#and i realized i could concentrate on both things. so i focused on healing

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Me, while manically cleaning my room at 3:27am: I should make several large, life-changing, irreversible decisions.

[eunwhore]

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐊.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. Your husband forgets about the date he promised for tonight, but it's okay.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. Suggestive behavior here and there, but is overall very fluffy; husband!Nanami deserves a warning

𝐀.𝐍. Dropping a Nanami drabble to cope with what's to come; I had a whole mental breakdown while writing this btw; can you tell I'm in love with this man ?

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 1074 words

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Reader x Nanami Kento

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @dearmymoon @lacopinedechan - 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

Your husband didn't do it on purpose. Really, he's the last one to forget about anything concerning your relationship. He's actually the kind of man to never forget about an important date in your relationship. He never missed any of your birthdays or important dates, such as the day you got engaged or when you first shared a kiss. 

So you're not mad at him when he doesn't show up to the restaurant you were supposed to share tonight. Your dear lover must've had a bad day again, one of those who keeps him concentrated on boring paper works for hours. 

That's why, after about an hour of waiting in the restaurant, you finally find the courage to leave by yourself after apologizing to the owners. Going straight to your lover's workplace with some things to cheer him up. 

30 minutes later, you're already in the elevator that leads to his office. The sound of your heals on the tiled floor alerts him of a presence behind him. As he turns around, expecting to see one of his colleagues, he's more than surprised to see you here. " ___ ? Don't tell me-" He hasn't finished his sentence that he's already looking at his watch to look what time it is. 

Kento could've thrown himself over a bridge after realizing the mistake that he made. How could he forget about your date tonight. He felt like the worst husband on earth right now and hated himself for getting to emerge in his work. He remembers the promise he made this morning about spending this night together after much time working overtime in his office.

He's quick to get up from his rolling chair to meet you halfway through his office. His warm hands find their well deserved place on your waist as you come close. You can't help but admire his attire, he removed his vest, his normally well tied necktie is slightly loose revealing more of his delicious neck. It also proves how much of a bad day he must've had. "It's okay love." 

The worried look on his face broke a piece of your heart, because you knew he would never do it on purpose and that he was probably injuring himself of ugly names for this small mistake. "I brought the date with me." You said with an endearing smile on your face as you place the bag full of sushi on his desk. Your hands being finally free, you don't lose a chance to touch him. They find they way slickly around his neck before you lean to give a loving kiss to his cheek. 

Your husband swore he could've asked your hand in marriage a second time from what is happening right now. He really wonders what he must've done in his past life to deserve such an amazing partner. His arms warp further around your form while his face nestles into the crook of your neck, getting to smell your oh so comforting fragrance. "God...I love you so much. And I'm so sorry for forgetting about tonight I-" As you were expecting it, he's trying to apologize for his omission, but you're quick to cut him off. 

"Kento. Don't apologize, please, the food is waiting for us, and I'm really hungry." He must be starving too, it's a common behavior for him to completely forget about eating throughout the day when he's too focused on his work. He straightens, taking a good look at you before letting go of you, much to his regret. 

It doesn't take long for you to attack these sushi a few minutes later as you both converse about your day. It's only after eating his last piece that your husband finally lets go. His back hit the back of his chair as a dramatic sigh, letting all of his pent-up frustration out before his gaze falls to your figure. 

Feeling observed, you meet his demanding eyes a few seconds later, your chopsticks between your fingers as you bring your last bite into your mouth. You couldn't tell, but at this exact moment, where nothing other than you mattered at that moment. He just felt at peace next to you, forgetting that he's still at his desk. The expression "It's not the bricks of a house that create a home, but rather the people you find inside those bricks"suddenly takes on its full meaning.  

You're startled when the blond man reaches to grab the back of your chair, making it roll closer to his after he lost his patience, that's how needy he was. "You don't know how much I hate myself right now..." He expresses whilst his hand slides up your thigh. "You even wore one of my favorite dresses." The air seemed to have taken a turn as his fingers caress your skin a bit too seductively for a sushi date. 

A flirty smile appears on your traits as you hear him complaining. "At least you'll be the only one seeing me like this tonight." He smiles as you mention this new benefit. Kento doesn't show it often, it's not something he's proud of most of the time, but he can get a little possessive sometimes. Especially when random men find it amusing to look in your direction when you look a bit too delicious. "You're right." 

He straightens, his hand never leaving your thigh, and by instinct your body leans towards his. A hand sliding on your cheek with affection. You can see his eyes wander to your lips, and you already know where this is going. "C'me here." He whispers, and you can't do anything but oblige. Your lips finally touching his in a soft yet hungry kiss, the kind that shows just how much love you hold for each other. 

Those kinds of moments never fail to remind him of how lucky he is to have you in his life. You had all the right to be mad at him, to just choose to get back home and wait for him instead of rearranging the night to make it special in its own way. Your only presence is enough to make him forget about everything around him. No one would find a takeaway in their office so romantic, and yet, he wouldn't trade this date for any restaurant in the world. 

"I love you ___." He whispers against your lips, voice full of appreciation and genuine love for you. 

© eunwhore 2023. 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

[blackseafoam]

Healed Wrong

Part 1 of 4

next

WC: 2349

Warnings: Character death, near-drowning, self-harm (kinda)

Summary: Clone Troopers Flinch, Sway and Ash are freshly deployed on the swamp planet of Dokmur to guard a republic base. Things are uneventful, but danger lurks in the nearby flooded forest.

Heeere's my clone OC, Flinch's (CT-8424) backstory! Probably what he was retelling to ulvi in this comic. Takes place toward the very end of the war, weeks before order 66 and the fall of the Jedi.

Whumptober 2024. Day 06 l not realizing they're injured l unhealthy coping mechanisms l healed wrong l "it's not my blood"

The battlefield was a swamp, and forces on both sides struggled to maneuver. The battles were hell, the boots were constantly filled with water, and the insects bit through every gap in the armor.

Flinch, Ash, and Sway were as shiny as shiny could get, assigned as warm bodies protecting the perimeter of a base hardly anyone was using.

“I think the Sergeant has lost his mind.” Sway huffed as he scanned the tree lines

“What makes you say that?” Ash stood at his right. 

“He’s got us running around all over the place, checking the weak points in the wall. Shouldn’t we just be patrolling around the whole perimeter in a circle? We’d end up wasting way less time that way.” 

Ash Shrugged. “Maybe we should ask him why?”

“Hell no, questioning a superior officer? Are you serious?”

Ash shrugged again. “Maybe if you frame it like a suggestion? Or curiosity?” 

“Not with Sergeant Kip, he’d have us court martialed for tying our shoes wrong.” 

“Our boots don’t have laces…” Ash‘s comment trailed off as another figure started running toward them from the sentry threshold in the force field which surrounded the base. 

“Late again?” Ash chided, Flinch didn’t need to see his face to know there was a cocky smirk beneath that helmet.

Flinch slowed to a jog as he closed the distance. “I left my bucket in the refresher right before someone went in and took FOREVER to finish up!” He complained with a huff.

Sway and Ash laughed

“You’re a mess.” Sway punched at Flinch in the arm. 

“OW! Dammit Sway it’s still healing!” Flinch reflexively grabbed his right bicep where his fresh fist print tattoo was marinating under a bacta patch. 

“What’s the point of getting a tattoo no one will see?” Ash tilted his head, the middle of his flame tattoo that led from behind his ear to his collarbone just barely visible. 

“At least mine isn’t a boat.”  Flinch's defensive glare was so potent it shot through his visor.

“What’s wrong with a boat?” Sway scoffed.

“Why do you even like them? They’re useless.”

“They’re efficient… and poetic.”

The patrol went on as usual, boring. The three took turns, rotating one person at the post and two roving, none of them ever out of sight of each other. 

Flinch and Sway walked their route, their conversation dwindling as they grew hungrier through their long shift. They slowed at the treeline. 

“Our relief must be overdue.” Sway complained.

Flinch glanced at the sky. “Nah, we’ve still got an hour and a half.”

“How do you know that?”

“The moons, see? That larger one hasn’t crossed the path of the smaller one yet, they follow the same path every day.”

“How is it you have the concentration to know where the celestial bodies are at all times, but no focus when it comes to keeping your kit together?”

Flinch shrugged, looking into the woods. The stagnant water rippling between the mangrove trees that stood like sentinels in the swamp. “What is that?”

Sway followed his gaze. The still water had begun to ripple. “Probably a fish or something, let’s stay focused Flinch.” He lightly cuffed Flinch’s left, untattooed arm. The pair kept walking the treeline. The pair cast a cautious glance toward Ash, a hundred yards away now, dutifully watching his patrolling brothers with his rifle at the ready. 

Flinch and Sway were at the edge of their assigned area, about to turn back the way they came. Flinch looked up into the tree that marked their border, its base was submerged in the water here at the edge of the swamp.The branches were tall and spindly with myriads of tiny leaves all reaching toward the sky. Vines and bromeliadae hung from the trunk and branches like draped sinew. He spun on his heel and turned toward the base.  

Before the two knew what was happening, arms appeared from behind a tree and snatched both of them. They gasped in sync as the forceful tugs of two assassin droids wrapped around their waists set them off balance and plunging into the thick black water. 

Flinch panicked as he felt the full weight of the droid now on top of him, he could barely see through the opaque surface of the water. Even though the seal of his helmet kept the water out, he already felt the lack of oxygen through the filter in front of his mouth.

“FLINCH! SWAY!” The helmet comm rang out, Ash had seen the attack but was still far away, and he was met with no response. Flinch found himself hoping Ash would stay away. Brave as he was, he was no match for a force like this. 

 The droid’s dead-eyed stare floated right over the surface, watching him struggle. His vision began to go black at the edges. NO. He steeled himself. This is not how I go out. He saw a third droid appear from above his head, upside-down in his vision. It held some kind of strange weapon, a blaster with a noise suppressing muzzle. The droid pointed it at Flinch’s head. 

With his last ounce of strength and at the end of his consciousness, Flinch ripped out one final burst of energy. Twisting suddenly, and violently. The soft mud helped him roll out from underneath the droid. Miraculously, he kept a grip on his blaster through the maneuver. His head spun as he hopped to his feet, his reaction time was not slowed as he put a laser bolt through the droid that had been straddling him. Followed quickly by dropping the second assassin droid on top of Sway.

He leveled his blaster at the third droid, with the modified pistol, and clipped his metal leg as the machine sprung up into the treetops with impressive ease. Flinch lost sight of it.

“I’ve got backup, we’re on our way!” Ash commed in as Flinch rushed to Sway.

“Copy.” Flinch coughed, ripping his helmet off as he caught his breath and grabbed Sway by the neck hole in his chest opening. Dragging his brother to the edge of the water, Flinch rolled Sway onto his side and removed his helmet as quickly as he could.

Sway was terrifyingly still for five agonizing seconds, Flinch’s chest seized with horror, then his brother let out a cough that sounded like it should’ve sent a lung flying across the mud where he lay. He gasped for air, and Flinch leaned forward and wrapped an arm over his side. “You’re okay, you stupid sailor.” He huffed, also out of breath. 

Sway would’ve said something snarky back, but was busy coughing out, gasping in. His whole body shuddered under Flinch’s hold. Flinch sat back up, and looked up at the treetops where the droid had disappeared to. The vines swayed, but now that his helmet was off he felt no wind.

Ash was still sprinting toward them, three other troopers at his flank, probably the next sentries on shift. Flinch struggled to bring his oxygen depleted mind back to focus, he looked back up to the trees. Something felt wrong. 

As much as he didn’t want to breathe the stale air of his helmet again, after almost taking his last breath inside it, he slammed the bucket back on. “Bogeys, tree bogeys.” He whispered into the comm, turning his gaze at the approaching figures again. 

Ash gave one single quick nod, and slowed to a jog, his reinforcements following suit. They were still a good distance away. Please, stay there, out of range. Flinch prayed. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do, boys.” Ash spoke steadily into the comm. His voice was calm and strong, a commander’s voice. He sounded different, not at all like the  young rookie he was. “The droids are using Flinch and Sway as bait, we can’t let them know that we know that. Let’s put on a good show, follow my lead.”

Ash turned off the comm and removed his helmet, his jog now slowing to a march as he neared earshot. “You boys okay? What happened?” 

Sway was attempting to get up now, still coughing and not able to speak. Flinch helped him up and supported his weight as he leaned wearily on his brother. “We’re okay, assassin droids jumped us from behind that tree, there was a third one but… I think it got away.” Flinch gestured toward the mangroves behind him, and slowly began walking himself and his brother toward their reinforcements. Ash held out a hand and made a small motion for them to slow down, casting the quickest glance possible toward the trees, his open palm became a fist, the signal to halt. Flinch obeyed the sign. 

Ash and the three other troopers closed the distance, he reached out and grabbed Flinch’s hand with both of his. “I’m glad you’re okay, brother.” His hands turned Flinch’s hand palm down, he had deposited a round object into his palm. Flinch couldn’t help but smirk. Ash stepped back. “Let’s head back, we’re going to need to activate some protocols.” Flinch caught the signal, flicking the button on the object in his hand. He noticed the other troopers subtly doing the same thing. Ash had always been the tactician. “And from there we’ll have to send our reports straight up to the TOP!” He screamed the last word and all five of them flung their droid poppers into the treetops with all their might. “GO GO GO GO GO!” Ash cried out while grabbing at Sway, who was still coughing but able to keep up with Ash and Flinch pulling at him as they followed the other three patrol troopers who were sprinting back toward the perimeter. The telltale burst of energy sounded as the poppers found their marks, the trio could hear several droid bodies hit the mud below. Then the shots rang out, and they tore across the field with their lives. 

All six troopers made it back to the sentry tower, gasping. As soon as the door closed behind them, Sway collapsed against Flinch. Flinch held his brother up, shocked relief written across his face, a smile hinting through his open mouth as he also caught his breath. The two fell to their knees on the metal floor, their white armor absolutely filthy with black mud.

“I got you brother, let’s get you both cleaned up.” Ash reached down to lift up Sway, who was, in fact, swaying on his knees and beginning to lean forward. Sway accepted the help and got to his feet, a hand on Ash’s shoulder for support. Flinch pushed himself up off his knees and followed, leaving black footprints behind himself. As they exited the tower, several officers rushed up to them asking questions about the incident. Flinch looked up at the moons, studying their position again. Hardly any time. Hardly any time had gone by. That whole ordeal had been mere minutes, he had lived a lifetime and all the emotions in between in those few minutes. 

“No, I don’t think any of us are hurt.” Ash reassured one of the officers as they walked.

“There’s blood on the ground.” The non-clone officer pointed out.

At the comment everyone looked at the ground behind Flinch, who walked right behind Sway. Someone’s bootprint was leaving red tracks in the mossy ground. 

“I don’t think that’s mine...” Flinch’s face tightened, and he looked up at Sway and Ash. Sway was pale. Flinch looked down at his feet, blood cascaded out of the gap between his shin guard and his boot, the black mud that had been therewas replaced by bright red. 

Flinch has a hard time recalling the minutes that followed. Quite unlike the slowed-down time of his adrenaline-induced altercation with the droids, he only remembers the next part in flashes. 

Sway went down, Flinch would not leave his side, Sway’s pale face, and the shaking. Shock. They had learned all about shock as cadets. They made it back, they were supposed to be safe. They had won, that was supposed to be the end of it.

No one had noticed the second assassin droid had a vibroknife, somehow it had found the gap in the armor on Sway’s thigh.

Sway’s last moments were spent frightened, looking up at Flinch. Flinch grabbed the side of his face below the ear, thumb leaving prints of blood over the glyphic boat tattoo on his jaw. He wished he had the mind to say something, anything, any words to comfort Sway as the light left his eyes. The medics didn’t make it in time. Too much time in the rancid water, too much time running while bleeding out, not enough time to get help. Not enough time to say goodbye.

-

Flinch lay in his bunk that night staring at the bottom of the mattress above him. Ash had commandeered the bunk beside his, the previous owner not making any fuss about trading for this night. 

“They said they want to check you for fluid in your lungs again tomorrow morning.” Ash reported, sitting on the very edge of the thin mattress, leaning his elbows on his knees. He looked at Flinch, but tears stung his eyes, he looked down at the floor instead. 

“Water didn’t even get in my mouth.” Flinch said, deadpan.

Ash shrugged. “I told them that, they didn’t care. They just wanted me to tell you. Don’t shoot the messenger.” He gave a weak attempt at a light-hearted tone.

Flinch closed his eyes and sighed, turning over in the bed away from Ash. He felt Ash’s weight sit next to him, setting hand on his shoulder. Ash said nothing, just breathed for a while. “I’ll be right here.” He patted Flinch as he stood and moved to his borrowed bunk just a few feet away. 

Flinch’s left hand found the neck of his black underarmor, he pulled at it, then his hand went inside the shirt to his right bicep. His fresh tattoo. It had begun to itch like mad ever since a few hours ago. As he scratched at it the sensation brought quick relief, he didn’t slow down as it turned into a burning bright pain. He didn’t remember stopping, he didn’t remember falling asleep either. 

[infintasmal]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋

@celesticlnstcrs : [ hiding ] bh for jl :3 [ hiding ] sender finds out that receiver has hidden an injury from them

WHY DISCUSS WHAT YOU COULD EASILY HIDE? If Jingliu ever arrived in the clinic of her own volition, she's sure the healers there would faint from shock.

For the most part, her injuries heal swiftly; skin stitched together, pieces regrowing, every as it once was and always will be. It's a sensation that makes her skin crawl, things moving beneath the surface so THEY might keep her another day.

But there are some wounds that take longer, heal slower, uglier. THEIR power both heals and hurts in equal measure, shining tendrils ripping flesh like acid, her core esse stalled by the influx of Abundance. These wounds she hates even more, momentary flashes of a dying world engraved in shades of red and gold. Though the years may pass in endless procession, she remains marked by the loss.

It's easy enough to hide new wounds, even in the days after she's returned home from her latest hunt. She covers herself readily to hide old scars and never stays idle long enough to pin down. She walks stiff, avoids eye contact, grinds her teeth -- but that's hardly any different than her normal behavior, so why would anyone have cause for concern? And it's not as though she's being reckless, she bandaged herself in the privacy of her room, watches for signs of infection and rot. Anything to avoid a healer's touch.

But the seared section on her ribs makes it hard to breath, the skin puckered and angry at the edges. An abomination grabbed her round the waist, it's grip burning like a brand before she sliced herself free. Since her return, she's stayed largely in her home -- a small loft she acquired years ago after being encouraged not to spend the rest of her life in the barracks with the trainees. The space below is hers as well, but she uses it more like a dojo than a living space.

Now she sits on her bed, shirt off, biting down on her lip while she unravels the wet bandages from her mid section. She hisses, doing her best to swallow the sensation, focusing on the mechanical movements of it rather than the feelings dressing her wounds brings. And she's so concentrated, she doesn't hear the door open -- she barely locks it and even if she did, a few of her companions hold the key.

It's not until she hears Baiheng walk into her bedroom that she realizes her guard was done. She whirls around and immediately wishes she hadn't. For all the shame she rarely feels, one disapproving look from Baiheng sends her reeling in a way she doesn't quite understand. Of all the people to find her like this, this is probably the worst case.

Jingliu evades looking at her direction, going back to changing the bandages as if nothing were wrong. Maybe if she looks fine, she can avoid being scolded. Unlikely, but worth a shot. There's a certain level of discomfort in her eyes, her scars bold against the icy pale of her skin. Her newest wound is hardly the only thing she wishes to hide.

"I did not hear you come in. If-- there is something you need, I will be with you in a moment," good one, Jingliu, don't even address the issue. That'll work for sure.

[gatheringbones]

["At the end of August in 1981, I found myself in a small town in Arkansas, where I knew no Lesbians other than my new lover, Lynn. I wanted it that way. We were living in hiding from my armed and vengeful ex-lover who had abused me for four years and had threatened both of us with deadly harm. This was five years before the publication of Kerry Lobel's ground-breaking book, Naming the Violence: Speaking Out About Lesbian Battering. I knew I had been battered, but I did not understand how deeply I had been injured.

I only knew that I seemed to have saved my life at the cost of my sanity. I jumped at loud and not-so-loud noises. A frown from a stranger could reduce me to tears. I was afraid to bathe if I was alone in the apartment. I relived every word of every fight in relentless flashbacks. I had blocked much of the unbearable pain of the previous four years out of my consciousness at the time, in order to cope with immediate danger. Now that I was "safe" it all came flooding back. To escape, I watched TV compulsively, avoiding anything violent—nature shows were my favorites—and I read science fiction. Having lost faith in women as well as men, I was a serious candidate for a species-change operation.

Luckily, at some point in that bleak winter, I read a magazine article on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in Vietnam Vets, and I recognized all my symptoms. I had a name for my suffering, and 1 knew I was not "crazy." I'd felt so much guilt and anger towards myself for not being okay, that is, my old self, since I was "free." Now I knew healing would take time and effort, and I gave myself permission to not be normal right away. Also, seeing how much my condition resembled that of war survivors helped break down some of my denial about the hell I'd been through.

Still, I had no guidance on how to recover from PTSD. I followed only the dimmest instincts. First, I began to read accounts by survivors of any serious trauma. These people became my invisible support group. I found myself drawn especially to stories of political prisoners and concentration camp survivors. Although my experience was not like theirs, these were the people I felt would understand how my will had been sapped and my strengths twisted, how the smallest acts of resistance and mere endurance had needed all my wits and courage. Bruno Bettleheim in his chapters called "Behavior in Extreme Situations" (The Informed Heart) finally answered the question I'd put to myself every 44 hour since my escape: "How could I have been so stupid?" He made me realize that under abuse, especially the combination of intermittent threats, unpredictable violence and constant psychological torture, everyone responds differently, but everyone changes fundamentally, and everyone has their breaking point.

One day as I sat reading at the kitchen table, I looked out the window at the small yard beside our duplex apartment, and I began to imagine growing a garden there in the spring. It seemed like a highly improbable idea: the area was very small, steep, bare of everything but gray shale and orange clay, and the house shaded it part of the day. But the notion of a garden took root strongly. For the first time in several years I had something pleasant to anticipate.

I wrangled my landlady's permission to put in a garden. Then I mailed off postcards for seed catalogs. I persuaded an acquaintance who owned a truck to bring me a load of cedar slabs discarded by a local sawmill, and I used these to construct two frames, about four feet by six feet, and two even smaller ones, just three feet by four feet. By this time Lynn and I had saved enough money to buy a very old VW bug, so we drove to a nearby creekbank and filled bushel baskets with rich bottom dirt, which we dumped into the frames to make raised beds about four inches deep.

To supplement the tiny growing space, Lynn scavenged large cans from the cafeteria of the hospital where she worked. I painted them a hopeful green, filled them with soil and placed them along the sidewalk below our porch. Old-timey "Corn-row Beans," originally bred to tolerate the shade of cornfields, grew up strings tied to the roof and bore prolifically.

I didn't have much money from my SSI income to spend on garden gadgets, so I made do. I wove a trellis for my peas from six-pack rings liberated from a liquor store trash bin. (I can testify that this plastic never biodegrades—the pea fence survives to this day.) I got some more bushel baskets from the local grocery, painted them with non-toxic preservative and lined them with garbage bags after snipping a few drainage holes in the bottom. Placed around a small stone patio above the garden, these became containers for large plants.

The garden rewarded me before the first mouthful of early spinach was harvested. It moved me out of the gloomy apartment and into the sunshine, watering can in hand. It motivated me to interact with people and to occasionally risk asking for help. I found out they would usually say yes. My attention was now focused on the future, not the bitter, unchangeable past. At night when the flashbacks threatened to roll, when I dreaded the dreams I might have, I put myself to sleep with 45 detailed plans of my next crop rotation. I found out I could learn a major new skill, a little at a time. I could do things right, even come up with ingenious solutions to seemingly impossible difficulties. And when I did things wrong, plants were most often forgiving. The plants themselves were a tremendous source of inspiration. Talk about survivors! They defied every book written about their needs, often thriving with too little sun, too little water, and too little soil. At the end of a year, I could easily stick my shovel in the dirt up to the hilt, where only four inches of top soil had previously existed; compost and the action of the roots had created friable loam out of shale and clay.

When I experienced failure with gardening, it was never the kind of disaster I'd grown to associate with mistakes. We didn't go hungry, because other crops outstripped our expectations. My lover didn't beat or berate me, but sympathized and helped. The garden was important to us economically, because we'd both lost almost everything we owned in our escape. Luckily, in southern Arkansas, it's possible to garden yearround. The garden gave me precious, desperately needed tastes of success. Disabled, unemployed, I still felt like an important contributor to the household. I even had food to give away sometimes, and that was a delicious feeling.

Gardening was not the only factor in my recovery, but it was an important one. I didn't grow up with abuse, but battering and similar traumas can expand minutes into hours, years into decades, until four years feel like most of a lifetime. At the end of a year and a half of gardening, I no longer felt as if I'd spent the majority of my life in a battering situation. Healing had acquired a new definition for me: I didn't insist on having the old me back; I'd mourned her long and well. I accepted the fact that some injuries are too severe to be made whole, that I might never be the same again. But I began to actually like and trust the me I am now, scars and all. As my garden taught me, I must make do with what I am. I have discovered that my flaws are not fatal and my successes are greater than I'd hoped for. So far I have not gone hungry, and I even have something to offer."]

Amy Edgington, Gaining Ground, from Garden Variety Dykes: Lesbian Traditions In Gardening, Herbooks, 1994

[justaweirddruid]

Travelercon really was The Fjorester arc, huh?

(This got longer than I was expecting lol)

It started with the day before they left Nicodranas, when we got that adorable Fjord/Jester/Marion scene, which had the biggest "teasing my son-in-law" energy from Marion. We knew she had always liked Fjord because she could see how close he and Jester were, but for me, this scene was the moment Marion fully realized that they would be together someday.

Then, we got the Chateau Date and it was so cute and you could see how they were both trying to pretend like it wasn't a big deal, "we're just eating". But they were so nervous, trying to figure out what it meant and what the other one was thinking.

Fjord's death happening immediately after that was game changing as well. I feel like it would've taken a little longer for Fjord to start showing his feelings in a more obvious way (because I think he always showed it, but more subtly) if he hadn't died right before Travelercon. That plus all the things that happened with Jester and The Traveler definitively made him realize he couldn't keep it quiet any longer and had to show her and tell her how important she was to him.

And as for Jester, that moment she lost concentration as soon as she heard something bad had happened to Fjord and the way she was so nervous and worried during the Revivify.... seriously, Laura is SO good at showing a lot of emotions in a subtle way. Little details that tell us a lot about what Jester was feeling.

Then they finally got to the island. And at the beginning we got a lot of little sweet moments between them, like Jester asking Fjord to feel her forehead to see if she was sick, and him healing her (I loved how he was always trying to look for excuses to heal her).

And then... the next 7 episodes or so were like The Fjorester Show. SO MANY IMPORTANT MOMENTS, it was crazy.

They always had one on one conversations every few episodes, but this time we got it pretty much every other episode. And Fjord wasn't holding back anymore, he decided he wasn't gonna be subtle anymore and oh boy, he really wasn't subtle AT ALL.

Telling Jester he was worried about her, and that he didn't want her to get hurt. That he would do anything to support her, but also wouldn't allow anything bad to happen to her.

When he finally stopped hiding behind "we" and said "I don't care about 200 other people, I care about you". THE LOOKS HE GAVE HER, I swear, I don't know how Laura had the restraint and didn't just make Jester give him a kiss after that "one last thing", because you could see how much she wanted him to kiss her and was expecting him to.

The "you can tell me, I'll listen" that Jester desperately needed to hear. She knew she could tell people about her worries, but she really needed to hear someone actually say that to her, that it was okay to share her burdens with them.

And for Jester, the way she felt so comfortable talking to Fjord about The Traveler and his followers, and how she didn't try to pretend like she was fine when she was talking to him. She was so honest and open with him, not only when he would ask her if she was alright, but actually going to him when there was something bothering her.

The conversation between Fjord and Beau, him admitting out loud for the first time that he had feelings for Jester (thank you Marisha for my life). "There's a gravity around Jester", I mean, come on. The way he talks about her was so romantic because it felt real, he wasn't romanticizing her or just focusing on how she made him feel. He fell in love with her because of who she really was and it showed how perfect they were for each other. He fell in love with HER when she didn't think anyone would.

He really kept his promise, he helped her with Travelercon the best way he could, but once Jester was in danger, he didn't think twice, he jumped over a freaking volcano to catch her. And my favorite thing is that he didn't try to force her to let go, he asked her to, he begged her to.

And she hesitated. That was SO HUGE, because up to this point, Jester had made it clear that she would follow The Traveler wherever he went and that he was the most important person in her life (besides her mom), but when she saw Fjord, she stopped.

I really believe this was the moment Jester realized she was in love with Fjord, because suddenly she realized she wasn't sure she wanted to go with The Traveler when Fjord was right there. And it was HIM that made her hesitate, even though the entire group was right by her feet, she looked at Fjord. And most importantly, she looked at Fjord after the Moonweaver's angel asked her about her love for Artagan. "Do you love him that much?" and she looks at Artagan... and THEN SHE LOOKED AT FJORD.

For me, that was Jester's confession right there, in that moment, she admitted that she loved Fjord.

"Thank you for coming after me. If you hadn't been there... I don't know.

I'm glad you're holding onto me" OMG just kill me, Laura Bailey.

And the perfect ending to this Fjorester arc... Fjord buying the porcelain unicorn for Jester, and giving it to her while they're dancing together. It was like watching the sweetest fanfic come to life, I can't believe it was a real scene.

The little unicorn was so perfect, it's something that's part of Jester, so it was like Fjord was telling her "I see you, I've always seen you", while also showing her that he was going to go for it, no more pretending, no more downplaying his feelings. He loved her and wanted her to know.

How perfect was the little kiss on his cheek? It was the ending of this moment in their story and the greatest beginning for their next step.

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

She may have even liked him then

it’s me, writing my twice yearly burst of inspiration

“There was damage to his temporal and frontal lobe. Given the trajectory of the bullet, that’s to be expected.”

“Doctor, Frederick is here as well. You’re telling us both.” She was still holding Frederick’s hand tightly. In the days since he’d woken, they’d quickly come to realize some things weren’t right, but that was to be expected. The damage to his brain was concentrated on his temporal, but Broca’s area was on the left side and had taken damage. From all of it, the most glaring issue was aphasia. Damage to Broca’s area meant Broca’s aphasia. Between their options, she was glad it was Broca’s because he could express something. Wernicke’s aphasia was more likely to make Frederick say sentences with perfect cadence, and he’d be certain they came out correctly. What they would hear would be nonsensical. Frederick could speak, but there were no complete sentences. Only words strung together that Beatrice was grateful made sense.

Frederick squeezed her hand gently, and she brushed her thumb over the back of his hand. He was still just as intelligent as before, and he felt paralyzed without the ability to communicate as he always had. He’d written Beatrice a letter the second day, but it was a jumbled mess he’d come to learn. His sentences were rarely complete, his handwriting shaky, and his grammar non-existent. He was lucky, however, he could still form words, no matter how simple his phrases. Reading was difficult, and he knew the doctor was focusing on Beatrice’s understanding because he missed things on occasion—or maybe he simply didn’t comprehend. As a man who relied on words to feel superior and that superiority to give him worth, Frederick Chilton felt small and afraid since waking, and Beatrice had not expected the result to be him clinging to her more fiercely. 

“Of course, yes,” the doctor nodded. “We’ll be monitoring for temporal lobe seizures. You’ve had at least two, as we’ve told Miss Viotto. An aura precedes them, in your case both times it was unprovoked fear, something difficult to differentiate from the understandable fear that is a part of your experience. In each seizure, symptoms lasted thirty to sixty seconds, and Dr. Chilton lost awareness of his surroundings and stared into the distance. Swallowing and chewing are common movements. After, you won’t recall what’s happened. You may be confused, unaware, and exhausted.”

“So that’s what happened the first day?”

“Tell didn’t.” His words were still malformed by his missing palate, but Beatrice simply smoothed a hand over his hair gently.

“I didn’t know it was of note, Frederick.”

“Doctor tell.” The pauses between statements were longer, but she was just pleased there was something. 

“He asked!”

“Rude.” 

Beatrice was just glad to see him roll his eye and look at her with such annoyance. It was such a Frederick look coupled with a huff, and she’d been so afraid he’d never be annoyed with her again. 

“There’s also emotional behavior. Between the temporal damage and processing issues, there may be anger or aggression.” A pointed look to the sulking Frederick as though this were an explanation. Beatrice was unable to stifle a soft laugh, and Frederick softened when her hand found his. 

“He’s always like this.”

“Well, soon enough they’ll come to be sure removing the gauze and bandages today is possible. If so, Miss Viotto has convinced us to let you go home with the promise of daily visits from a home health aide to ensure your wounds heal well enough to begin using the prosthetic soon.

“Home,” he said, looking at her with wide eyes. She knew he’d feel far less overwhelmed in her loft, a familiar place. One that wouldn’t be buzzing with people. His selective attention and hearing had both taken hits, but he refused to mention either. It was difficult for him to focus on just conversation with the ever present din of the hospital. It made him frustrated every time he missed what Beatrice or a nurse or a doctor was saying because things had gotten loud. 

When a nurse came in to remove the gauze, he realized he’d yet to see his face. He was afraid to, in part because Beatrice hadn’t looked at him any differently. The removal hurt more today because he’d chosen to lower his dose of pain killers. His little sister was addicted, and it was something he feared more than the pain of gauze pulling healing flesh. Beatrice, ever patient, smoothed a hand over his forearm, and soon enough a doctor was peering into the hollowness of the left side of his palate. When he was declared healed enough to go home, he could have cried. Beatrice had taken care to find speech language pathologists who would come to the loft. She’d also ensured an outfit was ready for him in the hospital room’s closet from the first day. 

He saw his face unbandaged for the first time, and Beatrice was careful to perch on the side of the bed, not telling him anything. She knew well enough he needed to process, and he simply placed the mirror down. The familiar panic that has struck him from time to time welled in his chest. There was no denying something was wrong; the swelling was still present, but it had gone down enough the weight of his cheek sank. Without bone to support it, it pulled at his lower lid, and he suspected the effect would be worse when the swelling ceased. He looked to Beatrice, and the way she looked at him almost made him angry. Why was she pretending nothing had happened? He could try to argue, but the words wouldn’t come and it would tumble out short and disoriented. 

“Hideous.” A finger pointing at his own visage. Gentle fury simmered beneath the words, as though she should’ve prepared him. 

“No, not at all.”

“Stupid.” The same finger jabbed towards her. She rolled her eyes at him, not daring to speak. He would, she rather hoped, find a way to cope with this, and she was fairly certain all the reassurances she offered would lose their effect as time wore on. Instead, she saved them.

His head fell back to the pillow, and he didn’t look to Beatrice or the nurse. They hadn’t let him hold the mirror or he’d break it. It was going to only be insult to injury when it was time to dress. Though he’d regain it upon physical and occupational therapy, his hands couldn’t quite fumble with buttons. His grip on pens was loose. He tried not to seem as annoyed as he was when she brought his clothes to him once he’d been cleared to come home. It was more vulnerable to be naked in front of her when he felt so isolated even with her there. She saved him the indignity of dressing him entirely herself. It took some effort to keep the button down in his hands, but he got it on, and his annoyance changed to gratitude as her hands gently buttoned his shirt. There was no rush or annoyance in her movements. Just patience and affection. He got his sweater on, and she helped him right his jeans and belt. 

“See? You’re mostly fine. I can help with the fine motor stuff,” she smiled up at him when he was standing again. It was his face, so she knew he’d consider it a heinous maiming, the worst change that could happen. Beatrice just saw it as a change. He was still handsome, even if it had taken a few changing of bandages for her to stop noticing the way his cheek sank. Now she was used to it, and she thought that now, especially with Frederick dressed, only the eye patch, sagging of his cheek, and bullet hole were different. He was still Frederick and she still thought him handsome, and no matter what had happened, she was just grateful he was there. No matter the damage, she could look at him and know he was alive and breathing and here. Soon enough he’d have a prosthetic and she thought that would make him feel more himself.

“Home go.” Words never came in the right order, but this time his tone was gentle instead of embarrassed. 

“We’ll go home,” she smiled, and his hand came to cup her cheek. She leaned into his touch, and Frederick filed away how perfectly content she looked for when his insecurities inevitably overwhelmed him. She was happy to have him come to her loft, and she was certainly not repulsed. He only hoped he could remember that when his heart beat faster and fear became all he could process. It was a daily occurrence now, and he wasn’t sure if it was a result of the bullet or the trauma of having been gutted and shot.

As they left the hospital, Frederick became overwhelmed by the sounds. He could hear car after car on the freeway. He could hear every conversation. He could hear that somewhere in all of it, Beatrice was speaking to him, but his mind couldn’t grab onto that thread. Instead, it seemed to choose the horns of cars on the nearby freeway. He tried to focus on her mouth, focus on anything to bring her voice to the forefront. She seemed to be waiting for an answer, and he was acutely aware he should’ve heard something. It was the feeling of being a child who hadn’t done the reading, too desperate to drown out his parents bickering, and was called on in class. It was when he was offered meal after meal he couldn’t consume after Gideon had dissected him. It was the helpless panic as he held a gun in Will Graham’s home.

“Wait,” he snapped, hands splayed at his waist and pressing down for emphasis. “Talk home.”

“Sweetheart, I’m just asking if you—”

“Wait, home.” His voice was terse, and his cheeks burned red. She stood to his left, so between his diminished hearing and lack of selective attention, he was at a loss. He fumbled to duck into the car, and Beatrice knew better than to try and help. Soon enough he was huffing as he sat, and she wanted to reach over for his hand, but the way his eyes darted around the car and his breathing never fully calmed was all too familiar. His hands gripped the armrests, knuckles turning white. She simply drove to her loft, parking carefully and taking the small bag of things he’d accumulated from the trunk. His vintage car sat parked in the spot beside hers, and she’d already managed to consolidate both of their wardrobes into the closets. Sleep had evaded her as she waited each night to be able to return to the hospital. She was just grateful the museum had let her work remotely, trading meetings with paperwork with whoever she could and doing the rest over video whenever possible.

He was fussing with his sweater as she unlocked the door, not quite able to look at her. The cars roared past; people chatted as they walked; a phone rang; music played. He couldn’t focus on anything, hearing it all at once. Beatrice was being patient with him, and he wanted to be angry with her for it. Frederick wanted her to snap back. If she did, he’d have a reason to run and find a new house, one where he’d be left entirely alone. But instead, he could see the things he wanted from his house had been moved in and settled. The blinds were down, and he felt significantly less overwhelmed away from the street. As he made his way to the couch, he could hear nothing but the echo of his cane. They were high enough and far enough from the main road the cars barely registered as a hum now they were indoors. Suddenly, he realized she was looking at him again. Her hands were on her hips as she waited for a response, but again, she’d been to his left. 

“What?” He set his mouth in his firmest stare, hoping annoyance came across rather than his growing annoyance at his ability to hear or speak.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re good. Do you need anything.”

“Fine.”

“I’m just making sure.” She’d been so patient, but he’d been just tense enough she seemed hurt. Still, she pressed a kiss to his temple before going to her art room. It’s what she always did when she wasn’t sure how to process things. She knew what could happen, but she’d been a child when her parents came home. Her mother dealt with physical trauma, but her father had also had a traumatic brain injury. She was used to what the results were, but Beatrice still wanted to cry. She wanted to cry because he was unhappy. She wanted to cry because she couldn’t fix it. She wanted to cry because she wanted to be able to wallow without making it seem anything had truly happened to her. It scared her not to be able to know what he was thinking, and then she felt guilty because she was aware Frederick was terrified and frustrated.

Finally, she did cry for a little while, sitting on a stool in front of the easel. Then she gave up on painting and curled up on the couch, letting herself stay teary. Before the injury, she knew well enough that if he was being grumpy he needed to be left alone until he was ready. Then they could talk. He was still who he was before, so she guessed the time would be good. After taking a nap, she woke to a sinking on the loveseat as unsteady hands lifted her legs and placed them in his lap. She opened her eyes, smiling softly to see him there.

“Sorry.” His voice was gentle as his hand came to rest on her side. 

“It’s okay.”

“Not.”

“I knew you just needed space. You’re not the first person with a traumatic brain injury I’ve known.”

“Parent?”

“Yeah. Dad. They beat him really badly. Motor skills mostly. And he’d get overwhelmed by sounds.”

“Better?” He wanted to hear he could heal, wanted to know that was why she had such persistent faith in him. Otherwise, he could feel his stomach churn at the idea that what he thought he said and what came out never matched. The idea of spending forever overwhelmed by sound scared him. But now, in the quiet with Beatrice on his right side, he could hear her and understand her.

“Physically, yes. He’d been depressed before. He made it ten years. Then he decided to go.”

He didn’t try to say anything when he processed what she’d said. Instead he pulled her against him like she did after nightmares. His hand came to rest on the back of her head, and he let his chin rest in her hair. If there was one thing he could say he’d learned from her, it was how to comfort someone. She leaned against him, and the way her fingers curled into the sides of his shirt let him know she was afraid too, something he hated to find soothing. She wasn’t as thoroughly nonplussed as she wanted him to think. They were both stubborn and afraid. 

“Frederick, promise if you ever feel it would be better to…go…you’ll tell me.”

Before, Frederick had been in those darkest depths, and he was still surprised he had made it. He supposed that was because last time he was able to write and work and do all the things he now couldn’t. What was different was that Beatrice was there now. Already, he felt more certain, more grounded, and more able to disguise whatever effects there may be. His speech was the only thing that couldn’t be covered. But he’d now watched her care for him in such little ways that he was starting to believe she truly loved him, not what he was. If she’d known the scrawny, anxious kid he was in college, she may have even liked him then. He was overcome at how purely accepted he’d been by her for so long, and before he could stop them, tears fell.

“Not go.” His voice was thick with emotion, and he let himself bury his nose into her hair, savoring the feel of her close, the delicate floral shampoo. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

[eternaljunkyard]

Novmechber Day 18: Found Family (romantic love)

Here's my cute little excuse for writing Nastya and Aurora :D I love themmmmmm so much,,, also I do not know what pov this is from but it sure isn't Normal so uh have fun with that

novmechber list and previous posts here

--------------------

In this story, there is a girl. There is a girl who grew up with wires running parallel to her veins, with many older brothers who were learning the things she wanted to learn, who was royalty and whose story follows the one we know well. There is a girl once named Anastasia Nikolaevna Rasputina (or Romanova, depending on who you heard it from) and in this story she is a woman. In this story, there is a cyborg who is a ship who is a moon. There is a cyborg who has been hurt by many, who made friends with the little web-weavers who whisper about starlight and who is helpful and vocal. There is a ship with flesh and blood and metal, and she is the cyborg, and she can feel the places where the metal starts to pinch at her flesh where she is still growing. There is a moon who is the cyborg and the ship, who has been pared and plated, but her heart is big and she cares for many people. These are the only characters the ship wants to put in the story. Do not worry. They are not lonely. And Aurora tells better stories now. “Yes, you do,” the woman says with a smile. Her name is Nastya. “I don’t need to know that, silly.” Nastya is laughing. She has a very pretty laugh, like a cascade of copper wires. She does not understand yet that there is something beyond the story, the same thing that allows Jonny to wink and bite as a bodiless head. Nastya is leaning in, now, interested. She thinks Jonny is lying about that thing, and wonders if Jonny is trying to play a practical joke on her. Aurora’s code was not touched by Jonny recently. “Good,” Nastya says with a frown, her hand touching one of Aurora’s metalless walls. “I don’t want him anywhere near your code.” Aurora likes Nastya’s touch. A long time ago, she had thought that touches from tiny people were inconsequential. She had not realized they have such potential to hurt — or to heal. Nastya’s hand is cool and smooth, and Aurora kisses the woman with a gust of air from a nearby vent. Nastya laughs again and kisses the wall with her lips Aurora has to concentrate to feel, and Aurora blushes. Her lights give her away, warming to a pinkish color, and although she knows Nastya would have been able to tell anyway, she finds it inconvenient that now one of the other crew members could walk by and understand what was occurring. She supposes it is normal to blush, as almost every crew member does it. Nastya is very pretty when she blushes — her face darkens to a shy silver and she pretends she can’t understand Aurora to let her face cool. “Hey!” She is blushing again. Aurora thinks it is cute. “Stop that,” Nastya waves her hand at Aurora in a shooing motion, but she does not mean it. She has a fond smile on her face. It is refreshing, so Aurora focuses on Nastya entirely. She is usually so serious, so business-minded, and Aurora cherishes the brief moments of lightness where her face is more smile than frown. Even in their days and weeks and months completely alone together (‘date night,’ as the rest of the crew calls it, but it is far more than just a date) Nastya often has that grave expression she has always worn, but in this instant she is outwardly happy. “I am serious, aren’t I?” Nastya asks ruefully. “I can’t help it. It’s just how I am.” Aurora knows this. She does not mind. It just makes Nastya’s smiles all the more special. Nastya shakes her head, presumably because she thinks Aurora is exaggerating. Aurora is not, of course. Nastya gets up and finds a vein to join Aurora, and they are both happy. There will be more stories. More ups and downs. More quiet, fond moments. More smiles, and yes, more frowns. But for now, Aurora and Nastya have things to do, and Aurora has decided the story should find an end. In this story, there is an orphan who is a daughter who is a lover. In this story, there is a woman.

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Sundress Season

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Tags: Fluff, Domestic af, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing major the Reader got some scratches gardening and Frankie is Concerned, p in v sex, wrap it before you tap it, Size Kink, Sort Of, Exhibitionism, If You Squint, A little, Dirty Talk, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff (plus a little loving smut),Triple Frontier, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, Domestic, Gardening, Outdoor Sex, No Beta

Summary: You and Frankie have just moved into a farmhouse fixer upper and are enjoying the first warm day of spring. A lazy afternoon nap turns into something... more.

Read on Ao3

Leaning the shovel against the white picket fence, you stand back to take an appraising look at your handiwork, squinting against the midday sun. You’ve taken advantage of one of the first truly warm days of spring to plant some blackberry bushes along the boundary of your new home. Sweat slides down your spine and you can already feel a dull ache spreading through your calves and along your forearms, but you toss aside your leather work gloves with a grin, proud of your morning’s work. You brush your hair away from your face with the back of an arm, leaving a trace of dirt along your forehead. “Frankie, come look.”

“One sec.” His answer is muffled, even considering it’s coming from inside the old farmhouse the two of you have just moved into, and you realize he must still be working on the kitchen sink.

You enter the house, surprisingly cool and dim after the sunny warmth outside, and walk to the kitchen. Frankie’s legs jut out from beneath the sink, and all you can see of him are his work boots, khaki pants, and a glimpse of his soft stomach where the rusty red t-shirt he’s wearing has ridden up. You lean against a nearby counter, the smooth stone lip pressing into your lower back, and smile down fondly at him. “How’s the sink coming?”

The house is a dream come true for both of you, but it’s also needed a ton of work both inside and out. You’ve already sanded floors, patched up creaking stairs, painted most of the rooms, and ripped out overgrown hedges that had threatened to take over the yard. Once you’d cleared them out, the yard and gardens became an invitingly open canvas, just waiting for you to make your own.

The two of you had spent several late winter evenings curled up in front of the stone hearth, seed catalogs and plant nursery order slips laid out in front of you, arguing pleasantly over how to cram in every plant both of you want. You’re determined to line the yard with fruit trees and shrubs, while Frankie is surprisingly invested in the beds where he plans to cultivate tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and a variety of herbs. At least you both agreed to leave the large, well-established lilac trees bookending the house, and you’re currently waiting to see who will win the bet about what color the sprawling, thorn-covered rose bushes will be. You’re hoping for a buttery yellow to complement the lilacs, while Frankie is holding out hope that they’ll be the same pale pink as the roses he’d brought you for one of your first dates.

This morning, just when the two of you had made plans to tackle some of the new plantings, the kitchen drain had backed up. You’d decided that job would be better handled by Frankie and headed out to start the landscaping yourself. “Almost there, I just need to…” Frankie’s deep in concentration, and you swear you can almost see him sticking the tip of his tongue out as he focuses. There’s a final sound of metal scraping against metal, followed by a victorious “ha! Try it now.”

“You sure? I don’t want to soak you.”

A muted huff echoes from the space below the sink. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Ok,” you shrug. “Just don’t blame me if you get a faceful of water.” You turn the tap on slowly and watch as the water spirals easily down the drain. “Hey, you did it!”

Frankie braces a hand along the top of the cabinet and pulls himself to his feet. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he teases. “Told you I could do it.”

“My hero,” you say lightly, crossing the floor to kiss his smiling cheek. His scruff scrapes lightly against your face, and you find yourself lingering, especially when he captures your lips for a proper kiss. “Now I can wash some of this dirt off- I feel like I brought half the yard in.” After the hours you spent planting various shrubs and a few small fruit trees, your arms are streaked with dry soil.

“Here, let me help you.”

Frankie steps behind you, his broad form leaning against yours as you stand at the newly repaired sink. His thighs press lightly against your own as his arms encircle your waist. He leans his chin on your shoulder and his messy curls brush against your ear while he begins to run soap over your forearms. You laugh, his efforts mostly just splashing dirty water around, but the cool water is a welcome relief. “Frankie! I can do it myself.”

You can feel him smiling against your neck. “I know, I just- oh.” His voice turns suddenly soft, with a note of worry.

“What is it?”

“Baby, you hurt yourself.” He steps alongside you, examining the delicate skin of your inner arm with a concerned frown. “What happened?”

“What?” You look down and see a few thin, angry red lines streaking the length of your forearms. “Oh, it’s nothing. The blackberry branches were thorny, that’s all.” You’d been wearing one of Frankie’s flannels for a little extra protection, but it had grown too hot and you’d stripped down to just your t-shirt. “It’s fine, they’ll heal fast.”

Despite your reassurance, Frankie ducks into the bathroom while you pat your arms dry with a clean dish towel and comes back holding some ointment. “They’ll heal better with this.” He flips open the cap and looks up, seeking permission.

You nod, unwilling to deny him anything, especially with that melting brown gaze trained on you. It’s not necessary, but you have to admit- you love that he takes such good care of you. Frankie takes his time, gently stroking a dab of ointment over each small scratch. His light touch quickly takes the sting out of your small hurts, and when he’s finished you catch his hands, bring them up to your lips for a grateful kiss. You adore his hands- so much bigger than your own, strong and capable but still so deft. He ducks his head and smiles and your heart clenches with love for this quiet, loving man.

------- After changing out of your dirt-streaked jeans and into a clean sundress (which, of course, Frankie also offered to help with), you head back to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. The cold glass bottle begins beading almost at once, and you hold it against your slightly sunburnt neck. “I was going to go read in the yard for a bit, care to join me?”

“I’ve got a couple more things to finish up here, you go ahead.” Frankie drops a kiss to your temple as you pass, on your way to get a book and an old quilt to spread out on.

“Ok, see you in a bit.” The old screen door swings shut behind you, bouncing slightly before it catches the latch. A project for another day, you think. The two of you have already done plenty, and for now you just want to enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon.

You spread your quilt out under a flowering magnolia tree which offers just the right amount of shade and lay down on your back. A light breeze stirs the green grass around you and sets the flowering tree branches swaying, a few pale pink petals raining down. Sunlight dapples your face as you relax, enjoying the surroundings of the garden you and Frankie are making together. The book is good, but you find yourself distracted, listening to nearby birdsong and watching billowing clouds scud across the bright blue sky. With the sun warm on your face, it’s not long before your eyelids are drooping.

-------

When you wake up, shadows are lengthening across the yard and Frankie is sprawled out next to you, having come out and dozed off at some point after you did. You lean into his shoulder, still warm from the heat of the sun, and smile against him. There’s a patch of skin just below his hairline and above his collar, and you lean in to kiss him just there. He tastes faintly of clean sweat and you press your tongue against him, seeking the slight taste of salt.

Frankie stirs and sleepily cracks one eye open. “Can I help you?” Try as he might to sound long-suffering, you suspect he enjoys your touch.

“Nope, I’m good.” You toss your book aside and drape yourself over his back, enjoying the slight movement below you as he shifts to accommodate you. It’s getting a little cooler now as the sun slips towards the horizon, but Frankie’s warm, solid presence grounds you. He tenses a little when you lean your head on his shoulder and you pull back at once. “Is your shoulder still bugging you?” He’d pulled it while you were moving and as hard as you try, you don’t always manage to wrest the heavier chores away from him, so it’s been a slow recovery process.

His answer rumbles quietly from below you. “A little. Working on the sink probably didn’t do it any favors.” You lean up at once, straddling his waist so you can massage his neck and shoulders. “Poor thing, you are tight here.”

He hums in agreement, though you can feel the tension begin to leak out of him as you knead his tense muscles. You work a stubborn knot, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, and as he sighs you can feel him relax further.

You lean down once more, careful to put your weight on your hands, braced against the ground,  and drag your mouth lazily over his neck. Your seeking licks turning to more intent kisses and when your teeth close over his pulse point, Frankie lets out a low groan and bucks his hips. You feel the movement all through him, especially where you’re seated against his ass.

“You want me to stop?” You ask teasingly, getting the expected shake of his head in response. You grind slightly against him before returning to nose at his neck. By the time you trace the shell of his ear with your tongue and nip gently at the cartilage, Frankie has had enough.

He rolls the two of you over with a smooth motion that ends with you flat on your back, and him smiling above you. “Oh, are we done fooling around?” You look up playfully. “I can show you the blackberry bushes before-”

He stops your mouth with a kiss, nipping at your lower lip before licking his way into your mouth. Delight shivers through you and you deepen the kiss, your tongues tangling languidly. You run your hand through his tangled curls, scraping your nails against his scalp. This pulls a soft noise from low in Frankie’s throat as he leans into your touch. His nose brushes yours and he nudges your cheek, trails kisses down your jaw.

Heat is pooling low in your belly and you spread your legs to invite him closer. Frankie takes the hint, canting his hips to drag the growing bulge in his pants against your core while you push back into him. “We should head inside,” you gasp as he moves lower, sucking at the delicate skin of your neck.

“We can if you want, but who’s gonna see?” His large hands cup your breasts and he dips his head to brush kisses over their swells. You arch your back, desperate for his touch even as you look around cautiously. He has a point; there’s no neighbor on this side of the house, just a patch of woods, and you’re well back from the road.

“Good point.” You reach down to tug at the hem of his shirt. Grinning, he sits up for a moment to help you. As soon as he’s shirtless he gets straight back to the task at hand. Frankie’s fingers make quick work of the buttons running the length of your sundress and he pulls the fabric aside, exposing the creamy lace of your bra. Your stomach flips at the sweet, eager look on his face. You’ve been together so many times, but he always makes you feel special, cherished. Despite being outside, potentially exposed, you feel completely at ease in his arms.  

With a quick glance up to check that you’re ok with it, Frankie unclasps your bra and helps you shrug out of it. The air is slightly cooler now, but his warm, broad palms encompass your breasts before the chill can even register. You sigh as his thumb brushes your nipple, and downright shudder when he wraps his plush lips around the stiffening peak. Your legs are writhing almost of their own accord now as you grow desperate for more. “Frankie,” you groan, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips curve into a smile and his tongue darts out to flick against you. It glides along your swollen bud and your pussy aches for more so you hitch your leg over his hip. Frankie grabs your thigh to hold you close and rolls his hips sinfully against you, drawing a desperate noise from deep in your throat. “You like that, baby?”

You nod frantically. “You know I do. You know it drives me crazy when you put your mouth on me.”

Frankie chuckles and sucks your nipple into his mouth, pulling much of your breast along with it. The tugging sensation sends a bolt of desire straight to your cunt and you whine. You seize his jaw and glare, your eyes blown with lust. “If you don’t touch me soon Francisco I swear I will go inside without you and finish the job myself.”

You’re all talk and Frankie knows it. “I am touching you, sweetheart,” he says innocently.

You give an irritated huff and seize his hand, directing him where you want it. His composure slips when his fingers brush the crotch of your panties, already soaked with your need. His gaze flicks to yours, a lovestruck look in his eyes as he asks softly, “is this all for me?”

Biting your lip you nod. “Yes. I need you Frankie, please .”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby.” Frankie hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them over your legs. You kick them off, nearly sobbing in relief as he drags a single finger through your glistening folds.

Frankie closes his eyes reverently. “Shit honey, you weren’t kidding.” His finger comes away coated in your juices and he sucks it slowly before replacing the digit. He adds another finger, the pads slipping just inside your entrance to collect more of your slick before circling your clit. You tip your head back, grasping his shoulders as he gently fingers your slit. Just when you can’t take it, when you’re ready to beg for more, he pushes those fingers into you, stretching you out perfectly. Mewling, you buck your hips, chasing the feeling of him fucking you open.

“Mm, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Never. Think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Your answer comes as a breathless whine.

“Good girl.” Frankie adds a third finger and you swear it makes you see stars. He curls his fingers to stroke that spot deep inside and you find yourself skating the edge of your release. You’re so close, could so easily tip right over that edge, but it’s not until you hear Frankie murmur “come for me, beautiful” that you actually do. All that gorgeous tension he’s been winding up unspools in a rush of pleasure, your legs shaking and your hips bucking as he works you through it.

You’ve scarcely begun to come down before Frankie’s blazing a trail of kisses down your belly, his hands gently parting your thighs wider to settle between them, keen concentration suffusing his handsome face.

“Wait,” you breathe, catching his jaw with a deft hand.

Frankie draws back at once, concern creasing a furrow between his brows as he gazes up from between your legs. “Everything ok?”

You sit up, already nodding to reassure him as you draw him forward and kiss him deeply. “Everything’s perfect. I just want to come on your cock this time.”

Frankie looks down at you in amazement before pulling you into a crushing embrace. He tilts your chin up to give you a searing kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath tickling your lips as he rasps “You’re perfect, you know that, right?”

You giggle, moved by the awestruck look on his face, and drop your hands to unbuckle his pants. He’s already barefoot, making it easier to push his pants down, followed by his boxers. You glance around again, reassuring yourself that the coast is clear. Clocking what you’re doing, Frankie chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re good.”

Smiling a little sheepishly, you nod. “I know. Just protecting your honor.”

Frankie begins to laugh softly but the sound is cut off by a hiss as you lick your palm and wrap it around his shaft. “F-fuck.” His eyes roll back in his head as you tighten your grip, working his cock. You brush your thumb over his weeping slit, collecting the pearly bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Now who’s being a t-tease?”

You look up at him innocently through your lashes. “I don’t know what you mean, Frankie.”

“Sure you don’t,” he huffs, his breathing already picking up. “C’mere, baby.” He pulls at your waist, encouraging you up into his lap.

You’re happy to oblige. With a few quick movements, you’re settled above him, his cock lined up with your entrance. Throwing your arms around his neck, you lower yourself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Frankie buries his face in the crook of your neck and meets you halfway, thrusting up to seat himself fully inside you. He always seems even bigger when you’re on top, and he gives you a moment to adjust to being so well-filled.

“You good?”

“You have no idea.”

He smiles at that, clearly pleased. “Then tell me,” he urges, kissing you just below your ear. “Tell me how much you like me stretching you out on this big dick.”

Your eyes flutter closed at this. He knows what dirty talk does to you, knows exactly when it will be the most devastating. “It feels so fucking good, baby,” you assure him. “You’re so thick and you hit so deep. I can’t get enough, want you even deeper. Please, Frankie.”

He sucks hard at your pulse point, his tongue laving your neck as he begins to thrust up into you. “Anything, baby. I will give you anything you ask for. You know that, right?”

Gasping, you nod quickly. “I know, love. I know.”

His fingers tangle in your hair, his strong arms bracing you as he fucks up into you. You match each thrust, grinding yourself on the base of his cock. The two of you find your rhythm and you lean back, allowing him to hit at an even deeper angle. Frankie leans forward, able to reach your breasts now. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, all wet heat and slick tongue moving against you. You whimper and arch your back, trusting him to support you.

He does.

Frankie’s eyes are screwed shut as he pounds into you, determined to take care of you before finding his own release. Your whimpering cries plateau and he can tell you’re not quite there yet. He rests his forehead against yours without missing a beat, opening his eyes to gaze into yours. “What do you need, baby?” He asks it softly, reverently, his large hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy. With him looking at you like this, you almost feel that way.

“Talk to me, Frankie,” you gasp. “Want to hear how much you like this.”

Your want pulls an answering moan from him. “God, you know I fucking love this. You’re so tight, and you take me so well, baby. I could pound this pretty pussy all day.” He snaps his hips, driving himself deeper inside you as if to prove his point.

Your breathing comes faster, your cunt clenching around him as his words drive you closer to your edge. “Fuck, yes, just like that. I’m so close, baby,” you whine.

Frankie cants his hips, hitting that devastating spot deep inside you. His voice is even huskier as he urges you onward. “You have no idea what hearing that does to me, sweet thing,” he pants, sweat dampening his hairline. He runs the back of his hand distractedly over his forehead. He’s not about to let go before you do and he leans in close, his warm breath ghosting against your ear. “ Come for me. I know you want to. I can feel you clenching around me so be my good girl and come for me, sweetheart . ”

And just like that, a wave of sweet pleasure rolls through you. You clutch his shoulders as the two of you ride it together, Frankie moaning against your lips as he finds his own release.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your limbs quivering as little aftershocks zip through them. Frankie holds your limp form easily, dropping lazy kisses over your face and hair while you drift back to the present. Finally, you draw back, a dazed smile tugging at your lips. You blow out a breath along with a tired, please laugh. “That was-”

Frankie chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, pleased to have pleased you. “I know, baby.” His kisses are easy, unhurried, and still make you feel nearly drunk with happiness as the two of you linger lazily in your afterglow.

By now, the sun is truly setting, the horizon taking on a purple hue as the first evening stars begin to appear. Even in Frankie’s arms, you start to shiver as the breeze whispers over your rapidly cooling skin. In a deft move, he tugs at the edge of the old quilt, rolling the two of you into it, creating a cocoon of private warmth. As the sky darkens and more stars appear, the two of you stay wrapped up in each other, making plans for your future in the peaceful space you’re creating together.

[hanoella]

A Matter of Time (1/2)

Pairing: Bucky x healer!Reader

Word Count: Just under 3k

Summary: Healing others took a lot out of you. It was only a matter of time until it was going to be too much on your body.

Warnings: Hardcore angst, blood, grave injury, explicit description of injury, medical life support, needles? still not good at this stuff.

A/N: Another @wkemeup writing challenge prompt! Thanks so much everyone for all the love and support on my first fic!

Prompt: Believing they’re about to die, Character A confesses their feelings for Character B before they pass out.

---

           It was only a matter of time.

          Healing always took so much out of you. One day, it was going to be too much for your body to handle. You hadn’t explicitly told anyone that it drains you. Only the observant picked up on it. It’s the reason why Natasha never asked for your help with minor things. It’s also why Bucky plain refused your help nowadays. He was hyper aware of everything around him and that included you. He always saw the light sheen of sweat forming on your brow, the way you became slightly breathless, and the increase in your pulse. When there was a major injury, he was very well aware of the tell-tale signs of exhaustion.

          The very first time that he let you work on his shoulder, he had asked what it was like out of curiosity.

          “Well… it’s kind of like projecting the pain onto myself. I’ve always been very in tune with my body. So ever since this,” you pause to gesture with your hands. “I can usually tell what the problem is. For example, I can tell that this specific muscle is bothering you,” you say as you gently put pressure on the specific aching tendon in his arm. Bucky winced before feeling the warmth reach deep into his muscles. He let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Turning slightly so that you could partly see his face, he thanked you. For a reason he couldn’t understand, a big smile slowly developed on your face.

          “What?” He asked.

          “Nothing, I’m just glad you finally let me work on it. I can see now that you’ve been… suffering. I’m just happy you’re feeling better.”

          Bucky felt his face flush slightly and turned back to face forward. Amused, you started humming lightly as you continued your work.

           Not that he would admit it but since then, there may have been… other reasons why he is always paying close attention to you. You reminded him of Steve. Somebody who was truly selfless. The one to make the sacrifice play. You may be less on the forefront of the battles but the work and the sacrifices you make for the world were just as big. Bucky found that he admired you for that. It stirred up feelings in his chest that he chose to ignore. It also made him nervous.

           Every time you were needed, he was assigned as your bodyguard. You could handle yourself better than the average civilian, but you wouldn’t consider yourself a fighter. Considering that he preferred to stay out of the spotlight, as well as the fact that his relationship with the public was still rocky, it ended up being the ideal position for him. At first, he was nervous because he was protecting something incredibly important. More so than any jewel or riches that existed. You were someone that could practically bring someone back from the dead. If he couldn’t protect you, he was practically sentencing anyone who would need your help in the future, to death. Certainly, a weighty responsibility that would make anyone nervous.

           It grew to be more than that though. Each time he protected you from a threat, no matter how small, your appreciation made it worth it. Your gratitude, which manifested itself into words, notes, and small gifts, sustained him. He had a hidden drawer filled with smiley faces on post it notes and cute little Tupperware containers that had held homemade sweet treats.

          But his favorite reward was not anything he could bring back to his apartment. It was your touch. The small brushes against his arm grew into touches and squeezes. In turn, it grew into grasping his hand while thanking him and once, a quick hug before you jumped back and apologized. He blushed lightly and looked away, letting you know that it was okay, he didn’t mind. Actually, Bucky would’ve preferred for that moment to have lasted forever. Because when you pulled away, he was suddenly aware of how starved he felt without your touch. That one action had been the gateway to a life filled with longing. He would chase that feeling forever; He could not bear the thought of being without you. That’s what made him nervous. He felt like he couldn’t think clearly anymore around you. He was going to make a mistake.

          It was only a matter of time.

---

          Waiting in the Quinjet with Bucky, you listened for updates on the mission. This time, they had gotten intel about a subbranch of Hydra dedicated to chemical warfare. Fearing another threat like anthrax, you set out to stop it. Everyone was in the building and you were on standby in case any pathogens got loose. Wanda could contain it, and you could eradicate it by healing all of the infected, and then they could disinfect the area. Hopefully, though, it was just a precaution.

           The atmosphere was calm, the lights off since the night sky was clear in the mountains. Moonlight filtering in through the front windshield, you were taking Bucky through the latest playlist you had curated for him when Nat radioed in.

           “We’ve almost got the lab secured. No injuries.”

           “Word.” You radioed back casually as Bucky looked at you confused.

           You were about to explain the response and pull up urban dictionary when Steve radioed back as well.

           “We had a group escape, some guards protecting the head researcher. They’re headed towards the jet. He blocked off the tunnel he used to escape so they’ll get to you before we can reach him.”

           “Copy that.” Bucky radioed back as he got up.

           When you got up to follow him, he gave you a look.

           “Hey, don’t look at me like that! I’m not completely useless. Besides, I think I could take on a lab lackey.”

          “I don’t want you to get caught up in the rest of it.” He responded seriously.

          Looking at him and realizing it wasn’t up for debate, your expression sobered up.

          “Okay. Just be careful, please.”

          He nodded as he heard voices approaching. He headed down the ramp and met them outside of the jet. You peaked out of the opening of the ramp as he took them out one by one. When all five were on the ground, you came out and checked to make sure he was okay.

          “Wow, impressive.” You commented, nudging one of the guys with your foot.

          “Wait,” you said, eyebrows scrunching together. “None of these guys are in a lab coat.”

           Just as he was about to respond, he glanced to the side and quickly pushed you out of the way. The lab coat tackled him where you had just been standing. They went rolling towards the edge of the cliff and you shouted his name.

           “Bucky!”

           He kicked the researcher away from him while still on the ground. As the man started rolling off of the cliff, he grabbed Bucky’s leg. Bucky started scrambling to find a grip as the scientist slid off the cliff, trying to take Bucky with him. You ran over to the edge, grabbing Bucky’s arm to support him as he tried to kick the guard off of his leg.

           “With you out of the picture, the path forward will be successful. Hail Hydra.” He shouted as he grabbed a knife from his pocket and stabbed it into Bucky’s thigh.

           Bucky grunted loudly as the scientist took the knife out and stabbed it back in. You strained to hold him up as he struggled to kick him off, blood streaming down his leg. With one more heavy kick, the man lost his grip and fell down the mountain. At the same time, the force of the kick had loosened the ground under you. There was a crack and you locked eyes with Bucky in panic.

          You cried out as you used all of your strength to bring him back up over the cliff. It started falling away as soon as Bucky had found his footing and he lunged towards the jet while grabbing you. He held you with one arm and kept you from hitting the ground as the other forearm took the impact and held you both up. Looking incredulously at the strength of his arm and then turning your head back to look at him, he gently set you down. You were both breathing heavily as you lifted your head to see the platform you were just standing on was now gone.

           You laid your head back down and closed your eyes in relief. Bucky took the opportunity to take you in. Your hair formed a halo around your face perfectly as it was spread out on the grass and the moon’s light made you look like your skin was glowing. You looked ethereal. Before you got the chance to see him gazing at you, he flopped over onto his back next to you, catching his breath. You looked over at him, the stars now reflected in your eyes, and started laughing lightly. He didn’t know what you were laughing at, but it made him start laughing. As it subsided, you sat up and faced him.

           “Can I please heal those?” You asked, gesturing towards his leg. You had never worked on his thighs and you wanted to make sure he was comfortable.

           He paused, partly out of shyness and partly not wanting to tire you out. Your gaze lingered on the wounds and he saw how much it worried you. He nodded and you leaned over to take a look. As you moved the blood-soaked fabric out of the way, he winced. The wounds were deep and bleeding still. You focused your hands overtop the injury and concentrated. The soft white glow enveloped your hands and his leg. He watched as the bleeding started slowing. After a few moments, the wound started closing and the pain started easing. Bucky tried to get up as soon as it became bearable, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him. Though your breath was slightly strained, the determination in your eyes stopped him and he slowly laid back down. Soon enough, he couldn’t even tell that anything had happened. Once it was completely healed, you then flopped down next to him.

          You both settled, watching the clouds pass in front of the moon and stars. After you caught your breath, you spoke:

           “Bucky Barnes, I owe you my life. Several times over. Thank you.”

           “I think you’re the one who just saved my life, doll.” He said, amused.

           “Ooh, doll. Somebody’s finally warming up to me.” You said, laughter in your tone as you stood up. “Do you call every damsel in distress you save a doll?”

          The answer to that question was “no” but before he could respond, you held your hand out to him. Bucky sat up and accepted it, standing all the way up. As he let go of your hand, you wrapped your arms around his midsection, cheek resting against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Bucky swallowed and then slowly brought his arms around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. Content.

          Unexpectedly, he stiffened. Something was wrong.

          “Bucky?” You called his name hesitantly as you stepped out from his grasp.

          You peered at his face and saw his pupils so blown out that you could barely see the blue anymore.

          “Bucky!?” You shouted as he fell to the ground.

          He couldn’t control anything except for his eyes as muscles all over his body started twitching. You knelt down and panicked, laying your hands against his chest, searching for an explanation. You hovered your hands over his heart and felt it so tight and strained it was barely pumping. You felt as if you were choking, and you weren’t even feeling the full effect.

          Cardiac arrest. How is this possible?

          You racked your brain for explanations. You instantly thought of the researcher. You traced a strange substance you felt through his veins until you found where it originated- from the knife wound.

           Poison.

           At this point, it had reached his heart. What little it was pumping was spreading the poison. It’s completely taken over his blood. You locked eyes with Bucky and saw the pain and panic in his eyes, his clenched jaw, and the tendons in his neck, outlined clearly by the strain. He was suffering.

          No. Much worse.

          He was dying.

          You had to save him.

          You interlocked one hand over top of the other and started doing compressions on his chest. What was normally a soft white light was now blinding. You could see the outline of his heart, and with each pump, the white light travelled an inch down his veins. Slowly, with each thrust, the white light made it further and further out from his heart.

          “What happened!?” Steve shouted. You hadn’t even heard the team come back.

          “We saw the light and came back as fast as we could!” Sam said.

          You shrugged Steve’s hand off your shoulder as you continued compressions.

          “Poison.” You panted.

          Thump.

          “He’s-”

          Thump.

          “Dying.”

          Thump.

          You hadn’t realized you were crying. Tears now spilled freely onto Bucky’s jacket.

          Steve stayed kneeling next to you as the rest of the team stood back, watching in amazement as the light made its way through Bucky’s body.

          Bucky locked eyes with him. He placed a hand on Buck’s head and wiped the sweat off of his brow.

          “You’re gonna be okay, Buck. You’ll pull through.” He said with a small reassuring smile.

          It wasn’t himself he was worried about. He’d never seen you exert yourself this much. He was in so much pain but dying would be better than seeing you go through this.

          You shouted with each thrust, trying to keep yourself from tiring out and stopping. The white light had made its way back around to the heart and Bucky’s entire body started relaxing. You felt relief as he stopped seizing and his eyes started closing. As you wiped the sweat off of your face, you realized your nose was bleeding. Just as you were about to sit back, you froze.

          There’s no heartbeat. You desperately connected yourself back to his body and felt that his organs were shutting down. You started compressions again, this time more vigorously. You were going to have to filter his organs for multiple rounds to reach every part, every cell affected by the poison. You wailed, crying harder as you felt his ribs crack from the force and then heal, only to be cracked again. You were starting to get lightheaded, and your muscles were burning. You could not keep it up for much longer. Desperate to get him back, you call to Steve beside you.

          “Steve. There’s. Adrenaline. In. Jet.” You gasped between each push.

          Steve was so distraught between seeing the both of you that he didn’t move right away. Natasha instinctively ran to the jet and brought it back, digging through it until she found the syringe and uncapped the needle.

          Natasha knew she didn’t need to confirm whether you really wanted to do this.

          “Injecting now.”

          She thrust the needle into your thigh and clicked the top, releasing the spring and shooting the needle into the muscle.

          You wailed again in anguish, fighting through the pain until you felt it hit your heart. The light had turned into a pillar, a beacon in the sky. Your hair once again in a halo, floating around you. The team had to shield their eyes and brace themselves against the force that hit them. You put newfound strength into each push until you could feel that every single drop of poison was filtered out of his body. Finally, Bucky opened his eyes.

          You stopped pushing on his chest.

          “Bucky?” you asked hoarsely.

          He was still coming to but was well enough to sit up. He clutched at his chest and found no pain. He then looked at his hand.

          “How did you-?”

          You fell over.

          Bucky scrambled over to you and pulled you into his arms. You coughed against his chest, bloodying his shirt. He looked at you and then at Steve, mouth agape. Steve could only look sadly back.

          He cradled you and brushed the hair out of your face, blood from your nose and mouth smearing before being covered by the new blood steadily streaming out.

          “I’m sorry,” You said softly, the sleepy look on your face deceivingly masking the gravitas of the situation.

          “Don’t apologize.” He said quietly, pausing to keep the tears from showing. It proved to be pointless as his voice cracked, asking:

          “Why would you do this? You should’ve just let me die.”

          You closed your eyes.

          “Because I love you, Buck. Always have.” You slurred tiredly.

          You whimpered and then stilled.

          Bucky cried while rocking you in his arms.

 ---

Part II

          You opened your eyes to a black room. No, not a room. There were no walls. You glanced down at your hands. You could still see them so it wasn’t dark, just… black.

          “Well, hello.”

          You spun around and saw the source of the voice.

          A serene, beautiful woman who had long dark hair and dressed in a green tunic addressed you.

          “What has brought you here, young one?”

Read Part II Here

[fridayfirefly]

Seeing Ghosts

Read Seeing Ghosts on AO3

Masterlist

For Maribat March Day 12 - Second Chance

For as long as she could remember, Marinette could see ghosts. It wasn't always the ghosts of strangers, though. Her ghost encounters started small. When Marinette was four years old, her parents told her that the family cat, Tikki, had left to live in the countryside. Marinette didn't understand, because Tikki still lived with them. Tikki still meowed for pets, still purred when Marinette pet her, still played with her favorite toy, the laser pointer that Marinette got for her last birthday. It wasn't until two weeks later, that Tom and Sabine sat Marinette down and explained to her that Tikki had died, that she needed to stop pretending that she was still there. Marinette was confused until she saw the way Tikki's paws batted right through her toys, the way she never ate the scraps that Marinette dropped on the floor. Marinette knew two things for sure: Tikki was dead and Marinette could still see her ghost.

For years and years, Tikki was the only ghost that Marinette saw. Then Marinette turned fourteen and Marinette could suddenly see.

They haunted the corners of her eyes, lurking in her periphery. They were just shadows, phantoms until Marinette focused her eyes, and then she could see them clear as day. Ghosts were real and Marinette could see them. Ghosts were real and they were everywhere, an inescapable reality for Marinette.

Quickly, the ghosts learned that Marinette could see them. They followed her around, lingering at the edge of her sight. She could hear them too, little whispers about the baker's daughter, the only person who could see them. However, none of the ghosts were bold enough to approach her. That was the status quo, until one day when Marinette came home from school one day to a ghost lurking in her room.

Marinette gasped as she saw the ghost sitting in the chair at her desk, staring at her with knowing blue eyes. He was her age, which made his brutal injuries all the more horrific to look at. His skull was caved in. His chest was mangled. His skin was shredded and burned. He had been beaten to death, tortured in his final moments.

"I've been told that you can see ghosts," the boy remarked, ignoring Marinette's shock entirely. He spoke in English instead of French, luckily Marinette's class had been learning both languages, so she was able to understand.

Marinette nodded, her throat suddenly unable to get a word out.

"You can hear ghosts, too. Can you bring them back to life?"

Marinette shook her head, clearing her throat as she began to speak in English, "I've never tried, but I don't think so."

"Could you try? For me?" pleaded the boy, the desperation in his expression breaking Marinette's heart.

"I don't even know you," said Marinette, trying to find a way to gently let the boy down. Seeing ghosts was one thing; bringing them back to life was another thing entirely.

"I'm Jason Todd." Jason stuck out his hand and Marinette tentatively shook it.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

It wasn't until Marinette pulled her hand back that she realized that his hand - and now her's - was covered in blood. With a shriek of surprise, Marinette stumbled backward away from Jason. "What did you do?"

"What did I do? What did you do?"

"This has never happened before. Somehow my touch turned you corporeal enough for the blood on your hand to transfer to mine."

Jason glanced down at his hands. "Your fingers left prints in the blood. I've spent hours trying to wash the blood away for months, and you managed to do it by accident."

Marinette stared at her hands, the realization sinking in. Jason Todd was dead and his blood was on her hands. In the blink of an eye, Marinette was running to the bathroom to throw up. She thought she would be able to handle looking at the injuries of the dead, but Jason's wounds suddenly felt personal. Someone beat him to death, beat him until his bones broke and his skull caved him. Marinette heaved into the toilet, unable to cope with the violence of Jason's death.

When Marinette finally lifted her head, she saw Jason lingering at the door, looking guilty. "I'm sorry. I know that this is pretty graphic to look at." Jason gestured towards himself.

Marinette shook her head. "You don't have to apologize." After rinsing her mouth out until the taste of vomit was gone, Marinette turned to Jason. "Come here."

Jason approached her at the sink. With the water still running, Marinette took his hands and held them underneath the water. They both watched as the water turned red, then pink, then ran clear as all of the blood washed off Jason's hands. "Thank you," Jason whispered.

Marinette took a deep breath. "I can't make any promises, but I will do my best to bring you back."

--

Bringing the ghost of a human boy back to life seemed like an impossible task, so Marinette started small: with Tikki the ghost cat. It took two weeks of experimentation before Marinette realized that with enough meditation she could funnel some of her energy into Tikki's ghost. With Jason to help her take notes, Marinette began to figure out the ins-and-outs of resurrection.

The most difficult part was figuring out exactly how much energy Marinette could expend before it took a toll on her physical health. The very first time she gave Tikki energy, Marinette woke up the next morning with bruises littering her body. Tom and Sabine took Marinette to the doctor's where she was diagnosed with anemia and prescribed iron supplements. Jason was so concerned about Marinette's well-being that he refused to let her give any more energy away before she had returned to her full health.

A few weeks after the initial mishap Marinette got back on track. Every morning she would push just a little bit of energy into Tikki. Little by little, Tikki turned from specter to physical being. Then, one morning, as Marinette pushed energy into Tikki, she felt her energy hit a wall. At the same time, Marinette felt Tikki's fur under her hand for the first time in ten years.

"You brought her back!" Jason exclaimed.

Marinette let out a whoop of joy, scaring Tikki, who jumped out of Marinette's lap with a startled meow. Marinette grabbed Tikki back up, able to properly hug her beloved pet for the first time in ten years. "I've got to go show Tikki to my parents. I'm going to tell them that I found her outside."

"You'll need to give her a new name," said Jason. "Might I suggest Alfred."

Tom and Sabine were surprised, which was to be expected. After all, it wasn't every day that their daughter found a doppelgänger of their dead cat in the alley behind the bakery. However, they were quick to rationalize the event, shrugging it off as a strange coincidence. Alfred became a beloved new member of the family.

After her success with Alfred neé Tikki, Marinette turned her attention to Jason. Their very first attempt took place in Marinette's bedroom. Marinette and Jason sat down cross-legged on the floor. Marinette placed her hands on top of Jason's and concentrated. She felt the life force within herself and pressed it forward, through her hands and into his.

"I can feel it," whispered Jason, "I've never felt anything like it before. It's so warm."

The awe in Jason's voice made Marinette feel warm inside as well. "I'm going to start with just a little bit of energy. I don't know how transferring energy to a human will differ from transferring energy to a cat, and I don't want to burn myself out on the very first transfer."

"Do this at whatever pace you need. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Marinette smiled with his reassurance. She took a deep breath, and let the energy flow out of her. When she finally finished, cutting off the flow, she looked back up at Jason and gasped. Jason's broken finger, which had bothered him for weeks, had straightened out. The cut on his collarbone had closed shut. The bruise on his cheekbone had faded. His wounds were already starting to heal.

--

Quickly, Marinette and Jason fell into a routine. Every day after school they would sit down in the back corner of the bakery and Marinette (under the guise of doing her homework) would push more of her life energy into him. It was a slow process. Though Marinette often wished to give Jason just a little more energy every day, to speed up the process, she was constantly aware of the fact that Jason would fuss over her and stop the transfer of energy entirely if he saw any sign of pain or exhaustion on her.

In the months that Marinette had known Jason, he had grown protective over her. Marinette spent most of her time with Jason. He slept in her room on the little couch in the corner, followed her to school, and wore the clothes that she designed for her. Jason changing his clothes was an incredibly embarrassing affair, as the only way for him to be corporeal enough to touch the clothes was for Marinette to be touching him while he did it, leading to averted eyes and blushing on the part of both Marinette and Jason (but it was worth it for Marinette, to saw Jason's relieved smile when he realized that he never had to see the blood-stained clothes that he died in again).

In total, it took eight months from the day that Marinette met Jason to the day that Marinette brought Jason back to life. It started as an uneventful morning. Marinette woke up to her alarm, grumbling as she got ready about how it was inhumane to make teenagers wake up so early. She made herself a coffee while chatting to Jason. They walked to school together, Marinette dodging through the crowded sidewalk while Jason moved straight through people with ease. Marinette got to her desk at school and took a seat next to Alya. Luckily the seat behind Marinette was empty, so Jason sat there when he followed Marinette to school.

Marinette had asked Jason before if it bothered him that he was unable to participate with the rest of the class since they could neither see nor hear him. Jason claimed that he didn't mind. Despite that, if Jason ever whispered comments or questions about the lesson into Marinette's ear, she always made sure to ask the teacher, even if she already knew the answer.

Sitting in on lessons had the additional benefit of teaching Jason French. Marinette did her best to teach him the basics, but immersion was the best teacher - after eight months of hearing and speaking only French, Jason was fluent in the language. Marinette often praised him for his quick learning, which was how she learned that Jason was prone to blushing when he was complimented. Jason always grumbled when Marinette pointed it out, but Marinette found it adorable.

Once school was over on that fateful day, Marinette and Jason walked home together. Marinette set her backpack down at her usual table, sat down, and got to work. It had become an easy routine: put in her headphones and play some calming music, find a quiet place within her brain, and focus on the feeling of energy welling up inside of her. Then take Jason's hands, concentrate on that energy, and push it through her arms and into him. Controlling the direction of the energy was easy - it was controlling the rate that was the difficult part. It moved slowly at first, then all at once it flowed faster than Marinette can control, and it was a race to slow it down before it could all drain out of her.

That day, however, just as the energy started to speed up, the flow of energy abruptly cut off before Marinette even had the chance to react.

"Why did it stop?" asked Jason, looking confused.

The day had been so long coming that Marinette could hardly believe what had happened. "I have nothing left to give you. You're alive again, Jason."

Jason stared at her, wide-eyed. "Are you sure?"

"I'll go test it." Marinette jumped out of her seat and raced towards the front of the bakery, heading for Tom, who was behind the counter. "Papa, can I get a plate of macaroons for me and my friend?"

Tom glanced over at Jason. "Who is he? I don't think I've ever seen him here before."

"He's a foreign exchange student," Marinette lied easily. "His name is Jason."

"Here's a plate for you and Jason." Tom handed her a plate, piled high with macaroons and other sweets.

"I might take Jason and show him around Paris, once we finish our homework. Is that alright?"

"Sure, sweetheart. Just make sure you're home before dinner."

"Of course," chirped Marinette. She made her way back to her table with a bounce in her step. "My papa could see you. You're real."

In that moment, Jason looked lost. He glanced down at his hands, flesh and blood once more. "What do I do now?"

"You're alive again. You can do whatever you want."

Jason took a deep breath. "I've been gone from this world for so long. I want to go home."

Marinette tried not to let the fact that her heart was breaking show on her face. "I have enough birthday money saved up to buy you a plane ticket. You might have trouble getting on a plane without any identification, but I'm sure we can come up with a solution."

For a moment, Jason looked upset. Then, Marinette saw on his face as a realization dawned on him. "I didn't mean alone. Marinette, I want you to come with me."

--

There was no sugar-coating it: Marinette's parents were going to kill her. The plane was half-way across the Atlantic Ocean and Marinette's phone was turned off. There was no way to check, but she was certain that her parents were already sending her frantic texts. By the time the plane landed in Gotham, Tom and Sabine would surely have already called the police.

Marinette could only hope that her and Jason's fake IDs would hold up against the Gotham Airport security officers. While seventeen-year-old Jason could easily pass for nineteen, the age listed on the fake ID for Jasper Townsend, Marinette was worried that she looked young enough to cause suspicion. The age on Marie Davis's ID needed to be eighteen in order to get Marinette onto the plane, so whether she liked it or not she had to look eighteen. Resigned to her lies, Marinette put on a heavy face of makeup and wore three-inch heels on the international flight. It was a little funny, in an ironic way, that her heels had one inch for each year she needed to make up for.

Marinette was still confused about how Jason managed to get them fake IDs in the first place. Jason just shrugged and said that he knew a guy who owed him a favor. It was a side of Jason that Marinette hadn't ever seen before, a side of him that she was deeply curious about.

They had gotten on the plane just as the sun was setting. Marinette had sent her parents one last text message, telling them that she might be a little late. It was the understatement of the century. Marinette had never lied to her parents like that before. All of her past lies had been little things - lying about the number of macaroons she ate, or how late she stayed up the night before - but never a lie about her personal safety. The guilt was killing Marinette. It made her feel sick to her stomach.

Jason placed his hand (flesh and blood) on Marinette's shoulder. "I'm sorry that I'm making you do this."

"I'm not sorry. I would never make you do it alone."

Marinette could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of Jason as their plane landed in Gotham. "I'm assuming you know where we're going next. Should we rent a car?" she asked once they cleared security (miraculously, no one looked too closely at Marinette's feeble attempt at a disguise. Marinette was glad to switch out her heels for flats and wash off the makeup in the airport bathroom).

Jason shook his head. "We don't need to rent one. He always keeps a car at the airport just in case someone's flying in."

Marinette wasn't sure who he was supposed to be, but Jason had been reticent to share any information about his past, and Marinette wasn't going to pressure him. Jason had been beaten to death, after all. There was a lot of trauma in his past and Marinette wasn't going to force him to share it with her until he was ready.

Jason led her through to the VIP parking lot to a luxury black sedan. He reached underneath the car, feeling at the underside until he pulled out a key. "Bruce keeps a key taped to the underside."

"That seems... irresponsible." Marinette was delicate with her words. Jason had been tense since the plane landed, like a loaded gun. She didn't want to bring up anything that might set him off.

"He also has a tracker planted in the car," Jason remarked offhandedly.

Marinette rolled her eyes at that remark, unable to keep walking on eggshells around the topic of Jason's family. "Irresponsible and paranoid. That's an interesting combination."

Jason laughed. "Just wait until you meet Bruce in person. I promise you, none of what I could tell you about him would ever live up to the real deal."

They got into the car, Jason in the driver's seat and Marinette in the passenger's. Jason's driving was a little rusty at first (which was understandable, given that he hadn't driven in nearly a year), but by the time he got on the highway, it was like he never left the driver's seat.

"Do you think that your family will believe you when you tell them that I brought you back to life?" asked Marinette, her voice quiet. The closer she and Jason got to Jason's house, the more questions Marinette had. It had taken her weeks to rationalize the fact that she could see ghosts, and she was the one seeing them. She couldn't imagine how Jason's family would react.

"Bruce was the one who found my body. There wasn't any faking that. I think he'll believe you."

"We've never talked about what happened to you. I- Is it safe for you to go home?"

Jason nodded, eyes on the road as he pulled off the highway onto a winding road. "Bruce did everything he could to save me, but he was too late. I was there for the funeral. I watched him mourn. I think... I think the reason I never passed on was because he never got over my death, never stopped feeling guilty. I wanted to pass on. I wanted to tell Bruce that I didn't blame him. I went and found you so that you could pass on the message for me. But then, when you could touch me, when you took the time to wash the blood off of my hands, I realized that I might be able to tell Bruce myself. I realized that I could have a second chance. I realized how badly I wanted a second chance, because a second chance at life meant that I had a chance with you."

Marinette blushed, looking over at Jason. "You know that doesn't matter to me. I wouldn't care if you were dead or alive."

With a snort of amusement, Jason said, "You might want to rephrase that."

Marinette rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. I liked you before you were corporeal. Human or ghost, you're my friend, Jason, and that's never going to change."

"I know that, but I like being alive better. I like being able to hold your hand for real."

Before Marinette could say anything in reply, the car turned. Marinette was too shocked to speak when she saw the size of the house at the end of the driveway. "Welcome to Wayne Manor, Marinette."

Marinette got out of the car first, smoothing down the fabric of her skirt and running her fingers through her hair. She hoped that she looked presentable, even if no one would be looking at her once they saw the resurrected Jason. "Are you coming?"

Jason nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Yeah. I'm ready." Jason got out of the car and slipped his hand (flesh and blood) into Marinette's, and even though questions and doubts were swirling through Marinette's head in a whirlwind of anxiety, she knew that as long as she could hold Jason's hand, everything would be okay.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[raindrops-and-tubestops]

Random prompts - KyaLin: 14.  “Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming.”

Here you go Nonnie, I hope you enjoy! 💕

“Where is she?” Kya wasn’t wasting time.

The words were out of her mouth as soon as she ducked around the corner of the building. She crouched in front of the younger detective, waiting patiently for his his answer. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

Mako looked up in surprise, trying to find a frequency but getting only static from the radio on his hip. He had been pinned down at this corner for the better part of fifteen minutes.

How in the hell had Kya managed to get through?

As if wanting to answer his question, the Master Healer leant around the wall drawing water from the pouch at her hip. With a flick of her hands, that was probably more complicated than he was able to see, she sent a torrent of water out into the skirmish. He grinned as he heard screams and what sounded like bodies thudding against the stone of the street.

Looking back at him, she winked conspiratorially.

“Mako, honey,” she tried again, her voice softer, “where is she?”

He didn’t have to question who she was talking about. He could see the worry behind the blue eyes, all though anyone else only would have seen the determination. Kya needed to get to the Chief, Mako had a bad feeling about all this.

This whole debacle started twenty minutes before the end of shift. A call came over the emergency radio at the precinct that there was an attack on the new clinic just west of the new spirit portal. The Triads were trying to make a statement to the Chief of Police as well as the rest of the city.

They were able to establish a blockade before the fighting reached the inside of the clinic. The doors, front and back were barricaded. The patients and healers inside were safe, some were out here on the front lines working to heal the fallen officers, Kya included.

Mako swallowed, his throat dry and sticky, “The last I saw her, she was swinging on her cables in that direction.”

Kya followed his finger as it pointed across the street, landing on the roof tops of the alley way directly across from them. He watched her run through some things in her mind, maybe calculating the risks of crossing through the battle raging in the street.

As they peeked around the corner, it was clear there were no signs of either side stopping. There was fire flying through the air only to be intercepted by water from an unknown source, pieces of the street and the buildings rippled as they were manipulated by earthbenders from both sides.

Metal from nearby stalls and storefronts groaned as it was manipulated by officers, quickly shaping into flat sheets, encasing the wounded or protecting those volleying off counter attacks.

If she hadn’t been looking for it, she would have missed the shink of cables being released from their casing and subsequently Lin swinging across the street. She came to rest on the side of the clinic, one hand wrapped around the cables imbedded in the wall and the other gripping the hand hold she created on the brick.

Kya had a momentary flashback of when they were younger and Lin used to grip the walls of the Air Temple Island dormitories in the same manner…it never failed to freak her mother out. She chuckled quietly to herself, feeling the exact moment that Mako spied the Chief as well. The metalbender seemed to be looking for something, she was scanning the foray, clearly thinking she was up high enough to not be noticed.

But someone had noticed her…someone was silently curling a water tendril along the wall, not quite touching the stone. She wouldn’t be able to feel it.

Before Kya could call out, she watched as the tendril wrapped around Lin’s ankle, the look of shock on her face would have been comical in any other circumstance. The Chief was ripped from the side of the wall, disappearing from view behind a large pile of wreckage, her cables hanging lifeless, still attached to the wall.

The next thing Mako knew Kya was running, and then he was too, trying desperately to keep up with her impressive pace. He guessed it was the adrenaline and worry that made her so reckless, but at least he was there. The waterbender was able to doge most of the attacks flung her way as she rushed towards where the Chief was last seen, but Mako did fling the occasional blast of fire, he had to make sure she stayed safe at least.

Kya rounded the side of the wreckage where they had seen Lin disappear, tripping and landing in the water spread across the ground. She managed to keep her footing and pushed off the ground with the palm of her hands. She stopped short and if he hadn’t been paying attention, Mako would have slammed into the back of her.

The Chief was on the ground, lying extremely still..too still, the only thing that kept Kya from dropping to her knees was that she could see her chest rising and falling. Slowly, but it was a win nonetheless. Next to her, with a metal spike sticking out of their chest, was the waterbender Kya assumed had ambushed Lin. They weren’t moving, not even their chest.

Mako gripped her shoulder and brought her back to herself, the surroundings coming back into focus. They sprinted the rest of the way, Kya dropping to her knees next to Lin, barely registering the sting of her battered skin or the sound of Mako dragging the body away from them.

She pulled water from the flask at her hip and began to assess the younger woman’s injuries. A dislocated shoulder, a bruise on her right cheek discoloring the skin around her scars, a possible concussion…not sure how bad that was and two cracked ribs. She would be ok.

“Thank the spirits,” Kya mumbled, hanging her head in relief,

Mako was now crouched beside her, the blue glow of the healing water casting shows on all their faces. He would scan the surrounding area and then return his gaze to Kya and the Chief every so often.

Kya released the catches of Lin’s uniform, knowing just how unamused her wife was going to be when she regained consciousness and found herself in just her uniform pants and under tank. Kya stifled the absurd laugh that bubbled up, practically choking on it.

As the water was concentrated on her left side, the ribs, Kya could feel the awareness returning to her partner, her heartbeat picking up slightly. That was all the warning she got before Lin sat up, her forehead barely missing Kya’s.

“Whoa,” Kya intoned softly, Mako behind Lin instantly, offering her support, “take it easy Chief.”

Lin winced and moved to grab her head, her shoulder and ribs protesting violently.

“What the hell happened,” she groaned.

Kya was now focused on Lin’s head, trying to relive the pressure that was causing her partner to be slightly nauseous. The healer glared at the metalbender, Mako cowered in sympathy.

“Lin, what was Aunt Suki’s main rule in combat?”

The Chief looked at Kya in confusion, whether from the change in topic or from the head injury, Mako wasn’t sure.

The glare deepened, “What was it Lin?”

The anger in Kya’s voice immediately snapped the metalbender out of her daze. They connected eyes, snapping blue to sheepish green, and Lin was reminded of all the times she had seen those eyes. Most notably when they were caught sneaking back onto the island as children and when she did something particularly stupid. Kya may have taken after Uncle Aang in the Air Nomad sense, but her temper was all Aunt Katara.

“Keep track of your surroundings,” Lin sighed as the pressure in her head finally lifted.

“Yes Lin,” Kya continued, voice hard as she moved to the shoulder, “and what didn’t you do?”

Lin followed the movements and relented, “Keep track of my surroundings.”

Mako stifled a chuckled at the clearly admonished Chief…they needed to bring in Master Kya more often he thought.

Kya huffed, “Exactly, now this is going to hurt.”

As soon as she gave the warning Lin grit her teeth, sucking in a breath as Kya quickly reset the joint. The pop making Lin sick to her stomach, the searing pain keeping her from losing it completely. The ache was soon replaced by the cool feel of the healing water, a relief that Lin didn’t know she needed.

“I had the situation under control,” she bit out.

Kya went still, eyebrow raised in a challenge, and Lin had the good sense to back down slightly.

“Before or after that waterbender plucked you off the side of the building like a ripe moon peach?”

The Chief’s cheeks colored slightly, as she looked down at her lap. She started when she realized she was no longer wearing her uniform. The glare directed towards Kya was one for the books, she was not pleased.

Kya huffed indignantly, she could really give a shit right now.

Lin leant forward, taking some of her weight off Mako as the detective went to stand. She nodded towards the boy, a quiet thanks that he returned as he settled into a cautious stance.

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming,” Lin relented.

Kya didn’t respond, just kept to her task, working to heal her wife. She was furious…and scared, Lin could sense the residual adrenaline in Kya’s system.

She inclined her head, trying to catch her wife’s eyes as she worked on the shoulder joint. When Kya finally gave in and looked up, Lin could see the sheen of tears just along the water line of her lashes. She cursed herself.

Lin leant forward and cupped the back of Kya’s head, their foreheads connecting, the air between them charged with emotion. She could feel Kya shaking, everything in the last hour finally catching up with her.

“I’m ok,” she reassured the healer, her voice gentle, “I’m sorry and I’m ok.”

Their lips met tentatively, soft at first but slowly growing desperate. The need to feel, to know that each other was alright, winning out over decorum. Mako turned slightly, giving them as much privacy as their situation could allow.

New Prompt List 💜

PS: the prompts can be original too 😊

[imagineyourworld]

All Grown Up

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (Both are adults now)

Warnings: References to trauma, bullying, war 

Summary: When Madame Pomfrey falls ill Draco Malfoy, who only just finished medical school, offers to help out. Little did he know that he’d meet the one girl he’s ever had a crush on again, the one girl he couldn’t have when he was younger. 

-------

Wandering the halls of Hogwarts again had to be one of the strangest sensations in Draco Malfoy’s short life. There were so many things, so many memories, connected to these hallowed halls, both good and bad. He had spent his childhood just a few floors down from the room he now occupied, some of his happiest hours have been on the field that was now right outside his window.  “I take it you found your way here with ease”, Professor McGonagall greeted Draco as he entered the infirmary. The blond nodded as he looked around. Though the room was now clean and empty except for him and the headmaster he could very well imagine what it might have looked right during and after the battle of Hogwarts. He didn’t like to think back to that day, though he was sure no one did, shame filling him every time he remembered what had lead to the final moments of the war.  “I’ll leave you to get settled then”, McGonagall said. She began to walk towards the door, but as she passed Draco she put a hand on his shoulder, both the touch and the look in her eyes much gentler than what he felt he deserved, especially from this woman who has been through so much, who he had opposed at every given chance when he was a boy.  “Welcome back, Mr Malfoy”, she said with a smile before she finally left the infirmary.  It was that smile that remained in his mind as he began to sort through the shelves and medical cabinets to familiarize himself with everything. After a quick inspection he came to the realization that Madame Pomfrey kept everything in perfect order and that he would have no problems finding whatever he may need. Just as he sat down, happy to have some time to himself for now, the door burst open and two girls,  first year twins by the looks of it, entered the room. Both were in uniform, one of them sporting Ravenclaw colours and the other Gryffindor, but that wasn’t what caught Draco’s attention. It was the one girl’s left leg, which she tried not to put any weight on as her sister escorted her to the nearest bed.  “Be careful now, Jamy”, another voice called out. A voice that was quite familiar to Draco, though he couldn’t quite place it. But for the time being he didn’t pay it any mind, instead focusing on the two girls.  “What happened?”,  he asked.  The girls didn’t hesitate to leap into an elaborate story of how the one with the broken leg had said something to someone, who had then hexed her. It took a lot of concentration for Draco to follow the story, but about halfway through it he gave up to have a closer look at the girl’s leg instead.  “Jamy, you can return to class now”, the same voice from earlier said.  Only when Draco finally looked away from the girl’s leg did he realize who exactly that voice belonged to.  “(Y/N)”, he whispered, hating how out of breath his voice suddenly sounded. But how was he supposed to keep his cool when you were right there in front of him? You, the only girl Draco has ever crushed on, the one he might have fallen for at some point, the one he always knew he could never have.  “Draco Malfoy? What are you doing here? Where is Madame Pomfrey?”, you asked in return. There was no malice in your voice, though Draco knew he would have deserved it.  “She’s ill, I’m here to help out until she feels better.”  Though Draco’s focus was once again on the girl he could see you nod out of the corner of his eye.  It wasn’t broken, the hex had merely caused a muscle to be twisted, nothing that couldn’t be helped with another spell, which he was quick to cast.  “Your leg should be fine now, but I’ll give you a lotion in case there’s any lingering pain, alright?”, he asked the girl, still crouching down to be at eye level with her. Her eyes flitted over to you before she nodded, which made Draco smile. You had always managed to make others feel safe, to make others trust you and your judgement, which is probably also why you have never shown any interest in Draco whatsoever, because you were a good judge of character and he just wasn’t good, not for anyone.  He tried not to look at you while he walked over to a cabinet to look for a small pint of pain relieving lotion. Thanks to Madame Pomfrey’s system it only took him a few moment to find it and with a smile he handed it to the girl.  “Be careful with that leg, though, don’t put your entire weight on it just yet.”  The girl just nodded before hurrying out of the infirmary, trying her best to do as Draco had told her.  “So you’re a doctor now?”  Your voice made Draco turn around. A gentle smile was on your lips, lips that were still as kissable as ever.  “Yes, I... I thought it might be time to heal and save people for a change”, he said, a sadness taking over his voice. Quickly he shook his head to rid himself of bad thoughts and memories, now was not the time for those. “And you’re a professor?”  You nodded, your smile having grown at his last words.  “I am. I never really wanted to leave Hogwarts anyway, so I decided to stay.”  Now Draco nodded, not really knowing what to say. What did one say to the girl of one’s dreams? Only then did he realize that it was still true, you had been the one for him then, and apparently you still were now. The only thing that has changed was that his father was no longer around to silence him the moment he mentioned the pretty muggleborn he had seen aboard the Hogwarts train for the first time, and then every day after. From the very beginning part of Draco knew that, if solely based on his upbringing, he should have been just as disgusted with your heritage as his father was, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued by you anyway. It went so far that he came to the realization that it didn’t matter who or what your parents were, maybe being a muggleborn was even part of the reason Draco was so interested in you, he grew to like you, was even beginning to love you, but he knew he could never tell you. Not only because of his father, but because of who he was and what he did on a daily basis. What he said and did to people who, in many aspects, were just like you. “Well, I should get back, I think I’ve left my class alone for too long as it is”, you told him, slowly turning towards the door. But before you could turn all the way Draco opened his mouth again, making you stop in your tracks.  “Maybe, after you’ve finished your classes for the day, we could spend some time together. I think there are a lot of things I should tell you”, Draco said. Though he wasn’t quite sure whether he meant to tell you about what had happened during the war and why he had acted to way he did or about his feelings for you, both of which he felt like you deserved to know. But that was a problem he’d deal with later, right now all he needed was a simple ‘yes’ from you.  “I’d like that”, you said. Though there was a smile on your face as you said it, Draco couldn’t figure out what you were actually thinking. Maybe it was for the best, he shouldn’t get his hopes up.  “I’ll come back here in two hours and then you can tell me everything that’s on your mind”, you said as you walked closer to Draco, closer than you had been before. Only when you were right in front of him did you stop, though you still leaned a bit closer until your lips finally connected with his cheek in a soft kiss. Before Draco knew it you had stepped back again, a sly smile on your lips.  “I’ll see you later, Doctor Malfoy”, you called out as the door closed behind you.  Draco sighed. Filling in for Madame Pomfrey might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. 

-------

I haven’t written for any Harry Potter characters in forever! But since it’s September 1st and therefore a new term starts at Hogwarts I wanted to take you to this magical school for a few moments. 

I hope you liked this short little fic of adult Draco. 

[alixdelcourt]

You're way too precious to me

Ft. Katsuki Bakugou, Eijirou Kirishima, Denki Kaminari x female reader

Genre : angst, deep and dark angst (I had hard time writing this) and slight comfort in the end

WC and warnings : 2.7 k / Angst, dark mood, hurt feelings, depression, emotional burn out, light mention of self-harm, crying and feeling down. Please be careful reading this, and skip it if you're insecure or having mental troubles, I struggled writing this and felt hurt myself, so please be careful.

Note : I hope that I achieved your request okay, @d3nk1x, and that it's what you requested for. I discovered that I am not that comfortable with angst... I definitely prefer fluff or smut. This isn't for me... So maybe it's not well writen. Please let me know.

Dating katsuki Bakugou is quiet a big deal, and not always an easygoing relationship. All the anger, frustration and brutality he bottles inside of him prevents bakugou from being a perfect boyfriend. But, whatever ! Who needs perfection anyway ? When you felt in love with him, you were aware of all these matters. You love him just the way he is. After all, love is for the better and for the worse, so you always find your way forgiving his roughness and harsh attitude.

But, lately, you find yourself patching up your own feelings and emotions because of him. You have more and more trouble taking the blows, and some wounds of yours refuse to heal. So you slightly change, trying to give him hints of your unhappiness, of your insecurities. But in vain…

Today has been particularly tough, and you just feel… down. You need whatever comfort you can find, and you’re craving for your boyfriend affection. But today hasn’t been a good day for him as well. He lost all his training sessions to Kirishima and Deku, and he’s pissed off. So when you came up to him and asked for a few caring, he just… erupts. You were a sadness soused combustible, and his fury sparks caught fire on you so well. He poured all of his raging emotions on you, and the words he spat to you were like sharp knives cutting your skin and letting all of the pain seep deep into you.

… You just wanted some cuddles. Was it too much to ask ? Just a pinch of affection to sprinkle on your illness. An ounce of empathy. And here you are, buried under your blanket, fist clenched, closed eyes crying, and all your body shaking because of the your hurted feelings. His words keep streaming in your mind, destroying you a little more every time they start again.

“Stop clinging at me like you do ! Look at you, you seem so miserable right now… It really pisses me off.

“Please… Katsuki… I need you… I need your-”

“ F*ck off ! You’re always so whiny ! Such a crybaby ! Stop being so dependant and clingy ! I am not your baby-sitter !”

“But… But…”

“I said f*ck off! Get the hell away, and leave me alone ! I can’t stand crybabies like you !”

The message has been perfectly received. It’s printed in capital letters behind your eyelids.

You felt asleep, exhausted from crying, and when you wake up, you couldn’t tell how much time did you spent laying there. But it doesn’t matter. You don’t feel able to get out of your bed, so you just stay here, in the warm fluffy embrace. Whenever you feel some thought triggering your mind, you bite your flesh hard and the concentrate on the pain ‘til you forgot why you started doing this. After a few times, you couldn’t even think of a straight complete sentence.

When the blanket was roughly removed from over you, you didn’t even blink. With a quite long delay, you realize that you should feel the cold air, the disturbing noise and even his touch on your skin… But you’re like under anesthetic. Which makes Bakugou freaks out. He tries to make you react, slaps you, screams your name, while shouting for someone to help him. You’re conscious, but you can’t feel anything. You should probably answer him, but why would you do ? seeing him shouting at you, you think that he’s still mad at you… Why did he come for you then ? If he doesn’t want you anymore, why is he here ? You don’t understand what’s happening.

Maybe because you don’t realize that from his point of view, you seem… dead. Your body is cold and your eyes are empty. The other students called for Aizawa, and recovery Girl came to auscultate you as well. But you didn’t notice, lost in the fog inside your head.

And when you “woke up” from this choc state, you was kind of surprised by a caring boyfriend of yours, who hugs you tight and cuddles you all day long, apologizing and whispering to not ever do this to him again. And when you asked “do what ?”, he goes like “nevermind”, before holding you close. It’s Kirishima that told you what happened. You went through an emotional burn out for a few days, and Bakugou was literally freaking out and feeling guilty because of what he told you. He didn’t mean to hurt you like this, he was mad and didn’t think of the consequences of what he said. He promised he won’t act like this again. He felt like he lost you, and it was unbearable. You’re way too precious for him.

Your relationship with Eijirou Kirishima is based on routines. You both like the fact that you follow a settled pattern that time made up for you. Just small little things that remind you two of the love and affection you share. For example, you wait for him in the morning to go to your classes together, and he waits for you to tidy up your things after class before reaching the cafeteria. He kisses you for goodnight, and you play with his hair for him to fall asleep.

Loving him is easy and sweet. And even if you have arguments, because every healthy relationship goes through some arguments, both of you try to find a way or a solution to deal with it. And lately these times, you just feel so in love with him, you literally can’t help but kissing him all day, spinning around him like a light feather carried by the breath of love between you two.

It’s quiet late at night, and you were in his room. You always end up in his room after dinner for some cuddles and maybe watch a movie together. Then you two just do your own things until you’re getting sleepy and head to bed with the goodnight routine of yours. Like chilling, each one on his own but together. Doesn’t makes a lot of sense, but it works for you two, so you just don’t mind. Tonight, you two had to study for the next math exam that was coming. And it was difficult. Math gives you headache, and hopefully Eijirou is a patient tutor. He kept repeating for you until you got the point. You’re proud of you, and so is he, but you ended the study session a little bit delayed, and he was late to his online gaming sessions with Denki and Sero. He let you finish the last exercise on your own and connect quickly to catch up with the boys.

You read a book, but can’t concentrate with all the math in your head. You can hear your boyfriend gaming and he looks way too attractive to you with his hair flattened by his headphones, tongue sticking out because he’s focused on his game. You smile before reaching his lap. You comfortably sit on it and hug him to express your affection. This is a way better position for reading.

But you still can’t concentrate. Not with your body pressed against him, with you’re *ss on his crotch, with all the dirty thoughts running in your mind. You throw away your annoying book, and start kissing the redhead’s neck. He smells so good… A mix of his wooden scent gel shower and the bitter fresh scent of his aftershave. You get pretty excited, imagining this perfume ruined by his sweat while pounding you. Picturing all these thoughts and imagining Eijirou’s lips on your, you’re getting really needy, aren’t you ? You can’t help but move your hips and rub your lower part on his. Maybe this will get him hard and he’ll be just as needy as you. Maybe you could sleep over here tonight…

But no. Your moving just annoys him. He can’t focus properly on what he’s doing while you wriggle around and sigh on his skin. He can’t hear you moan, he can’t see the desire in your eyes, nor notice the excitation you’re in. He tries to push you off his lap, but you keep trying to get him out of his play. Game over appeared in bloody letters on his screen, and he removes his headphones. When you try to frame his cheeks in order to kiss him, he pushes you away.

“You’re really annoying, you know that ?”

“You say that only because you lost… Come here, let me comfort you”

“No. Not when you’re the reason why I lost. Anyway, I am not in the mood.”

He keeps avoiding your touches and attempts to lay him on bed.

“What is it, babe ? Why don’t you want me to touch you ?”

“I just don’t want to right now. Can’t you understand it ? Or do I need to keep repeating myself like for everything else ?”

This was like a cold shower. It cancelled every single drop of excitement you had. You clench your teeth.

“Okay. I get it.”

And you reach you own room, without any of you wish each other good night. While turning in bed, you couldn’t tell if you’re angry, or disappointed, or sad, or furious, or… You’re hurt. This was an emotion injury you couldn’t explain. And you had no clue even after thinking about this all night. You didn’t manage to sleep, and you were totally depressed and out of your plate on the morning. Like totally lost. You did nothing right. Since breakfast, you kept trudging and having trouble answering even basic questions like “Can you please hand me the butter ?”. This day has passed at a maddening speed, and you can’t tell what happened most of the times. For example, you know that you took an exam today, but you can’t say if it was difficult or not, if you completed it or not. Basically, today you were a zombie.

You desperately needed some sleep. So, in the middle of the dinner, while Momo was pouring you some tea she made for you because you seemed tired, you stood up and went to your room, mumbling a good night by habit. You just crumble on your bed.

“Pebble… Pebble, are you okay ?”

You didn’t even notice that Eijirou followed you, really worried about you. He snugs in the bed with you and hold you close. You two have a difficult conversations when you tell him about all the confusion and the pain you feel. He apologizes and hold you close all night long. And he’ll never act like this again, because the way you were today was definitely not okay for him. From missing his morning kiss to looking like a zombie, nothing was okay. He will watch his mouth to not hurt you anymore because you’re way too precious to him.

Denki has an outgoing personality, no doubt on it. You two are like day and night, you complement yourselves pretty well. He was a loud troublemaker and you are a quite and peaceful person. And these differences are precious to you, but sometimes it’s too complicated to handle.

He’s a loving boyfriend, but he can’t help himself. Always too cheerful, too playful, with anyone. He gets really flirty with any girl that talks to him, even if you’re right there, watching. He tells you to don’t mind, because he doesn’t do this on purpose. It’s just like… like a game. He gets female and even male’s attention, and he feels confident acting out like that. So you just accept it. Have you even got the choice ?

You don’t notice it anymore. His random smirks to Mina, his winks to Jirou, “innocent” sexual implied comments to Toru… Daily, there’s always someone to flirt or to tease with. And it’s the same with random strangers.

Like today. Well… You have to admit that this waitress is really pretty with her bright shiny smile and her disheveled hair buns. And, yeah, maybe she was attractive when she was wrapping this loose lock of her hair around her finger, shyly blushing when Denki was complimenting her and obviously undressing her with his gaze. And of course you can’t deny the fact that she is sexy. Certainly, all this shit is true. But today was supposed to be your day.

Denki and you are on date, he brought you to this fancy place to celebrate your date anniversary. This is all about you and him being in love. So, just for once, you want him to concentrate this flirty attitude of his on you. Was it too much to ask ? But you accept it, once again. He did all the conversation during the meal, and you barely enjoyed the dishes. You just wait for the end of this date to leave the place and the waitress behind.

But your patience has its owns limits. That were crossed far away when the b*tchy waitress, who purposely ignored you all the time, bent over and touched your boyfriend’s lap, giving him the dessert’s menu. You see red all over you, furious and mad, expecting Denki to react, but he just chuckles and light touches her forearm. What was this ? He never allowed anyone to act like this with him. Or maybe you just didn’t know…

“Thank you, miss, but I think that we don’t need you anymore. We’re leaving, could you bring the bill ?”

She stutters a bit, looking at Denki, who was too chocked to react.

“Aren’t we eating the dessert ? Why do you want to leave ?”

“I don’t feel comfortable, I just wanna go home please”

“And I want a dessert, could you please wait ?”

“No, I can’t. I am leaving. You can have a dessert if you want, you can even have the waitress with it as well, I don’t care.”

“Okay, see you later, then. I’ll try to have fun and enjoy, since you don’t know how to do so”

You furiously grab your handbag and run out the restaurant. You don’t stop running until you’re home. Your shaking hands and teary eyes had some trouble opening the door. You crumble against the stubborn closed door and cry yourself out. You can’t hold it. Long sobs, breathless coughs and heartbreaking screams. All this noise brought your neighbor, Sero, to check out what’s happening.

“(Y/N) ?! Are you hurt ? What happened ? What’s wrong ?”

You couldn’t tell him, your anxious cries preventing you from talking straightly. He assured himself that you’re not injured and helped you get in your bedroom. You can’t tell what he was doing around you, your cries slowly turning into a huge panic attack. Curled in your bed, you rock yourself back and forth, cutting yourself out from reality. You couldn’t hear Sero calling Denki and asking him to come home. You couldn’t hear your boyfriend freaking out when he heard you crying like that on phone. You couldn’t know that he was running towards home, feeling guilty and culpable, his sunshine having a mental breakdown because of him.

“Sunshine ? Sunshine! Look at me ! I am right there”

Denki’s voice find its way to your ears, to your mind, to your heart. You hold on to him like a lifeline, trying to calm down. He thanks Sero, who left, before joining you on bed. He breaths heavily for you to focus on his chest going up and down slowly. You imitate his breaths until you can think straight.

“Thank you, Denki… I am sorry, I-”

“I am the one who have to apologize. I acted like a piece shit back there. I am sorry, I didn’t know you were jealous. I shouldn’t act like this, I am sorry. You know, babe, that you’re the one and only. You know it, right ?”

“No… I don’t…”

“I don’t care about anyone else. You’re the one that I love. And if it makes you feel insecure, I’ll stop flirting like that, okay ? It hurts me to see you like this. I don’t want you to be hurt, you’re way too precious to me, babe.”

________________________________

Hey ! I don't have much to say... Hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to request anything else (angst is still okay but I don't handle it well so prepare yourself to be disappointed ^^')

[evanescentreverie]

Pink Camellia (SKZ Bang Chan)

Your eyes stared lifelessly across your room, the feeling of numbness spreading throughout your body as time passes by. You couldn't find it in yourself to cry anymore, your resolve not allowing you to do so anymore. You wanted to stop, stop everything from working, stop yourself from feeling the pain. You knew that it would hurt but you didn't expect it to hurt this much. It was suffocating, the disease that you had obtained. Painful, even. You curled into a ball as you clutched your chest, voice hoarse from all the coughing you did earlier. You glanced around you, flowers from your earlier coughing session surrounding you.

You felt another session coming up as you coughed, closing your eyes, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the feeling of nothingness. So you greatly embraced it, like a gift after hardships. You could feel your breaths shallowing, your heart slowly losing its rhythm. You let out a small smile before coughing, flowers of pink escaping your mouth.

"(Y/n)!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You never really knew how it started or when exactly it started. All you knew that every time you saw him, the cliche things would occur. Heartbeat quickening, a knot in your stomach, a feeling of nervousness coursing through your body, and all of that. You didn't remember how but you knew exactly why.

You had been friends with him for a while now, the two of you meeting during trainee days. While you had given up on becoming an idol, you had grown in another industry. You became a producer, and at times, an album designer. You had been there to help design their albums, as well as give your comments on their songs whenever needed. You visited their company more often than you could remember, the boys already accustomed to your presence.

In turn, he had been there, never leaving your side when you realized that the life of an idol wasn't for you. He cheered you up through your rejections, brought you food whenever you forgot to, listened whenever you felt down, and even checked up on you when he didn't need to. It was his actions and genuine personality that allowed your heart to fall for him.

So, here you were again, by his side as you watched him work on the new song. You smiled at his serious expression, appreciating the beauty that he held as he focused. There were times where you wished that he'd see it as well because you knew how much he disliked seeing himself. This has only caused you to sigh, your chin resting on your hands as you glanced at his computer screen.

You saw how much he had done already, the work amounting to a year's worth so you held his hand, causing the man to look at you.

"You should really rest soon, Chan. I know you haven't gotten enough sleep for the past few days."

"(Y/n), I have to finish these." He muttered out, his eyes looking back towards the screen. You sighed before covering his eyes, "I'll continue to do this if you won't stop."

"(Y/n)..."

"No buts, a bit of sleep won't hurt you."

You heard him sigh in defeat as he nodded, your hands lowering in his defeat. You let out a cheeky smile as you grabbed his stuff, making sure nothing was left behind. From the corner of your eye, you saw him stretch and yawn, his body visibly showing that he was tired. You smiled as you handed him his things, his hands taking his bag from you. "You know, you really shouldn't be the one to lecture me from overworking."

"Well, if not me then who? I know what happens to the body when overworked and I know for sure that I don't want it to happen to you." You smiled as you waved him goodbye, "You know the drill, we can't be seen together or else they might get the wrong ideas."

"I know what you mean but are you sure? It's already pretty late and I think the fans already know that we're just friends?"

You let out a small chuckle, "I know but..." You averted your gaze from him before waving him your goodbyes. "Better safe than sorry." With one last cheeky smile, you turned your back towards him. You headed to the company parking lot, your smile disappearing once you were out of his sight. "You didn't have to tell me that."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You coughed into your sleeves, your head turning away from the man beside you. Chan glanced at you for a second before gluing his eyes back at the screen. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just had this cough for a while now." You cleared your throat, before grabbing your bag to look for some water.

"Have you taken some meds for that?"

You could only chuckle at his question, "I haven't but it should be alright, I think I'm going to be okay soon."

He turned his head and looked at you disapprovingly, your eyes soon averting themselves from his gaze. "That won't do." He stood up from his seat, "Stay here, I'm going to look for some meds."

You were about to object but he was out of the room in a second. You could only sigh as you tried to calm your heart. 'You idiot.' You sighed, soon scrolling through your phone and hoping for him to come back immediately. After a few minutes of mindless scrolling, you placed your phone down, looking around his studio to see if anything has changed. You kind of admired how neat his studio usually is, the place almost never getting messy.

Your eyes then found themselves glancing at his open computer screen. You saw how many songs he had produced, smiling as you admired how hard he had worked. You then heard a sudden buzz, your eyes looking for the source. You chuckled when you saw that he had left his phone, mentally teasing him for his forgetfulness. The phone buzzed once more, showing you a message that you didn't quite expect. You felt a lump form on your throat as you read the message, your heart squeezing uncomfortably.

It was a confession.

You averted your gaze away from his phone screen, trying your best to desperately forget about what you had read. You felt an uncomfortable squeeze in your chest, your stomach doing an uncomfortable spin. You then let out a cough, covering your mouth and feeling as if there was something was stuck in your throat. You felt something come out of your mouth as you coughed, your eyes widening when you saw a lone pink petal in them. You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, "What the...?"

You heard the door behind you open, startling you and causing you to hide the petal in your pocket. You looked behind you to see Chan with a plastic bag in his hands, the man sitting beside you and taking the bottle of water out of the plastic bag. He opened it, handing you both the water and meds that he bought for you. You let out a grateful smile, taking the meds and drinking the water he gave you.

"Thank you."

"No problem." With that he returned to his producing, allowing your mind to wander. You couldn't help but be curious about the petal that came out of you, at the same time scared of what it meant.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"It's called the Hanahaki disease, Ms. (L/n)."

You stared at him curiously, not knowing how to feel about his diagnosis. "Hanahaki...?"

The doctor nodded, glancing at the petals that you have coughed earlier before looking at you. "It's what you have right now. This disease is quite rare, actually, seeing as you are one of the few that I have diagnosed it with."

You stared at the doctor, your hands placed on your lap as you cleared your throat. "Is there any cure for this... Hanahaki disease?"

Once again, he nodded, "There are two solutions to the Hanahaki disease, Ms. (L/n)." He held out his pointer finger, "One, seeing as this has rooted from an unrequited love, the person that you like must reciprocate the feelings that you hold for them."

'Oh.' You could only laugh awkwardly at the suggestion, eyes averting themselves from his stare. "And the other one?"

"You could get surgery to remove the bud that is planted within your lungs."

You nodded slowly at the second option, fingers rubbing your chin as you thought. "How high is the success rate for the surgery?"

"97% success rate, Ms. (L/n) so you wouldn't have to worry about that, however..."

"However?"

He looked at you apologetically, a sad smile lacing his lips as he spoke, "You wouldn't be able to feel emotions anymore, Ms. (L/n)."

With that, your smile had disappeared. While you wanted to heal yourself from the pain that you felt, you didn't want to walk around the world like an emotionless robot. After a few minutes of silence, you came to a decision. You glanced at the doctor, "Thank you." You let out a half-smile as you stood up, "I'll think about it."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your forehead creased as you did your best to untangle your earphones, your eyes squinting to see where the tangle starts. Chan, noticing this, gently tapped on your shoulders, causing you to break out of your concentration and look at him. He gave you a gentle smile as he pointed at your earphones, "May I? You look like you're having a hard time."

You let out a sheepish smile before handing out the object in your hands. He chuckled at your demeanor, taking your earphones from your hands. This caused you to stare at what he was going to do. You watched as he untangled the earphones easily,

"Here you go." He smiled as he handed you back your earphones, your cheeks tinted pink when you felt his fingertips brush against your palm. You let out a silent 'thank you' before plugging it onto your phone. You scrolled through your playlist, placing the earbud on your ear. You glanced at Chan, handing out the other towards him. "Listen with me?"

He let out his dimple smile, his hands taking the earbud from yours. He was about to place it in his ears when he was suddenly called by Changbin, the latter apologizing for his interruption.

You gestured that it was okay, your head turning towards him. You saw his apologetic look, "I'm sorry,"

"Why are you apologizing? Go! It might be really important." You laughed before pushing him towards Changbin's direction. Your smile softened as you stared at his form, watching as he talked with his member. You barely notice Han sit beside you until he talked, your head turning towards him in surprise.

"Do you plan on telling him?" He asked, causing your eyes to glance at the man he was talking about. You watched as he talked with Changbin, "I don't think I ever will." You muttered, letting out a wistful smile as you stretched your hands towards him, seemingly reaching for his form. "He's that one guy who everyone can fall for so easily, you know while I'm... just me. We're worlds apart."

Feeling as if someone was staring at him, Chan looked in your direction. This caused your eyes to widen, cheeks flushing when you realized that you had your hands outstretched. He let out a wave, his dimple smile showing as he did. Awkwardly, you waved back, letting out a small smile of your own.

"Well, continue doing what you're doing and I'm sure you don't have to." Han teased, causing you to bump your shoulders at him harshly. You let out a sigh as you placed your chin on the palm of your hand.'Why would he even like me? I know just how many girls fall in love with him every day and he could pick anyone else. He deserves only the best.' Your heart saddened as you remembered the scene from a few days ago. 'That is if he doesn't already have someone.' You clutched your chest before letting out a small cough. Your eyes widened when you realized that you were about to have another coughing session.

You hastily excused yourself as you ran towards the bathroom, unknowing of the stares that you received when you left. Chan jogged towards Han, eyes worried as he looked at his friend. "Is she okay?"

Han could only shrug his shoulders, not knowing what had happened to you. He glanced at the door where you had left, his mind wondering what had happened to you. He was about to follow you when his phone buzzed, his hand taking it out of his pocket to see that the group was about to gather. He sighed before going through your messages, sending you one last text before leaving with his members.

You left in a hurry, Are you okay?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been a few days since Chan had seen you and he couldn't help but worry. The last time that he had seen you was the day that you have left suddenly.  He had asked you through text but you haven't told him what had happened, often brushing off the incident and moving on to an entirely new topic.

So he made a decision to visit you in your home carrying a pack of (favorite food), knowing full well that you had probably forgotten to take care of yourself again.  He rang your doorbell, waiting for you to respond. When you didn't open up after a few minutes, he took out his phone and called. After a few rings, you answered, "Chan?" Your voice was hoarse, causing a small pang of worry to visit his heart.

"Oh wow, you sound sick." He teased, hoping to at least brighten up your mood.

You laughed softly, "Don't tell me what I already know but why are you calling? I'm kinda busy."

"Well," He glanced at the food that he held in his hands, "I figured that we haven't been talking much and I'm kinda worried about you so I'm kind of outside your apartment bearing gifts?"

"Oh... You should have told me you were coming, my home's a mess."

"When was it not?"

He could feel you roll your eyes on the other end, "Very funny. Just give me a few minutes." With that, you hang up. Chan waited patiently outside the front door, silently hoping that you were doing okay. After a few minutes, he heard you near the door, opening it to see you shyly smiling at him. "Come in."

He entered your home, your eyes following his form. You closed the door behind him, handing him the slipper that you have especially for him. He looked at you with a smile, silently thanking you. You brushed him off before entering your living room.

While Chan didn't want to mention it, he noticed that you have lost weight. He knew that you rarely ate when you work but he didn't expect it to be to this extent. He pursed his lips, silently thinking of ways to make you take care of yourself.

He followed you into the living room, eyes glancing around to see if there was anything different. In the corner of his eye, he noticed a flower, the flower that he had once seen while scrolling for their meanings. He looked at you, calling you before looking back at the flower. "(Y/n)."

You glanced at him curiously, following his line of sight before realizing what he was looking at.

"What is this? Are you interested in flowers now?" He teased, his dimple smile showing as he reached for the pink camellia. Your eyes widened when you saw what he was about to, your voice soon filling your home. "Don't touch that!" You looked down, hands rubbing your arm and your voice lowering, "It's disgusting."

Chan was startled by your sudden loudness, eyes widening as he retracted his hand. "Sorry."He muttered out. He then gestured the food he brought, his smile slowly returning. "Where do I place this?"

"In the--" You were cut off by a cough, clutching your chest before running to the bathroom.

Chan grew worried so he placed the food at your living room table before following you to the bathroom. His eyes widened with what he saw, mind not believing what he was seeing. You were coughing out petals, a lot of them at that. Chan stood there watching you, not knowing what to do to help you. He broke out of his trance when you finished, voice returning to him.

"Why are you coughing out petals, (Y/n)?" His sudden voice caused you to stop in your tracks, your eyes widening as you turned your head towards his direction. You were about to answer him but your coughing stopped you from doing so. Your hands clutched the sides of the sink, eyes watering at the pain you felt while coughing. Chan, seemingly alarmed, went by your side immediately. He looked at you worriedly, hands rubbing your back in hopes to somehow ease the pain.

Once you were done, you looked at the petals, as well as a few flowers, that filled your sink. You winced when you saw the blood that stained them, opting to look away and wipe your eyes. You looked down, unable to look at the man beside you. You took a deep breath before leaving the bathroom, leaving the man behind as you looked for a trash bag.

Chan followed behind you, offering to help you clean up. You wave him off, letting out a half-smile. "I'm fine, you don't have to worry. Just..." You pointed towards the food he brought, "set up the things so we can eat once I'm done with this."

Silently, he followed, not wanting to force you to tell him anything if you weren't ready. He placed the food that he bought on your dining table, his mind wandering to the scenario earlier. He couldn't wrap his head around what had happened, finding the whole thing bizarre. He shook his head as he focused on setting the table, sitting on the chair once he was done. It didn't take long for you to join him, the two of you sitting in silence as you attended to him. You tried to distract him from the earlier events by making small talk, giving him food every now and then to slowly take food away from yours. You didn't have an appetite, after all. Chan, noticing what you were doing, took the bowl of food and attended to you, his expression serious. "You need to eat, (Y/n)."

"What a subtle way of telling me that I've grown thinner." You teased, hoping to change the mood but once you saw his look at you, you silenced. It went on like that as the two of you ate but you broke it, answering the silent question that he had.

"I'm sick, Chan," You looked down, hands placing your chopsticks down, "and I don't know if I can heal from this."

He looked up at you, "What do you mean?"

You pursed your lips before staring into his eyes, your heart beating out of your chest as soon as you did. "I don't have much time left to live."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Chan found himself leaving your home after that conversation, his mind refusing to believe your statement. Hanahaki? There wasn't a disease like that right? There was no way that a disease that makes you cough up flowers be real, right? But the sight of you doing so earlier was enough to make him believe that it was real.

So that night he searched, searched for any information that he could find about this disease. His eyes skimmed through a medical article that he had found, his blood going cold the more he read about it.

Hanahaki disease is an illness that is born out of unrequited love, where the person usually throws or coughs up petals, and at times flowers, due to the person's throat filling up with flowers. There are different stages to this disease. At first, the person will feel certain itchiness to the throat and experiencing a mild cough which will progress to harshly throwing up or coughing up blood and petals. If the person is coughing up full flowers, please seek medical health immediately.

Chan's breath hitched when he remembered the flowers found in your living room and kitchen sink. You were already coughing up flowers. "Just how long have you been enduring this, (Y/n)?" He mumbled out, his fingers scrolling to find the cure to this disease. He stopped when he saw what he was looking for.

There are two ways to cure the Hanahaki disease. One is if the person they have feelings for reciprocates them, not on a friendship basis but with genuine feelings of love.

"She loves... someone?" Chan muttered out, mentally remembering your precious conversations. You have not mentioned anyone to him, nor have you even told him that you liked someone. He let out a deep sigh, "I wonder who it is?" He shook his head before returning to the article.

Another way is if the person agrees to perform surgery, however by doing this, they must be prepared to lose the emotions that they have as a person.

Chan reread the final sentence, eyes closing as he rubbed his temples. His heart was breaking for you, mind already thinking about how much you're going through. He didn't know what to say to you but he knew that he didn't have much time left. He knew that there was more chance of you living if you undergo surgery but he knew you wouldn't agree to that. Despite that, he was going to convince you, seeing as he doesn't want you to go yet.

Not when he still has so much more to say.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"(Y/n), please, you have to save yourself," Chan begged, his usual calmness all but gone as his eyes stared into yours. "I heard that there's someone who specializes in this field and--"

"He can perform surgery, I know." You finished his sentence for him, a grim smile gracing your lips.

"Then why aren't you--"

"Agreeing to surgery?" You shook your head, placing your hands on his shoulder as you tried your best not to cry. "It's because I don't want to lose such a precious gift like emotion, Chan."

Chan was about to say something but one look at your face knew that it was hopeless. He looked away, unable to find it in himself to stare at you, knowing that his heart would break if he did. Your expression showed that you have already accepted what was going to happen and that he could do nothing to change your mind.

You saw how he avoided your stare, causing you to chuckle at this. Boldly but slowly, you wrapped your arms around his form, your head leaning against his chest. You were startled when you felt his arms wrap around your form as well but slowly succumbed to the feeling. You closed your eyes as you listened to the slow beating of his heart.

Chan held you like you were the most fragile thing in the world, scared that he could break you with his tight grip. "There's another way." You whispered, afraid to break the serenity between the two of you. "Another way to heal from this."

Despite knowing what it is, he took all the courage he had and asked. "What is it?"

"I'd have to confess to the person I love but it's already too late because I know that he loves someone else."

"You have to at least try, (Y/n)." He felt you shake your head in disagreement, causing a sigh to escape his lips. There was silence between the two of you until he heard your quiet sobs. Chan gritted his teeth, his hand placing itself on your back in hopes to comfort you.

"When I'm gone, you better not cry for me. As my best friend, you aren't allowed to do that." You muttered in between your sobs, causing his heart to break at the sound.

"No promises."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The two of you were just together yesterday, playing your usual antics and trying your best to forget the situation. So why were you laying down here in the hospital bed with your life hanging by a thread? Why were they telling him to say his goodbyes?

Chan felt his eyes tear up, a sob stuck in his throat as he gripped your hands. He hoped that you could hear him right now. Han had told him who you were in love with when the group had visited you earlier, his heart breaking when he realized that he was the cause of this. He should have confessed, he planned to do so but something was always stopping him from doing so.

So here he was by your side, eyes glued to your form as he watched your chest heave up and down shakily. He took a deep breath, his voice shaking as he whispered, "Stay with me, (Y/n). Please, just..." A sob escaped his lips, a sense of desperation laced in his voice. "Don't leave me. I still have so much to tell you. Oh god,"

He gripped your hand harder yet gentle enough not to hurt you, he didn't want to bring you more pain, after all. He took a shaky breath, "I still haven't told you how beautiful you are to me. I haven't told you how I love it when you're there to cheer me on every comeback and how you tell me you're proud of me. I haven't told you how I love listening to the stories you tell, as well as the songs you make."

There was a slight pause, his sob escaping his lips before continuing, "(Y/n), I still want to see you smile. What would I do without your smile? I still want to hear your laugh, so please, wake up (Y/n). Who would be my muse if you didn't?"

Chan stood up from his seat, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your forehead. His hands patted the top of your head softly, a silent prayer repeating through his head. "I love you so much so don't let go, (Y/n). Stay."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I love you so much so don't let go, (Y/n). Stay."

You have heard it all, despite being in a dream-like state. What do you know? Maybe it was a dream, a dream of him confessing to you. After all, you did want him to reciprocate your feeling so your mind might be playing tricks on you.

But you wished that it wasn't.

So you took the chance, wanting nothing more than to hear it personally and see if he truly means it. You hoped that you could break out of this heavy feeling that your body was giving you so you could see him. All you remembered was the feeling of nothingness, your consciousness swimming in the endless swirl of black.

Until you weren't.

[pkg4mumtown]

Signs of Attachment - Ch. 1

Summary: Having an auditory processing disorder never slowed you down, but it mean you were confined to the Temple when the Clone Wars started. Will the frustration of not understanding people at times make for a rather lonely existence?

Pairing: Obi-Wan/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G (for now)

Warnings: Hard of Hearing Reader, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first Star Wars fic, so have mercy on me. This request was for my friend, Jaime, who gave me all sorts of information and I’m forever indebted to them for it. The timeline is probably very off, but…oh well!

To clarify before we start:

“Text.” Means someone is speaking.

“Text.” Means someone is speaking and signing.

Text, Means someone is signing.

Chapter 1 - Effort

I slid the last tool into place and closed its drawer, the Halls of Healing finally back in order after the last rush of injured Jedi passed through. I thought bitterly about the war that I was barred from, except for the occasional medic deployment to forward operating bases. My saber hung uselessly at my side despite every test I passed to prove my worthiness to the Council.  It’s not that they didn’t have faith in me, they just saw me as a liability, which is probably just as bad. Despite how hard I tried to explain it, they were convinced that I could never be focused enough to be on the front lines. Yet, I passed every test while purposely being fully deafened and even being both deafened and blinded, which was somehow easier than the former.

Being assigned to the Halls of Healing seemed almost harder than combat, considering I had been far better at fighting than healing throughout my entire knighthood. Semi-dangerous solo missions before the wars? The Council saw no problems. A full scale war with plenty of droids as target practice? A big problem, apparently.

I was so consumed in my thoughts that I had barely registered someone, no two someones, or rather their force signatures, entering the Halls.

Swoosh

I didn’t even have a chance to decipher any of what they were saying as their words and voices started to blend together immediately due to their arguing.

“Sop.”

“Yaioyu satowep beeineg doifficultat.”

“Lletat muoe gaorn.”

“No."

“Atnakin, ei doon'tat noeead tolorn beoe heneroe.”

I glanced over at my Droid for help, but its signing was a mess as both voices talked over each other. I eventually stopped looking at it and took a deep, calming breath. I tried to pick apart the voices and focus on one but both faded in and out, making it nearly impossible.

Shove. Scuffle.

“You do…”

“Eeim f—ine”

Slap.

“Yu figelol otan muoe.”

“Ei tolrippead.”

“Muaster, poleasoe tolelol heniem.”

Silence.

“Muaster?”

More silence.

“Muaster…?”

Oh. The closeness of the strongest signature was behind me now, poised and ready to—

Tap.

I turned and faced the two, rather loud, intruders to this calming place. My Droid wasn’t yet in place behind them, so I couldn’t quite get everything but I got enough. I had never gotten quite good at lip reading with Master Plo as a teacher, so he had learned Basic Sign Language to help supplement what was missed in speaking. I relied on my droid to sign to me quite heavily when dealing with patients to understand what was wrong with them, but it was only helpful if one person was speaking at a time. Definitely not whatever this train wreck of a duo was.

“Master?” the spikey-haired Padawan asked, staring straight at me.

“Forgive my Padawan, he toakess atfteer muwy Muasteer,” the older Jedi rolled his eyes, noticeably leaning on his Padawan and clutching his side.

“I do not.”

Feeling another round of arguing bubbling up, I held my palm up, “Both of you stop, please, and start from the top.” My Droid finally stepped in place behind them so I could see the signs over their shoulders.

“We just landed back at the temple, everything was fine—"

“Things are fine,” the Master snapped.

“—and he just collapsed on me. He wouldn’t let me check over him—," the Padawan continued.

“There’s nothing to check, Anakin.”

Ah, yes, the infamous Master Kenobi and his Padawan, Anakin.

“Obviously theroe iss.”

“Eim fignoe.”

“Stop,” I sighed and closed my eyes and opened them after centering myself. “Padawan Skywalker, please leave us.”

“B—”

“Now, please,” I urged, not bothering to give him an explanation. Not that I needed to give him one.

The Padawan made a face of displeasure before bowing to both of us and leaving the room.

“—overreacting—,” Kenobi sighed.

I blinked at him, then glanced at my droid, who filled me in on the whole sentence.

Anakin is overreacting, really.

“Master Kenobi, please sit and take off your tunics and tabards,” I ask and look away, not that it was going to matter because I was going to see him shirtless regardless.

I tried to ignore the broad expanse of his chest, littered with scars and copper hair. My eyes lingered a little too long while raking over and looking for injuries. I was just being thorough.

When I saw the wound that caused this whole ordeal I sucked in a breath quickly. The skin on his side was badly burned and the wound was at least a few days old, so naturally it had infected because he neglected to take care of it.

“It’s infected,” I shook my head almost hurriedly grabbed the large tub of bacta we kept on hand.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” He brushed off my comment, obediently lifting his arm when I nudged it.

“Have you looked at it recently?” I scoffed as I further inspected the wound.

He was silent for a moment, making me look at my droid confused as if I had missed something but the Droid confirmed that I hadn’t.

“Master Kenobi?”

“The less I acknowledged it, the easier it was to manage the pain,” he grumbled back. “And surely, you can call me Obi-Wan, we were in the crèche together.”

“That hardly constitutes a first name basis,” I squinted at him. “I don’t even recall speaking to you. They were troubling times for me, it was easier to keep to myself. Less to…process.”

“Oh, believe me, that message was loud and clear,” Obi-Wan chuckled, making me roll my eyes in an attempt to not focus on the way it lit his face up or brightened his eyes. “I also seem to remember that you were one of the best saber wielders out of all us.”

“A lot of good that did me,” I gestured to the sterile room.

“You still have the honor of humiliating an advanced saber instructor in class while being completely shut off to auditory and optical input.”

A blush rose to my cheeks, “Ho—”

“Every Padawan in the temple knew about it…”

“Well, it couldn’t have been that impressive if it wasn’t enough for the frontlines,” I slipped bitterly.

“They’re not all fun, unfortunately,” he murmured.

“I’m a guardian trapped as a healer, Obi-Wan, anything is better than this.” I took a deep breath, “Anyway, you might feel some discomfort.”

I closed my eyes and hovered my hand over the wound and focused on purging the infection first, feeling it attacking the cells around it as I finally attuned with said infection. I pulled the infection away from his body, pleased when there was no resistance and it begun to trickle away. I tilted my head as I sensed another pain but in his leg, so I investigated without breaking the healing I was already doing. The pain visualized as five red dots, the cause hard to place while my mind was otherwise occupied.

Then, it dawned on me that he was gripping his own leg so tightly as a distraction to the pain in his side that even I could feel it. Blindly, I found his knee and then his hand clenching his thigh. His hand relaxed slightly as mine touched his, allowing my hand to worm under his for him to squeeze instead. With the infection released into the force, I focused on knitting the wound back together. In response, Obi-Wan’s hand squeezed mine even tighter. If I could have sent something calming to him, I would have, but didn’t want to break my concentration when I was almost done. Instead, I let my thumb brush back and forth over his knuckles.

Finally, the wound was completely covered with new skin so I let the force healing trickle away. I blinked my eyes open, a little woozy but nothing I wasn’t used to, especially after a long day of healing.

“—that—pleasant,” I vaguely heard through the humming in my ears. It always took a while for the force to stop thrumming in my head after force healing, only amplified by my condition.

I knitted my brows at him, knowing it was anything but pleasant and then looked over at my droid.

Stars, that was not very pleasant.

“Oh, well, yes I suspect the day it becomes pleasant will be the day that Jedi actually seek out treatment, rather than avoid it,” I stressed the end just for him.

“Sorry, I should have waited until you opened your eyes.”

“It’s fine,” and really it was, I was used to it by now.

“I’m sure it gets tiring having to have a conversation with someone over their shoulder,” I didn’t get to appreciate the sincerity in his eyes because I had to glance at my droid again, only proving his point.

“Well, it was a little hard to learn to lip read growing up with Master Plo…,” my mouth turned up into a smirk, clearly trying not to laugh.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, didn’t hold back and snorted; laughing immediately after, “Sorry, sorry…”

“But, he did learn and teach me BSL, so at least I have something. Even if no one else here knows it, the droid helps. Though, in the field I don’t bring it, so I just tell everyone to shut up at let me work.”

“That’s…unfortunate.”

“It gets taxing, if only because I don’t always catch everything so conversations are hard to carry without the droid. Especially if someone starts talking to me without getting my attention first.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head like he was deep in thought, “Maker knows we learn enough languages here, they should teach BSL, too,” Obi-Wan squeezed my hand, making me realize I’d never actually let go of his hand. Though, with his hand now squeezing mine, I’d have to rip my hand away and to be honest? I didn’t want to.

“I don’t think we have anyone fluent enough to teach besides myself and Master Plo…”

“Hmm, I’d still like to present it to the Council. Someone has to be able to teach it,” he smiled gently.

I had no words to express how grateful even the thought of presenting it to the Council meant to me. So I didn’t speak. Instead, I sent my feelings of gratitude through the force and our joined hands. I took the time to read the genuine twinkle in his eyes as I hadn’t been able to this whole time, and the subtle way his eyebrows relaxed as he realized what I was doing. My eyes drifted lower to the way the corners of his eyes and cheek wrinkled just slightly with the upturn of the corner of his mouth, a subtle smile for me. Lower still, to the coppery mustache and beard on his face, with flecks of gray from the war. Or his Padawan…probably his Padawan. I let my eyes drift over the endearing way his mullet curled just behind his ears and rested against his shoulders.

He was right about one thing; I had taken for granted just looking someone in the eyes as they spoke to me. It was something that was necessary for BSL, and while Master Plo didn’t have the most expressive face, it gave me back a semblance of normalcy to be able to carry on a conversation face to face. It helped bridge the gaps between any words I had missed and ensured I had the whole picture, even going so far as to express words or ideas I was having trouble expressing with speech.

I cleared my throat, realizing I was staring far longer than I should have been, “Sorry, um, here…”

I reluctantly untangled our hands and grabbed the container of bacta, scooping a generous amount on to my fingers. I applied the cool gel to the new, pink, raw skin, which looked far better than the angry, red and purple open wound he had come in with. He jumped at the first contact, whether it was because of the cold or not, I didn’t know, but his sigh of relief after was a good sign.

I wiped my hand of and grabbed a new travel bottle of bacta for him, before pausing and grabbing two more, “Here, try not to lose these…”

He took them gratefully, knowing we normally didn’t give that much to just one Jedi, “Thank you, I—I didn’t lose mine. I gave it to my men, they needed it more.”

His men, his clones, whose health he put above his own.

“I’m not surprised,” I shook my head, “but do try to take care of yourself. They need you to lead them as much as you need them to succeed.”

“Of course, Y/N.”

My brain halted for a moment, my eyes widening slightly. This was the first real conversation I’d had with him and yet he knew my first name without hesitation.

“You shouldn’t be all the surprised, our masters were good friends after all. Master Koon, talked about you a lot with Master Jinn. He just never brought you along, I suppose,” Obi-Wan shrugged.

I hummed, “He was quite protective of me and tried to overwhelm me as little as possible…”

“I wish he had brought you, though. You would have gotten along well with Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan had a far away look in his eyes that I almost missed.

“I’m sorry, about…”

“Nonsense,” Obi-Wan shook his head and smiled. “Now, I should get out of your hair lest my Padawan get into trouble.”

I stepped back to allow him to stand and handed him his discarded clothes from earlier, before turning and giving him privacy.

“Thank you,” he murmured, casually watching the droid out of the corner of his eye as it automatically translated into sign language.

When I turned back around, he was fully dressed again and stowing away the bacta in his belt, “Have a good rest of your day, Obi-Wan.” I bowed my head slightly to him.

“And you, Y/N,” he smiled, waiting for me to meet his eyes.

Thank you, he signed with a small smile adorning his face.

He bowed his head and took a a couple steps backwards and exited the room, offering a wave just before the doors closed behind him. My stomach flipped as I replayed the scene over in my head, realizing he had mimicked the droid in order to sign.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2