into reality.

Papyrus!

Sans painfully lifted himself up slightly. He was still groggy—no, exhausted—and his body ached as if he’d fallen down a thousand cliffs. His brother’s cries echoed all around the cave and Sans was disoriented in the darkness. He slumped on his side to free his hands and clasped his palms together. As he pulled them apart, a small light blue bone appeared. The blue-white light illuminated the cavern enough that Sans could make out where he was.

He looked around and saw the white bones that penned Papyrus peeking out from the stone formation he was hidden behind. Sans lay the blue bone on the ground as he tried to stand. The moment he was on his feet, his knees buckled and he collapsed painfully on the cavern floor, crying out in anguish. He lay on the ground a moment, trying to muster any sort of energy he could, the heart-breaking wails of his brother repeating over and over.

Sans grabbed the blue bone and tossed it weakly in the direction of Papyrus. It landed pitifully a few feet in front of him, and he dragged himself excruciatingly across the rugged ground, pulling his useless legs behind him as he grunted and panted. When he reached the bone, he threw it in front of him again and dragged himself forward. He continued this way for what seemed like miles, exerting every effort he had remaining, until he finally reached the hysterically crying Papyrus, still secure in the bone crib Sans had fashioned.

When Papyrus saw his brother at long last, his wails softened to quick, broken sobs. Sans had no idea how long his poor brother had been alone like this. He pulled himself up beside Papyrus, collapsing onto his stomach in exhaustion, and weakly extended his hand through the white bones to the still-swaddled up baby. He gently rubbed his brother’s stomach, hushing him as he gasped for breath.

“Shh, hehh, hehh, shh, Pap...,” he comforted. “Hehh, it’s ok, hehh.... I’m, hehh, hehh, here now....”

Papyrus writhed to get free of his cloth prison, but Sans patted him more. “No, hehh, hehh, not yet, Pap, hehh, hehh, we need to wait, hehh, hehh, until Mommy—”

The memory of that afternoon’s events came flooding back in a jolting rush. Sans’ eyes grew wide, reliving the moment his mother died in front of him, tears pouring fourth uncontrollably.

“No! No! No!” he cried out in a panic, grasping the sides of his skull. He banged his head on the cavern floor repeatedly in grief.

Papyrus whimpered, unable to comprehend what was wrong with his older brother, “N-nyeh...?”

Sans lifted his head and tearfully looked at Papyrus through the glow of the bone-white light. How could he explain to Papyrus how their mother had been taken from them? How she would never come back? How she would never hold him or squeeze him or smile at him again?

Sans wept openly as he looked into his brother’s eyes. “P-Papyrus... I...I...,” he sobbed. “I-I’m so sorry!” His voice ripped from his throat painfully. “I’m so sorry! Pap, I’m so sorry!”

He dissolved into a bawling heap, curling into the fetal position as the grief, guilt, and pain ravaged his soul. He wept loudly, his sorrow shattering through him like hot knives, until his little body gave out in exhaustion and he blacked out once more.

Sans woke a while later. He looked hazily over at Papyrus, who appeared to have also fallen asleep. Sans lay on his side, lacking any energy to go on. But as he looked at his brother, he watched Papyrus’ chest rise and fall slightly with each breath. He didn’t want to go on, but he needed to for Papyrus’ sake.

“Take care of Papyrus....” His mother’s words echoed in his mind.

Sans winced at the memory, fresh tears seeping out. She was right. Papyrus needed him.

He pulled himself up painfully to a sitting position, leaning against the stone formation. He weakly reached over and grabbed his haversack and agonizingly pulled it over to him. Tired from the effort, he rested and caught his breath.

“Hey, Pap...,” he called quietly. His brother stirred, his face contorting as he slowly awoke. “Pap, wake up...you’ve got to eat....”

Papyrus’s opened his eyes sleepily, twisting his head slightly in a yawn. Then he started struggling to get out of the sling.

“Pap, no,” Sans urged, reaching through the bone bars of the crib to rub his brother’s stomach, soothing him. “I know you’ve been in that all day, but I don’t know...h-how t-to....” His voice cracked and tears fell as Sans recalled his mother wrapping his brother up for travel. “I-I don’t know how to wrap it back up. It’s just for a little while longer.”

Sans pulled out a button mushroom from the haversack and broke a piece off. Grunting and wincing painfully, he leaned towards Papyrus and held it in front of his mouth. Papyrus looked at it briefly, then opened his tiny mouth.

“There you go,” Sans grinned as he popped the mushroom piece in.

Papyrus chewed it slowly, then opened his mouth for more. Piece by piece, Sans fed his brother the mushroom, then a small hunk of bread. When Papyrus had had his fill, Sans placed his hand on Papyrus’ chest and closed his eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, your HP is full.”

Sans leaned back against the stone formation and sighed wearily. “I think I’m going to have to eat the whole bag to restore my HP.” He winced, remembering the searing pain of the barrier through his soul. “How much did I lose?”

He put his hand on his own chest and closed his eyes. Through his eyelids, he saw the muted white glow from his chest, but he was confused by the reading.

He shook his head quickly. “That can’t be right.... Let me try that again.”

He checked his HP again and received the same number. His eyes shot open and he started to panic. “No...no, no, no....” He checked a third time, his hand trembling.

1 HP/1 HP.

He started breathing heavily, fear rising up his spine. “H-how?! My max was 250, why is it 1 now?! What happened?!” The pain of the barrier slicing through his soul echoed through his mind. “Th-that... that thing.... D-did...did that thing...?”

Sans clutched his chest as he started panting sharply, his eyes wide. Papyrus whimpered, seeing his brother in distress. Panic flooded through Sans, drowning him under waves of terror.

“O-only 1 HP.... only o-one...,” he stammered hysterically. “I-I’ve tripped and lost 10.... I-I banged my elbow and lost 2.... I-I’m going to d-die.... I’m going to die!”

Papyrus saw Sans hyperventilating and started to writhe frantically in his wrappings. When Sans didn’t respond, he cried out to him. But Sans was panicking too severely, unaware of anything around him. Papyrus then started kicking out his wrapped feet, banging against the bones that kept him confined, crying out loudly. Suddenly, he let out a long, ear-splitting screech and numerous tiny white bones shot out of the cavern floor, hit the ceiling with a rushing clatter, and rained down on them both.

The shower of miniscule bones snapped Sans back into reality. He blinked, gasping for breath, and looked from the crying Papyrus to the little bones scattered around them.

“Pap...?” Sans whispered. He raised his left palm and the bone crib dissolved away. With all the effort he could summon, he leaned over and picked up his bundled little brother, grunting with pain and exertion. He sat back, settling Papyrus in his arms and lap and rocked him gently.

“I’m sorry...,” he whispered, stroking Papyrus’ tear-soaked cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He grinned soothingly at Papyrus, who was still frowning through welled up tears.

“It’s ok. We’re going to be ok,” he said, as if trying to convince even himself. “I’m going to take care of you, we’re going to get out of here and find Daddy, and we’re going to be ok. And do you know why?”

Papyrus stammered with quivering lips. “N...nyeh...?”

Sans picked him up, holding him face to face. He creased his eyes and smiled. “Because I have you, and you have me. As long as we’re together, we’ll be ok.”

Papyrus’s face broke into a grin. “Nyeh!”

Sans hugged Papyrus to him, nuzzling his skull against his brother’s, and rocked. “I love you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Sans had been rocking Papyrus on his lap as he took stock of the situation. The cavern entrance was blocked, and, from what he could tell—having created several glowing blue bones and tossing them around the area to light it up—the cave had no other openings aside from the giant gaping hole in the floor. Sans picked up one of the tiny bones and threw it weakly into the hole. It disappeared, and silence followed.

“Must be really deep,” Sans gulped, glancing at Papyrus. “I hope it has a bottom.”

Sans sighed concernedly. If that hole was the only way, getting down would be impossible. They didn’t have any rope, and aside from stones and rocks, the cavern only had a few vines along the floor and walls. The bigger problem, however, was Sans’ condition. The injury he sustained at the cave entrance had greatly weakened him, and he was not strong enough to even stand. They couldn’t go anywhere until he was able to walk on his own two feet again.

The reading of his single HP max flashed across his memory. He shivered. What if I never get stronger?

Papyrus struggled in his sling again. The baby skeleton had been wrapped up all day. Sans realized he must have been uncomfortable and made the difficult decision to release him.

“You ready to get out of that thing?”

“Nyeh!” Papyrus answered enthusiastically.

Sans looked at the hole and raised his left palm. Large white bones sprung up high around the rim of the hole like a fence. “Can’t have you falling down there.”

Slowly, he started unwrapping the sling that had encased his brother. His hands trembled and tears fell silently as he pulled apart the strip of red cloth his mother had so carefully wrapped up. At last, the baby skeleton was free, and he lifted his arms up and waved them happily.

“Heh,” Sans laughed, wiping his eyes before his brother saw the escaping tears. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

Sans carefully folded the strip from his mother’s red armor cape with shaky hands and tucked it in the haversack. Papyrus got to his feet and wobbled momentarily, then started ambling around.

Sans reached out his hand urgently. “Careful! I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Papyrus answered him in babble-speak, and continued exploring the cavern with his newfound freedom. This gave Sans an idea, even if it wasn’t the most ideal of ones.

“Hey, Pap,” he called. “Can you see if there’s any holes in the walls for me? Anything we can go through to get out of here? But don’t go in them yourself, just tell me about them, ok?”

Papyrus grinned from ear to ear, more than happy to help his big brother. Sans watched as the little skeleton scampered over to the wall and started patting at it, as if to make sure it was indeed solid. He shifted to the side a couple steps and patted the wall again. He repeated this process all along the cave, at some points—to Sans’ distress—disappearing behind other stony formations out of sight. After a while, he ambled back over to Sans.

“Did you check all the walls?” Sans asked.

Papyrus nodded proudly.

“Any holes?”

The little skeleton shook his head, his face drooping sadly.

“No, no, it’s ok,” Sans said encouragingly. “You did a great job! Now we know that big hole is the only way out.”

At this, Papyrus perked up and grinned. “Nyeh!”

“Can you help me with something else?”

His little brother nodded emphatically.

“See all those vines everywhere?” He pointed out several places. “Can you bring me as many as you can find?”

Without hesitation, Papyrus shuffled over to some vines, bent down with his arms wide, and gathered them in a hug against his body. He waddled back to Sans, plopped them in his lap, and went off for another batch.

Sans was glad that Papyrus was in good spirits, despite his mother’s absence. Visions of her in the valley flashed in his memory, and immediately Sans shook his head to clear them before the sadness overtook him again. He distracted himself by inspecting the vines.

They were thick, but he doubted they would be able to hold the weight of him, his brother, and their food supplies down a potentially bottomless pit. However, figuring that they might prove useful somehow, he pulled the leaves off and coiled them, putting aside those that were dried out and crumbling. Papyrus returned several times with armloads of vines. The brothers worked on their tasks in silence in the blue-white glow of the scattered bones.

Papyrus presented Sans with the last of the vines and flumped on the cavern floor beside his brother and watched him work.

Sans rubbed the top of Papyrus’ skull. “Thanks, Pap. This is a huge help. You did a vine job.”

Papyrus giggled, rocking back and forth. Sans grinned.

He put the coil of vines in one of the pockets of the haversack. Then he looked down at the leaves and dried out vines.

“We could use those for a fire,” he said thoughtfully. Then he winced sadly. “I don’t know how, though....”

His parents had taught him many things—foraging, crafting, creating bones, certain skeletal magic techniques—but he had been too young to learn how to build a fire.

Fortunately, he had lighting from the blue bones, the food he brought didn’t need cooking, and the cold didn’t affect him or his brother too much, so fire wasn’t a necessity right now. Afraid to discard them and then find themselves in a situation that required them, he put them in the haversack pocket with the vines. Preparedness was another skill his mother and father had ingrained in him.

Having finished the lengthy task, Sans figured it was time to try to stand up again. He pushed himself up and leaned on the stone formation, but his knees buckled again. He fell on the floor hard, crying out in pain. Papyrus rushed over to him, whimpering as he put his tiny hands on Sans’ back. Sans pulled his hand underneath him to put over his chest to check his health—0.95 HP/1 HP.

Sans lifted his head up weakly, his voice strained. “Looks like we’re not leaving tonight, Pap.”

Papyrus trotted over to Sans’ jacket, where it still lay heaped up where the “crib” had once been. Papyrus returned to Sans’ side and gently put the jacket on his big brother like a blanket.

Sans laughed weakly. “Yeah, we should get some sleep.”

Papyrus dragged the haversack over to his brother laboriously and pushed it against Sans’ head. Sans realized what his brother was doing and lifted his head for the “pillow” his brother provided and laid his head down sideways on it.

“Thanks, Pap....”

He reached in the bag and pulled out a small piece of dried fruit and quickly ate it to bring himself to “full” health.

Papyrus got on his hands and knees and crawled against Sans, nudging his brother’s arm with his head and snuggled in beside him. Sans pulled the jacket around so that Papyrus, too, was covered and wrapped his arms around his brother, nuzzling the top of his head with his chin.

The two brothers fell asleep, bathed in the blue-white glow of bones, feeling the brief respite of peace in the knowledge that they had each other.

#undertale #undertale fanfic #undertale fanfiction #sans #papyrus #babybones #skelebros

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themaskedwriter · 6 years ago

Text

A Hands-On Exercise

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Word count: 5631

Summary: You hate your job, your life, and the cracks in your bedroom ceiling. Fortunately, you’ve got the chance of a lifetime after hacking—ethically hacking, that is—into Tony Stark’s systems. Unfortunately, your interview ends with you inadvertently pissing off the Winter Soldier. Will he forgive you for hacking into his arm?

Warnings: mild swearing, mild sensuality, mildly unethical behavior

Clues: This author’s niece is strictly normal, but she loves her anyway. And—what the heck? Is that a five-color palette?

��——

Your index finger hovers over the enter key.

“Should I do it?” you ask.

“No.” Kim’s voice brokers no argument, even with the slight lisp due to the highlighter in her teeth. She turns another page in her book.

“Hmph.”

The program you’re maybe about to run is one you’ve been working on for years. One that might land you the job of a lifetime. A teenage dream, and now a potential reality.

If.

If, if, if.

“So as far as I see it,” you start, sitting up, “there’s three ways this could go.”

Kim groans and tosses her book and highlighter aside.

“First,” you continue, holding up a finger, “this program doesn’t actually work and nothing happens.”

“That would be ideal,” Kim drawls.

“I don’t see how any of those options are good,” Kim mutters. “You’re a failure, you get another mark on your criminal record, or you have to move.”

“For this, I’d move without complaining.”

Kim snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

You prop yourself up on your knees and lean over the edge of Kim’s bed. You bat your eyelashes at her. “So you do want to see what happens.”

“Uh, no.” Kim drops her hand on your head. Her gaze is serious. “I’d be a terrible friend if I actually encouraged you in this. It’s illegal.”

“Well…”

“You have a steady job,” Kim continues.

Kim rolls her eyes. “I don’t know if you’re using the word ‘boring’ correctly.”

“Well, whatever. I’m doing it.”

You grab your laptop off the floor and hit enter. The program starts to run.

“Oh my god, it’s working!” You jump to your feet and bounce around the room, squealing with delight. “It worked!”

The program finishes with a happy beep, and you collapse next to Kim.

The two of you wait with bated breath, staring at the screen. Minutes pass.

Nothing happens.

You glance at Kim. Her eyes are as big as saucers.

“Nothing happened,” Kim whispers.

“I realized that,” you snap. You slam your computer shut and ball your hands into fists. All that, for nothing?

God damn it.

—

“Tony?”

“Hey Bruce, c’mon in. Check it out.” Tony wheels his stool back and holds up his latest project.

Bruce Banner shuffles into the lab, a tablet under his arm and a pinched look on his face.

“What’s with the long face?” Tony asks.

“You have a message.” Bruce untucks the tablet from his arm and holds it screen side up. A holographic message appears in the air, rotating slowly.

“I dunno, Tony! It just showed up.” Bruce shifts his weight and crosses his arms tight across his chest.

Tony sits back in his chair and goes through the code slower. Bruce hovers at his side, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

After a minute, Tony Stark begins to laugh.

—

You spent years working on that program, and nothing had come of it. Of all people, you thought Tony Stark would work fast. If he hasn’t reacted by now, he doesn’t care.

Or it failed, and you just don’t realize it, chimes a nasty voice in your head.

God, you hate this life.

You huff and curl up in a fetal position, arms tight across your chest. Luxury is absurd to imagine, but solid comfort? Something lasting, something beyond okay?

If it had even worked.

It’s the not knowing that’s the worst of it. At this point, even the police barging in would be a welcome distraction. Then at least you’d know.

But no. You have to continue with your bland, boring, banal life.

“Hello?”

“Pack a bag,” Tony Stark’s voice says. “You’ve got an interview at nine am.”

Click.

Well then.

Maybe you don’t have work in the morning.

—

It felt wrong. But not so wrong that you didn’t sleep on the plane, or in the car to the compound. You dread to think what you’re going to look like at nine.

Now there’s a feat of engineering.

You sit back and fan your face, a private grin growing on your face. If you can keep Tony Stark’s attention, those guys are going to be your coworkers.

Nice.

From there, it’s a blur to the conference room where Tony will be meeting you in—you check your phone—twenty-two minutes. There’s a tablet waiting for you there.

“See what you can make of that before Mr. Stark arrives,” your chauffeur-cum-tour guide says as he leaves. The door shuts behind him with a click, but you’re already buried in code.

—

“Your credentials certainly are impressive.”

“Thank you,” you say.

“Well, your application was certainly innovative. Full of, what’s the word, gumption.”

You grin and press your hands tighter together between your legs. “I’ve got that too.”

Tony holds up the clipboard again, covering half his face. He looks between it and you, a teasing look in his eyes. You bite your tongue and wait.

“So what did you think of that little project I set up for you?” Tony asks, nodding to the tablet in front of you.

“It’s like an artificial nervous system,” you tell him. “Or part of one. From the shape of things, I’d say it was an arm, bu—”

—

There’s an arm in a box.

A metal arm in a black box on a table in a lab in the Avengers compound.

What even is your life right now?

“Hilarious. I’m dying,” you deadpan.

“Don’t hurt yourself. Your assignment is to hack into this arm and give me a thumbs up.”

“Is that all?” you blurt.

“You got it.”

You hop onto the edge of the table and cross your dangling feet. Piece of cake.

—

You stare at the arm in the box, your heart in your throat. It’s been twenty-seven minutes, and you’ve just run a program that should have reshaped the dormant arm in front of you.

But nothing happened.

Tony Stark is standing at the window overlooking the main lawn. He’s gone back to his bouncing—is something happening out there? You turn away, eyes stinging, and clear the program.

“No, no, do it again,” Tony exclaims.

You blink. You run the program again, and Tony laughs loud and bright.

“Amazing!” He shakes his head, still chuckling. You look down at the arm in the box. It hasn’t moved.

“Wha—”

There’s a slew of shouting from outside that’s muffled by the windows, but you can very clearly make out some derogatory remarks directed at—Tony?

Oh no.

“Damn,” Tony says. He pats the window and meanders towards the door, counting quietly to himself as he does.

You back away from the arm in the box, hands and tablet frozen in front of you. The arm in the box hadn’t moved.

The arm in the box wasn’t supposed to move.

That could only mean…

“Three, two, one.” Tony’s murmured countdown comes to an end.

Stiff, awkward, and with a thumbs up.

He stalks towards Tony, who backs away quickly, his eyes snapping to you. You steady yourself on a stool and surreptitiously cancel the program.

Bucky Barnes stops in his tracks halfway to Tony and stares down at his left hand. He wiggles his fingers, bends his elbow, and makes a fist.

“What the hell did you do?” he growls at Tony.

“You think that was me?” Tony asks, hand over his heart. “Bless. It was her.” He tilts his head in your direction.

“What? No!” you gasp.

You’re frozen in place, too shocked to move or even speak. You’ve been obsessed with Tony Stark for years. Bucky Barnes? Not so much.

“I didn’t know—” you start.

“Obviously not,” Bucky snaps. “Who even are you?”

“She’s my new hacker,” Tony says before you can answer. “So be nice, or she’ll do the same thing again.”

“I will not,” you retort. “I’m an ethical hacker, Mr. Stark.”

Tony raises his eyebrows at you. “You will not hack into Manchurian Candidate’s arm, or will not take the job?”

You blink. Oh my god. You got the job? You got the job!

“What do you usurp bodily autonomy for?” Tony asks curiously.

“Now there’s a loaded question,” you quip.

Bucky huffs and storms out of the room. You stare after him, your sudden good mood evaporating, but Tony laughs and takes the tablet out of your slack hands.

“Touché. Let’s get out of here and hook you up with the paper shufflers over in human resources.”

You follow Tony out of the lab, but your stomach sinks as you give one last look to the immobile arm in the box.

You’ve got the job. You’ve got the respect of acclaimed genius Tony Stark, your lifelong idol.

So why are you so damn upset?

—

It’s your chance to start fresh with Bucky Barnes.

Thinking back on your own story, you wince. How often had you whined to Kim about your less-than-ideal circumstances? You can only dream of Bucky’s strength.

Was he still angry at you? You’d give anything to see his smile…

Tony finally notices you.

“You made it!” he calls.

Still angry, yeah.

“Chill, man,” Tony says to Bucky. He ambles over and slings an arm around your shoulder. “You know Barnes, of course. Did you know he killed my parents?”

Bucky stalks away without another word. You shrug Tony’s arm off. Ice settles in your veins.

You do know who killed Tony’s parents.

And it wasn’t Bucky Barnes.

“Tony—can I call you Tony?”

“If you use me as an accessory to pull any more bullshit on Mr. Barnes over there, you will not like the results.”

Tony raises his eyebrows and whistles low. “Alright, alright. Just having a little fun.”

“I guess we have different ideas of fun,” you say stiffly, arms crossed.

“Tony grows on you,” the Black Widow says. “But she’s right, Tony. Anyway, she’s new. Don’t drag her into the drama on day one.”

You beam up at him. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

It’s like they’re a family.

Your heart clenches at the thought. A family. Not a perfect one, but a real one. Maybe one day you’ll be part of it.

One day.

You hope.

“You know,” Tony says out of nowhere, “you have got gumption. I like you, kid.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Barnes and I don’t get on great. For obvious reasons. And he’s a real easy target—he goes right off. Guy has no chill.”

You bite your lip. If Bucky has no chill, maybe Tony shouldn’t push at him. But you’re not sure you want to say that out loud. You’ve served enough gumption for one day.

God forbid you ruin everything.

He pushed the doors to the lab open. If you weren’t so damn distracted, you’d be giddy with delight. This is where you work now. Holy shit.

Still, you can’t get to business while you’re still so distracted with thoughts of Bucky Barnes and his scowl.

“Well,” you say hesitantly, “after decades of having no autonomy, I can see why he was so upset. And I don’t really want him to hate me. I have to work with him, after all.”

It’s the Iron Man suit.

Half of you is screaming internally. The Iron! Man! Suit! This is real! It is real! You let out a slow breath as you approach.

“He seemed pretty pissed at me,” you say. You reach up and play around with a holographic cube that Tony sends your way.

You blink. “Revenge?”

“It’s in the job description,” you answer automatically. You sit against a lab table, bemused. Tony Stark is weird. Who volunteers to get hacked? By their employee, no less.

All you have to do is get him to listen to you, and you can do it.

“Alright,” you say. “You’re on.”

—

Bucky only looks up when he’s five steps below you, and he freezes like a deer in headlights. His blue eyes are wide as dinner plates. He backs down a step.

“Wait,” you blurt. You take a step after him and hold out a hand. “Please don’t run away again.”

“What do you want?” he says curtly.

It’s the first word he’s said to you since your interview. You swallow.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I know.”

What? What the fuck!

You gape. “If you know that, why are you still angry at me?”

He blinks. “I’m not—” He runs a hand through his hair, looks aside, shifts his weight. “I’m not angry at you.”

You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows in disbelief. Is he for real? “You literally run out of the room every time I come in.”

“Well, then what is it?”

How did this go from you apologizing to you grilling him?

“It’s ‘cause you’re cute and I yelled at you,” he blurts.

Oh.

Well.

That changes things. You lick your lips, heart beating as fast as rainpatter. “But… you didn’t yell at me.”

Bucky shuffles his feet. His shyness is the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen. With his cheeks tinged pink and his eyes low, he’s every inch the bashful daydream.

“Maybe not,” he says, “but I wasn’t nice. I’m sorry, okay?”

“I survived.” Bucky’s lips curve into a smirk. “So did he, thanks to you.”

He comes another step up, and you’re suddenly all too aware of how close you’re standing. You catch your breath, eyes flitting from his eyes to his mouth and—

“So,” you drawl, “how do you feel about some revenge pranking?”

—

“These vents are too small even if I lose the arm,” Bucky complains. He screws the grate back over the vent in your room with a sigh.

You snort.

“It’s almost like they were designed with you in mind,” you tease.

Bucky sticks his tongue out and throws the screwdriver at you; you duck. It bounces harmlessly on the mattress by your outstretched legs.

“Wasn’t gonna hit you,” he tells you, leaning over to retrieve it.

Your heartbeat ramps up; he’s close again, dangerously close. When he grins up at you, you clench your hands into fists to keep from pulling him closer.

Bucky goes back to screwing in the grate, and you bury yourself in your computer, cheeks blazing.

—

You both watch with bated breath as Tony makes his way into the conference room, flanked by Happy Hogan.

“Okay, now!”

You hit enter. The program runs, code scrolling into life on your laptop before you toss it aside and quickly tug Bucky’s computer midway between you.

The projected backdrop in the conference room goes black; the sound system whirs to life.

“Do you seriously think this is going to go over?” Bucky mutters.

“Shh! Just wait.”

A distinctive dance-pop beat blares out of the speakers. The crowd of eager journalists and media bloggers is silent for a beat, and then lets out a chorus of groans and laughs. Rick Astley’s voice begins the famous refrain: “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…”

Bucky sets his computer further down the bed and links his arms behind his head.

“It would have been more fun to watch from a vent,” he muses. “Then again, it would have been more fun if we’d gone with my idea.”

You giggle. “I did promise it’d be harmless.”

“You’re welcome to do that on your own time,” you tell him. “I’m confident you could manage it without my skills.”

“I probably could,” Bucky agrees. He smiles and inches closer. “But why would I?”

You swallow. Bucky’s hip is touching yours; his hand is propped behind you, boxing you in. Your eyes dart to his mouth as he licks his lips. “For—revenge?”

Bucky slides his free hand—the metal one; oh lord, he can feel with that—up your leg until he’s gripping your thigh. The pressure is delicious, intoxicating; he’s so close—

“Revenge is for suckers,” he murmurs. His dark eyes drink you in, and then your eyes flutter shut as he ducks even closer. “The whole point was you.”

Then he kisses you.

His lips feel as perfect as they look—soft, plump, warm, alive—and in seconds you’re a mess. His grip on your thigh tightens, and his arm by your back circles your waist. Your hands find their way into his hair, and when you tug, he turns to putty in your hands, deep moans catching in his throat.

By the time he pulls back, you’re out of breath. His lips are fuller than ever, swollen and pink and perfect. You stroke his hair, then trace his mouth as he watches you, eyes dark.

All in all, a much better hands-on exercise than the one Tony had made you do.

“Well,” he says, eyes twinkling, “what are the ethics of dating a coworker?”

You suck in a breath, heart full. “It depends,” you say. “Will you be good?”

#fic

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fatandnerdy30 · 5 years ago

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The Itsy Bitsy Spider 20

Oh man, I can’t believe it’s chapter 20 already! And I’m not even done writing this! But, as always, feel free to leave a comment, because I love to hear from the readers!!

"Tony...Tony, it's time to get up. Come on." The man buried his face into his pillow and groaned. "Fi'e more min'tes." "No, now. Come on. Did you forget about the school tour today?" Pepper stood over the bed, hands on her hips as she scowled down at him. The man opened one eye and closed it immediately. "All right, all right." The week had passed so quickly for everyone. It was like they blinked and it was next week. And all through the week, Peter had been having nightmares, which Bruce had said was normal for someone going through what Peter was. It meant he was finally feeling comfortable here. Tony felt it was late, but at least the kid was starting to feel like himself. Tony brought his hand up the mattress slowly, the stopped before patting around him. "Where's Peter?" The boy generally had been sleeping in their bed all week whenever a nightmare happened. Pepper smiled. "Oh, that's why I got you up earlier than usual. It seems Peter had another nightmare last night, poor thing, but this time it was Morgan who went to him before he could even get off the bed, and....well, come and see." Tony rolled out of bed and stretched, groaning in relief when his shoulders and back cracked before getting up and following his wife. "You have the most spectacular body in that suit, did I ever tell you that?" "Even in the mornings you're crude," the woman said with humor in her voice. "Now, quiet." She slowly pushed open the door to Peter's room and Tony thought his heart was going to melt right then and there. On the bed lay a sleeping Morgan, but cuddled right up to the bridge of her nose was a little lump he recognized as Peter. The boy had his face pressed against the girl's skin while his legs were folded into a fetal position. A small smile was on Morgan's face and she wiggled a bit, bringing a hand up to curl around Peter, who let out a tiny sigh. Tony slowly crept forward and pulled his phone out. "Friday," he whispered as he aimed the camera at the sleeping pair. "Brighten lights ten percent." The lights came up just bright enough for the man to get a picture of the sleeping pair. Once he was done, he looked back to Pepper, who was watching, her hand over her heart. "Mis'er St'rk?" Tony looked down at the voice. "Go back to sleep," he brought a finger out to run it across Peter's hair. Peter nodded and fell back to sleep as quick as he woke up and Tony took that time to sneak out. He was so using that shot as his screen saver. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Peter was woken by Morgan's movements bouncing him on the pillow and he groaned, reaching around for a blanket. Finding none, he shivered and opened his eyes. "Good morning," the little girl whispered. "Morning," Peter yawned and stretched. "What time is it?" "Time to wake up!" she giggled and grabbed Peter gently in her hand, transferring the surprised boy to her shoulder, where she felt him latch on to her neck. It felt funny when he used his stickyness on her. "Mommy and Daddy are already up and cooking breakfast." At that, Peter's face went white. "Da-I mean, Mr. Stark's cooking?" God help him, he almost called Mr. Stark dad.. "You can call him that, too," Morgan stopped walking to turn her head to look at Peter. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind. And, I already told them I think of you as my little big brother." The teen felt his heart speed up and his face go red. That's how Morgan really looked at him? He would have thought she hated him, because of all the time he spent with Mr. Stark. "I know you have your Aunt May, who's really nice, but, I would miss you if you stayed away. I know Mommy and Daddy would, too." Peter nodded. "But, I just can't call some guy I just met last month 'dad'. And yeah, May is nice, but she's kind of like my mom and dad rolled into one, you know? I feel it would hurt her more if I started calling Mr. Stark that." Morgan shrugged and started walking again, putting her hand up in case Peter fell from the movement. "Well, I know I would like it if you were part of the family all the time. But, I can't see that nice lady all alone when she cares about you. Just know we would miss you, too if you stayed away for good." She dropped the subject as they turned into the kitchen. "It's about time. I thought all these muffins would be gone if you two were any later." Mr. Stark was sitting at the table with his tablet in hand, sipping at a cup of coffee, eyebrows raised as he looked at the two from over the rim of the mug. "What? What is it?" "N-nothing," Peter was quick to yell, feeling Morgan wince from the volume in her ear. "We're just surprised to see all...this." He motioned to the table full of muffins and crepes filled with different assortments of fruit and creme's. "Ah, yes. I was totally capable in the kitchen and used this to make it appear." The man tapped his tablet with a smirk, Pepper chuckling as she sat next to the man. "Peter, I'll help you get what you want, and I've got your cup filled with coffee the way you like it." The woman pointed to the small cup sitting on one of the doll saucers which was settled next to a plate. "Thank you, Pepper." He waited for Morgan to take a seat then jumped onto the table to walk around the food and pick what he wanted, Pepper taking the items off their plates and cut them into small pieces, depositing them onto Peter's plate. The boy then sat behind his 'table' and a thought struck him as silverware hit the plates. He was already a member of this family, whether he wanted to be or not. "Peter?" Mr. Stark had his eyes on him, the gaze flicking to everything. "Are you alright?" The boy nodded with a warm smile. "Yeah. I think I am." The man nodded and turned back to his food, keeping an eye on the pleased teen as they ate. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Toomes sat in the van to the side of the road, made up to look like a telephone repair van. "Are you sure I'm in the system?" he asked once more and Phineas nodded. "I was up all night looking for any way into the system, but I was finally able to access Stark's mainframe and create a personnel file for you. Not even his AI noticed what I did." All in all, the man was proud of himself for his tinkering skills. "Here's your badge. I made it high enough so that you can get into the labs, but not too high so someone would notice." He handed Adrian the lanyard with his picture and the code he would need to scan at the entrance. "Thank you, man," Toomes said, meaning it. He was about to get his family back. "No need. Now, here's the remote I promised you. Providing you don't use it too early, I should be done with your suit when you need it. Just give me about...and hour. Think you can do that?" Adrian nodded. He would use that time to look for the boy. He grabbed his briefcase and took off the jumpsuit he was wearing to cover the suit he had on. "Wish me luck." Herman and Phineas nodded their heads, and Adrian was out of the van. Walking quickly, he turned down the road where the sign said. Seriously, if your building was top secret, why have a sign directing people to it? Slowly, he came to a gate and stopped when someone came out holding what looked like a regular gun. Adrian tried not to laugh at the simplicity of it. "What is your business here?" the guard asked, voice hard. "My name is Daniels, I'm new here. Would have been here sooner, but, my car broke down about two miles down the road and I had to walk. Already called Triple A, they said they'd take care of it." He held out his pass, making his hand stop shaking. He trusted Phineas' work. The guard scanned it and looked to the screen, before nodding. "Go on in. You want a bottle of water? It's still pretty hot out." "No, I'm good. Thanks, though! You take care." And I hope you're not here when I leave. You seem like a good man. With that, he made his way into the building just as a bus pulled in through the gate. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "You okay in there, bud?" Peter looked up at the billboard sized face of Mr. Stark as he glanced down at his breast pocket. "I'm okay, Mr. Stark." He shifted again as he felt his foot fall asleep, making a pained face as it woke up. "Then stop moving, the kids are almost here." Tony gently slipped the folded handkerchief he always sported with every suit he wore in front of Peter to block him even more from view. "Hey!" he shouted, but was stopped by Mr. Stark's finger flicking his leg through the pocket "Ow," he whined softly and punched the man's chest and stopped moving after that. "Welcome, futures of tomorrow!" Mr. Stark's loud, booming voice made Peter wince as it vibrated through him and he covered his ears. "I am so glad you could be here today! Too bad we can't get rid of the feds, right? But, they're here to watch over you, which is why I had them sign waivers over all of you!" He made a motion that lifted Peter and set him down in such a quick jerk he was almost thrown out. Peter smacked the man's chest. "Careful!" he hissed, but Mr. Stark didn't hear him. "Now, I can't stay with you for the entire tour," a few of the class whined. "I know, but I need to get back to work for once." This made the class laugh. The man walked for what seemed like ever, and it was getting too hot in the pocket. If Peter could just get a breath of air, he would be fine. Moving as slowly as he could, the teen grabbed the edge of the fabric and hoisted his head out. His face was flushed as he pushed the pocket square aside, heaving for breath. Mr. Stark must have felt this, because suddenly the boy was being pushed back into the pocket and a stern look was sent down at him with a subtle head shake. "It's too hot!" Peter whispered, moving his mouth so the man could see instead of hear, but there was nothing he could do, so he felt the man shrug. So, Peter sat in the heat, feeling the sweat soaking into the blue and red suit Morgan made for him. He needed something else. Maybe he could call May and ask her to bring some clothes for him from a toy store. Finally, it was too much. Everything was too hot. Too loud. He could feel every beat of Mr. Stark's heart go through him, jarring his senses so much he was in physical pain. Every time the man spoke, it felt like he was screaming. He had to get out! But, if he was seen, that was the end and Mr. Stark would probably send him to be with May, danger or not, and he couldn't risk his aunt like that. But, it was so hot! Peter tried talking, but just moving his jaw hurt. With a grimace, he lifted his head, his face hitting the cool air. He tried not to bring himself out of Mr. Stark's pocket too much, when suddenly the man whipped around, causing Peter to shout and caught the attention of the boy standing next to the man. He and Peter stared at one another, one with wide, unbelieving eyes, the other with such a scared face he looked about ready to wet himself. "Peter?" Ned whispered, getting MJ's attention. The girl met Peter's eyes and widened a fraction before falling to their 'I don't care' position. The teen quickly ducked into the man's pocket and felt the heat of Mr. Stark's glare on him as he shook. Everything was just too overwhelming, too hot, too enclosed! He had to cover his ears and wince when the man's heart sped up. "You two, come with me. Ms. Sanders? Please take over the tour from here. I have to go have a word with these two." Peter felt bad for his friend, knew he would probably be geeking out, but so scared he would either faint or wet himself. "Mr. Iron Man, sir, please-" "Nu-uh! Me first. Tell me what you saw?" Peter let loose a low whining noise.Make the noises stop! "I-I think I saw my best friend's face...in your pocket." "No," said the girl said. "We know we saw Peter's face in your pocket." Tony froze. "You two...know Peter?" He looked down and noticed something wasn't right. Peter was curled up on the bottom of his pocket, eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his ears while he muttered something. "Peter? What's wrong?" The man noticed every time he spoke, the boy would flinch. Tony then in turn, cursed and turned Peter's friend. "What you see here, does not leave here, got it?" Ned and MJ nodded and followed Mr. Stark as he walk-ran through the building into what looked like a laboratory. "Bruce!" Tony cried, his voice echoing through the room. "BRUCE!" He reached into his pocket and brought the tiny teen out and laid his curled up form on the table, keeping his hand over him to keep him warm. "Tony? What is it?" Banner's eyes went to the kids behind the man, to his hand covering a whimpering Peter. "What happened?" "I don't know!" Tony's voice was panicked. "Peter, come on, bud, you've gotta tell me something. Is it another overload?" Banner had come up with a name for the attack that happened last time in the lab, calling it a Sensory Overload. The small head nodded. "Okay, okay. Friday, lights to ten percent." The room was thrown into almost blackness, leaving just enough light for everyone to see each other. "Is...is he gonna be okay?" Ned asked, wincing when a whimper came from under Mr. Stark's hand. MJ took a step forward and knelt to see her friend more clearly and smiled. "Hey there, tiny loser," she whispered. Peter smiled weakly. "Yeah, we just have to be quiet for a while." Bruce smiled at the teen, then sent a confused look to Tony, who shook his head. They waited in the dark for at least thirty minutes before Peter tapped MJ's finger, which was nearest to him. "You okay?" Tony crouched down next to the girl to look at the teen on his level, disregarding the glare he got. Peter nodded, but flinched at the movement. "I-I think so," he said lowly, his voice tired. "Just, don't turn the lights up, yet, please." Ned suddenly shifted forward. "Peter?" he whispered, placing his hands near his friend. "What...what happened?" The brunette looked up into a face he hadn't seen in seven months. "Hey Ned. It's um...it's kind of hard to explain, but just know that Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner are trying their hardest to fix me." "Is, is this where you've been the entire time you were missing?" Ned's eyes were wider, if that were possible, as he leaned in to stare at his best friend. He couldn't believe he was looking at Peter! The boy laying on the table was no more than three inches tall, and the scrawny, lanky teen he knew was basically gone, replaced by someone who looked like he trained every day for hours. MJ narrowed her eyes at Mr. Stark for a minute. "You can tell us the truth, Peter. Do we need to take you out of here?" If his rights were being taken away due to his size, she would shut this place down. "No! I..I was taken by some pretty bad people, who did this to me. But, Mr. Stark and the Avengers rescued me from there. That's all you need to know." The girl nodded and stood, but kept her eyes on the man. "It seems as if you speak of him highly. I have my doubts, but if you say he's okay, then I believe you." Ned nodded and sniffled, wiping his nose on his hand. "I missed you, man." Slowly, he brought his hand out in a fist, and Peter smiled as he did the same. Tiny and giant fists bumped before they both did an explosion. "We all thought you were dead. Flash actually spoke at your remembrance at school! Flash!" Peter sat up slowly. "No way! I thought he hated me!" His friend laughed. "Actually, it was pretty nice for it being Flash," MJ said. "I didn't buy it." "You know, as much as I hate to break up this reunion, you need to get back to your class, Ted." Mr. Stark's voice cut into their conversation, making them jump. "Oh yeah! Mr. Daniels probably thinks we did something wrong!" Ned's eyes grew worried. "But, are you alright Peter?" Tony scoffed in the background, but Banner put a hand on his chest and shook his head. "Yeah, Ned. I'm fine here. As you saw, they take care of me pretty well, and I owe them pretty much my life. But, thanks, man. I really do appreciate that I can maybe call you guys now?" Peter turned to Mr. Stark, who had the lights raised a little, and set his trademark puppy dog eyes on him. "Please, Mr. Stark?" "Jeez, kid, what did you just finish telling your aunt? You're not a prisoner here. You can call whoever you want." "So...does that mean Peter can leave?" "Unfortunately, no," Dr. Banner said with a sigh, looking at the young girl. "You see, the group that did this to him, wants him back. Badly. And, if you saw the news last week, you can see what they're willing to do to get Peter." "Oh yeah! I saw you go all Hulk on the bad guys, gotta say, awesome Dr. Banner." Ned was in his glory. Bruce looked down. "Yeah, thanks." "All right, enough with the hero worship. I have to get you back to the group, and you have to get somewhere safe for the remainder of the day that isn't in a lab. The things I do for you people." "Mr. Stark," Peter said just as said man grabbed him. "Please don't put me in your pocket again. I had an overload because your voice was too loud and it got way too hot!" "Well, I'm sorry, but I have nowhere else to put you, and put that fanny pack down, Bruce, or I swear I will lock you out of all the labs for a month." Bruce smirked and put the bag down. "Just a suggestion." "Fine, you can go here." He reached down to his flap pocket and gently deposited the teen into it. "Just no coming out fully, got it? You already caused one person to see you. We're just lucky he happened to be a friend of yours." Peter's face went red as he was dropped into Mr. Stark's pocket, landing not so softly on the bottom. "I said I was sorry!" he shouted, but didn't receive a reply. The teen was left to pout as Mr. Stark walked, the bouncing a little much, but he had to deal with it.

@sparrowrider @letsbeinspiredby @ixlovexirondad @6inchicon @carttorchdeatth @midas-or-khaos

#G/t #Iron Man Tony Stark #iron dad #shrunkpeterparker #nokink #justfluff #morgan stark #MamaPepperPotts #protectiveavengers #theitsybitsyspider #Marvelfanfic

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mezzomercury · 6 years ago

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Bohemian Rhapsody in Blue:Chapter Five: A New Life is Born (Part II)

A/N: Here it is, finally! I’m so excited for y’all to read it.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Pregnancy, Childbirth, Mentions of surgery, hospitals, IVs, minor LGBT discrimination

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

January 17, 1986

The Lindo Wing, St. Mary’s Hospital

London, United Kingdom

2:08am

The Lindo Wing of St. Mary’s Hospital seemed to be in complete disarray, as one of London’s most famous residents and his husband were occupying the labor and delivery suite with their surrogate mother, whose contractions were currently two minutes apart. The three of them had been in their private suite since the previous evening, and Nadia’s labor seemed to progress at a snail’s pace, while she opted to do a completely natural birth. Every so often, a nurse would drop in and check in, reassuring the three of them that this part of labor is usually the slowest, but it Nadia’s cervix seemed to be staying dilated only at six centimeters for several hours, while her contractions only got closer and closer together.

At this time, Freddie was pacing around the suite nervously, while Nadia was shifting in the bed and trying to make herself as comfortable as she possibly could, given her current condition, with Jim’s assistance.

“They’ve been saying she’s still at six for forever, darling. How do we know if something’s wrong? They’re not telling us anything else!” Freddie exclaimed as he continued to pace, trying his best not to scare the other two watching him.

His husband tried his best to reassure him, but was quite occupied with his concern over Nadia, who would cry out in agony every two minutes.

“We just have to trust them, love. They’ll tell us if there are any complications. Please try to relax.” he reassured Freddie, who in turn sat down on the other side of the bed with a loud, discontented huff.

Then, as if on cue, another painful contraction hit Nadia and she screamed out again, with Jim holding her hand, and now with Freddie trying to calm her and kissing her forehead, him trying not to panic again.

“You’re doing so well, darling. Just remember to breathe.” he shakily whispered into her ear as she tried to breathe the best she could through the pain.

Tears streamed down Nadia’s face, as her body was so exhausted from thirteen hours of labor and counting, and everything felt so out of control. She choked out a sob,

“t-hurts. So much.” and continued crying as Freddie rubbed her back, trying to hide his own nerves and tried to comfort her the best he could.

She was abundantly embarrassed that the couple had to witness her be in such a state, but was thankful that they were here with her. They had been at her side every step throughout the past nine months, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, at the final moments of this surrogacy, Freddie and Jim were there with her, caring for her, holding her hand, and reassuring her that everything will be alright.

One of the nurses assigned to them entered the suite again to do an hourly routine check on how far along Nadia was in labor, as she checked to see how dilated her cervix was and the position of the baby. As she did the examination, everyone held their breath, hoping that they would get closer to delivery, but were met with disappointment as the nurse shook her head.

“It’s still six. It doesn’t look like it’s progressing at all.”

She then got up and had an orderly set up a fetal monitor, which was promptly wrapped around Nadia’s belly.

“We’re going to start monitoring the baby’s heart rate and mum’s contractions. If she doesn’t dilate soon we may have to perform an unscheduled c-section.”

As she said that, Nadia nearly jumped out of the bed, panicking at the thought of surgery. Jim tried to calm her, while Freddie’s face lost all color again.

“The doctor and I will check back in about an hour, and then we’ll know for sure whether or not we have to.” the nurse told them before checking the equipment before exiting the room.

Freddie kept an eye on the fetal heart rate monitor, watching it as it beeped softly.

The next hour went by even slower than the ones before it, as Nadia, Freddie, and Jim were anxiously waiting for their doctor’s final verdict on the delivery method. During all of this, Nadia’s contractions were starting to pile on top of each other, and the fetal heart rate monitor that she was attached to gradually began to slow down, causing everyone to grow more and more uneasy. The three of them nearly shouted in relief when the obstetrician finally entered their room before doing an examination. Jim carefully observed the doctor’s face as she read the monitor, then went to once again inspect Nadia’s cervix. The room fell silent as her mouth curled down into a slight frown and she furrowed her brows in concern.

“Nothing is progressing at all and the baby is showing signs of distress. At this rate, we’re going to need to operate in order for the baby to survive.”

She broke the news to them with a grave tone, to which none of the three parents could fully process. Nadia gripped onto both Freddie and Jim’s hands, earning back a tight squeeze from each of them.

“The procedure should be relatively quick, about less than an hour, but we need to prepare for it immediately.” the doctor continued, “Mr. Mercury, Mr. Hutton, we’re going to need you two to leave the room for a bit as we get Ms. Eldan ready. She’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Freddie was about to protest until Jim stopped him and held his hand.

“Let them do their job, Fred. We’ll see her again very soon.” he murmured to his husband, as the other sighed again and nodded as they each kissed Nadia on the cheek and exited the suite. Nadia wanted to beg them not to go, but of course neither of them had a choice.

As the couple were waiting outside their suite, another nurse approached them, holding a set of scrubs,

“Alright, which one of you will be in the operating room with her?”

Both Freddie and Jim’s eyes widened in surprise as they tried to comprehend what the nurse just told them.

“P-Pardon me, but what do you mean by that?” Jim stammered out in question, fearing the worst.

“It’s hospital policy that only one other person can be in the operating room.” The nurse replied bluntly, causing Jim to feel like his heart was dropping.

Freddie, meanwhile, flew into a scorching rage.

“What do you mean, only one of us??? We’re both the fathers, it’s our baby!!!! You’ve got to be joking me!!!” he spat out.

The nurse sighed in frustration and tried to avoid escalating the conflict,

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s our policy. If I let you both in I could lose my job.”

This didn’t help solve the argument at all, as Freddie grew more and more enraged,

“I’ll make sure you lose your fucking job then! Both of us deserve to be in there! I will sue the entire hospital and the NHS if I have to!!!!”

Jim could only just stand there dumbfounded, hiding his face in his hand as his husband continued to shriek at the poor woman. He feared that something like this would happen, as society hadn’t really accepted their relationship for what it was, and seemed to be going against their quest to start a family together. He couldn’t even think about what could be done at this very moment, he just sighed in defeat and let the disastrous scene unfold before him.

Thankfully, before Freddie could say anything that he would regret, the doctor stepped outside their suite and tried to break up the argument.

“Alright, alright, settle down, the both of you. We can’t have a fist fight in the maternity ward.” She exclaimed as the two parties cooled down. “Nurse, I’m going to allow both Mr. Mercury and Mr. Hutton in the operating theater. They are both the fathers, after all.”

Before the nurse could ramble on about how it’s violating hospital policy, the doctor silenced her,

“Uh uh uh! I don’t want to hear another word about it. I don’t give a damn if it’s against our policy. I’m allowing them both in.”

This came as a huge relief for both Freddie and Jim, as they tried to prevent themselves from hugging the woman.

“Thank you, Dr. Paxton, thank you so much.” Jim choked out, trying not to tear up from the emotional rollercoaster he was riding.

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Hutton.” the kindly woman replied before stating, “Now, Ms. Eldan is all ready to go. I just need the two of you to put on these scrubs and we can finally deliver the baby.” as she ordered the nurse to bring in another pair.

The couple adhered to her request and promptly went to change. As they both dressed in the large blue surgical gowns, masks, caps, and gloves, Freddie looked at himself in a nearby mirror and scoffed,

“Dear god, these are absolutely hideous. This hospital really needs to update these, they’re fucking atrocious.”

Jim chuckled a bit at his husband’s wisecrack remarks,

“I couldn’t agree more, dear, but that’s the least of our concerns right now.” he replied cheekily, earning a smirk from Freddie before they practically sprinted back to the suite door.

The doctor was already in the operating room, but Nadia was there to meet them lying on a gurney, accompanied by two nurses and attached to several monitors and IVs. Her nose and mouth were covered by an oxygen mask and her hair was bunched up in a cap similar to theirs, but her eyes showed fear, as the anesthesia was slowly enveloping her into a nearly unconscious state. Both Freddie and Jim were at her side and once again trying their best to keep her calm. During all of this, Freddie nervously glanced at his husband, who couldn’t return his trademark reassuring one as he normally did, and was instead showing a fearful look identical to his. Their eye contact was broken when Nadia whimpered softly, causing them to divert their attention back to her.

“Nadia, darling, please don’t panic.” Freddie cooed to her as they started to walk towards the operating theatre, “Just focus on how hideous we look in these outfits.” Nadia smiled slightly behind her oxygen mask and tried to breathe normally, as she felt nauseous upon entering the room.

The operating theatre was almost a pure white color, with a feeling that could only be described as sterile. Nadia was wheeled in and parked into the the center of the room, underneath large bright lights, with Freddie and Jim following closely behind her. Dr. Paxton and several assistants were waiting behind a large partition covering the lower half of Nadia’s body. Before the procedure could officially begin, Freddie and Jim assumed their positions on either side of Nadia’s head, holding both of her hands and staring at her intently.

“Alright, everyone. This hopefully shouldn’t take too long. The first part should be about fifteen to twenty minutes. Then, once the baby’s out, we’ll need another forty-five or so to finish the stitches.” Dr. Paxton announced, “Are we all ready over there?” she asked, earning three small approvals.

“Alright then, let’s get this baby out to meet you all.” she remarked, before beginning the procedure.

What was fifteen minutes truly felt like fifteen hours, as time seemed to suddenly slow down at a remarkable rate. The room was almost totally silent, save for both Freddie and Jim muttering words of comfort into Nadia’s ears, trying to make her forget that she was being carved like a Sunday roast. Phrases like, “You’re doing so well,” “She’s almost here,” and “We are so thankful that you’ve done all of this for us.” were repeated almost hypnotically, until they were met with a very sudden and deep silence. Nadia couldn’t feel too much down there, but she had the distinct feeling of something leaving her body in that moment, and she tried to gasp knowing what it was. The two men beside her noticed this and immediately held their breath, before looking over at the large tarp acting as a partition between them and the graphic scene. Time stood still and silence remained upon them for a few moments, until the softest, faintest whimper could be heard. The tiny sound grew and grew, until suddenly there was an impressively large wail coming from the other side of the screen, seemingly echoing throughout the entire hospital. All three parents silently gasped, with a tear streaming down Nadia’s cheek, Jim feeling like his stomach was doing somersaults, and Freddie’s eyes widening more than they ever had before and his mouth resembling a fish out of water. It wasn’t until the doctor held up a squirming, crying, little human covered in blood above the screen that all parents immediately lost it and broke down right then and there.

“You have a healthy daughter. Congratulations.” Dr. Paxton cheerfully announced, smiling behind her surgical mask as she noticed all three of their astounded reactions.

The next minute or two was spent with Freddie, Jim, and Nadia, staring at their tiny little girl, who was still wailing and wriggling in the doctor’s grasp, all three of her parents completely speechless.

Before long, Dr. Paxton made an effort to resume time and finish the procedure,

“We’re going to get her all cleaned off and have mum all stitched up,” as she cut the baby’s umbilical cord and handed her to a nurse to be cleaned, “You’ll see her again once we check all of her vitals. Don’t worry.” she reassured them as they seemed close to crying out in protest as they took the baby away from their view.

As the procedure was finishing and Nadia was being stitched up, Freddie and Jim chose to stay with her, knowing their daughter was in good hands for now.

“She’ll have a voice just like her daddy’s.” Jim quipped, finally finding his ability to speak again.

Freddie’s smile grew even wider, “How can such a little thing make that much noise?” he stammered out as he knelt down and kissed Nadia’s cheek.

“You are the most magnificent being to ever walk the earth, darling. You are so brave and strong, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.” he whispered in her ear before hugging her the best he could. “Isn’t that right, Papa?” he cheekily asked Jim, who joined him in kneeling down to Nadia’s level and placed another kiss on her cheek.

“Couldn’t agree more. We love you so much.” Jim responded.

It wasn’t long before the doctor declared that the surgery was officially complete, and Nadia, Freddie, and Jim were whisked off into a recovery suite. As they were settled into the room, they waited impatiently for their baby to be brought to them, all while very exhausted. Freddie and Jim embraced each other immediately once the door closed, kissing each other passionately while tears streamed down their faces. Nadia observed them in pure bliss, feeling overjoyed that she could make the couple so unbelievably happy. Her feelings though quickly soured when she came to a realization that had been lingering in the back of her brain for a while now, but had reared its ugly head at the worst possible time: I will never see this baby again, will I? Before she could think about it any further, everyone was interrupted when there was a knock on the door, followed by a nurse slowly opening it. All time seemed to stop again as the she whispered, shifting a tiny, cooing bundle in her arms.

“Someone wants to see you….”

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

Permanent Tag List: @siriuslovesmarlene, @r-ahh-mi, @unknownauthor, @yousaycoke-isaycaine, @ramibaby, @rami-malek-trash, @britishmoonchild, @onexlittlespark, @rami-hoe, @xtrashmammalstefx, @wanderlustnightwanderer

#bohemian rhapsody in blue #freddie mercury imagine #freddie mercury x jim hutton #freddie mercury #jim hutton #freddie mercury fic #bohemian rhapsody imagine #classic rock fandom #original content #my stuff #micaela's fics #queen fic #queen imagine

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thicctransboi · 5 years ago

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A Last Confession? (Sam+ Grizz)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366624

prompt by: @casualcloudlighttrash on my Ao3

(This will be in Sam’s Point of View)

Summary: Sam and Grizz have been fighting non stop since Grizz came back from the exhibition. Sam has yet to tell Grizz the truth, and Grizz is feeling defeated and used. What will happen when Grizz falls ill, and Kelly and Gordie have to use a sub-par method, unsure whether or not it will save Grizz’s life?

Grizz stormed out of the room, I could physically feel the vibrations from the door slamming beneath my feet. We had been fighting nearly every day since Grizz got back from the exhibition; never seeming to reach a mutual understanding over the situation between Becca, Eden, and myself. I still hadn’t told him the truth yet, I needed to speak to Becca.

Making my way downstairs, I found Becca sitting on the sofa, Eden in her arms, sleeping soundly. Becca looked worse for wear; her hair was wild and matted, thick bags hung underneath her eyes. “I finally got her to sleep.” Becca signed, a greatful yet tired smile written across her face.

“I take it the food making machines are working better now then?”

She rolled her eyes at me, “I wish you’d stop calling them that, but yes. Those books were right, the massaging helped a lot. Thank you for that, by the way.”

I shuddered at the memory, “Don’t mention it. Literally.”

Becca raised an eyebrow at me, “Where did Grizz go? He stormed down the stairs then left out of the back, I heard the door slam.” Her one handed signing got her message across well enough, and I let out a sigh.

“He’s upset that I won’t tell him the details of our relationship, that brought Eden along. I guess a lot of the guys were giving him shit after they saw me kiss him, and he isn’t sure what to tell them. Apparently, the girls as well, keep making comments about everything.”

Becca sighed, “I trust Grizz, but what exactly is upsetting him? About our situation I mean.”

“He says he doesn’t know if he can trust me, if im not being honest to him. He says he feels like I’m in love with you, and that’s what brought Eden along. That the whole being ‘gay’ thing was a cover up.” I sighed, my hands fidgeting for a moment, “He doesn’t want to break up a family. Our family. I need to tell him the truth, Becca.”

She glanced down at Eden. “I trust him, like I said. But, if you tell him, he needs to know that this stays between the three of us. No one can know, especially not those stoner Guard assholes. That’s the last thing I need.” Her look was dead serious.

“He won’t, I’ll make sure of it.” I say, giving her a hopeful smile.

“Alright, fine. Go find him while Eden is still asleep.” Becca gave me a defeated smile, but a smile nonetheless.

I pulled out my phone, texting Grizz.

To Grizz: Hey, where are you? Need to talk.

Incoming text from Grizz: The garden, gathering the rest of the harvest.

“He’s at the garden, gathering what’s left, you sure you’re okay for me to go?”

Becca gave me a tired smile, letting her head fall back onto the sofa.

I quickly shrugged on my coat and sneakers, making my way quietly out of the house and towards the garden. It was nearly nightfall now, the sun setting behind the New England skyline, blanketing the sky with shades of velvet purples and brilliant pinks.

***

Arriving at the garden, I couldn’t spot Grizz anywhere. I tried texting, but no response. I checked the greenhouse, not there. I wove in between the empty vegitable beds until I saw him; Grizz was sprawled out on the ground, clutching his side and curled into the fetal position. A look of agony on his face. I felt my heart contract and my mind raced a mile a minute at the sight of him.

“Grizz!” I exclaimed, running to his side. I crouched down next to him, “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong?”

My heart shattered to pieces at the sight of his face scrunched up in pain. He pointed to his right side, “It’s my stomach. On the right. I think it might be my appendix, I’m not sure.”

My heart suddenly jolted back to life as adrynaline coarsed through my veins; his appendix? We weren’t equipped for this.. I sure wasn’t. I immidaitely texted Becca.

To Becca: Call Kelly or Goride, call them both. Grizz needs help, he’s sick. It’s his stomach, right side. Hurry! At garden by mill. Send someone!

We waited another 10 minutes, unknowing that Becca had fallen asleep.

He was crying in pain, his eyes spitting out tears. I could see him grunting and groaning in pain, clutching his right side for dear life as if it might subside the pain.

“People are on their way, okay? I texted Becca.”

Grizz clutched onto me with his free arm, forcing himself up into a sitting position. His jaw dropped, I could tell he was screaming. “Sam, you need to help me get up, I can’t sit here and wait.”

My heart was racing as I worked my hardest to remain calm and read his lips. “I don’t want to hurt you..” I stammer out, feeling my words fumbling on my lips.

“You have to, okay?”

I sighed, rising to my feet and stepping behind Grizz, bending over and locking my arms beneath his arm pits. I lifted as gently as possible, feeling his back to rigid as I got him to his legs, quickly moving to his side to let him lean on me. His arm fell over my shoulder, the other clutched my hand as he put a substantial amount of weight on me.

“Okay, we need to get to the hospital. Gordie’s shift is there today so he’ll be there.” He signed to me with one hand, his lips moving too fast for me to read.

We walked for what seemed like years. Having to stop every few paces or so due to the amount of pain he was in.

Grizz patted my shoulder. “Sam, i might need you to carry me. I can’t walk anymore.” Grizz said, annouciating his words for me to understand him. His face was scrunched together in pain, and he was putting nearly all of his weight on me. I knew I had to carry him, no matter how difficult it may be. We were in town now, only a block away from the hospital.

I made quick work of picking Grizz up carefully, holding him bridal style as I hoisted him up into my arms. He burrowed his face into the crook of my neck, gripping onto me for dear life. The vibrations from his cries and sobs could be felt against my skin, and I wanted to cry as well. My back screamed at me to stop, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me. But I was determined to get Grizz help.

By the time I reached the hospital, I was drenched in sweat and Grizz was trembling in my grasp. Making my way to the front desk, I let out a shreek, the only way I could think of getting someones attention. I quickly caught sight of Gordie, an exasperated look on his face at the sight of his two new patients.

“What happened?” Gordie asked, signing along with his words.

“He collapsed! Get a wheelchair!” I shout, or tried to.

Gordie disappeared behind a corridor momentarily, before running out, wheelchair in front of him. I carefully set Grizz in the chair, the look on his face was helpless. His skin looked ashen, almost green looking.

I watched in silence as Gordie asked Grizz questions, Grizz answering with a tired expression, and myself unable to tell what they were saying. Confusion overwhelmed me, but not as much as my concern for Grizz. I watched as Gordie shoved a thermometer in between Grizz’s lips, murmuring incoherently to himself. I felt frustrated, I wanted to know what they were saying, but I couldn't read their lips; I couldn't hear them.

I watched as Gordie picked up his cell phone and placed it to his ear, presumably calling Kelly. Grizz was nodding out, waking himself up by jolting in pain and clutching his side. I saw a figure rush from behind me, it was Kelly. They were both crowding him now, speaking to him, their backs turned. And their figures blocked his lips from my view.

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” I yelled, frustrated.

Gordie turned to me, “It sounds like its appendicitis. He has a fever of 104, so we need to bring that down. We’re going to get him a bed, and try to do some fluids.”

I felt my heart drop to my ass, “Appendicitis? That’s like really serious! You need to do surgery!”

Gordie’s face looked defeated as Kelly wheeled Grizz out of view. “We’re not Surgeons, Sam. While Kelly is getting an IV set up, I’m going to see what can be done, okay? Try to stay calm. Maybe go home? Grab him some clothes?”

I shook my head, “No, im not leaving him.”

***

Hours passed, and I felt hopeless. I sat in a chair at his bedside, watching as Kelly finally managed to put an IV in, giving him fluids and some pain killers to help with the pain and bring down his fever. He had been throwing up violently, but it had since subsided. For now.

I felt a rush of relief when Gordie arrived in our little room, looking rather chipper considering the circumstances.

“I have good news! I found out that sometimes, antibiotics can relieve appendicitis if the appendix hasn't ruptured completely. Kelly is getting them ready now.”

“If? You said if? What happens if it did rupture?”

Gordie’s face fell, “He could die... But, we should know in a couple of days if the antibiotics work-”

“Die?!” I shout, cutting him off and rising to my feet, “No! No, we can’t just sit here and hope he doesn't die! I can’t do that!”

Gordie approached me slowly, placing a hand on my shoulder, “We don't have another choice, Sam.”

His gaze was stern, his large black eyes pleading with me to calm myself. He was right, we didn't have another choice.

***

“Gordie!” I shouted, trying to hold Grizz’s head to the side as his body convulsed and tremored beneath my touch.

Gordie and Kelly rushed into the room, Kelly toying around on the monitors and with the IV, Gordie holding Grizz down. Vomit spewed from his lips an onto his bedside, coating my jeans. But I didn't care, I needed him to get through this.

“Come on, Grizz. Baby, you can do this, stay with me!” I pleaded.

I saw my life flash before my eyes, not my past; but my future. I saw Grizz’s hands entertained with my own, a small red-headed toddler running around, stumbling on their chubby legs. I saw the sun rise, and set. My future hadn’t even begun, and it was coming to an end.

I felt tears flow from my eyes at the sight of his temperature spiking to 105, his heart rate erratic. I was grasping on some emotion, dying to be released, and yet it didn't come.

***

It had been 5 days and 6 nights. Or maybe it had been longer than that, I couldn't be sure. Grizz had been stable for two of those nights, but my mind held vexing images of the four previous nights of instability; vomiting, screaming in pain, temperature spikes, one seizure... Many had come to visit; Luke, Clarke, Ally, Will, Helena, even Becca and Eden. But, I remained in the same spot: Glued to the chair by his bedside. They had moved Grizz into a larger room on the third floor, a few accidents from a bad game of fugitive had lead to the emergency room being packed. The room had a pull out bed, but it was too far away from Grizz; so I had settled for the chair. Only rising for trips to the bathroom, that were always hasty, and once to scream out for someone to help ease Grizz’s tremors.

So, here I sat; my body folded up awkwardly in the small chair, unmoving. All I could do was watch him. Stare at him. Study the steady rises and falls of his chest. I rubbed at my temples, arching my back to relieve some gained tension a series of cracks rippled up my spine. I couldn't remember when I had last eaten, let alone slept. I was sure I looked awful, nights without sleep and constantly in solitude. I ignored everyone’s offers, their questions, pleads. Perk of being deaf, I suppose. It made it easier to ignore others.

Gordie said it would take three to five days to know if the antibiotics had worked. His vomiting had stopped, his tremors subsided. His skin, while still rather pale, was no longer green, his cheeks holding the faintest blush. He hadn’t opened his eyes in his two days of stableness. Kelly had told me it was his body recovering. Maybe, just maybe he was healing.

I watched him, I wasn't sure of the day, nor the time anymore. Night, or day, it didn't matter. I couldn't feel, nor speak. All I could do was think. And my thoughts were dangerous. If he died? I’d loose the one person, the only person, who’s ever reciprocated my feelings. The only person who made me feel safe. I’d loose my person. He was the only part of me that felt valid, that was real.

The flutter of an eyelash.

I could have sworn I had hallucinated it, convinced the lack of sleep had gotten to me. Then I saw it again, his eyelashes fluttering. I felt my heart skip a beat, the first time I had felt my heart at all. Like I had forgotten I was alive.

And then, like sunrise, Grizz opened his eyes. And I held my breath. I watched as he stared up at the ceiling, his throat bobbing slightly as he took in his surroundings. His eyes landed on me, and I felt my heart stop.

“Sam?” He croaked out, his lips hardly moving. But I knew what his lips looked like when he said my name.

“I’m here.” I called out.

His gaze caught mine finally, registering who he was seeing. “Come here.” He said, a small smile appearing on his face.

I had no recollection of moving to his bed, nor the pain that shot through my body upon rising from my position. I took a moment, just to study him. Taking in his appearance. The color had returned to his cheeks, and the light had sparked again in his eyes. He was no longer sweating, nor short of breath. Moon shaped blue crescents sat beneath his large brown eyes, small embers of gold and cinnamon lining his chocolate brown orbs.

“How are you feeling?” I rushed out, my eyes lingering on the monitor. His heart rate was normal.

Grizz tapped my hand, “I’m okay.. Better, the pain is gone. Lay with me?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” I murmured, letting my finger tips graze over the back of his hand. “I'm so sorry, Grizz.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, “Sorry? What for? You didn't give me appendicitis, Sam.”

“No but, we fought. If I hadn't upset you, maybe we could have gotten you help faster...”

I felt the tears slipping from my eyes.

“Hey, Sam, come here. Lay with me.” I settled besides him in the bed, carefully nestling into his side.

I watched his lips as he spoke, “You didn’t cause this, Sam. I’m not angry with you. I’m just, confused I guess. Hurt.”

“Eden isn't mine.” I blurted out. “Becca and I agreed to say I was the dad, because she didn't want anyone to know the real story behind it. Don't ask her either. She only told me I could tell you what I know, and what the truth is. We never slept together, I promise. I just had to protect my best friend. I’m so sorry, Grizz.”

I saw relief wash over his features. “Thank you, for telling me the truth. I get it, why you did what you did. I’m sorry for overreacting.”

I rested my head on his chest and breathed him in, letting my hands rub circles on his abdomen. I felt him tap my hand to get my attention.

“Have you not left? This entire time?” Grizz asked.

I shook my head, “I couldn't leave you. I.. I was so scared, Grizz. I thought I might loose you. And when I thought I might loose you, that killed me. I can’t.... I can’t loose you. I just can’t..” I found myself sobbing again, and Grizz ran soothing fingers through my hair. “I’m so sorry for everything. I was so pissed about the circumstances and everything. But when I realized that you could die? It killed me... I.. I love you. Please, don’t ever get sick like that on me again..”

I let my face fall into his shirt, grasping onto him for dear life, as if if I let go, he might slip away again.

I felt him nudge me, looking up I saw him signing one simple phrase, one that meant the world to me: I love you.

I leant into kiss him, when I felt him turn his attention towards the door, it was Gordie and Kelly. I watched as they asked him a few questions, and Kelly took his temperature.

“You don't have a fever anymore.. No more vomiting or anything. I think it worked!”

A wave of relief washed over me.

#sam eliot #sam x grizz #grizzam #grizz the society #grizz #the society #fanfic #oneshots

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beyond-the-city · 6 years ago

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thunder buddy

idol boyfriend au, 3.3k words

Your boyfriend leaves for Korea but he leaves something behind to remember him by.

a/n: here’s my first fic on this blog! I wrote this back in my third year of university and it’s been sitting in my Drive since then LOL. Enjoy!

BOOM.

You flinched as you laid on your bed, hugging your covers a little closer to your body. Thunder has always been your weakness. Thinking about how early you had to get up the next morning, you cursed to yourself, closed your eyes, and tried to fall asleep again.

BOOM.

The sounds reverberated through your apartment, and you opened your eyes in fright. The storm outside wasn’t going to show you any mercy it seemed. You let out a sigh and decided to sit up. You turned on your bedside lamp and yawned, pulling out your phone. 1:17 am, it displayed. Hopefully the storm would be over by 2 am so you could get at least a measly 4 hours of sleep. Your eyes wandered around your room, looking for something to keep you occupied. They lingered on your closet and you suddenly remembered a happier time in your life, your heart aching in your chest.

3 years ago

You hated thunderstorms. Of all days, why did it have to happen on one of your dates? You regretted not checking the weather this morning, but the sunny skies this afternoon looked so promising.

“Yah, Earth to Y/N.”

You snapped to attention and blinked at the sight of your boyfriend’s hand waving in front of your face. Your face warmed in embarrassment.

“Sorry Yoongi,” you apologized.

“Don’t worry about it.” He finished up his drink, and you played with your hands trying to forget about the thunder outside.

He must think I’m super weird, you thought. It’s such a childish thing to get freaked out over.

Yoongi, however, found your fear amusing and adorable, especially when you tried so hard to hide it. Pabo, I can see though your act. Unbeknownst to you, your older brother Chanyeol had revealed your secret to him a couple of weeks ago after a good amount of alcohol. Chanyeol didn’t remember much about that night, but Yoongi remembered everything with a crystal-clear clarity.

“You’re a good guy, Yoongi. I know she’s in good hands. But friend or not, I’ll be knocking on your door if you hurt her.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he smiled before taking another shot of soju. The two continued to match shots until the last drop of their third bottle had been consumed. “Hey Yoongi, you wanna know more stuff about Y/N?” the older boy asked, his words slurring. “Like what?” “What kind of kinky shit she’s into,” Chanyeol grinned, starting to laugh to himself, and Yoongi rolled his eyes at his hyung’s immaturity. He waited patiently for his best friend, who surprisingly caught himself from falling off his chair, doubting he’d be able to learn anything worthwhile about you. “She’s scared of thunder,” your brother said finally. Yoongi quirked an eyebrow. “I’m serious, bro. She’s stupidly terrified of thunder. Always has been.”

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Yoongi asked. Though he was interested in seeing how fearful you really were, he decided to spare you tonight and hoped to take your mind off of it.

“Uh, sure,” you replied, and Yoongi stood up to set his computer up in the living room. You saw a flash of lightning outside the window and closed your eyes. 1… 2... 3… 4... 5… 6… 7…

BOOM.

Your hands curled into fists at the rumbling outside. You shook your head, and remembered your boyfriend; did he notice? You quickly looked over towards the living room, and let out a breath of relief after you saw him staring at his laptop.

“So embarrassing,” you mumbled, and moved over to the couch in the living room. Hearing you approach, Yoongi asked you what movie you wanted to watch. “Mmm, something funny, “ you replied. Maybe laughing would help with your increasing anxiety. Your boyfriend scrolled silently for a few minutes, and sat down beside you as the movie began to play.

Yoongi noticed that you became calmer as the movie progressed; your head stopped turning towards the window, your hand grew more relaxed in his grasp, and you laughed more easily.

When the film ended, Yoongi wanted to take advantage of your non-frightened state while it lasted. “Sleep now?” he asked. You nodded, and the two of you went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. You made funny faces at Yoongi through the mirror while you guys brushed your teeth, and although he rolled his eyes, you saw his amused smirk and knew he secretly enjoyed your childish antics. When the two of you were finished, you climbed into bed, tangled your limbs together, and fell asleep in no time.

BOOM.

You woke with a start, still wrapped in Yoongi’s embrace. The storm, to your dismay, was still raging on outside. Luckily, your boyfriend was still sleeping soundly. He’s so adorable when he’s asleep, you smiled, mesmerized.

Suddenly his arms tightened around your body, and you froze. Is he awake? He mumbled your name moments later, and buried his head in your neck. You were as stiff as a board, blush creeping up your cheeks. Please be asleep, please be asleep…

BOOM.

You were so focused on keeping still that the sudden noise took you by surprise. You flinched and let out a loud gasp. Yoongi stirred and groaned. “What’s happening, jagi?” He rubbed his eyes and let out a yawn.

You curled up into a fetal position. “I’m scared of thunder,” you mumbled.

“Hmm?”

“I’m scared of thunder,” you repeated, a little louder.

“Hmm?” he repeated. You felt the bed shift as he shifted closer to you.

“I’m scared of thunder!” You said loudly, as you begin to whimper. There was a pause, and he began to chuckle. “Yeah, I know.” He swung a leg over your body and planted an arm by your head, lifting his body over yours.

You turned your head to look at him. “What?” You asked, completely baffled. Was I really that obvious? What did he think of me now? I must be so childish in his eyes.

“Your brother told me when he was piss drunk a few weeks ago,” Yoongi confessed, grinning from ear to ear.

You groaned. “I’m gonna kill him,” you muttered, burying your face into his shirt. Some brother I have, revealing my most humiliating secret to my boyfriend…

Yoongi caressed your cheek. “Don’t blame Chanyeol hyung too much... I wanted to know more about you and he just so happened to choose that.”

“Mmm… I’ll think about it,” you said.

Yoongi pressed his lips to your forehead. “Let's go back to sleep, little one. Okay?” he smiled. You nodded, fatigue suddenly washing over you. He slowly laid back down, rolling you on top of him. “I’ll protect you from the thunder, Y/N, so don’t be scared anymore,” he said as he began petting your head. “Just think of me and you’ll be fine.”

3 months later

“So, I guess this is goodbye,” You said, looking at your feet. Your boyfriend was leaving his life here for South Korea to follow his dreams of making it big in the music industry. You heard him walk towards you, and he placed his hands on your cheeks. Your eyes met his, tears threatening to spill at any moment. Although you wished he would stay, you knew his happiness was your happiness and you would gladly accept the pain of a long distance relationship if he could achieve his dreams.

He shook his head. “This is a see you later.” With that, you couldn’t contain yourself any longer. Tears flowed freely from your eyes and you started sobbing uncontrollably. You heart ached at the thought of his absence. Things would change, but you didn’t know what to expect and it drove you insane. He pulled you in for a hug and whispered in your ear, “There’s a surprise waiting for you at home, don’t forget to check it.” you nodded, and wrapped your arms around him a little tighter, as if your arms could stop him from leaving. But as the final boarding call went out, you knew that it was time for him to go. You shared one last kiss, more chaste than you liked, and you watched him disappear from your view.

Tears fell from Yoongi’s eyes as soon as his passport was returned to him at the check-in desk. He kept his pain bottled up so he could gather up the courage to leave your arms and board the plane. His heart yearned for you but if he passed up this opportunity, he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life. He was scared to begin a new chapter in life without you by his side, but vowed to make his music reach your ears and to bring the two of you back together again in the future.

A few hours later

You found Yoongi’s present on your bed. It was a sizable black box that startled you when you first turned on the lights, and you opened it with care. Inside was a large stuffed animal and a medium sized envelope. The stuffed animal smelled like Yoongi’s cologne, and you hugged it tightly as you read the letter.

Dearest Y/N:

Writing this letter was harder than composing songs. I couldn’t find the right words to express how I felt, and my recycling bin was soon filled up with pieces of scrap paper. This was the best I could come up with.

In the box (you seriously can’t miss him), is a plushie. Though I am the kryptonite to your fear of thunder, I suspect it’ll be back when I’m gone and when you start university; thus I have passed on the duty to this little guy. I haven’t named him, but I’m sure you’ll come up with something creative… something super swag. I wouldn’t mind if you named him something lame like Min Yoongi Jr. though. Please take him places (he can fit in your bag - I checked), take pictures with him, take him on dates, cuddle him, and give him lots of love because I’m not there by your side.

I’ll try my best to keep in touch, but please don’t be too mad at me if I don’t. If you start to chase other guys because I’m not around, I’ll be super sad but I won’t hold it against you. If you sleep with other guys, they’ll be dead once I find out. And if you start losing your love for me... I’ll help you find it again.

I love you. Min Yoongi

Present day

Tears fell freely from your eyes as you read the letter for the umpteenth time; the creases in the heavy paper were well worn from use. You had indeed named the plushie Min Yoongi Jr. (originally for shits and giggles, but it eventually stuck), took him around in your backpack, sat with him during meals, slept with him at night, and tucked him in when you had to go to class. And most importantly, he also helped with your fear of thunder as Yoongi had hoped. Though the two of you had been inseparable for a good while, the distance between you and Yoongi, the hustle and bustle of university, and various other circumstances had caused the plushie to find its way back into its box and into a corner of your closet.

Hugging the soft plushie that had long lost its original scent, your heart ached once more. Yoongi wasn’t your first love, but he was definitely the last. It was no surprise that he ended up being very successful in South Korea. He was now part of an idol group called BTS, and you followed them on all of their social media platforms. You listened to everything they released and got shivers up your spine every time you heard Yoongi’s voice. You watched most (though you tried watching all) of their shows, vlogs, and the like, and wished you could meet his new family - the rest of BTS.

Though it often felt like you were tossed to the side and forgotten, you wanted to believe his words - to not take his silence personally. You were jealous when fans threw themselves at him and when he showed certain sides of him that he used to only show you. Holding on was by far the most challenging thing you have ever done - you often found yourself overwhelmed by swirling shadows of doubt. Were you still in love with Yoongi or the idea of him? You’ve changed, so Yoongi obviously has too. Were the two of you still compatible?

You sighed. It has been 3 years... I’ll believe in our love, and hope that you return to me someday, Yoongi. You snuggled with Min Yoongi Jr. and quickly fell asleep, right into a dream of Yoongi holding you in his arms whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

A few hours later

“Hyung, what are you doing for Christmas?” Jungkook, the maknae of BTS, asked.

Yoongi, or Suga as he now went, gave the younger boy a small smile. “I’m going back home.”

It has been a long 3 years without you, and Yoongi regretted not trying to keep in touch like he promised. He hated not being able to devote more time to you, but he also hated the idea of leaving you hanging all the time if he did. So silence it was, and the guilt ate away at him every single day since.

The first lengthy break since he debuted was coming up in a few days, and he wanted to surprise you. He contacted your brother recently, and built up the courage during one of the conversations to ask how you have been. He was ashamed of his cowardice - asking your brother for an extremely overdue update. Though he prepared himself for any bad news, he honestly hoped there weren't going to be any stories about boys vying for your attention, or if you were still miserable without him by your side.

“Ah finally asking the important questions! You always used to cut to the chase with everything. Did you find someone else in Korea to keep you occupied?”

Yoongi could feel your brother’s protectiveness begin to kick in. “No hyung, I’ve been way too busy.” It was true - Yoongi was exhausted. Ever since he arrived, he has been living on coffee and jam packed schedules. He would be able to catch the occasional nap when being shuttled from location to location or when he fell asleep at his desk writing songs in his studio at ungodly hours. On the occasion he made it to his bed, he’d be out cold before he even hit the mattress. There wasn’t enough time in the day for himself, let alone someone else, not that there was any room in his heart for anyone other than you.

“So you would if you had more time!” Yoongi groaned and rolled his eyes. Chanyeol let out a laugh. “She’s alright, Yoongi.” Your brother then went on to talk about how well you were doing in university; probably something Yoongi would’ve ended up doing if he didn’t decide to pursue his dreams. Maybe in an alternate universe we would’ve went to the same university, he thought. “There was this huge storm the other day, you know,” your brother continued. “She’s still scared of thunder, but when I went to go check on her, she was fast asleep, hugging that stupid plushie you gave her when you left.”

Yoongi’s heart warmed. He was ecstatic that you still kept the stuffed animal around and wondered what you ended up naming it. Maybe it actually works, he thought to himself. “Thanks for taking care of her, hyung,” he said softly.

“No problem bro, just come back home safe, alright?”

“You got it. See you soon,” he grinned into his phone, hung up, and let out a sigh of relief. I’m coming home, Y/N.

3 days later

Yoongi was terrified. His racing heartbeat could be felt from his fingertips all the way down to his toes. He began to panic, wild thoughts running through his head. What if she doesn’t recognize me? Would my appearance be too shocking? He blew at his blond fringe, wondering if he should’ve dyed it back to black before leaving Korea, rearranged his clothing for the third time and frowned. What if she hates me for not messaging her? What if we’ve grown into completely different people and -

Chanyeol opened the door and cocked an eyebrow. “Dude, you’ve been out here for at least five minutes,” he said quietly. It was late at night, and Yoongi had landed just a few hours prior. “You’re lucky I glanced at the door and saw your sorry ass out here; another storm’s coming.” He scrutinized Yoongi for a few moments and commented, “Wow look at you! You actually have some muscle! And your face has gotten a lot slimmer!” He chuckled and led the younger boy inside by the shoulders, as the latter rolled his eyes.

“Y/N’s upstairs, as usual. I don’t think she has a test or anything coming up, so you kids have fun. Don’t forget to be safe,” he winked. Yoongi blushed a deep red, and Chanyeol snickered all the way to the kitchen. Because you and Yoongi were inseparable and had spent many nights sleeping in each other’s beds, Chanyeol had quickly assumed that the two of you had gone all the way. On the contrary, the two of you hadn’t. Almost, but not quite. The time you spent holding hands, going out, cuddling, and sleeping together was intoxicating and addicting enough. Yoongi regretted not doing the deed before leaving, but firmly believed that it would’ve made his departure much too difficult. He figured you felt the same as well, when you told him that you just wanted to remember the feeling of sleeping next to him on your last night together.

Yoongi looked around the house as he slowly made his way upstairs, noticing that little had changed since the last time he visited. His eyes snapped to your room automatically, and he froze as his fears began to wash over him.

However, at that same moment you decided to exit your room to get another glass of water. Seeing the boy you’ve yearned for in your house, on the stairway, seemingly making his way towards your room, you dropped your empty mug on the floor, the carpet preventing it from shattering. Immediately, his eyes flitted from the cup to your gaze. Neither of you moved. What was an appropriate reaction to meeting your lover after 3 years, if the title even still held? Would you hug and kiss? Wave? There were so many possibilities. Too many possibilities.

Am I dreaming? Is it really him? Is it really Yoongi? Why isn’t he in Korea? When did he get here? He looks like he just stepped out of a music video and I’m here in my pyjamas ah fuck...

Y/N… She’s more beautiful than I remember. University life has treated her well. I feel like I’ve aged so much from working so hard...

I thought I could cope with the loneliness by hating him… But now that he’s in front of me I can’t help but scold myself for being so foolish.

Does she hate me? Was the time, distance, and silence too cruel for her to bear? Was I too selfish in deciding to leave?

You decided to break the silence first. “Yoongi-ah,” you said quietly, lifting your arms for an embrace. He ran up the last few steps and into your arms, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. You closed your eyes, rested your head against his shoulder, and sighed in content. A hug has never felt so good.

“I’m home, Y/N.” Yoongi whispered in your ear as your arms clung to the back of his sweater, and the two of you stayed like that for a while, undisturbed by the raging storm outside.

#bts fluff #exo fluff #bts scenario #yoongi fluff #fic: thunder buddy #bts au #umm i wrote this in 2016 HAHA #i think my writing style has changed since then??

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