#every time i get slight relief from a symptom my brain is like Well Is It Over but i don't think there's any reason to think that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bump1nthen1ght · 4 years ago

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Sick Day (Demon x Reader)

Pairing: Gender Neutral Reader/ Non-Binary Demon

Genre: Urban fantasy, Domesticity, Established relationship

Warnings: Mentions of sickness (fevers, body chills, headaches), but nothing graphic

Word Count: 2008 words

Summary: Your demon partner isn’t sure how to play doctor

A/N: Based of this prompt by @monsterkinkmeme

“It’s the first time you’ve dated a demon and it’s also the first time you’ve gotten sick since you’ve been together. A fever paired with a throbbing headache has you hiding in bed for most of the day, trying to sleep whatever bug you caught, off. Your demon lover, on the other hand, is beside themselves and has turned to Google and WebMD on how best to take care of you. They now think you are dying because of your symptoms and are devising a way to save you.”

The minute I saw this prompt I was immediately awash with PINING for a large demon partner to cuddle with and I knew I had to write it.

A week after finals, 7 months into your relationship with Motholg, your immune system gives up.

You had been leaving work, thinking the heat in your cheeks and the ache in your bones was a product of a 6 hour shift, walking to Motholg’s apartment for date night. The past two week had you cooped up, anxious and studying, meaning you barely were able to make time for your partner.

You probably should have expected it, it’s happened every finals week since high school; A couple days into break you get a high fever and are stuck in your bed for a solid 48 hours. But you thought that, perhaps, this year was the exception. After nearly passing out when handing Motholg their fresh-made lasagna, you knew you weren’t so lucky.

“Darling?”

You groan from your blanket burrito, eyes and sweaty forehead barely peeking into the dim light of Motholg’s bedroom. The thought of forming a coherent thought makes your brain pound, so you don’t even try.

“I’ve made you some...uh…”

The door creaks open, Motholg automatically ducking their head so their long horns don’t hit the frame. Their red, slitted eyes narrow at something steaming in a teacup. “Yas-mine? Jasmeen? Uh-some herbal remedy I ordered from your virtual shopkeep. It was touted by several women named “Brenda” to be the best thing for human illnesses.” Motholg’s hooves tap against the floor, just below the line of “too loud” for your migraine. You give another non-committal hum as they sit down on the bed. Despite being custom-made for their 7-foot stature, the bedframe still creaks under their weight. The top of your blanket sarcophagus is pulled back, revealing your disgruntled face.

Motholg helps you prop yourself up and hands you the teacup. You take a sip, quickly realizing it’s still quite hot, but power through anyway. The scalding water melts from your mouth down to your toes, abating your shivers, if only temporarily.

As you drink, Motholg’s fingers card through your messy hair, massaging your skull before resting their palm on your cheek. Their hand covers almost the entire side of your head, spotting a glimpse of a frown between their fingers.

“You’re even hotter than before and still quite sweaty. Would you like me to take the blankets?”

You shake your head, setting down your cup of tea.

“No, it’s probably just my fever breaking. It’s actually a good sign, despite how shitty I feel.” The warmth of your cocoon is beckoning you, your exposed chest and arms already shivering. “The blankets are good for my chills, but a big glass of ice water would be nice.”

Motholg raises an eyebrow, clearly perturbed by your backwards human symptoms. But they pat your head once more before sitting up.

“Of course, dear.” Motholg leans down to kiss your forehead, but is intercepted by the palm of your hand.

“Uh-uh, I don’t need you getting sick too.” Motholg scrunches up their face, then blows a raspberry into your skin. You retaliate by pushing away their face feebly.

“As if your human illness could fell me darling.” The sigh dramatically, pushing your hand away. “Though you are very sweet to think it could.”

You stick out your tongue and shove them. Motholg relents, blowing a kiss as they back out of the bedroom.

Your brain is beginning to drift into sleep when a glass clinks on the nightstand. Not bothering to open your eyes, far too tired, you mutter a “Thank you.” Motholg whispers a “You’re welcome,” as they lay on the bed once more. Their warm fur tickles your neck as they cuddle up behind you, arm thrown around your side and nuzzling their face into your hair. A hot breath and a slight nip of their extended canines only wills you to dreamland faster.

Motholg won’t go to sleep, only needing a full 8 hours every 4 days, but are rather content to lay beside you. They lovingly stroke your arm and sidle farther down under the comforter, whispering occasional sweet nothings and rocking you into unconsciousness.

--------

The dull red of the bedside clock pries open your eyes, a stark contrast compared to the pitchblack of the bedroom. Your brain is still in a fog, but given then the 3 AM flashing nearby, you’ve been asleep for about 9 hours.

And I’m about to sleep 9 more.

Motholg had left the bed at some point, but their warmth still lingers on the blankets. You close your eyes and snuggle in.

Slam!

But then the door slams open.

On a normal night, the noise might’ve jerked you upright , but your eyes simply roll over to the doorway. Your brain already misses unconsciousness.

Motholg stands, their new smartphone in hand as they breathe heavily.

“Darling, what did you say your body temperature was?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, slowly giving up on those peaceful 9 hours.

“99.7 last time I checked.” You tap your forehead with the back of your hand. “Probably less now. The sleep has been helping a lot. Good night.”

In an instant, Motholg is over to the bed, placing their hand on your forehead. You let out a disappointed sigh and try to go back to sleep anyways. The click of their hooves on hardwood, Motholg’s jittering shakes of your shoulder, and the strong smell of iron quickly eliminates that as a possibility.

You turn towards your partner, now noticing the sheen of liquid covering their hands. Red streaks follow their fingertips on their smartphone.

“Babe, why are your hands soaked in blood?”

“Goat’s blood, technically.”

Before you can even respond to that baffling answer, Motholg grabs your shoulder. The blood sticks to the short sleeves of your pajamas.

Damn, now I’ll have to wash this tomorrow.

“Here, it says the ritual-”

“The what?”

“-needs to be completed at 3:30 AM on a new moon.” Motholg pauses, checks their phone, then continues, “Yes, a new moon.”

Motholg begins to walk away, your arm still in their grip, but your resistance stalls them.

“Okay, Motholg, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? How the hell did you get goat’s blood at this hour?”

Motholg sighs and rolls their eyes, “Unimportant-”

You give Motholg a dissatisfied look, finally making them relent in heir tirade. They turn towards you.

“I fear for your life. I’ve consulted your online physician and your symptoms fall in line with many fatal illnesses.”

Now accepting that this is officially a conversation, you throw back your blankets and sit up.

“Do you mean WebMD?”

Motholg nods furiously and shows you their phone screen, tapping the glass with a long claw.

“See here? Full body chills are associated with pneumonia, so is a high fever. There’s also the possibility something is wrong with one of your organs. Not surprising, considering how squishy they are.” Motholg flicks their screen upward, a myriad of diagrams flips across it.

“Now, I know a couple of ceremonies my father used to perform to curse others with these illnesses, so I thought if I reversed the procedure-” Motholg pauses again, flipping to a new tab on their phone, “-So, I did some googling-”

Motholg pauses when your hand rests against their cheek. Their red eyes, which glow just slightly in the dark, look to you. You brush your thumb across their face, just barely grazing against the fur which starts at the base of their neck.

“Darling, I appreciate the concern really, I do. But these websites…” you pause, slowly pushing Motholg’s phone down and out of eyesight, “They really only show worst case scenarios. Honestly, they kind of just scare you into going to a doctor in person.”

Motholg’s eyes dart between your face and their phone, now pressed face down on their bed. They give off an aura of anxiety and stress, their hands fidgety and their hooves lightly tapping against the floor. “Here,” You pull up the covers, opening up the spot next to you. “Do you want to lie down with me for a while?”

“Oh, I don’t need to rest.”

“Just because your body doesn’t require it doesn't mean it won’t feel good. C’mon.” You pat the bed. “I think it will give you some peace of mind, keeping an eye on me.”

Motholg’s eyes shifted back to their phone, their brow furrowed. You pout your lips and slide your fingers up their chest. Their fur sticks and tussles under your touch.

“Babe, I would feel better if you relax, seriously.” You reach down to the bedside drawer, pulling out your sleep mask. “You can even bring your computer and get some work done.”

Hesitantly, they nod. You sigh in relief. Their hand unconsciously twirls your hair.

“I suppose….You would know about these things.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Motholg leaves to get their things, while you slip back under the covers. Before you put your sleep mask on, you shout to them.

“Make sure to wash that blood off!” You look down at your damp sleeve. “And could you get me a wet wipe as well?”

Motholg makes an affirmative noise, and you finally lay back and close your eyes.

Their body heat lingers above your as they sweetly wipe away the blood on your arm. You mutter a thank you. The bed dips as they down next to you, mattress bending as they adjust their laptop and fluff the pillows.

“Darling?”

“Hmmm?” You murmur, face still stuffed in your pillow.

“I just wanted to apologize for waking you. I feel very foolish for acting so paranoid.”

You flip your head to their side, keeping your mask on.

“No need to apologize, I get it.”

“Thank you for your understanding, but still, I feel so silly. To think a tiny sickness would force my emotions to overcome me.”

You slowly push up your mask, eyes peeking out from under the duvet. Motholg sheepishly picks at their keyboard, avoiding your eyes,

As disgruntled as it made you at first, Motholg’s droopy gaze stirred guilt in your gut. You wonder how many scenarios had run through their head while they googled, how helpless they must’ve felt. There might be a hole paced into the floor of the living room, given how flustered they were when they barged in.

You reach out to Motholg’s wrist, brushing your thumb over the back of their palm. Their red irises look over, and you think you see the tinies remnants of tear tracks at the corner of their eyes.

“Emotions aren’t a bad thing, they’re natural.” Grabbing the top of the blanket, you roll over to Motholg’s side. Their large body dwarfs yours and when you curl up against them, the tips of your feet barely meet the top of their calves. Their black fur is soft against your face, like a mixture of a plush carpet and a goosefeather pillow.

Oh good, they used the Tea Tree soap.

“I’d probably do the same if you got sick.” You reach your hand up to their chest, cording through their thick fur. “We’re just gonna have to trust the other’s okay, huh?”

With your chin tucked into their ribs, Motholg smiles down at you. A claw runs up the back of your neck, stirring up goosebumps but relaxing your muscles.

“I believe so, darling.” Their fangs jut out from their lips as they continue to rub your neck. It’s quite goofy looking, for a demon, and gets a chuckle out of you.

You crane your neck and Motholg meets you halfway for a kiss, consequences be damned.

“Good night, I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetling.”

You fall asleep with Motholg’s fingers curled in your hair, the slight tap of their claws on the keys, a simmering contentment in your heart.

--------

A week later, when you’re back to full health, you and Motholg are making dinner when-

“Ah-choo!”

You stop stirring the pasta and furrow your brows at Motholg. They’ve stilled, mid-movement while setting out the plates. Their face burns with embarrassment.

“A silly human sickness, huh?”

#monster romance #my writing #demon x reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #monster/reader #fluff #domestic #monster x reader

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

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honey don't feed it

Just some Hades smut! Please reblog and comment over on Ao3!

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Thanatos has told his love a thousand times to be careful when overindulging in boons from the Olympians. Too many, too much from one god and he starts to get some strange side effects.

Ares' boons make him angry. Dionysius' made him laugh.

Aphrodite's do something entirely different.

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Thanatos read the note a few times over, hearing it in his lover’s voice.

I need you. Please come home. I love you.

“Let me guess,” the grin on his twin’s face was far too smug for Than’s liking, “You’re taking your break now?”

Than gave him the kind of dark scowl that had been cowing the unruly dead for years but had never seemed to work on anyone who actually knew him. He folded up the note and stowed it in one of the many hidden pockets of his flowing robes. I need you.

“I don’t just drop everything and go running when Zagreus clicks his fingers,” he muttered. Please come home.

“Never said you did,” Hypnos shrugged, leaning back and putting his slippered feet on the desk in a way that was quite unprofessional, not that Than would look anything but petulant if he said so, “Just thought your face really lit up when I said Zag had left you a message…”

Than really hoped his cowl hid enough of his face that his blush couldn’t be seen. Something about Hypnos’ widening grin told him his hopes were in vain. I love you.

“There’s a gap in my schedule,” he sniffed, sheathing his scythe and gathering his robes with as much dignity as he could muster, “An unrelated gap.”

“Sure,” Hypnos shrugged, marking it down on the time sheets, “I’ll tell anyone looking for you to check Zag’s place.”

I need you. Please come home. I love you.

“Best not, I think,” Than said flatly, turning away quickly so he didn’t have to see the expression on Hypnos’ face.

He’d catch up on the work he missed later.

He knew what the problem was as soon as he walked into their chambers. Their chambers, not Zagreus’, it had taken some time to get used to thinking of it that way. But when he hadn’t slept in the Chthonic Wing once since they’d begun openly courting, when half of the items in the close, comfortable room were his own, when the word home evoked images of this place and the godling he shared it with, he’d settled into it.

It wasn’t a smell, not exactly. But it was a presence in the air, like a heat without the warmth or a sound without its timbre. And when Thanatos felt it play across his skin, like a ripple of energy that somehow tasted of pink, he stopped. And he realised how this evening was going to go.

“Tough run today, my love?” he said delicately, hanging up his cloak and moving deeper into the room.

His answer was a low, affirmative grown from Zagreus, curled on his side in the middle of the bed they shared. Around him the aura grew even tighter, thick enough to taste. There was a faint pink flickering behind his green eye, a tension in his muscles as he held himself, an unusual rosy colour in his veins, standing out starkly in his corded wrists as he gripped the sheet underneath him.

Thanatos sighed softly, pushing all thoughts of returning to work out of his mind. He knew the signs of overindulgence in a god’s boon, as varied as they were, there were always common threads. When Zagreus depended too heavily on one rather than using them sparingly and variedly as he’d been told half a hundred times, he would begin to shake, his eyes would unfocus and flicker, he’d experience deep instinctual urges that were nigh on impossible to ignore. What his body demanded, how his brain responded, well that depended on which god he’d been indulging in. Dionyseus’ boons made him slur his words, lose the ability to walk straight, laugh helplessly at anything. Ares’ were especially worrying, making him violent and bloodthirsty, filling him with the need to strike out at something and not stop until exhaustion collapsed him. Too many from Hermes and he would be filled with energy that crackled and sparked, putting him on a level with a small child who’d eaten their body weight in raw sugar.

But none of those gave Zagreus this tense, hungry energy with it’s tinge of rose pink and it’s smell of amber and heat. That was solely the symptom of far too many boons from one goddess of love and lust. That was all Aphrodite.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Zag groaned, his voice strained and coming through clenched teeth. He seemed to be fighting to keep himself still.

“What am I going to say, beloved?” Than murmured, golden eyes sweeping over him, assessing just how far gone he was. There was a shine of sweat pooling in his collarbone, an unmistakable dampness on the inside of his thighs, the red fabric turning dark.

“That I’m an idiot,” Zag moaned, “That I went too far again, that I need to listen to you.”

Thanatos considered that a moment, confirming to himself that he’d locked the door firmly behind him. Then he calmly unclasped his robe at the back and swept it over his head, leaving him bare but for his jewellery, all in one smooth, efficient stroke. He moved to the bottom of the bed, joining Zagreus up on it, setting his hands lightly on his lover’s knees. He knew from experience that far too much sensation right now could easily overwhelm him. Sure enough, just that barest touch of Than’s cool palms through the fabric of his trousers dragged a strangled noise from Zagreus.

“What I was going to say,” Than said patiently, eyes glowing in the candlelight, “Was that I love you too. And I’m here for you. Alright?”

Zag swallowed hard, eyes wide and wet, fixed completely on his lover’s face. Too many of these boons and it wasn’t just what was between Zag’s legs that took control, it was his heart as well, love and lust together. Than knew he needed gentle words, soft touches, closeness. That and to be bent near in half.

After a long few days of solid work, of being apart more than they were together, Thanatos was rather ready for both.

“I love you,” Zag nearly sobbed, whole body trembling with tension that needed release, “Than, please…”

“Slowly,” Than promised, moving to unbuckle his sword belt and unwind his tunic. His lover hadn’t even undressed himself before he’d fallen to the bed, likely nervous of what he might do without even the feeble barrier of fabric, “Gently. I’ll give you what you need but not more than you can take and you’re going to listen to me. Yes?”

“Yes,” Zag was panting as Than rolled his leggings down, casting them off the side of the bed though he wasn’t entirely sure they were salvageable, “Yes, gods, anything. Just fuck me or kiss me or let me fuck you, I’m dying here.”

“You’re not dying, we’ve done this before…”

Than kept his voice level but there was something in the heat rolling off his skin right now as he took away the last of his adornments, the salt and musk smell of him, something animalistic about it all. He was finding it hard to concentrate. Or he would, if such a thing could pull his focus at a time like this…

“Come here, my love,” he moved Zag’s lean thighs apart, making him whine at just the slight touch of his breath, “I’ll take good care of you.”

Zagreus nearly came the moment Than’s tongue touched his flesh, a kind of electricity seizing him. But it passed, achingly, and then his fingers were in Than’s hair, taking full advantage of how long it had been getting of late, how easily Than had bowed to a sleepy, murmured comment from his lover a few weeks ago that he looked beautiful with it long. He tugged needily, hungrily, but still not enough to truly hurt, as Than fluttered kisses between his lips. He built slowly, starting to lap and suck and slip his tongue into him only when he was sure Zag could bear it. Every movement drew more gasps and moans from his lover, more grasping at his hair, strained whispers of muddied devotion.

Than had seen the sea of course, it claimed so many souls he had to go and collect, even some that were peaceful. He’d stood on it’s shores, felt it’s salt sting the inside of his nose and throat and wanted badly to be able to swim in it. When Zagreus came, sudden and sharp and with a high, wild cry, Than felt for a moment as if he had.

“Well then…” he drew back, wiping at his mouth and cheeks with the back of his hand.

“Than…” Zag moaned, relief in his eyes but only for a moment, the aura still twitching and writhing around him, “S’not enough...still burning…”

“I know, my love,” Than was already moving, taking his wrists now, immediately feeling his racing pulse under his skin, “I cleared my schedule, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, your workload was my biggest concern, just edged out my cock literally feeling like it was on fire…” Zag said dryly, making Thanatos smile. If his lover felt enough like himself to crack his little jokes, then his work was having the intended effect.

“Let’s see what we can do about that then, hm?” Than grinned, bending to his task again.

It took another half hour of slow, almost lazy ministrations between Zag’s thighs, a gradual introduction of his fingers, all very cautious and almost worshipful before he judged his lover ready for something more without it breaking his brain. He was still burning hot, the sheets under him near ruined, thighs shining with slick in the low light. But he could speak without that wanton whine in his voice, he could focus on something other than Than’s fingers or tongue- he’d had him reciting poetry a moment ago just to prove he could- and his eyes looked their usual colour. The boons were slackening their hold on him, bit by bit, as the seconds ticked by and Zag’s needs were filled.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a little more fun before it was over.

“Want my cock?” he purred, licking his fingers lightly as he sat back on his heels.

“Gods, yes, you tease,” Zag groaned, eyes closely following the play of his lover’s fingers, the way his tongue ran across them, “I’ve only been begging since you walked through the damn door.”

“And if I’d given it to you then, you’d have ridden me until you blacked out while scratching my back to ribbons,” Than explained with prim patience, “What happened to listening to me?”

“Sorry,” Zag muttered, his kiss swollen lips sliding into a needy pout, “I’ll behave. I’ll listen. Please?”

Than smiled crookedly, drawing their hips close, throwing his lover’s legs over his shoulder, “Seeing as you asked so nicely.”

“Watch the feet, you’ll singe your hair again,” Zag hummed with a hint of smugness rather too strong for someone in his situation.

“I thought we agreed never to speak of that again, my love…”

Than pressing into him chased the look off Zag’s face, replacing it with one of mixed relief and rapture. Than had to bite down on his own gasp as his lover’s body opened up to him, he’d been neglecting himself as he’d focused on Zag’s predicament and was only now realising how much.

“Oh gods, yes,” Zag moaned, eyelids half closed, head tilted back, “Right there. That’s where you belong, my love, my heart…”

Than swallowed hard, bracing himself with his hands bracketing Zag’s head. It was the effect of the boons, he told himself. They were not two lovers in a sappy play whispering ridiculous, overwrought words of passion in some moonlight drenched garden.

But wasn’t it fun to pretend.

“My beloved,” he answered, voice a little strained as he began to thrust, “I’ve got you, you’re here with me and I’m going to give you just what you need...”

Zag whimpered helplessly, legs locked tight as chords around him, soon unable to do anything but gasp his name and strained pleas for more, faster, harder. Than answered, giving him everything he could, everything he had left, kissing him through the surging pink haze until he wasn’t quite sure who it was coming from or who it was ensnaring any more. And he wasn’t fully certain he could care, not when the world shrank down to Zag’s hands on his face and in his hair, his warm, wet heat around his cock, his breathy gasps of his name, how could he care about anything else? How could he care about anything but the one he loved?

“Come with me,” he whispered into Zag’s mouth, hips working hard and heavy.

Apparently he’d just been waiting for permission, as soon as the words left Than’s mouth, Zag arched up and came hard with a strangled cry of his lover’s name that sounded as sweet as any prayer. Than was helpless and could only follow, tumbling over his own edge, filling Zag deeply, crying out in a way that was very undignified and very un-death like.

When his vision cleared and his brain felt connected to his limbs again, Thanatos opened his eyes to see his husband smiling crookedly up at him.

“I think I’m all set,” he chuckled, eyes a little unfocused but very much his own beautiful colours, the only thing in the air being the smell of sex and candles that had guttered out while they’d been distracted.

They untangled themselves carefully, cataloguing their various aches and pulled muscles, collapsing over each other against the pillows.

“So,” Than shifted so Zag could pillow his head on his chest, “What are we going to do next time?”

“Use the boons sparingly,” Zag just sounded exhausted now, Than was beginning to suspect the much needed bathing would have to wait until after a brief nap, “Vary them. And listen to Thanatos.”

“Good boy,” Than laughed, stroking his hair back from his forehead, “And?”

Zag thought before frowning sleepily, confused, “And...and I don’t know.”

Than leaned down and kissed him softly, lingering before murmuring tenderly, “And I will always come running whenever you need me because I love you.”

Zag smiled at him, reaching up to trace the curve of his nose, “I love you too.”

Thanatos knew Zagreus was satisfied, he could go back to work and catch up on the souls he missed, the ones that were probably mounting every second he spent watching his lover drift into sleep.

But still he didn’t move, he didn’t stop letting the silky black hair run through his fingers again and again, admiring his beloved’s face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep. He would go back to being the emissary of Death, he’d pick up his scythe and he’d return to work. But not now.

For now, how could he care about anything but the man he loved?

#hades #smut #thanzag #zagreus #thanatos #hades game

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years ago

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hello!! i am really really sorry if this sounds pushy or somethin but, will you ever publicly release that post swearth drabble you made?? i just curious

Today is actually the scheduled day, and on my partner's birthday no less, how fitting! Originally posted to my kofi for early access to supporters, now it's here for everyone!

Synopsis: Swerve and a human reader share a talk when he awakens after Swearth.

You were the first thing he thought about when he woke up, or so he would tell you later. Moments after he'd confessed how it was your touch, your tiny body clinging so tightly to him, that had welcomed him back to the land of the living. Apparently that had been the clue he needed to realize he wasn't dead.

It had been just you and him in the medical bay for hours following the... Swearth Incident, save for brief check ups from Velocity. The crew had given the two of you ample space and alone time once it was confirmed Swerve would soon awaken, both out of respect and to avoid the talk that would doubtless be needed between the two of you. There had been more than one occasion where you'd drifted off in the eternity it had taken for him to completely return to consciousness, your much smaller body protectively clinging to his beneath a blanket some unknown visitor had been kind enough to lay over you.

It seemed silly now, but you'd actually been angry when he'd come to so casually, yawning and rubbing his visor as if he was just waking from a nap. There'd been happiness as well, obviously, but you were still struggling too deeply to pretend everything was okay. Quite frankly, things had never been less okay between the two of you.

Had you not been able to project down onto his fantasy world, joining the rescue party despite the copious limits of your biology, who was to say you'd have ever seen him awake again? He'd been hiding away in his room for months, dissuading you from visiting him by claiming there was "a huge mess that I'm too lazy to clean up"... Knowing that you weren't sure which hug had last been with his real self hurt more than you were ready to accept.

"Y/N...?"

Anger was briefly swallowed by a tsunami of relief when he sleepily murmured your name, his helm turning to let your face reflect on the newly polished surface of his visor, where your tear slicked expression dissapeared as you hugged him as securely as his broad shoulders allowed.

"I thought I'd lost you..."

A knot in your throat prevented any further words from tumbling out, but the sobs that started to shake your whole body conveyed your thoughts just as well, sending a surge of hot tears splashing against his chest. Arms thicker than you wrapped gently about your smaller body, as calmly as if he were comforting you after a nightmare. A slight tremble in his grip made you hiccup in despair, your experience with his rather frequent hugs telling you the exhaustion from his still recent brush with death was still weighing him down, as ordinarily he would hold you like a lifeline for even the most casual embrace. Too many terrible things were finally registering as real far too quickly for you to process them all.

"I thought... when they called me into the medical bay..." You lost the tirade you'd been saving up to a storm of long buried grief. The memory of that call would forever haunt you, and now it was so recent the words were still burning in your ears, even though they'd been delivered so carefully... Agony from the sight of a familiar body lying broken on a medical slab made you nauseous, enough that only his increasingly desperate hug kept you grounded enough not to puke. Words poured forth in a cracked whisper, all the fear you'd been holding back for his sake rushing out of you without restraint, and interrupted only by an occasional hiccup or sob. "First Aid said you had days... That we'd been talking to a hologram for months, while you... you..."

The servos holding you tight maneuvered you to look him in the visor, keeping you in a loose hug while he put on what was probably intended to be a reassuring smile, though it failed to convince. "Hey, it was no big deal! Just my old shoulder wound playing up!"

"No big deal?" you repeated incredulously. A full body wince beneath you made it seem as if the words had physically hurt him, and while your heart ached as it always did when he was in pain, your other feelings could no longer be contained. He needed help for the suffering he'd endured in private, but in doing what he'd done you had nearly lost the one you cherished more than anything in the galaxy. You couldn't be expected to just let that go.

"You nearly died! You were dying for months!" you said, disbelief still strong at the very idea. The bot you'd adored had been dying in secret with no symptoms, making it impossible to truly believe he was okay in this moment either. It seemed as if he might crumble beneath you at the slightest movement, but you kept talking, refusing to be quiet. "No one knew, not even me, that you were wasting away while we thought everything was fine! I didn't know! How many times did you hold me, or tell me you wanted to be together forever, while you..."

Sobs made it impossible to breathe, and therefore impossible to talk.

"Y/N, I'm sorry..." Swerve said, softer than he'd ever been before. Careful servos pulled in your crying body against his and stroked your shaking shoulders, allowing you to vent everything you'd been enduring. Whether it took moments or hours before you were mostly quiet, he didn't interrupt you for anything, and he was silent until you were and he spoke again. "I never wanted to hurt anyone... I never wanted to hurt you... I... I didn't even know how bad of shape I was in."

"But you knew you were lying." you said, getting back to the core of the problem. Awareness of his condition mattered far less in the face of what he'd known and kept on doing. Though he did flinch yet again, Swerve didn't deflect this point, and instead nodded glumly in agreement.

"That... yeah, I did."

"To everyone." you emphasized, pushing for an answer in regards to why. Not a single soul on the ship had known what was happening, until it was almost too late. Had Skids not acted so quickly and carried his friend to the medical bay directly... You made a mental note to thank him later, then returned to the present when the minibot in question finally looked ready to really talk.

Taking more than a few starting vents, he finally got his thoughts gathered and his nerves primed, but every single word was unnaturally heavy. "It... it really didn't seem like a big deal. You were the only one who ever wanted to see me, in my own place, but it felt like I was doing you a favor..." Swallowing hard, he managed something like a smile and tried to sound reassuring, even if only to himself. "We still got to talk and everything else!"

There was too much to sort through in his partial explanation, thus you only stared. You'd always known he had issues when it came to self worth, but to hear him say teetering on the edge of death was no big deal? That by ridding you of himself he was doing you a favor? It wasn't something you could really wrap your brain around, but you supposed that wasn't important at the moment, not compared to what still needed to be done. There were more questions to be asked.

"You're hurting, and that's... I know you'd never try to hurt me, but you did. I want you to feel better, and I'll help, but I have to ask..." you said softly, finding the strength only as you came to each individual word to continue. Swerve showed in his braced expression that he anticipated something heavy was coming, a question he really didn't want to answer, but he didn't do anything to stop you.

"Y/N..."

Trying not to cry but still hiccuping, you forced yourself to keep looking in his visor. This wasn't supposed to be easy, after all, you repeated in your head as you finally croaked out the question. "Did you think about me at all? What this would do to me? Did you really think I wouldn't care?"

Something within him, something physical, seemed to break quickly and painfully. You felt it in how he flinched his much larger body as you lay curled over him. The unique way his visor light sputtered when he was hit with deep emotion told you he was reeling, and in that moment you forgot all about the complexities of the situation.

"I... I didn't-" he choked out on a sob, vents pulling air back and forth quickly in the Cybertronian equivalent of breathless crying. Heart breaking, you registered in some deep part of your brain that a dam he'd been relying on had just cracked. Embracing his helm against your chest, you gently stroked his cheek, whispering his nickname to try and convey your support.

"Swervy..."

Clipped by sobs, his words tumbled out mostly coherently, and you held him as they did. "I r-really thought you could... could do better. I'm just h-holding you back and... and if I wasn't there... but I couldn't make myself stop seeing you!" A few hard sobs stopped him for a good minute, at which point your shirt began to dampen with his tears. What you were hearing had been simmering for ages, and as much as it hurt to hear, you knew just letting it out was progress. That didn't make it any easier to listen as he continued...

"The holo... it was s-slow and made it like... like I was saving us both from hurt by slipping away. I didn't have to end things, we could pull back bit by bit and then... then you'd find someone better... but I didn't pull back at all, did I? I even made a second you, because I'm too selfish-"

You couldn't let him finish that thought. "Stop. No more of that."

Swerve looked surprised at your firmness, and admittedly had reason to feel as such. Swearth had included a holomatter of you already, albeit one that lived completely separate from his split personas... It had been you in the simplest, happiest of ways, living your dream life on his fictional escape from reality. Clearly he expected you to still be furious at what had only made you sad.

"B-but I ruined everyt-thing! If I'd just been brave enough to break up with you before-"

"I don't want you to break up with me!" you cried, lifting your upper body to look down at him. Emotions raged inside you with enough ferocity to make you tremble, and for an instant you had to gather yourself. You'd known he was suffering, that he struggled with inadequacy, but for it to have gotten so bad? How had you not known he felt like this?

Swerve looked absolutely baffled at your words, as if he'd heard you wrong or misunderstood. "But... I-"

"I love you! Even if there's some voice in your head that won't let you believe it, it's true! I want to be with you, and even after all this I still do!" you insisted, holding onto him as if he might vanish in a flash like before. Unable to stop yourself from crying at the raw emotions you didn't have the ability to handle, you wiped away the tears on the back of your arm, fighting to keep talking despite the pain. He had to know how you really felt, and if this moment was the only one you could break through to him you were going to use it. His cheeks were hot in your hands as you cupped his face. "I just need you to work on getting better! No more hiding, or lying, or any of that, I want you to be with me as you, because that's who I fell in love with!"

Swerve was totally silent, his little dentae gap showing between his slightly parted lips as he stared at you. His feelings were beyond guessing, but you were growing exhausted, too much to even hope you could keep this up. Sniffling, you laid back down over him. The frame beneath you was warm and alive, but just that morning it had been... he'd been so close to leaving you. Then again, he'd felt fine all the times you'd held him in the prior months, how did you know this was any different?

"I want to be with you. The real you. I don't know how to be sure this you is real either..."

Exhaustion dragged you down against him, and you lost the ability to even lift your head as it all seemed to sink in. You hadn't wanted to make this about yourself, but your pain was just too intense to shove aside. Tears, more than you knew you had, continued to fall onto his chest. As they dripped onto the newly cleaned armor, you felt him suddenly shift beneath you. Curling up partway, he scooped you up completely in his arms and hugged you close.

"It's me this time, babe. A hundred percent. I k-know it's hard to believe that, but I... I want to help you trust me." he said, shaky but firm as he made his promise. For all the hours you'd spent listening to him you'd never once heard him use such a tone. There was conviction in the depths of his visor as he held you close, tapping his forehead against your forehelm. While you could also see pain, there was a desire to fight it now. His request for help came on a quiet murmur. "I don't know how to do that, but I don't wanna hurt anymore..."

"I can help with that. Not all by myself, but I'll be here for you as long as you try." you vowed, stumbling over your words as you found them. There was a strange solace in the idea, as if planning your recovery together was healing in and of itself. Too relieved to care, you pressed your face into his cheek. The faintest hint of his usual scent; sweet energon blends and brews, was still apparent beneath the sterile medical air. It soothed you as you allowed yourself to rest on top of him. "From now on, no more hiding this stuff. We're gonna get you feeling better, I promise."

"I love you..." Swerve whispered, hopefully but tentatively. A lifetime of doubt wouldn't just dissapear after one massive event, you knew that, but the start was good enough for you. Kissing his tear stained cheek, you held him close, hoping your unconditional love was clear in every word. It would be a journey, but you hoped someday he'd understand how much you meant it.

"I love you too, Swervey. Always will."

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light imagine #lostlight #lost light #idw #tf #ll #my writing #swerve x reader #swerve #swearth #kofi

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pixieposts · 4 years ago

Text

Bad Things Bingo

AO3

The first fill I did for my BTHB card was: Mouth Stitched Shut!

TWs: Description of injuries Blood Referenced PTSD symptoms

Fjord paced the dinning room again, the same way he had every day for the last month. If he wasn’t pacing then he was searching, and if he wasn’t searching than he was training. Anything to trick his brain into believing they were making some kind of progress towards getting Caleb back.

“You’re going to wear a groove into the floor.”

“We should just go get him”

“He’s in literally the most secure place in the Empire Fjord, you remember how well that went last time.”

“We got out, didn’t we? He’d do it for us!”

“I’m with Fjord on this one” Beau growled from the where she was sitting with her feet up on the table “we managed it last time, we can do it again.”

“We barely managed it last time” Jester corrected her, taking her hand gently “we could totally have died in there, we almost got stuck.”

He felt the frustration burn in his chest; they were missing the point! Beau was the only one who got it, the fact that they knew how bad the place was made it even more important that they go.

“Yeah, and how do you think—”

Before he could finish his sentence, there was a familiar popping sound from the front hall. They looked at each other briefly before jumping up and bolting for the door. Standing in the hall were three figures, well, two were standing while they held the other up. Fjord summoned Star Razor immediately, stepping closer to the trio.

“Wait” Eodwulf’s voice was rough, almost desperate “please, we cannot stay, or he will notice our absence.”

They stepped forward, pushing the unconscious Caleb towards him as he dropped Star Razor back into the ether. He caught Caleb, wrapping an arm tightly around him and supporting his weight as he slumped against Fjord's chest.

“Please, we got him out as soon as we could, help him.”

“Wha—” Beau started forward, but before she could reach them, they had disappeared again.

Fjord paused for a moment as the air settled, Caleb’s scarf fluttering slightly on the hook it still occupied. Caleb stirred slightly against him, and he tightened his hold automatically, leaning to lift Caleb into his arms.

“Fucking hells” Beau cursed, and Fjord couldn’t help but agree.

Caleb looked awful, deathly pale with deep bruising around his eyes. He was lighter than usual, the bones of his hands clearly defined. It looked as though his nose had been broken and reset at least once, and there was dried blood all over his face and in his hair. The worst part by far though… the part that made Fjords stomach flip in distress and disgust, was his mouth.

Someone (he was sure he knew who) had stitched it closed with some kind of rough spun black cord. Nine neat X’s all the way across, with more blood dried all around it, and dark bruises around each of the punctures.

There was a gagging noise from beside him as Beau looked Caleb over, and a horrified gasp from Jester on his other side. He turned, looking them both in the eye to make sure they would follow, then made his way to the happy room. He laid Caleb on the couch as gently as he could, worried about any unseen injuries he might have hidden under the tattered clothes.

“Beau, get Caduceus… Jester, grab the healers kit from the kitchen, would you?”

They ran off, Beau towards the garden and Jester back down the stairs, as Fjord got Caleb as comfortable as he could. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over Caleb’s shivering form, and tucked his messy hair back behind his ears. Heat seemed to radiate off his skin, and Fjord worried about the possibility of infection. He felt a tug in his chest, a tight sort of pain at the sight of Caleb lying like this. They had been through a lot together, literal death a few times… but there was something particularly difficult about seeing just how much he had been through alone. He hadn’t had any of them to help, no one to lean on or turn to… they had failed him.

Jester got back first, kneeling next to him and popping open the kit. Fjord reached in, grabbing the sharp gauze scissors that were kept in there.

“Oooh” Jester whispered “good idea Fjord! The kitchen scissors are way too big for…for…”

She trailed off, going pale as the reality of Caleb’s issue hit her yet again. Fjord rubbed a hand down her back soothingly for a moment before turning back towards Caleb. He took a breath, steadying his hand as he slid the thin scissor blade under the first X, relieved to see that it fit… though just barely. He was too nervous to try and cut the center of the X, so he settled for just snipping the threads individually. He was halfway through the second one when there was a pounding of feet from the hallway. He held his breath as Jester jumped up, throwing open the door and shushing the others. Caleb didn’t need his hand to slip and add another scar to this new collection. He felt Caduceus and Jester settle next to him again and heard a horrified gasp that he recognized as Veth. Beau was whispering now, explaining what had happened he assumed, but he ignored them. It likely only took a few minutes for him to finished snipping through the cords, but it felt like much longer as he worked from one end of Caleb’s mouth to the other. Jester took the scissors from him and handed him a pair of tweezers automatically. He nodded his thanks and set to work carefully removing the now-loose strings.

Caleb winced as he tugged the middle ones out, brows furrowing in discomfort. Fjord heard himself apologizing, whispering nonsense as he kept going. The others were silent now, watching as he dropped the blood crusted strings to the floor. Finally, finally, it was done.

He sat back, moving on reluctant legs so that Jester could start healing the re-opened punctures. He watched with relief as they closed over, and the other bruises and cuts faded into nothing. Caduceus had stepped in to help as well, healing unseen injuries along Caleb’s torso and limbs, frowning in concern. Once they had done all they could, they stepped back, nodding to the others. They all crowded around the couch, and Fjord reached out, gently pressing a hand to his forehead. The fever he had felt before was gone, and Caleb’s face had relaxed.

“Now what?” Veth asked quietly “he’s still out…”

“He’s been through a lot, maybe we should move him to his bed?” Caduceus mused, looking at Fjord.

He felt a slight shock at being so directly asked what to do… but he shook it off and nodded at Caduceus.

“Yeah, yeah that seems like a good idea… at least he’ll be more comfortable.”

That decided, they stepped back and allowed him space to scoop Caleb up again as gently as he could. Despite his care, Caleb stirred in his arms, eyes fluttering open with a grimace. Everyone froze for a moment as Caleb stared at him, blinking slowly.

“H-hey there Cay… you can go back to sleep if you want, you’re safe now.”

Blue eyes, hazy and confused, stared into his for a moment more before Caleb nodded once, turned his face to press against Fjords shoulder, and shut his eyes again. Fjord stood still as his breathing slowed and evened out, half of him glad that Caleb trusted him enough to fall back to sleep… and half even more concerned about just how much he had gone through in order to be this out of it. He led the group back down the stairs, pausing at the library door so Veth could slip past and open it for him, then open the door to Caleb’s room as well. As he walked in, Veth pulled down the sheets and laid out extra pillows, watching him with concern as he laid Caleb out and pulled the blankets up. He caught her eye and nodded, forcing a tight smile onto his face which she returned. If there was one thing they agreed on, it was keeping Caleb safe and comfortable.

They filed back out of the room, leaving both doors ajar automatically and heading for the dinning room again.

“I’ll go make some tea I think.”

“Wine, definitely wine” Beau added, following Caduceus to the kitchen “to drink… not to make, um...”

The rest of them sat around the large table, expressions ranging from stoic and concerned, to just plain sad. Fjord took a deep breath, sighing as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. There was nothing else they could do right now, they just had to wait for Caleb to be up and ready to talk.

“This sucks, it just really really sucks you know?” Jester glared at her sketchbook “I am going to send Astrid such a mean message when I figure out what to say.”

“At least they brought him back” Veth ventured “but… yeah, definitely send her something mean… yell at her in infernal or something.”

“I would like to go pay them a visit” Yasha said, her voice that dangerous level of quiet “go and thank them for everything they did.”

“Well, I guess we don’t really know that they like… actually did any of it right? Maybe it was all Icky-Thong”

“Doubt it.”

There was another space of silence as Beau re-emerged with two bottles of wine and a plate covered in glasses. Fjord took one with a nod, sipping slowly at it as Jester went back to writing, occasionally showing the page to Veth. They had been sitting there, talking quietly and trying to calm their nerves for just over an hour when they heard it.

A scream, blood curdling and terrified.

Fjord and Beau were fastest up, both out the door towards the library and Caleb’s room. They burst through and Fjord felt like his heart would break. Caleb had stopped screaming, a hand pressed firmly over his mouth as he sat up in bed with his back to the corner, eyes wide in the dark. Beau lit a candle on the desk as Fjord approached the bed slowly, hands outstretched.

“Alright, you’re alright Cay… we’ve got you, you’re home. Just—just breathe with me okay?”

Caleb stared at him for a moment, fear evident in his face before moving his hand and copying Fjords slow, even breathing. Veth climbed up onto the bed, reaching a hand out questioningly. Caleb seemed skittish but reached a shaking hand back to her slowly. Fjord sat on the edge of the bed, trying to calm his own racing heart as Beau let out a sigh from where she was leaning against the desk. Caduceus walked in, setting a cup of tea quietly on the bedside table and offering Caleb a small smile.

“Perhaps we should ah… take turns saying hello? I think we might be a bit overwhelming all at once.”

“Good idea” Yasha stepped forward, patting Caleb’s knee lightly before whispering a soft “welcome back” and heading out into the library.

Slowly the others did similar, making sure not to move too suddenly, until it was just Caleb, Fjord and Veth left in the room. Fjord watched Caleb the whole time, concern growing like a buzz in his head. Caleb hadn’t spoken a word since he had woken the first time… the only sound he had made was that ungodly scream.

“Is that okay?” Fjord indicated the space next to Caleb on the bed, waiting until he nodded before moving to sit there “Can I get you anything? Does anything hurt?”

Caleb shook his head, but looked down, worrying his bottom lip until it started to bleed and Fjord put out a hand to stop him.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you—are you upset that we didn’t get there faster? I’m so sorry Caleb, we tried but that place is hell to get into and—well you know that I guess—I… I’m just so fucking sorry you had to go through that again.”

Caleb looked back up at him, shaking his head slightly, and Fjord felt his chest constrict. Of course he would be upset with them, they had left him with that monster. Left him to suffer and be in pain all alone again. Caleb seemed to read his expression, because his eyes went wide and he shook his head harder, placing his free hand on Fjords knee and squeezing gently.

“Talk to me Cay, tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours” Fjord pleaded “I want to help.”

Caleb sighed, focussing on where his hand met Fjords leg for a moment. Fjord could tell by his expression that he was trying to decide on something. Eventually, he nodded to himself and looked back up at Fjord. His expression was… almost apologetic, and Fjord was confused.

Until he opened his mouth.

Fjord felt nausea rise in his stomach instantly, followed very closely by a wave of unimaginable anger. Fjord had been angry before, had felt that surge of heat that lead to a particularly good punch or the end of an enemies life… but he had never felt anything like this.

“Veth… go get Jester, quickly”

“What? Why? I thought they--”

“The fucker cut out his tongue Veth”

Veth gave an indignant shriek that made Caleb jump and curl in on himself, mouth snapping shut. Fjord reached out without thinking, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing up and down his arm. Veth’s whispered apologies where the only sound for a few minutes before she climbed off the bed and headed for the library. Fjord pulled Caleb in tighter, squeezing his bicep gently.

“It’s gonna be okay Cay, we’ll get this sorted out, you’re gonna be okay.”

Caleb had stopped shaking by the time Jester poked her head around the doorframe, concern on her face. The look she gave Fjord told him that Veth had explained what was going on already, so he sent her a tight smile. She walked in with much less energy than she usually would have, perching on the bed the way Fjord had initially.

“Hey there Cay-leb” she singsonged quietly “do you might if I take a look? I’m totally sure that me and the Traveller can fix you right up, but I just need to see the um… the damage.”

Fjord felt Caleb go still next to him, and then the light movement of him nodding slowly before he leaned away from him. Relief washed over Jesters face and she scooted closer, carefully concealing whatever negative reaction the sight of Caleb’s tongueless mouth caused in her. She inspected it for a moment, then nodded slightly.

“Oookay, the Traveller totally says we can fix this up… but it might be sort of uncomfortable, okay?”

Caleb sent her a look that clearly indicated that he was already uncomfortable, so this couldn’t be much worse. She smiled at him, a softer version of her usual beam, and laid her fingertips against his cheek.

“Promise my hands are like super-duper clean.”

He closed his mouth but nodded. Fjord could have sworn he could feel the nervous energy coming off Caleb. He moved close again, setting a hand between Caleb’s shoulder blades. Caleb’s eyes darted to him, and he could see gratefulness there… but also fear. Fjord frowned slightly, Caleb wasn’t afraid of pain, he had never shied away from it before… And he had definitely never been nervous about healing. Something was wrong, it set Fjords nerves on edge, either some kind of instinct or just having spent so much time around Caleb made him certain this was—there was something very wrong.

As the pink and green glimmer of Jesters magic started, the fear in Caleb's eyes only grew more pronounced. His hand flew out and clung to Fjord's knee as his breathing picked up speed. Fjord rubbed his back, feeling at a complete loss as he watched the panic set in. Caleb’s heartbeat was pounding rabbit-fast beneath his skin, his pupils dilating in too-wide eyes. Not knowing what else to do, Fjord set his free hand over where Caleb’s was clinging to his knee. Caleb gripped it tight, and he squeezed back when Caleb’s nails bit into the skin of his palm. After two minutes the glimmer faded and Jester pulled her hands away. There were tears on her cheeks now as Caleb flinched away from her, still breathing too fast. Fjord sent her a grateful look, and she sniffled as she responded with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry Caleb” she whispered as she stood up “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Caleb was shaking now, shifting back towards the wall with Fjord's hand still clutched in his own. Fjord turned to Jester and shook his head.

“You’re alright Jes, I don’t think even he knew… you know he doesn’t mean it”

“I—yeah I totally do, I just don’t want him to be like… scared of me” she looked at Caleb, then back to Fjord “I’m gonna go, let him calm down and stuff”

“Okay, thanks Jes.”

She left, closing the door behind her with a soft click, and Fjord turned to fully face Caleb on the bed. The semi-darkness of the room cast him in shadow, tucked away in the corner like he was, blue eyes glowing in the candlelight. Fjord shifted forward slightly, moving into Caleb’s space and taking his other hand gently.

“Can you talk to me Cay?”

Caleb opened and shut his mouth a few times, before shaking his head with another violent shiver. Fjord could see easily enough that Jesters spell had worked… but the panic was still in his eyes. He chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Okay, that’s alright darlin’ you don’t have to talk. Let’s just breathe a bit yeah? Nice and slow” Fjord demonstrated and smiled when Caleb started to copy him “there, just like that. Squeeze my hands if you need to, I’ve got you.”

It took the better part of a half hour before Caleb was calm again, his hands loose in Fjords. Fjord smiled encouragingly at him, earning a small smile in return.

“That better?”

Caleb nodded, then looked down at the bed. Fjord could see the colour rising in his cheeks and held back a sigh.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about Cay, you’ve been through hell again… there was no way to know how you would react.”

Caleb looked up at him with an expression that, to Fjord anyway, clearly said he surprised and confused by Fjord picking up on why he was embarrassed. Fjord just smiled again, feeling his own expression soften as it so often did around Caleb.

“We spend enough time together; I know what you’re like.” He chuckled as Caleb glared half-heartedly, lips pursed in a familiar annoyed expression “Don’t give me that face, I’m right and you know it. Now c’mon, you should eat something if you’re feeling up to it.”

Caleb nodded, allowing Fjord to support him as they stood up. He went to open the door, only to feel a slight tug on his other hand. He turned to find Caleb standing very close and tried to slow his heartbeat. Now was not the time for silly infatuation, Caleb was going through enough. He focussed on Caleb’s expression, on the subtle way his eyebrows quirked, the tightness in his jaw.

“They won’t mind Cay, they’re just glad to have you back same as me. We were worried sick while you were gone and… well, if you’re not up to talking yet then don’t talk. We’ll make it work right?”

His jaw relaxed, and Fjord felt the brush of the familiar scar across his palm.

“We understand each other”

Caleb’s eyes widened minutely, and he seemed to be searching Fjord's expression. For a moment, he was certain he had given himself away… but as usual the moment passed, and Caleb just nodded. The others had moved from the library it seemed, but once they got into the hallway the sound of hushed voices reached their ears. Caleb’s hand slipped from his as they reached the entryway, and Fjord fought down a disappointed sigh, leading the way in. The others were clustered around the table, most sitting in chairs, but some sitting on the table in stead. They looked up uncertainly, tentative smiles all around (other than Caduceus, who wore his usual serene expression). Caleb shrank back slightly, bumping into Fjord's chest in the process.

“Good news Jes, it worked.”

“That’s super awesome Caleb, I’m glad” her smile still wasn’t quite it’s usual brightness, tempered by the apologetic look in her eyes “I really am sorry I scared you though, really.”

Fjord watched as Caleb shook his head smiling ruefully, he didn’t blame her of course. Fjord figured he was probably still blaming himself for whatever that bastard Ikithon had done. The concerned looks had returned to everyone’s faces when Caleb didn’t immediately respond. Fjord steered him towards the table, pulling out a chair next to Cad and smiling encouragingly at him.

“I’m starved, I’m gonna grab something for both of us from the kitchen.”

“I’ll help” Beau said immediately, standing to follow him.

He looked back over his shoulder to see Caleb watching him, brows furrowed and hands fidgeting in his lap. He felt a tug of guilt in his chest, but he pushed it down, he was just getting lunch… not abandoning him with enemies. Beau’s arm crossed his vision, shutting the door and blocking his view of the dinning room.

“What the fuck happened?”

“No idea… well—” he paused “I have some theories… but he hasn’t confirmed anything.”

“Has he said anything since he freaked out at Jester?”

“Nothing, and I don’t plan to push him to do so.”

She stared at him, sharp eyes searching his face as he crossed his arms and frowned. He meant it; he wasn’t going to push Caleb. Clearly, he had been through enough, he didn’t need them pressuring him too. Beau seemed to come to the same conclusion, sighing and turning to grab some food out of the icebox.

“Fine, yeah. He’ll talk when he’s ready I guess.” She handed him a plate “and until then I guess we just—”

The door to the kitchen flew open with a loud crack, and Caleb stood, eyes wide and face pale. Fjord set the plate down and stepped towards Caleb.

“Cay…”

Caleb just shook his head; he was shaking all over again and Fjords heart sank at the sight. What the hell had Ikithon done to him? Beau took the plates and stepped past them, whispering a quiet word to Caleb as she did.

“What happened?” Fjord asked, stepping closer slowly “Cay?”

Caleb swallowed and looked behind him, towards the table where the others were still sitting. Veth was standing next to where Caleb had been, holding his spell book and component pouch. Fjord furrowed his brow and turned back to Caleb.

“Want us to put those away for a while?”

Caleb gave one jerky nod, wrapping his arms around his own torso protectively as his eyes wandered back to the book he had loved for as long as Fjord had known him. Fjord wondered just how many times a persons heart could break on another’s behalf.

“Alright, come sit down and try to eat something… I’ll go put them away.”

Caleb looked back at him, blue eyes full of an awful mix of sadness and gratitude. Beau came back over, tugging Caleb over to where she had sat the plates and sitting with him. Fjord made his way to Veth, who held out the book and pouch sadly.

“I… thought he would be happy to have them back… I found them in the front hall after Eodwulf and Astrid poofed.”

“It’s not your fault, he usually would have loved it… whatever Ikithon did this time around really fucked with him” he paused, settling a hand on her shoulder “you did a kind thing Veth, I think he just needs some comfort right now, no one does that as well as you.”

She gave him a weak smile but headed over to where Caleb and Beau were sitting. He left the room, pausing in the hall to try and decide where the best spot to put them away. He made his way into the library, scouted out a spot high up enough that Caleb wouldn’t notice it without actively looking. Temporary contraband stowed away, he found himself moving immediately back to the dining room. There was a pull, stronger than even his usual pull towards Caleb; some deep-rooted instinct that was yelling at him to get back there.

He needs you.

----

A week went by, and Caleb still wouldn’t speak.

Jester and Veth were beside themselves, trying to coax him into it as kindly as possible, while Yasha and Beau had taken to trying to work with him. Admittedly, working with him looked different for each of them.

Yasha would sit in the quiet with him and learned to respond to a lot of the non-verbal cues he had developed; they had taken to spending the afternoons in the garden with Cad, who also seemed fine to just let Caleb sit.

Beau took a more… active role, vocalizing anything that the others hadn’t picked up on yet, and having conversations with him despite being the only one talking.

The one habit they had all picked up, without exception, was coming to Fjord when they weren’t able to understand or help Caleb themselves. When he spaced out and couldn’t be contacted? Fjord. When he would start to shake around anything arcane? Fjord.

When his eyes went glassy and his breathing picked up, and no one could calm him? Yep, Fjord.

Not that Fjord minded, he had taken to sleeping in the library in fact, just to be sure that he was there when (not if: when) Caleb woke screaming.

The screams and incoherent Zemnian babbling in the dark of the night were the only sounds he had made.

Fjord worried, he worried about Caleb’s sleep, and he worried about Caleb’s eating (he wasn’t doing enough of it, in Fjord's opinion). He worried about the awful, banded scars around his wrists, and the tiny puncture scars around his lips. The scarring didn’t seem to hurt, but Fjord had never liked seeing new ones on the wizard to begin with.

They had quiet moments too of course, Fjord would sit with Caleb pressed against his side while they read or go for little walks around the neighborhood. As long as Fjord was there, Caleb seemed calm. He tried not to look too deep into that fact, this wasn’t the time for it.

Near the end of the first week, Essek came by. Luckily, Beau caught him at the door and seemed to go over everything with him. The concern on his face was visible even from the other room as he immediately stopped floating, popped his bag into existence, and hung up his mantel before coming in.

“Good evening everyone, I hope I am not interrupting?”

There was a general call of greeting from the others assembled there, even Caleb looked up and offered a small smile. Essek came and sat down, searching Caleb’s face for a moment before smiling sadly at him.

“It is good to see you back Caleb, I am sorry I did not come to say hello sooner.”

Caleb smiled back and shook his head in a way that said Essek shouldn’t worry about it, which he seemed to understand.

“I brought… well, I brought a few things over, but I worry this may not be a good time for them now…” pale purple eyes turned to Fjord questioningly, and he shrugged. The only way to find out was to try. Essek nodded, reaching into the bag and pulling out a stack of three books. He laid them tentatively in front of Caleb, who eyed them curiously. Fjord felt his heart skip at the sight, Caleb looked almost like himself again.

“This one” Essek taped the first book “is a rare history of the Dynasty, before the Calamity” he shuffled the book off to the side “this one�� you may not like right now, but please feel free to hold onto it as long as you like. It is a book of Dunamancy, higher levels than we had been working on before.” He paused to see how Caleb would react, and the whole room seemed to hold its breath.

But… Caleb picked it up, examining the inlaid title for a moment before turning to give Essek another tentative smile.

There was a collective release of breath, and Fjord rubbed his hand up and down Caleb’s spine briefly in congratulations. Essek was beaming, or as close to it as he ever got, and he reached out to tap the last book. It was plain black leather, well made but with no title across the front.

“This one… well, it is nothing quite so exciting I suppose, but I noticed that your secondary notebook seemed to be getting full last time we were together. The paper is not spell quality, but as a journal or for note taking before transcription…” he trailed off, cheeks a darker purple than usual and eyes locked on the cover of the smaller book.

“Thank you.”

Caleb’s voice shocked the room, it was rough from disuse, and quieter than usual. But he was looking at Essek, smiling at him, as he traded the magic tome for the empty notebook. He fought back a frown at the way Essek’s face brightened as he nodded. Caleb looked down, the rounded tips of his ears going red as he pulled the book to his chest protectively.

Fjord didn’t get jealous, he didn’t.

He just… maybe he did a little bit.

----

Three more weeks, it had been a month in total since Caleb came home.

Things had improved, at least a little bit.

He still didn’t speak most of the time, still woke in the night screaming, and hadn’t cast so much as Dancing Lights. But... most of the time is not the same as always, or never. He spoke to Fjord in the night, when he couldn’t sleep, and Fjord would sit holding him the same way he had that first day. He told him of his nightmares, a few snippets of what had happened to him bleeding through into his unconscious mind. It hurt to hear, but Fjord listened.

One such night, Fjord sat with his arm wrapped snug around Caleb's shoulders, and his free hand clenched in both of Caleb's, humming softly as he came back to himself. It had been a bad one, Fjord knew that by the way Caleb had hidden from him, tucked deep into the farthest corner of his bed and barely visible in the dark room.

“I... I am sorry Fjord”

He still whispered most of the time, and Fjord's name sounded more like a prayer than anything else.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for Cay, you know that”

“You say it, but I--” he stopped, hand twitching slightly around Fjords “I still... I am not--”

“You’re not who you were when they took you?”

“How can I be?”

“Without magic? Or with the added nightmares? Or because talking is difficult?”

Caleb shrugged against him as if to say all of the above and Fjord nodded.

“I get that, but here’s the thing Cay” he pulled away slightly, so he could look him in the eyes “you’re still you. I know you don’t feel like it right now, but that’s alright. You didn’t feel like you when you met Veth did you? Or when you met us, all covered in mud and just looking for any excuse to run off.” He leaned it, resting his forehead against Caleb's “I still see the same good man I saw back on the ocean, I still see the ridiculous genius who can backwards engineer magic he didn’t even know existed weeks before. You’re still here darlin’, I see you, you’ve just hidden for a bit” he smiled slightly as Caleb's cheeks darkened “no one blames you for tucking yourself away, and we’ll be here when you’re ready to come back to yourself.”

He leaned back, giving Caleb more space to think over what he had said. His thumb was tracing little swishing movements against the inside of Fjords wrist as he thought, until he finally spoke again.

“If I cannot?”

“Then we’ll help you figure out who this new Caleb is, and love you just the same”

Caleb's lips parted in a little “o” of surprise, and Fjords heart seemed to constrict in his chest as the surprise shifted into a small, grateful smile.

“Danke Fjord, truly”

“Anytime sweetheart”

----

Something shifted after that night, some fearful part of Caleb seemed eased. He tried to talk more, spent more time out of the house with the others. He even started casting again, small spells like Dancing Lights and Find Familiar at first... but that was something. Frumpkin had been overjoyed to be back with his master and followed Caleb everywhere. The mood of the house had lightened extraordinarily, Caleb’s growing happiness infecting everyone. He had picked up the Dunamancy book, and read through it in a day, even making notes on which spells he wanted to discuss with Essek later. Fjord had come to terms with the fact that once Caleb was feeling more himself, their nighttime talks would end... along with the comfortable closeness that they had developed.

Simply put, Caleb wouldn’t need him anymore.

That thought was bittersweet, because of course he was overjoyed to see Caleb healing, talking, casting... doing all the things that made him happy and made him feel like himself again. But if he was honest, and he could be honest with himself at least, he would miss the way Caleb turned to him when he was looking to be understood, or comforted...or held. He would miss that quiet intimacy of always knowing what he was thinking.

Of course, he mused as he flicked through one of the few fiction books they owned one evening, he would still know most of the time... the thing he would miss would be the ability to act on it. The chance to reach out.

He sighed, turning the page and debating just heading to bed early. He would have to start sleeping in his own room again, he supposed.

“May I join you?”

Fjord looked up and smiled, nodding at Caleb as he smiled back. He settled on the couch next to Fjord, who balanced his book on his knee and threw one arm over the back of the couch. Caleb shifted close, book in his lap as he leaned over to peek at what he had been reading.

“Fairytales?”

“Wasn’t in the mood for history, and you know your magic books are incomprehensible to the rest of us” he teased, turning to look into eyes that only looked more magical up close “so, fairytales it is”

“A good choice” he said quietly, reaching out to tap the page “though I never thought you were much of a romantic”

“I could be, if the opportunity arose”

“It has not?” there was a teasing tone to his voice now, matching the little smirk “I am surprised”

Fjord shrugged, there wasn’t much he could say here without just completely giving himself away... if he hadn’t already. Caleb searched his face, and his expression softened before he shifted to lean against Fjords side and opened his own book. They read quietly for a while, the soft sound of pages turning and the crackle of the fireplace the only noise. Maybe he could still have this after all? Caleb seemed just as comfortable as he had lately, maybe these quiet moments could continue.

“I... have been thinking about what you said” Caleb whispered, his hand stilling on the page “about seeing who I am now” he clarified.

“Oh? Do you have some ideas?”

“I think I am... who I was, to a point” he shifted to look up at Fjord “but I have been thinking...”

“You’ve always done a lot of that” Fjord teased, letting the fondness slip into his voice

“Ha-ha” Caleb poked his thigh and rolled his eyes “I mean specifically about—about changes, and how much this has shown me about what I want to be”

“And what is that?”

“Yours”

Fjord stared; eyes wide as he processed the statement. He had to have misheard, or Caleb meant something else or... but Caleb was smiling at him, waiting as the gears turned in his head. Caleb was giving him the same look that Fjord knew he wore when he knew exactly what was going on in Caleb’s head.

“Mine?”

“Yes, if you’ll have me” he stated, rather than asking.

“That wasn’t a question”

“I know”

Bright, sparkling warm joy bubbled in his chest and he found himself smiling along with Caleb as he leaned in and rested their foreheads together. They sat that way for a moment, before Caleb tilted his head forward and captured Fjord with a kiss. Fjord slid the hand that had been on the back of the couch up into Caleb's hair to cup the back of his head as one of Caleb’s hands came to rest against his jaw. The warm slide of their lips had Fjord's head spinning, and by the time they broke apart he was sure he had forgotten how to breathe. Caleb smiled at him fondly, thumb stroking his cheekbone lightly as he spoke:

“Then we understand each other.”

“We always do.”

#Bad Things Happen Bingo #BTHB #Mouth Stitched Shut #Hurt/comfort #brief description of injuries #referenced ptsd #widofjord #caleb widogast #fjord #critical role fanfiction

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waywardsons-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Not Okay

Author - Admin Aingeal

Characters - Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Y/N

Pairing - None

Summary/Request - When Y/N runs off on yet another suicide mission, the brothers find her having taken down an entire nest of vampires. They are determined to figure out what has been driving her, before it’s too late.

Word Count - 1,960

Warnings - Angst, Descriptions of Depression, Mentions of Blood (from killing vampires) (If you spot any other warnings I should add, please let me know so I can edit this post to include them!)

A/N - Based on the song “I’m Not Okay” by Citizen Soldier

Story -

The rain was pouring. With everything I had been dealing with inside, it was as if the sky decided to cry with me and just let it all out at once.

I stood there in the parking lot with my arms out as if I was trying to catch the water with my bare hands.

Machete in one hand - blood dripping onto the pavement from my fingers & the large blade, more still running down my shirt and finding its way to the ground around me, mixing with the water to form unique artwork around me.

Tonight - the monsters that inhabit my brain are screaming so damn loud. I can’t ignore them any longer. The walls I built up so that I would never have to hear their voices couldn’t go any higher.

I hear the rumble of an engine in the distance. They are approaching quickly, sure, but will they make it in time?

The person that they see, day in and day out, is nothing more than a mask. A facade. A blatant lie.

But it’s also the only way to cope that I’ve ever known.

Being the real me - broken, scared, desperate for something I can never obtain - has only ever resulted in being more and more alone in this world.

I hear the purr of the engine a short distance behind me - the doors slamming shut in their hurry, and their booming voices carrying through over the din of the downpour.

“Y/N! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Their footsteps cause distinct splashes as they make their way to where I stand. I find the sound amusing for as morbid a moment this has become.

“Dean, chill,” Sam interjected, seemingly noticing my exasperation of their presence. “She’s fine; that’s the important thing.”

I am far more thankful for the water falling from the sky than I ever have been before. It is hiding the falling tears and making it that much easier to replace the mask I need for the interaction ahead.

“Sorry guys,” I keep my tone stoic and passively positive as always as I turn to face them. “I got a lead, and I took my chance before they could move again.”

“Sorry?” Dean bit out. “All you can say is ‘sorry guys’? We were worried sick, Y/N!” His voice was rough as always.

“Dean!”

“No, Sam! Not this time!” His hand was out, waving to dismiss his brother. “What the fuck is going on with you, Y/N!? Sneaking off, not telling a damn one of us where the hell you’re going off to. Taking on demons, werewolves, even a fucking wendigo - ALONE.”

I sidestep the brothers and start the sadly short journey to my car on the other side of the vast open lot.

He tried to stay strong - not the ever tough soldier his brother was, but the solid rock we all came to expect. I could hear his voice break, though, despite his best efforts.

I turn back and lock eyes with each of them again, all while still taking steps back toward the vehicles. I could feel how dead my stare was; I could feel how painfully emotionless my face rested.

‘I’m not okay - can’t you see that?’ I want to shout at them.

I have so much to say, but no one to hear it.

Despite how much is at stake, keeping quiet not burdening the brothers - or their angel - with the battle inside myself.

I feel the emotions clash - the want and the need to tell them everything, right here and right now - the futility of it, seeping in and convincing me they don’t care.

So, I let the monsters win, silencing me once again. Lying to myself, they’d never understand why it’s so hard to say that I’m not okay.

“I’m fine, Sam. Really.”

“Then what is your excuse?” Dean cut in. “What is your reason for going out on these suicide missions? I mean, come on Y/N, let’s face it - you’re either hell-bent on destruction, or you’re just being stupid. And we both know you are smarter than Sam and I put together. So what’s the deal? What’s next? Trying to take on HellHounds?!”

I blinked heavily.

I wish I had an answer. I wish I had a scar, a bruise, something to show the proof of the battles I face, day in and day out. Something to show for the invisible abuse - faced with the choice to either be judged or hideaway in secret as I inevitably choose to do.

I let out a soft but long sigh. “I have no answer for you. Not one you’d accept anyway.”

Words may be my only option. The only visible symptom to show for the battle that wages is the sheer desire to end the torment that is my life.

I look at the two of them for a moment before finally breaking away to turn back - back to my car, back to my escape, back to a place where they can’t see the battle playing out in my mind. I can only hide so much. The tears were beginning to fall once again.

I hear the steps approaching. Their long strides make it easy work to catch up to where I am. Feeling a hand grip my upper arm and spin me around quickly - my face must have physically shown how distraught and angry I am. Unable to hide my emotions as I usually would - my gaze clashed with the glaring green eyes of Dean’s boring into me.

The reason I say my face must’ve revealed more than I wanted is because, after a long but instant moment, I saw his face drop.

In all the years we’ve been fighting together, he has never seen this side of me, and for a good reason.

“Y/N? Wh-” he releases his grip on my arm, running his hand down his face, contemplating. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing, Dean,” I say, schooling my features. “Forget it.” Quickly I ground myself, now trying to turn my features to stone - removing any trace of the ever hidden emotions that were trying to pour out.

“Bullshit.” His voice stopped me dead in my tracks. “Talk to me,” he said and shared a silent look to his brother, almost as if to confirm he didn’t imagine things, “Talk to us.”

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Sam joined. “You know you don’t have to hide things from us.”

“I’m fine. Just -”

“No. You’re not, okay,” Sam interjected, joining Dean in speaking firmly. “Something is wrong; tell us.” Sam was quiet for a moment before adding, “Please.”

I felt guilty as I noticed his voice break.

Staring at the brothers, I felt a mixture of emotions — contempt, love, bitterness, relief.

“Fine,” I bit out.

Perhaps knowing it was a losing battle, I caved for the first time in my life. “I’m not okay. You’re right. But I don’t have the words to explain the hell that goes on within my mind on a daily basis.”

“Try.” Dean retorted instantly, seamlessly - I hadn’t even finished speaking. I knew he was trying to offer comfort, in his ‘unattached,’ ‘too cool for attachment’ way.

“Humor us,” he added after a beat of me not responding.

I looked at him with a pinched look, shaking my head. I could feel every emotion ripping through me like a storm.

“I am in a constant state of being numb, Dean,” I finally said. “Numb to emotions, numb to life itself. Most people survive because they can see that light at the end of the tunnel - but for me?” I shake my head. “There is no light. It’s all just a dark cage without a key, just suffocating darkness and weight, with demons screaming at me. I don’t control my thoughts anymore; they control me.”

Sam shook his head now. “Y/N, why didn’t you say something? We can help you get through whatever this is.” Sam tried taking my hand, trying to offer some sort of comfort.

“It’s not a phase, Sam.” I pull my hand free abruptly, ignoring the pain in my chest from seeing Sam’s hurt expression. “It’s who I am, all I ever have been. I’m never going to be safe, always inching closer to that final breaking point.”

Dean seemed exasperated. “That’s fine,” he said. “If you break, that’s okay. Just don’t hide, and don’t go running off.”

Dean wrapped his arms around me with a strength I couldn’t gently pull away from, pulling me in close but still speaking loud enough that Sam could hear, “We’ll help you pick up the pieces. We’re a family, like it or not, punk. As a member of this family, you’re not allowed to quit.”

My brow furrowed the moment he called me family.

Dean, holding me at arm's length, graced me with a small, awkward smile. “Look, this may be a battle you feel you have to face solo, and so be it,” he motioned with one of his hands as if dismissing the thought, “but don’t quit on us. Sam and I, we’re here, always. Even if you just need to sit in silence with someone, so you aren’t alone. We get it; we’ve all been through a lot.”

I couldn’t stop staring at him, conflicted and upset - his grip on my arms felt heavy. Itchy and uncomfortable, as the only place I wanted to be right now was in my car. The rain had long since stopped or lightened - I couldn’t tell - but I just wanted to start the engine — bake in the heater. Drive.

After a long awkward beat of silence, Dean rolled his eyes lightly in slight awkward annoyance. “This is the part where you say: ‘back atcha! We’re a team!’ Y/N.”

I took light offense to how he mocked my voice, but it didn’t matter.

With a light, honestly fake feeling laugh, I removed his arms from mine.

“You don’t entirely get it, Dean.”

Dean scoffed lightly. “What, are you saying we don’t have hard times too? I can guarantee we—“

In an outburst I couldn’t control, I snapped. “Stop! Okay?? I’m not dismissing that you two have had a shitty life! I’m saying you don’t hear what goes on in my head, Dean.”

Sam, raising a placating hand, tried to calm me. “Please, Y/N, we may not understand what exactly is going on, but we understand your reactions to it.”

I just stood still, breathing hard - trying so hard not to cry.

Sam took this as a sign to continue. “Y/N, we care for you. And honestly, we don’t think anyone should be alone with thoughts like that.”

I felt my face melt like paper catching on fire - every emotion displayed as I felt my chin tense, and my lips quiver as I burst into tears.

The brothers’ embrace was welcome, however wet.

The emotions were not as welcome, but it was unstoppable.

Dean was closest to my ear as I sobbed, and I heard him softly say, “You’re not okay, but you will be. We’re with you every step of the way.”

A part of me hated him saying that, but I couldn’t ignore the relief I felt.

Maybe I would be okay.

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openheartthot · 4 years ago

Text

Sick Day

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott)

Word Count: 1,635

Warnings: This might be hard to read if you’ve been having trouble with a certain pandemic ~ahem~ so be warned there is a virus involved here. Also like one curse word.

Summary: Ethan can’t stay away when Camille comes down with the flu.

Y’all were so sweet with my first story that I’m back with another one today. Thanks to everyone that read and enjoyed, it really means a lot! :)

***

His knock echoes in the empty hallway, and Ethan shifts uncomfortably. He can’t just stand outside her apartment all day. At some point, he’s going to have to accept that she’s not answering the door. Still, he can’t help himself from raising his fist to the door and rapping his knuckles against the wood once more.

The knock is a bit harder than he means for it to be, a sign of his desperation. He needs to see her, needs to know that she’s okay. Until he can see her with his own eyes, every minute that he’s left standing out in the hallway is torture.

Finally, as Ethan is reaching for his phone to call Sienna Trinh and demand her assistance, the door slowly swings open. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees Camille standing in the doorway.

“Ethan?” Camille’s voice is raspy, and she wraps her arms around herself, shivering despite the oversized UPenn crew neck she’s wearing. Besides the sweatshirt, all she has on are a ridiculous pair of over-the-knee pink wool socks. As outrageous as the socks may be, Ethan’s mouth goes just a little bit dry at the sight of her bare thighs. “What are you doing here?” Camille asks, her confused tone wrenching Ethan’s attention away from her legs.

“Erm…I just thought I’d deliver these to you.” Ethan says, brusquely thrusting a thick stack of patient charts into her arms. The excuse sounds flimsy even as it leaves his mouth. “I heard you called in sick, so--”

“So you left Edenbrook to come give me my patient charts?” Camille interrupts, bemused. “You know we have digital copies of these, right?”

“Of course.” The silence between them stretches out for just long enough to become awkward. Ethan knows she’s waiting on a real explanation, and furthermore, he knows he owes her one. “I was…concerned. When Baz told me you wouldn’t be in, all I could think about was if you’d been hurt…or…” He swallows hard. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Ethan,” Camille reaches out and takes his hand. Ethan notes the heat emanating from her skin. “It’s just a virus. And we still haven’t had a chance to talk over everything yet. The last thing I wanted to do was drag you away from work to take care of me.”

It’s true. They still haven’t spoken about the kiss outside of Ethan’s apartment, or the kiss at Mass Kenmore, for that matter. Ethan’s so buried in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t notice Camille swaying slightly, letting go of his hand to grip the door frame for balance.

He immediately steps closer, steadying her with a hand on her waist. The back of his other hand, he uses to press delicately against her forehead. He had been expecting fever, but he’s mildly alarmed by the heat radiating from her skin.

“Sorry,” Camille mumbles, leaning into him gratefully. “I’ve just been having some vertigo. Could be a symptom of--”

“The common cold. Or influenza. Type A has been going around this year.” Ethan interjects. “And don’t apologize for being sick.”

“I know what the flu is.” Camille says indignantly. “I should’ve known you’d try to one-up me when I’m on my deathbed.” she pouts, the congestion in her voice bolstering her self-pitying tone. Ethan’s lips twitch into a smile.

“You’re delirious. Can I take you to bed?” He instantly regrets his choice of words as Camille lets out a loud peal of laughter, which quickly tapers off into a coughing fit. “I meant, you need to lie down.” He glares at her, and she grins back.

“Fine, you’re right.” Camille turns, starting to pull away from him and take an unsteady step in the direction of her bedroom. She doesn’t get very far before Ethan tugs her back to him, cradling her face in his large hands.

“Let me take care of you.” he says, gently stroking her cheekbone. “Please.” Ethan knows her roommates are all working double shifts, and he can’t bear to leave her here alone. He’s certain his feelings are written all over his face because Camille’s eyes soften immediately.

Before she can say anything, Ethan leans down and scoops her up with ease. He carries her bridal-style into her bedroom and lays her down in her bed, trying very very hard not to think about what happened the first time he saw the inside of this room. Or the second time, for that matter. The sight of her bare ass is not something he’s likely to forget.

Once she’s safely tucked into her bed, Ethan moves for the door, bracing himself to take stock of her kitchen. Camille and her roommates don’t seem very domestic, but hopefully they’ll have enough ingredients for soup. Camille’s hand reaches out and closes around his wrist before he can reach the door.

“Stay.” Her eyes are slitted, her hand hot on his arm, but he can’t say no to her.

He kicks off his shoes and unknots his tie, sitting on the bed beside her. He hesitates for only a moment before drawing her towards him and wrapping an arm snugly around her waist. He runs one hand over her tousled blonde locks, and Camille lets out a little sigh, resting her head on his chest and closing her eyes.

The afternoon has bled into evening by the time Camille wakes up, and by then Ethan has relocated to the couch. He’s slowly combing through the stack of patient files he brought with him. He pulls off his glasses and looks up as Camille shuffles out of the bathroom. She’s obviously just gotten out of the shower, because her wet hair is tossed up in a messy bun, but she’s wearing the same outfit from before.

“I made soup.” Ethan offers, gesturing towards the kitchen. Camille rubs her eyes, and despite her bleary eyes and rumpled appearance, his heart melts at her shy smile.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” She reappears from the kitchen a few moments later, holding a bowl of soup in her hands. She takes a few steps closer to him, eyeing the chart in his hands. “Read it out loud.” she insists, settling onto the couch next to him and tucking her legs underneath her.

“This is the case we’re working on right now.” Ethan says. “It’s Gwyneth Monroe’s assistant, actually. She had her first seizure last week, and a physical exam revealed multiple muscular cysts. Gwyneth requested our team immediately.” Ethan fights hard not to roll his eyes. As much as he dislikes the obnoxious Pictagram influencer, her assistant does need medical attention.

Camille swallows a spoonful of soup, then taps the spoon against her lips. “Well, it’s gotta be Cysticercosis, right? Cysts caused by tapeworm eggs. If the larvae have traveled to her brain, that’d explain the seizures. Not to mention that it’s pretty obvious where the eggs came from.”

Ethan nods, marking down a few notes on the chart. “Exactly what I was thinking, Rookie. Good work. We can start her on anti-parasitics and anti-inflammatories first thing in the morning.”

Camille grimaces, setting her half-empty bowl of soup to the side. “All this talk of larvae and eggs kinda makes me lose my appetite.”

Ethan chuckles, and sets the stack of files down on the coffee table as well. “That’s probably enough work for tonight. You need to focus on getting better as soon as possible. Come here.” He opens his arms for her, and Camille gratefully shifts closer to him, letting him fold her into his comforting embrace. Holding her is so nice that he doesn’t even mind her wet hair dripping all over his shirt.

Ethan swings his legs onto the couch, stretching out so Camille can maneuver herself to lie on top of him. Ethan has to admit, those ridiculous socks certainly feel nice as Camille tangles her legs with his, settling on top of him so every part of her body is flush against his. He strokes the strip of skin just above the hem of her right sock, and smiles as he feels her smooth skin break out in goosebumps.

“Thank you for taking care of me today.” Camille whispers against his chest. “I know we still need to talk, but--”

“Shh.” Ethan commands softly, tilting her chin up so he can meet her eyes. “I’ll always take care of you.” A slight shiver runs through Camille’s body, and Ethan suddenly realizes how close he is to her. Without thinking, he closes the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers.

“Ethan!” Camille protests weakly, pulling back after a kiss that is entirely too short for Ethan’s liking. “You’ll get sick.” she scolds him.

Ethan grunts. “I don’t care.” He grips her chin in his fingers, returning her lips to his. Her warm fingers reach up to touch his face, skating over his beard as she kisses him back. Even with the dry heat of her fevered skin and the taste of cherry cough drops on her tongue, she’s still the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He thinks he could probably keep kissing her forever, but eventually she breaks away to cough, which for some reason he finds endearing rather than disgusting. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, and she nestles her head into the crook of his neck, clearly intending to fall asleep again right there on top of him.

“I’ll take care of you,” Camille promises sleepily, “when you inevitably get sick from this.” And that’s when Ethan realizes that he really must be in over his head. Because if falling ill means he’ll get to spend another day curled up in bed with Camille, then he can’t think of a single thing he’d like to do more.

***

My taglist consisting of one lovely individual: @edgiestwinter

#open heart #oph #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #playchoices

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anythingandeverything1d · 5 years ago

Text

Congratulations

“(y/n)” the nurse called out from the door. You stood up and walked over with an anxious smile. She handed you a clip board of medical information that you needed to update and then said she would grab you once it was completed and turned into the desk. You sat back down in the waiting room and flipped through the pages. Ugh I wish my mom was here...am I allergic to anything? I mean I don't think so but maybe Im just unaware of it..I don't remember having surgery-well my tonsils were removed but does that count? You were filling out the page to the best of your ability when your phone buzzed. You looked down and saw his name flash across the screen before immediately ignoring the call. You rushed to finish the paperwork and handed it in as the nurse came back. “Ready?” she asked.

“Yeah.” you followed her down the hall where she took your height and weight before escorting you into the room. You hopped onto the chair and anxiously tapped your foot as she checked your temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen levels. After finishing up she sat on the stool and smiled.

“So, what are we here for today?”

“Uh...” you looked at your feet and shifted in the chair. “I think I may be pregnant.”

She smiled and nodded, “when was your last period?”

“My period tends to be irregular but the last one I had recored was around two months ago.”

“Okay, were you on any kind of birth controls, or using any type of contraceptives?”

“I was on a birth control, am on a birth control but I missed a few days while I was on vacation which is when I believe this all happened.”

“Okay. Have you had any symptoms other than your missed period?”

“No, not really.”

“Okay. Have you taken any pregnancy tests at home?”

You nodded, your brain flashing back to that day.

*Tears were flooding down your cheeks as he grabbed his last hoodie from your closet. All you wanted was for life to stop. You wanted him to say its okay, to make a change in the relationship, to stay. You sat on the bed crying as he walked out the door for the last time, taking with him every once of happiness you had. You ran to the bathroom, physically sick from the situation. It wasnt until you were hunched over the toilet that you realized the box of tampons had gone unopened. Missing periods was normal for you, they had never been regular. There was a slight doubt in your mind though. You had never missed a period more than once, so the fact that you were going on two means something was wrong. You had been under a lot of stress though, the distance, the lying, the excuses, all of it. Wiping the snot running from your nose, you had gotten up, washed your face, and thrown on sweatpants and a sweatshirt. You had mustered the courage to drive all the way to the drug store, purchase three pregnancy tests, and drive home. You had gotten three, you wanted to be sure. You wanted to be positive before making any other decisions. You sat on the bathroom floor after peeing in a cup and dipped each end, turning them over so you couldn't see the lines. You set a timer on your phone and closed your eyes. The only thing that could've possibly made this situation better was having him here. Of course he was gone already but you could still dream right? When the alarm on your phone went off you anxiously flipped them all over. Picking the first up and squinting you saw the dreaded double lines. Picking the second one up: dreaded double lines. And the third: PREGNANT in bold. You dropped them all on the counter and threw your phone. Of course, of course this this happens. He leaves and I end up pregnant with his baby..just like the movies except he won't be coming back. The rest of the day had been a blur. You had kind of just ignored the fact that there were three positive pregnancy tests in the bathroom. When your friend Luke had come over, you had cried into his arms. Cried about him leaving, about the break up, and finally about being pregnant. “(y/n) if you have positive pregnancy tests you need to call him.”

“No. I can't do that. Im not doing that.”

“(y/n)...hes the father, he deserves to know.”

“I may not even be pregnant though..they come up wrong all the time.”

“Not this wrong though.. this seems pretty sure.”

“I mean I've been stressed lately maybe its just a hormone thing.”

“I think you should go to the doctor and check. And if you are then you need to ball up and tell him. Seriously he needs to know”

You had nodded and cried some more before Luke left. Then you had called your doctor and made an appointment.*

Now here you were answering questions about your sex life and body. The nurse handed you a cup and showed you where the bathroom was. She said the test would take only around ten minutes but that she would be coming back to the room to do a blood test as well. Great, what a fun day... You quickly peed in the cup, leaving it on the counter for the nurse and wandered back to the room you had been assigned. Your hands were sweating and you felt dizzy. Having your blood drawn was probably your least favorite thing. In fact, you fainted almost every time. You checked your phone and thought about texting him...instead you texted Luke and told him how terrible the doctor was and that you were going to die while having your blood drawn. His only response was “lol” and you rolled your eyes. Typical guy.. The nurse came back in with a smile and sat down. “Well it does look like you are in fact pregnant so congratulations! We want to do a pelvic exam and ultra sound today just to see where everything is at and then have you come back for a blood draw in the future.”

“Thanks.” you smiled and relief flooded your face. At least you didnt have to have your blood drawn today. On the other hand, you were pregnant, which was a whole other nightmare in its own. Not that you hadn't wanted and dreamed of having kids. You just thought it would be under different circumstances and that you would be married.

“Im going to leave this gown here if you just want to change real quick we can do an ultrasound and hopefully see where the little baby is at.” She left for a minute and you quickly changed, your warm body freezing against the chair. When she came back in, she had an ultrasound machine on wheels. She started with the pelvic exam, lightly pressing all around your pelvic region. Satisfied she got out a tube of gel. “This is going to be cold at first.” You had nodded and watched as the clear gel squirted out and the ultrasound machine rubbed against your skin. You watched the screen as she moved it around looking for the baby. After what felt like months, she found a small white dot looking blob and smiled. “There it is...looks like you are measuring around 2 months right now which makes sense to when you thought everything happened.” She looked at you and smiled. “I know it can be a lot to take in..I’m guessing this is your first?”

“Yeah...its just a lot I guess.”

“It is, but it gets easier. Want to hear the baby’s heartbeat?”

You smiled and nodded. She pressed a button and you heard soft thumps. Tears slipped out of the corner of your eye and you wiped them away. “Thats pretty cool.”

She smiled and nodded before handing you a towel. “You are all set to go, we will have the pictures at the desk where you can make your next appointment. It was nice meeting you (y/n) good luck on your pregnancy and congratulations again.” You smiled and thanked her before climbing back into your clothes. 2 months pregnant...theres a living being in there...my baby...mine and Harry’s baby...oh god, what am I going to tell Harry? At the desk you scheduled another appointment and the receptionist handed you a picture saying congratulations. You looked at the little pea shaped blob inside you and grinned. Thats mine...thats inside me.

Luke surprised you by standing at your car door with an ice cream sundae. “Soo did you faint? did you die? did you live?”

You laughed, “Yeah I lived. I didnt have my blood drawn at all actually.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” You took the sundae from him and smiled taking a bite, the hot fudge melting in your mouth.

“Because of this.” you waved the picture in your hand and he grabbed it his mouth dropping.

“Is that what I think it is? Do you have an alien growing inside you?”

“Lukeee seriously”

He laughed and looked into your eyes. “Okay okay but wow, a baby. That’s amazing. How are you feeling about it?”

“I feel like it hasn't sunk in yet....but that I’m really happy. I mean Ive always wanted a baby...why not do it now? I don't need a man in my life. Im a strong and independent woman.”

“That you are, but don't worry you will have me too. Im going to be a great uncle, its the best job anyways. But uh- are you going to tell Harry?”

You shrugged your shoulders and continued eating. “(y/n)...it is his baby right?”

You rolled your eyes and nodded. “It cant be anyone else's.”

“So then you're going to tell him.”

“Idontknow” you mumbled, your mouth full of ice cream.

“You have to..you know he would want to know.”

“Theres a lot I wanted to know and he didn't tell me so I’m not sure yet. I haven't decided anything.”

“Okay...” he gave in and hugged you. “I’m happy for you I really am.”

You hugged him back and smiled. “Thanks. I’m glad you're here...I’m glad I have someone to go through this with. And I’m so so glad you brought ice cream.”

“It’s okay. What are friends for right?” You nodded and jumped in the car after saying goodbye. You didn’t quite know who to call yet so you decided to just enjoy some time with yourself. You did the only logical thing you could think of after finding out that there was a baby inside you: you went shopping. You picked a local baby store and walked in, looking at all the onesies, furniture, blankets, binkies, and bears.

“Hi! Anything I can help you find today?”

“No, thank you I’m just looking.”

“Okay well we are having a two for one deal on onesies and bibs so make sure to check those out.”

“I will thank you.” you smiled at the girl working but she kept looking back at you.

“Are you (y/n)...the girl dating Harry Styles?” she asked shyly.

“I was dating him, not anymore actually.” She nodded and gave you the look, you know the one of pity and sorrow? You went back to shopping looking at all of the little outfits, there were so many choices. You also had no idea if you were having a boy or a girl..something told you it was a boy but obviously you had no clue whatsoever. You decided on a cute grey onesie with little animals on it...gender neutral. You also grabbed a cute binkie that had a stuffed bear attached to it.

“These are super cute.” the girl said while checking out. “There's a whole collection that goes with this if youre interested.”

“No, that's okay this is enough for now?”

She nodded and wrapped the stuff in a bag. “So how far along are you?”

“Not very far, only a few months.”

“Well congrats! I hope everything goes smoothly and I hope to see you back here soon for more stuff.”

You smiled and nodded. “I for sure will be back.”

You drove home, your phone blowing up the entire way with twitter notifications, instagram tags, and more. Inside you scrolled through it, only to find pictures of you shopping for the baby clothes. Your name attached to headlines stating you were expecting but not far along. Great...this is not what I need...how do they even know.... you were scrolling through more twitter notifications. Harry’s name was now being brought into this. Another daddy in One Direction? Harry Styles Expecting? ugh...this literally cannot be happening.. and then everything got worse.. Harry’s name and photo popped up on your screen as he called. “Harry?” you answered anxiously.

---

Part 1 of my new series, hope you all enjoy! Goal is to have another part posted tonight or tomorrow! This is kind of just an intro to the story, I’m hoping to have them be a little longer but let me know what you all would rather: longer and less stories (may take more time to upload) or shorter and more stories (updated a little faster)

Let me know what you think so far and what you think will happen.

xoxo

#one direction #one direction fanfiction #directioners #one direction imagines #Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harrystyles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines

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aingealcethlenn · 4 years ago

Text

I'm Not Okay

Characters - Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Y/N

Pairing - None

Word Count - 1,960

Warnings - Angst, Descriptions of Depression, Mentions of Blood (from killing vampires) (If you spot any other warnings I should add, please let me know so I can edit this post to include them!)

A/N - Based on the song “I’m Not Okay” by Citizen Soldier

Tags (Want on or off? Send a message/ask or add yourself here) - N/A

Story -

The rain was pouring. With everything I had been dealing with inside, it was as if the sky decided to cry with me and just let it all out at once. I stood there in the parking lot with my arms out as if I was trying to catch the water with my bare hands.

I hear the rumble of an engine in the distance. They are approaching quickly, sure, but will they make it in time?

The person that they see, day in and day out, is nothing more than a mask. A facade. A blatant lie.

But it’s also the only way to cope that I’ve ever known.

Being the real me - broken, scared, desperate for something I can never obtain - has only ever resulted in being more and more alone in this world.

I hear the purr of the engine a short distance behind me - the doors slamming shut in their hurry, and their booming voices carrying through over the din of the downpour. “Y/N! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Their footsteps cause distinct splashes as they make their way to where I stand. I find the sound amusing for as morbid a moment this has become. “Dean, chill,” Sam interjected, seemingly noticing my exasperation of their presence. “She’s fine; that’s the important thing.”

“Sorry guys,” I keep my tone stoic and passively positive as always as I turn to face them. “I got a lead, and I took my chance before they could move again.”

“Sorry?” Dean bit out. “All you can say is ‘sorry guys’? We were worried sick, Y/N!” His voice was rough as always.

“Dean!”

I felt unattached from my body. As if watching overhead at the scene playing out below me. With a stoic blink, I heard myself respond, “I don’t see what the big deal is. I came out of each one alive and well.” I sidestep the brothers and start the sadly short journey to my car on the other side of the vast open lot.

“Look, Y/N,” Sam said softly. I could just hear the resignation. “We’re just worried. Taking on those creatures is dangerous; let alone doing it without backup. And now you’re here taking out an entire nest of vampires?” He tried to stay strong - not the ever tough soldier his brother was, but the solid rock we all came to expect. I could hear his voice break, though, despite his best efforts.

I turn back and lock eyes with each of them again, all while still taking steps back toward the vehicles. I could feel how dead my stare was; I could feel how painfully emotionless my face rested.

‘I’m not okay - can’t you see that?’ I want to shout at them. I have so much to say, but no one to hear it. Despite how much is at stake, keeping quiet not burdening the brothers - or their angel - with the battle inside myself.

I feel the emotions clash - the want and the need to tell them everything, right here and right now - the futility of it, seeping in and convincing me they don’t care. So, I let the monsters win, silencing me once again. Lying to myself, they’d never understand why it’s so hard to say that I’m not okay. “I’m fine, Sam. Really.”

I blinked heavily. I wish I had an answer. I wish I had a scar, a bruise, something to show the proof of the battles I face, day in and day out. Something to show for the invisible abuse - faced with the choice to either be judged or hideaway in secret as I inevitably choose to do.

I let out a soft but long sigh. “I have no answer for you. Not one you’d accept anyway.” Words may be my only option. The only visible symptom to show for the battle that wages is the sheer desire to end the torment that is my life.

The reason I say my face must’ve revealed more than I wanted is because, after a long but instant moment, I saw his face drop. In all the years we’ve been fighting together, he has never seen this side of me, and for a good reason.

“Y/N? Wh-” he releases his grip on my arm, running his hand down his face, contemplating. “What is it?”

“Bullshit.” His voice stopped me dead in my tracks. “Talk to me,” he said and shared a silent look to his brother, almost as if to confirm he didn’t imagine things, “Talk to us.”

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Sam joined. “You know you don’t have to hide things from us.”

“I’m fine. Just -”

“No. You’re not, okay,” Sam interjected, joining Dean in speaking firmly. “Something is wrong; tell us.” Sam was quiet for a moment before adding, “Please.” I felt guilty as I noticed his voice break.

Staring at the brothers, I felt a mixture of emotions — contempt, love, bitterness, relief. “Fine,” I bit out.

“Try.” Dean retorted instantly, seamlessly - I hadn’t even finished speaking. I knew he was trying to offer comfort, in his ‘unattached,’ ‘too cool for attachment’ way. “Humor us,” he added after a beat of me not responding.

I looked at him with a pinched look, shaking my head. I could feel every emotion ripping through me like a storm. “I am in a constant state of being numb, Dean,” I finally said. “Numb to emotions, numb to life itself. Most people survive because they can see that light at the end of the tunnel - but for me?” I shake my head. “There is no light. It’s all just a dark cage without a key, just suffocating darkness and weight, with demons screaming at me. I don’t control my thoughts anymore; they control me.”

Sam shook his head now. “Y/N, why didn’t you say something? We can help you get through whatever this is.” Sam tried taking my hand, trying to offer some sort of comfort.

Dean seemed exasperated. “That’s fine,” he said. “If you break, that’s okay. Just don’t hide, and don’t go running off.” Dean wrapped his arms around me with a strength I couldn’t gently pull away from, pulling me in close but still speaking loud enough that Sam could hear, “We’ll help you pick up the pieces. We’re a family, like it or not, punk. As a member of this family, you’re not allowed to quit.”

My brow furrowed the moment he called me family.

After a long awkward beat of silence, Dean rolled his eyes lightly in slight awkward annoyance. “This is the part where you say: ‘back atcha! We’re a team!’ Y/N.” I took light offense to how he mocked my voice, but it didn’t matter.

With a light, honestly fake feeling laugh, I removed his arms from mine. “You don’t entirely get it, Dean.”

Dean scoffed lightly. “What, are you saying we don’t have hard times too? I can guarantee we—“

In an outburst I couldn’t control, I snapped. “Stop! Okay?? I’m not dismissing that you two have had a shitty life! I’m saying you don’t hear what goes on in my head, Dean.”

Sam, raising a placating hand, tried to calm me. “Please, Y/N, we may not understand what exactly is going on, but we understand your reactions to it.”

I just stood still, breathing hard - trying so hard not to cry.

Sam took this as a sign to continue. “Y/N, we care for you. And honestly, we don’t think anyone should be alone with thoughts like that.”

I felt my face melt like paper catching on fire - every emotion displayed as I felt my chin tense, and my lips quiver as I burst into tears.

The brothers’ embrace was welcome, however wet.

The emotions were not as welcome, but it was unstoppable.

Dean was closest to my ear as I sobbed, and I heard him softly say, “You’re not okay, but you will be. We’re with you every step of the way.”

A part of me hated him saying that, but I couldn’t ignore the relief I felt. Maybe I would be okay.

#supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural family #spnfandom #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic pond #spn fanfic #spnfamily #spn fandom #sam winchester #supernatural one shot #spn one shot #dean winchester

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joon-ipersgirl · 4 years ago

Text

O3 - “don’t leave me”

genre: strangers to lovers!au, angst, fluff

pairing: jimin x reader (f)

summary: they say home is where the heart is. you’re convinced yours was taken the day your father died. until you meet jimin.

you believe in love but after watching men cycle through your mother’s arms, rocky relations with ex-boyfriends, and broken friendships, you no longer see it in your future. so much so, you never settle in one place long enough to create ties and call it home, choosing a job where you’re always on the go and on your own.

on a chance encounter on a flight from new york city to bali, indonesia, you meet. flustered by jimin’s flirty advances but understanding and good-natured tendencies, you start to fall. what starts off as a work-trip soon blossoms into a budding romance, but will jimin’s secret destroy the relationship before it’s had the chance to truly begin?

word count: 10.6k.. lmao

warnings: mentions of anxiety, cursing

a/n: wow it’s been some weeks. school and work are kicking my ass but thank you to that anon who asked if i was still writing. i am. i’m doing my best to balance everything but your comment seriously motivated me to find some time to post this and it is a hell of a long part so i hope that makes up for the semi-hiatus. the next part is my fave part to date and i hope to have that up soon. seriously, all your comments mean the world to me so send them in, even if you think it’s something super small! you could be the difference between something be posted or not lol. anywhooo. thank you again for reading and vi for being my editor in chief. enjoy! :)

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

It was the additional warmth that alerted you that something was wrong. The fogginess of sleep wrestled with your consciousness as your body slowly woke up, the former forcing sleep to tap out. Your legs were cramped beneath you in the seat as you’d curled into yourself, the thin blanket tucked up under your chin like a butterfly in a cocoon. All of these were quite normal, except for the soft material underneath your cheek instead of the scratchy cover of the airline seat. Lifting your head from your makeshift pillow, your eyes focused on the smooth skin of Jimin’s neck. You jerked away, smacking your head against the curve of the airplane. Jimin groaned and turned to face you, his eyes still closed but his eyebrows furrowed.

“Jimin!” you hissed, shoving his shoulder away from you. His upper body was still pressed against your knees. “Get up!”

He finally opened his eyes, confusion was written on his face as he squinted from the soft lights filtering into the plane. Jimin shifted back over to his seat and you sighed in relief, still rubbing the back of your head in an attempt to soothe the sore spot. He shoved his hood from his head and ran his fingers through the soft waves of his hair, a few tufts sticking up out of place.

“Why are you yelling?” he groaned, holding his hands in his head. “It’s early as fuck.”

“I wasn’t yelling. And you were crushing me,” you huffed, attempting to stretch your legs out.

“You weren’t complaining a few moments ago,” he countered, his usual grin looking more adorable as he struggled to fully wake up.

You pursed your lips in irritation. It didn’t seem to take Jimin long to be back on his bullshit, even if he had just woken up. He stretched beside you, toned arms coming up above his head, the hem of his hoodie rising along with them. You turned your head back to the window, not wanting to be caught staring again. So much for avoiding cuddling into his nice, warm body. If he asked, you’d just blame it on the cold air of the plane.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent to Hong Kong International Airport. Please secure your tray tables and return your seats to their full upright position. We will be coming through to collect any trash you may still have. Thank you.”

You gasped as you realized you’d overslept and missed the opportunity to have your morning coffee. You rubbed your forehead, already feeling the symptoms of withdrawal hitting you. The in-flight monitor showed that it was almost 10 am in New York, meaning you were already one cup of coffee behind schedule. You could only pray that it wouldn’t take long for the next set of passengers to board and the in-flight services could begin again before your impatience truly reared its ugly head.

Shoving open the little plane window cover, you watched as the cityscape of Hong Kong came into view. The bright lights of the tall skyscrapers looked like lighthouses perched on the corner of cliffs and you awed at its modern beauty. It was almost as breathtaking as flying into New York City. You pulled your phone from your sweatpants’ pocket and took a video as the plane banked left, your brain not too bogged down to recognize a money-making shot when you saw one.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jimin whispered over your shoulder, his voice rough from sleep. You nodded, not turning to look at him, not trusting yourself to face him in your coffee-deprived state and question exactly who or what he was referring to.

With a gentle shudder, the aircraft landed on the tarmac and headed to its destination, the passengers on the flight applauding for your safe arrival. The pilot welcomed you to Hong Kong International Airport, telling you the current local time and temperature, and thanking you for flying with Cathay Airlines. At the ding! of the seatbelt sign disappearing, a few passengers rushed to secure their carry ons, no doubt antsy to make it to their connecting flight. You sank back into your seat, silently urging them on so you could be back in the air and on your way to Indonesia.

“One flight down, only one more to go!” Jimin exclaimed and stepped into the aisle, fully stretching his lean body after double checking no one else was coming behind him. You nodded and combed your fingers through your hair, trying to tame your own bed hair.

After a few idle minutes, you realized that no one else had gotten on the plane. Confused, you propped yourself up to see the front of the plane better. Aside from a few passengers stretching their legs like Jimin, no clean-up crew had boarded to clear the empty seats and restock the plane with food. The rest of the passengers seemed to notice the lack of activity as well.

“Excuse me?” a man a few rows ahead called to a passing stewardess. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes sir. We’re just having a few maintenance issues, but everything should be sorted quickly. No need to worry,” she said with a gentle smile. Maintenance issues? That didn’t sound good.

Jimin slipped back into his seat to let the stewardess pass. “Don’t look so worried, Shutterfly. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

You nodded slowly and chewed on your lip. It was already bad that you hadn’t been able to see the changes Michael had sent, but now it seemed like your arrival in Bali would be delayed, thwarting your plans even further. Would it be wrong to assume Adele’s phone call was to blame for your entire trip taking every possible delay and detour? Maybe Michael’s words had come true and you hadn’t planned well enough, your gifts truly leaving you in your time of need.

You busied myself with folding the airplane blanket and tucking it into the back of the seat in an effort to remain calm. It would eventually all be sorted and you could contact Micahel when you finally landed, possibly even convincing him that you deserved an extension because of circumstances out of your control.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. It seems as though our aircraft is having some slight maintenance problems and we will no longer be able to fly to our final destination on this particular plane. Our crew is working diligently to rectify the issue, but we’re going to have to ask you to please leave the aircraft. If you could make your way to the information desk right outside the gate, our associates would be happy to answer any questions you may have about getting you to your final destination. Thank you,” the announcement came over the speakers. An audible groan echoed from the remaining passengers.

“Well, fuck,” Jimin commented, shoving his book and hoodie into his backpack. “What a great surprise,” he mumbled.

You didn’t move. It was as though her words hadn’t truly registered and you blinked a few more times before you honestly understood what was happening. You were going to be late to Bali, your entire itinerary thrown off, not to mention whatever else you needed to add to the video. Your accommodations there would be gone and your deposits with it. Fuck. The familiar tug of anxiety filled your chest as you watched it rise and fall, your breaths coming much easier than you expected, though you felt you’d been submerged underwater for a few minutes. Tears pricked the back of your eyelids as you tried not to cry from frustration.

“Shutterfly! Are you coming?” Jimin was already halfway up the aisle, his old backpack slung low on his shoulders as he checked for your whereabouts, holding up the small line that formed behind him.

You grabbed your backpack and shoved your feet back into your sneakers, double-checking the time on your phone. As soon as you got off the plane, you needed to call Michael and update him on the situation. Though you knew he wouldn’t be upset with you, the gnawing feeling of guilt hung around your shoulders as you shuffled down the aisle with the rest of the passengers.

Hong Kong International Airport would have stolen your breath away had you been paying proper attention. You took a sharp left after entering the actual terminal, looking for an empty seat in a quiet space where you would be able to hear Michael over the protests of irritated passengers. Dialing his number, you waited for the call to go through but it didn’t. You tried again, the same “call failed” message popping up on the screen. Checking the number of bars on your phone showed you that you didn’t have any service. You stared at your phone, baffled. It wouldn’t even connect to the wifi. What in the good Lord’s name were you supposed to do now?

You slumped against the sleek metal column until your body hit the floor in defeat, your brain too frazzled to come up with any bright ideas. Unease wrapped her familiar fingers around your shoulders again. Her gentle whispers echoed in your mind as the uncertainty of the situation before you gripped you tightly. You felt stranded with her on a desolate island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and she was your only company. You drew your knees into your chest, trying to disappear as if that would make anything better. Frustration grew into anger and tears welled up in your eyes as you pushed up from the ground, backpack secured firmly in your grip, and marched over to the nearest Cathay employee.

“Excuse me?” he turned to face you with a warm smile.

“Yes, ma’am. How may I help you?” he asked.

“Hi. I was on the flight from JFK with the final destination to Bali. They said the plane has some maintenance issues? What’s going to happen now? How soon can I get on a flight out of here?” You tried your best to keep your tone neutral as he continued smiling at you.

“First, I’d like to apologize for the inconvenience. Second, we’re not actually sure -” your eyes widened, “- but we’re doing everything we can to fix things,” he finished.

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked. “So am I just supposed to stay in the airport until you guys fix this?”

“Well, we currently have no flights leaving for Bali that have available seats on them -”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me that I might have to stay in Hong Kong overnight?” You did nothing to try to hide the panic in your voice, forgetting that you were in a public place.

“It’s quite possible, Miss. Again, I’m very sorry -”

“Where am I supposed to sleep then? I can’t sleep here!” you wailed, cutting him off again. His eyebrows turned down in annoyance. You were probably being rude, but at this moment in time, you couldn’t give a fuck. You were in an unfamiliar country, where they spoke an unfamiliar language, under extremely unfamiliar circumstances. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

“If you could follow me, I can see if we have any complimentary hotel rooms available as this cancellation was not your fault,” he said, the cheerful customer service tone gone.

You followed him to the Cathay Airlines desk in front of the gate and wrapped your arms around yourself as he spoke with his colleague. It offered no comfort and you bounced with nervous energy as you waited for his verdict. You started to count the number of passengers you recognized from your flight when someone brushed against you and you jumped, your body hyper-aware of any small movement.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Jimin. You sighed and relaxed your shoulders slightly. “You disappeared on me. Is everything okay? You look kind of ill,” he trailed off. You scowled at him and crossed your arms tightly.

“Thank you, Jimin. That’s just what anyone wants to hear during a time like this,” you said sarcastically. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, and mumbled a small apology. “How are you not upset about this?” you asked, gesturing to the rest of the people.

He shrugged. “Things change, life happens. Nothing we can really do about it. Just have to figure out the next step. Have you gotten any updates about a new flight leaving?” you nodded.

“He’s supposed to let me know, but it doesn’t sound like it’s going to be good news,” you replied, chewing on your lip again.

“So we could be stuck here overnight?”

“It’s quite possible,” you told him bitterly, repeating the same words said to you. Jimin hummed in thought and excused himself, promising he would be right back. It was at this moment that the employee returned, his colleague in tow.

“Well, Miss -”

“Y/L/N,” you filled in.

“Miss. Y/L/N, my name is Joy and I am a manager at Cathay Airlines. Again, I would like to apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you. Unfortunately, all of our complimentary rooms have been given away at this moment in time and it seems as though our next departing flight to Bali, Indonesia with available seats will not be leaving until tomorrow afternoon. As of right now, I can only offer you a discount on your next flight with us and a free upgrade to business class,” she finished, her smile almost as sorry as the deal she was offering you.

You inhaled deeply and tried to swallow the bitterness threatening to spill from your lips. The combination of anxiety, anger, and coffee withdrawal had left you with nothing kind to say and Adele had been around enough to teach you good manners.

“Well Jennie, that fucking sucks. Are there any places you could recommend that have available spaces? Or a partner airline that could - I don’t know - actually have working planes and could get me to my final destination?” you asked, some of the bitterness slipping in there somehow. Jennie’s smile tightened just as Jimin returned.

“Sorry, she’s not really a morning person,” he said apologizing and tucking you tightly under his arm. “You said there were no flights available until tomorrow afternoon, correct?”

“Yes, sir. We’re doing our best to get everyone on their way as soon as we can,” she answered, her smile brightening at his presence.

“I’m sure you are -” he leaned down slightly to read her name tag, “- Joy. If you could be so kind as to make sure that we’re sitting together whenever you sort those arrangements out, I would seriously appreciate it.” You opened your mouth to protest but Joy was already agreeing.

“Of course Mr. -“

“Park,”

“Park?” She stared at him puzzled before her eyes lit up. “That’s Korean, isn’t it? Do you speak Korean?” she asked excitedly. “I’ve been trying to practice.” You stared at her incredulously, but Jimin entertained the conversation to your dismay.

“As a matter of fact, I do. How long have you -“

“Jimin,” you butted in, twisting in his grip. “Joy is a busy woman. In fact, she was about to go and get some information about places to stay since there are no flights leaving today. I’m sure you could have this conversation -“

“Oh, no need to worry about that, Shutterfly. I’ve already got that taken care of, but you’re right. Joy is a busy woman so we should let her get back to work,” Jimin said, beaming down at you, his smile easing some of your pent up frustration.

“David,” Joy turned to the man who had originally tried to help me, “please add Miss. Y/L/N under Mr. Park’s reservation for tomorrow’s flight.”

“I’ll need your first name, Miss. Y/L/N,” David told you. “For security purposes,” he added after you continued to stare at him without giving an answer.

“Can’t you just look it up under the old reservation?”

“Oh come on, Shutterfly. Don’t be difficult. Don’t you want to go grab some breakfast?” Jimin cooed while squeezing your shoulder. You’re sure you looked like any angry bull as your nostrils flared. Of course, the Universe would be on Jimin’s side to have it so that you couldn’t not give him your name if you wanted to secure a seat that Joy seemed so determined to give Jimin. Getting to Bali as soon as possible trumped holding out on Jimin. Unfortunately.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N,” you grumbled, arms still crossed, and pouted at your game ending. Jimin’s smile widened and David nodded, heading back to the desk to input the information.

“Thank you so much, Joy. For everything,” Jimin emphasized and squeezed your shoulder again. “Good luck with your Korean!” he added and started to steer you away.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Park! Please enjoy your time in Hong Kong!” she called after you. Jimin pulled you away from the crowd and you struggled to keep up as one of his steps was almost two of yours.

“Jimin, slow down!” you yelled and finally tugged his arm from around you. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“To get breakfast. What do you mean? Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, confused as he stared down at you.

“Jimin, what about the rest of our luggage? Well, I don't know if you did, but I have a checked bag. I can’t just leave -”

“Y/N,” the way your name sounds coming from his mouth had you pausing, your own mouth open mid-sentence, “your luggage is fine. They hold it until you can get on the next flight. You still have the original tag they gave you, right?” You nodded. “Then you’re all set. Come on! You’ll think and feel better once you have some food in you. And some coffee.”

At the mention of your favorite beverage, you let Jimin lace his fingers through your own and lead you further through the international arrivals terminal in search of somewhere to eat. You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair again, dodging the occasional traveler in this unfamiliar airport, in an unfamiliar city, with a slightly less unfamiliar man for company.

Though Jimin was optimistic about finding breakfast at 2:30 am, you were not. After walking through the terminal for 25 minutes and trying to convince Jimin that no sane business would be open right now - to which he responded that there had to be at least one - he had finally given up after passing the same vending machine for the second time.

“Okay, maybe you were right,” he mumbled and set his bag on the floor as he plopped down into an empty seat at a vacated gate and you hummed in agreement. He pushed his hand through his hair and let his head fall over the edge of the seat. You checked your phone again to see if you had any service, and was disappointed to see that there still wasn’t. You sighed quietly and sat next to Jimin.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“You’re chewing your lip again,” he pointed out. Your cheeks warmed as you realized he was right and you released your lower lip. You were surprised he had noticed your unconscious behavior and you resisted the urge to do it again, instead settling on playing with the sleeves of your hoodie.

“I just - I have a really big project to complete in Bali and with this delay, I’m not sure if I can get it all done. I’ve been trying to get in touch with my manager, but my stupid fucking phone doesn’t have any stupid service right now so I -”

“Do you want to use mine?” he asked, cutting you off and offering you his phone. You stared at him. “Seriously, no worries. I have an international plan that automatically connects when I travel. Here,” he said while unlocking his phone and shoving it into your hands. “I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t wait for you to say yes before he was already halfway down the hallway. You tapped the screen of his phone before it locked again and dialed Michael’s number, grateful for the privacy. Bouncing your leg, you prayed he would answer the unknown number.

“Michael Callahan. Who is this?”

“Oh, Michael!” You sobbed out in relief after finally hearing his voice.

“Y/N? Is everything okay? What happened to your phone?” he asked, the concern quite evident in his voice. “Were you robbed?! Oh my gosh, Y/N -”

“No, Michael!” you assured him. “For some reason, my phone plan isn’t working. I’m using someone else’s right now.”

“Oh, that blasted Phillip. I told him to make sure your phone plan was taken care of as I had to step into a meeting - you know I would have done it myself - and I guess he forgot. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’ll get Elise on it right now. Elise!” he screamed away from the phone for his secretary. “You’re in Bali now, right?” he confirmed.

“Um, no. Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet?”

“Well, the plane had some maintenance issues and they couldn’t fly us out tonight. I’m in Hong Kong instead. We’re supposed to fly out tomorrow,” you explained.

“By yourself?! Where are you going to sleep? Oh honey no! Let me see what -”

“I’m not technically by myself,” you mumbled, just as Jimin was making his way towards you.

“What do you mean by ‘technically’, Y/N?” Michael asked.

“Just another passenger. It’s his phone I’m using. He seems nice,” you trailed off as Jimin sat down next to you, not wanting to talk about him while he was sitting within earshot. He flashed you a thumbs up and you returned it awkwardly, trying to calm down Michael’s growing apprehension.

“Y/N, you can’t just walk around Hong Kong with a stranger! And a man that you barely know?! Honey, how are you going to survive?” you rolled your eyes as the dramatics started to roll in. “You don’t even know Cantonese. If we’re quite honest, you can barely speak Korean. I knew Adele should have -”

“Weren’t you the one who told me to live in the moment? I’ll be okay Michael, just please get my phone on as soon as possible and add an additional travel notice on the card for Hong Kong so I can get something to eat. I’ll text you every hour on the hour with updates. This is Jimin’s number. Save it if you need to call me and my phone isn’t working. Thank you, Michael. You’re the best! I love you!” you hung up before he could protest.

“Is everything alright?” Jimin asked warily.

“Yep!” you chirped. “Absolutely!” Jimin’s eyes widened at your quick change in demeanor. “What do we do now?” Though it was almost 3:30 am and your stomach had started to grumble; your body was still on Eastern Standard Time.

“Well, I have a friend who lives here. He owns a hostel maybe 35 minutes away? I know we need some place to stay and I called him, explained what happened, and he’s more than willing to put us up for the night. I’m not sure if you’re down, but I knew it would be a lot cheaper than whatever hotel Joy was going to offer,” he replied.

You hesitated. Jimin was very much so a stranger. You had only had, at most, three full conversations. You only knew his first and last name, no idea what his actual occupation was and didn’t even know where he was from. He could quite honestly be some maniac looking to lure a pure, innocent girl to her doom. That girl being you. You bit your lip. Then again, you were already here alone, and if you didn’t go with Jimin, you would be alone in the very large, very empty Hong Kong International Airport. Deciding to take Michael’s words to heart, you decided to enjoy the moment and sent up a silent prayer that God had not decided your life would end at the hands of a certain toned-thighed man in the middle of the night.

“No, that sounds great. Thank you for including me,” you told him. He nodded and smiled.

“Of course. I’ll tell him to come get us.”

45 minutes later, you and Jimin were seated in the back of William Xiao’s trusty pickup truck along with his trusty sidekick Rosaline, a golden retriever. You had pictured William to be a younger man around Jimin’s age, but he was actually older - around mid-fifties - with greying hair. He navigated the streets of the city of Victoria easily in the early morning, the traffic was light as most people were still asleep. It was your favorite time and you felt relaxed against the leather seats as the wind lifted your hair, a small smile on your face. The tall skyscrapers glided past as you zoomed down the highway.

“So how long are you staying in Hong Kong this time, Chim?” William asked as he took the next exit.

“Ah, not long actually. We leave tomorrow hopefully,” Jimin responded, glancing over at you.

“And you’re going where again?”

“Bali. In Indonesia,” he repeated. William seemed to be a little forgetful and you chuckled at the thought.

“Right, right. And how long are you two staying there for?” he asked again.

“I’m not sure about Y/N,” his leg bumped against yours as William turned left, “but I’ll be there for maybe 2 weeks? I haven’t decided yet,” Jimin replied.

“Um, I’m there for 10 days. Well, I guess 9 now,” you corrected. You tried not to think about the impromptu changes. William nodded and continued driving through the empty streets, the car silent until Rosaline started barking.

“Oh be quiet old girl. I know we are almost home,” he hushed her and patted her head, her tail wagging excitedly in the seat.

William slowed and pulled his truck over to the side of the street. You stared out the window confused as you could only see small eateries. The street was actually filled with them, with everything from noodles to dumplings and rice bowls. Your mouth watered at the sight, though they all seemed to be closed and you frowned.

“Where’s the hostel?” you asked Jimin, turning to face him as William hopped out of his truck.

“You’re looking at it,” Jimin said and pointed to a narrow doorway right in front of where the truck was parked. Your brows deepened further in confusion. He laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll see.”

He exited the truck and you accepted his hand as you hopped down and shut the door, the distance much greater for you than Jimin. Rosaline greeted you on the sidewalk and you and Jimin showered her with love as she ran between you, clearly happy about the attention.

“Alright, Rosie. Calm down. You are going to wake the customers up,” William chided as he walked up the three steps of the narrow doorway and entered a passcode before ushering the three of you inside. He used a set of keys to open the second door and you entered the small lobby.

William’s hostel was airy and light, the pale grey walls with turquoise accents complementing each other well. A tiny front desk sat next to a glass door that read “Office” and a few turquoise chairs were positioned on the opposite side of the room. Different abstract paintings lined the wall above them, adding a touch of personality to the otherwise simple room. You were taken aback by how much space actually seemed to be available for use.

“This is lovely,” you complimented, walking over to get a better look. “I really like the artwork.” William beamed at you.

“Why thank you! They were a gift from Jimin,” he added. Jimin received the praise awkwardly and focused his attention on scratching Rosaline’s tummy.

Suddenly, the office door burst open and a petite woman stomped out while loudly whispering in what you assumed to be Cantonese. The two had a heated exchange while she angrily waved about a set of chopsticks and you worried she might poke poor William’s eyes out. It was only after William gestured behind him towards you that she peeked around William and spotted Jimin. Her face immediately brightened and she nearly ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist and giving him a tight squeeze. Jimin laughed as the two of them exchanged words and you stared at him in wonder at his knowledge of the native language. It was then that she finally noticed you.

“Uh, hi,” you said shyly, your face heating up slightly. You waved at her. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” She looked at Jimin expectantly. He translated and she nodded and waved back at you. You smiled.

“Y/N, this is Sonia, William’s wife. They run the hostel together,” Jimin explained.

“My wife only knows a little English. I am sorry,” William started to apologize.

“Oh no! Please don’t apologize. I’m sure we can communicate somehow,” you waved him off. Sonia said something to Jimin again and turned to you.

“Hungry?” she asked and made the motion to eat. You nodded furiously and she grinned. She beckoned you to follow her and took your hand, leading you to the office. Your eyes widened as you passed Jimin and he gave you an encouraging smile. He mouthed that he would be right there.

The office space was compact but functional. There was a little table and cushions as seats, a small refrigerator in the corner, and a few file cabinets tucked against the wall. Sonia gestured to the table for you to sit as she passed through another door, bringing three sets of chopsticks and bowls with her. You made to stand and help her, but she shooed you away so you sat quietly as she set the table. Jimin entered and you smiled at him, reassured at his presence.

“You didn’t tell me you could speak Cantonese!” you declared.

“You never asked,” he replied with a shrug as he sat across from you. “William’s gone to find us a room. I’m not sure if he has one with double occupancy, but he said he would check and see. I hope that’s okay.” You nodded as Sonia returned and placed a steaming plate of noodles in front of you.

“You eat, yes?” she asked. You nodded again and Sonia smiled as she served you and Jimin a large helping. You thanked her, grateful, and tucked in. Moaning in delight, you almost missed the way Jimin’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.

“What?!” you giggled. “It’s really, really good.” Jimin only chuckled as he filled his mouth with food. Sonia set some drinks down in front of you before she sat down herself.

“How long have you and William been working at the hostel?” you asked after your stomach no longer felt like it was touching your spine.

“20 years,” Jimin translated around a mouth full of noodles.

“Wow! And you’ve been married that long too?”

“They’ve been married for 35 actually. Sonia used to work as a chef before she started helping William out,” Jimin answered.

You silently awed at her resilience and courage. Sonia was probably married at your age and starting a family while you were here wallowing in self-pity over a man who had proved to you time and time again that he didn’t want you. You shook the thoughts from your head so as to not ruin the end of a great night and instead focused on the flavor of Sonia’s cooking, the spiciness of the sauce welcomed.

The three of you made small talk as Jimin translated for Sonia and yourself. She was a remarkable woman who was headstrong and did as she pleased, much to the dismay of her husband. Her beauty did not leave her as she showed you some pictures from when she and William first got together; her face remained the same except for a few deep smile lines and the occasional silver streak through her shoulder-length hair. The two of them balanced each other out and you could only admire their love story as Jimin helped her with the dishes in the other room and Rosaline came to rest her head on your thighs.

“Well, it seems like I only have one room available for the two of you. I hope that is okay, Y/N,” William said as he poked his head around the door. He sniffed. “Was that black bean noodles?” You nodded and giggled as he called for Sonia, heading through the other open door. Jimin emerged with a key in his hand, snickering.

“William is quite upset Sonia didn’t save him some black bean noodles, though I’m sure I saw her set some aside for him in the fridge,” he laughed. “I told them I’d tell you goodnight. He told you about the room?”

“Yeah,” you replied, still petting Rosaline’s head and lost in your thoughts.

“Alright, I guess we can go then. It’s almost 5:45 am and we should definitely get some sleep to be on Hong Kong time.”

“What was it that you said? ‘Reset the Circadian rhythm before Bali’ was it?” you asked, mocking him. He rolled his eyes and grabbed your backpack.

“You’ll thank me one day, Shutterfly,” he warned as he held the office door open for you. “This way.”

You followed Jimin past the tiny desk and into the main common area with a little lounge and kitchen area set up for breakfast; you beamed when you saw the pots of coffee all cleaned and ready to go. Your body buzzed in anticipation and you couldn’t wait to smell the dark roast in the morning. You continued through to a set of stairs and climbed up to the fourth floor, your legs protesting another step as you realized how truly out of shape you were.

Room 408 was basically nonexistent. You had heard about the tiny rooms in Asia, but actually seeing one was astonishing. A thin wardrobe stood facing the bathroom door which was equally as boxy, but you were grateful that you didn’t have to share as you had heard other hostels do. The walls were painted the same grey color as downstairs but lacked the artwork. The full-sized bed took up the majority of the space in the room, a small nightstand table on its right side. You bit my lip as you thought about having to share the bed with Jimin, knowing how cramped we already were on the plane.

“Isn’t this cute?” Jimin murmured as he set your bags at the foot of the bed after shutting the door and held up the two small plush bears sitting on top of the towels. You laughed uncomfortably as you took the toy from him and set it on the dresser.

“Do you have a side of the bed you prefer?” you asked quietly, standing in the middle of the room, tugging on the sleeves of your hoodie.

“Nope,” Jimin replied, popping the ‘p’. “Lady’s choice.” He gestured to the bed and you blushed.

“Cool, well do you mind if I take a shower first?” He shook his head as he pulled out his book and phone charger. “Cool, cool. I’ll be fast,” you told him and shut yourself in the bathroom quickly with your backpack and one of the towels.

You exhaled and massaged your scalp as you tried to channel tranquility. There was nothing to be afraid of. It was only sleeping in a bed with a man. Something you’d done numerous times, both platonically and romantically throughout your life. This would be nothing different. Except it was Jimin. A man that knew how to adjust AF fine-tune on pricey cameras, read books for fun, and also spoke multiple languages. You groaned and turned on the hot water. You thought you had shut all thoughts of Jimin away in that tiny airplane stall, but you guess you’d missed a few stragglers.

The water pressure was weak when you stepped in but you were appreciative that the water was still hot at this time in the morning. You took a quick shower, wanting to save some of it for Jimin. It was steamy when you stepped out and you wiped the oval mirror clear with your hands. Your hair was slightly damp and your skin was flushed from the steam. You tugged on the sleep shirt you’d packed in your bag yesterday morning as well as a clean pair of panties that you always carried in your carry on in times of emergencies, glad you’d remembered to do so for this trip. Jimin turned his head towards you as you cracked the door open to peer around it, shielding your lower body from his gaze.

“All done?” he asked. You nodded. “I think Michael texted you? Oh, and the password for the wifi is written here, just in case you need it,” he said, holding up a piece of paper from the nightstand. You nodded again.

“Don’t look,” You told him quite seriously, pointing a warning finger towards him.

“Are you going to poke me with your finger if I don’t?” he teased, turning your words back on you and you were glad that your skin was already flushed so he couldn’t tell you were embarrassed again. “I’ll step out so you can sort out what you need. Shout when you’re done.” He padded out into the hallway and slowly closed the door behind him. You sighed in gratitude and slipped out of the bathroom, double-checking your cameras were still okay before plugging your phone charger into an outlet and diving under the covers.

“You can come in!” you yelled. Jimin double-checked that the coast was clear before he locked the door behind him and rummaged through his things. As he entered the bathroom, you set up the wifi on your phone and thumbed a quick message to Michael telling him you were safe and well-fed. His message came immediately after.

Michael: Thank God! I was so worried. What is this Jimin’s last name? You know we can never be too careful. [6:01].

Park. He seems alright. I took a shower and he didn’t try to kill me so I guess that’s a good sign. [6:02]

Michael: Y/N, this is no time to make jokes about your life; I’ve already asked for his social security number to give to police if anything seems suspicious. Please send me the address of where you are, just in case. Also, Elise said that your phone should be working now. What time are you supposed to leave Hong Kong? [6:04].

Michael you can’t just ask people that! Tell her I said thank you. And I will. I’ll get it from William in the morning. They’re supposed to put us on a flight tomorrow afternoon. I’ll update you as I find out more. It’s six in the morning here and I need to reset my Circadian rhythm apparently [6:06].

I’ll call you in the morning and we can talk about the video after I look at the suggestions [6:07].

Michael: If you’re alive by then… [6:07].

Michael: And who is this William?! Why are there so many men where you are and why was I not invited?! [6:08].

Michael! And William is the guy who owns the hostel. He’s like 55 and MARRIED. [6:08].

Michael: As if that’s ever stopped me ;) [6:09].

Michael: Kidding! Sort of. Please call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time it is. Be safe. Love you Y/N [6:09].

Even though you’re probably going to Hell, love you Michael [6:10].

You locked your phone just as Jimin exited the bathroom, steam wafting from behind him. Black basketball shorts hung low on his hips, the waistband of his Calvin Kleins peeking through as he finished towel drying his hair. His thin grey shirt clung to his chest from it not being completely dry and you sank further into the sheets. You covered your face and took a deep breath. It was just one night together in the same bed. It would all be fine.

“Did you get to talk to Michael?” he asked while sitting on the edge of the bed. You nodded. “Good. I didn’t want him to think I had kidnapped you and held you hostage before I murdered you.” You snorted as you sat up.

“He didn’t actually say that,” you laughed. “Right?” You stopped when Jimin didn’t correct you. “Oh my gosh, Jimin! I’m so sorry. Michael is almost as dramatic as he is protective and I’m sure he didn’t mean to -”

“Jimin?” Of course, he would focus on only one part of what you said.

“That’s your name isn’t it? What people call you?” you asked, fidgeting with the end of the sheet, now wondering if you’d missed something.

“Yes, but I like the way you say it more,” he said with a grin, his wavy hair falling into his eyes. You groaned and threw the other small plush bear at him. He caught it easily.

“Are you always like this?” you interrogated.

“Like what? Devilishly handsome?” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows at you and you laughed again.

“No, extremely insufferable,” you replied. He laughed and the sound bounced off the walls, wrapping you up in its tone. He covered his mouth to try and stifle the sound. His grin cracked through him biting his lip, and you bit your own in response.

“For someone who finds me so insufferable, you sure do mirror my actions a lot,” he said with a chuckle. You released your lower lip and blushed.

“You are so cocky, Park Jimin!”

“I mean, once you Jim-in, you can’t Jim-out!” He shot you the finger guns before he realized what he had actually said. “I mean, not that I’m trying to fuck you -” your eyes widened “- I mean, if you’re down for that then I am too. 100%. Like seriously, fuck. I just meant that it wasn’t my intention to -” you hollered into the pillow as the words tumbled from his mouth. His smile was shy as he stood from the bed and set the bear on the nightstand with its partner. “We should go to sleep,” he mumbled and switched off the light. He cursed as he stubbed his toe on the corner of the wrought iron bed frame and you could only continue giggling at his misfortune.

“I’m glad my pain amuses you,” he said into the dark, his voice much closer than you expected. “Did you set an alarm?” You shook your head and he set one on his phone as he plugged both of your phones up to charge. He scooted back down and wiggled around like a dog circling their bed until he was comfortable, his back now facing you. “Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered over his shoulder.

“Goodnight Jimin,” you breathed.

You laid still on your back, your arms crossed over your stomach as you listened to Jimin’s breathing slow. The space between you was microscopic and you were acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body as the air conditioning blasted from the unit in the window. You turned over onto your side gingerly, facing the wall. It had been a while since you were in bed with a man and Jimin’s flustered words echoed in your brain as you pressed my thighs together. Speculating that he was interested in you was one thing, but having him admit it - even if it was only sexually - was conflicting. You scrunched your eyes shut tight as you locked away any inappropriate thoughts of what it would be like to not “Jim-out”.

You sighed in content as you pressed your body closer to his chest. One of his strong arms wrapped around your torso, the other tucked under your head, and his breath tickled the back of your neck as he quietly snored behind you. Your fingers traced along the curve of his palm while your brain slowly came to. Your legs were tangled under the sheet, intertwined with one another as you ran your foot up the back of his calf, surprised by the lack of hair you felt; Tiago’s legs were never this smooth.

Squinting in the lazy haze of the sunlight that peeked from underneath the curtain above you, you turned over. Instead of seeing tight blond curls lying against the pillow, you were met with the faint traces of black bean noodles and soft black waves. Opening your eyes properly, your eyes focused on Jimin’s parted lips. You jolted as you realized his soft embrace had caused you to remember your moments with Tiago. You stiffened when Jimin’s hand tightened around your waist and he pressed his hand against the small of your back, your t-shirt having ridden up in the middle of the night. It was then that you realized his own t-shirt had been discarded and your arms were trapped against his chest, his gold chain pooled around his neck.

Shit. You didn’t want to wake him, but you needed to get out of his hold, the triggering memories of Tiago too much to handle in this state. You tried to gently press against his chest with your arms, but Jimin only shuffled closer. You watched his eyebrows furrow in discomfort as your legs bumped one another’s before he ran his hand over the curve of your ass, along the back of your thigh, and hooked your leg over his hip. Your hips were perfectly aligned. You held your breath as Jimin exhaled, his face neutral, at peace and he rested his head on top of yours.

You pushed against his chest again and he groaned softly in his sleep as he rolled onto his back, not forgetting to bring your leg with him. Your head was against his bare chest and you heard the soft thump! of his heart. You closed your eyes and listened to it, lost in its steady beat for a moment before you remembered that you were trying to get out of his grasp and not succumb to it.

Pressing up onto your elbow, you double-checked he was still sleeping before you shifted to hover over him. Your knees were over his hips taking all of your weight as you tried your best not to press into the pillow with your hands, but not letting your ass brush against his lower abdomen. His abdominal muscles were almost as tight as the ones in his thighs and just as defined. You remembered his comment suggesting you should have asked to sit in his lap and you bit back a smile at your current predicament. Jimin shifted beneath you again and you froze, your smile dropping. He settled again and you exhaled; your heart couldn’t handle the back and forth.

The vibration of your phone startled you and you stumbled out of the bed to silence the call, nearly dragging the rest of the sheets off Jimin.

“Hello?” you answered in a whisper. You adjusted the sheets around his sleeping frame as he rolled over onto this stomach, his arm stretching out into your vacated spot.

“Y/N, why haven’t you called me back?” Adele’s voice rang out over the line. Had you seen it was her, you would have ignored the call. You slipped into the bathroom after grabbing your toothbrush and prayed the door would muffle some of the conversation.

“I’ve been on a plane, Adele. I haven't exactly had service to call anyone,” you stated, matter-of-factly.

“Well, where are you now? And why are you speaking so quietly?” she questioned.

“A hostel in Hong Kong. I don’t want to -”

“Hostel?!” she shrieked. “Oh Y/N darling, I know I raised you better than to wallow in low-class establishments like hostels,” she continued. You could picture the look of disgust on her face. You did not have enough energy to deal with her in your coffee-withdrawn state. Your temper was short.

“It’s actually very clean. We all can’t afford to live in unnecessary luxury like you, Adele,” you said while brushing your teeth. You spat at the thought of her in her high-end clothes and brownstone home paid for by different men.

“Your brother didn’t seem to mind the high-end luxury when he was here,” she replied smugly. you paused.

“When he was where?” you asked.

“Home. With me.” Her shit-eating tone was quite evident. “But you wouldn’t have known that.”

“Milo came home?” you asked again in disbelief.

Your relationship with your younger brother wasn’t as strained as your mother’s, but you weren’t on the best of terms either. You hadn’t seen him in five years. You still remembered how peaceful he looked as he slept when you kissed him goodbye. His calls and messages eventually stopped after a few months of you not answering.

“Of course he came home,” Adele snapped. “Miles enjoys spending time with his mother.”

You ignored her dig towards me. “How long is he staying?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Maybe you should have told me you were in New York and not run off on the next available flight -”

“You know, at this point, I’m not convinced Milo even came by. You’re just gaslighting me to come home after all these years and it’s not going to happen, Adele. Stop wasting your time and stop calling my phone outside of emergencies,” your voice slightly raised as you rinsed your toothbrush off in the sink.

“You’ve become so bitter, Y/N. I never forced you to leave; you left on your own accord -”

“You didn’t want me!” you yelled into the phone.

“If that’s what you want to believe, then fine,” she said indifferently. “I’ll prove to you I wasn’t lying about Milo,” she sneered. She never liked the nickname you gave her son. Her prized possession.

“Don’t call him that,” you growled, the emotion welling up in your chest.

“I’ll call him whatever I want. You’re lucky I was in a good mood when I gave him your number and I hadn’t spoken to you before -”

“Goodbye, Adele.” You hung up the phone and braced yourself against the sink.

Your body shook as you tried to process what exactly had occurred. Milo was back in New York. Your precious baby brother was back home. Unless Adele was manipulating you again, Milo could be reaching back out after you had fucked your relationship up. She had given him your number. A sob wracked your shoulders and you covered your mouth to stifle the sound. Silent tears ran down your cheeks and you wiped them away furiously, upset that you were wasting tears on a situation so old.

“Shutterfly?” you gasped as you turned to face the door, a sleepy Jimin poking his head around it. “Hey, are you okay? You weren’t in bed - Wait, are you crying?” He pushed the door open further and stepped inside.

“No,” you lied and turned back to the sink, splashing your face with cold water. You pleaded with the Lord that he wouldn’t be able to see your shoulders shake as you tried to control your breathing. You shut off the water as Jimin turned you to face him.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” He held your face in his hands, searching it for the answer to his question. You felt small under his gaze and extremely conscious of the little amount of clothes you were both wearing. You shook your head, trying to tell him it was nothing, that you were fine. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it. Can I give you a hug instead?”

“No,” you whispered. “I’d prefer if you didn’t right now.” He stroked his thumbs against your cheeks once more before he let go and stepped back. You didn’t miss the flicker of disappointment that flashed against his face as he nodded. You inhaled and exhaled deeply, finally feeling like you were back in control. “I would prefer if you brushed your teeth though. Your breath smells like noodles,” tiy said as you squeezed past him.

Jimin’s 10:30 am alarm went off as you were heading downstairs for breakfast, his teeth brushed and both of you dressed. You practically sprinted to the coffee machine and chose the biggest cup possible. There were a few other guests milling around the lounge area as breakfast was officially over, but Sonia had prepared something extra for you and Jimin knowing we were still extremely jetlagged, the 12 hour time difference taking a toll on your bodies.

Jimin was dressed casually again. A pair of olive green slim cargo shorts, an oversized black t-shirt, and the same black, white, and grey Jordans on his feet. His hair fell into his face as he helped himself to the instant noodles and fried egg Sonia served him, the two of them looking like mother and son as they chatted. It seemed as though Jimin also followed the same “pack additional clothes in your carry on” rule.

You sighed as you took your first sip of coffee, hugging the cup protectively between both hands. Closing your eyes in bliss, you let the hot drink soothe your nerves from last night and this morning, your conversation with Adele almost a distant memory. The energy flowed through you as you opened your laptop to read Julia’s updates, finally feeling prepared to handle whatever was thrown at you.

Hello Y/N!

Julia here. Thank you again for taking on our project. Michael was right to recommend you; your portfolio is absolutely stunning. As you know, we’re looking to promote our getaway package in Bali. Though we do want high-quality content, the company was wondering if you would be able to deliver a more “amateur” romantic feel. We’re marketing towards couples and would love to see some shots that represent that. You don’t have to be in any of the shots yourself, but it would be great if you could! I understand this is quite short notice, but I have complete faith in your ability to deliver.

Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any further questions!

Best,

Julia.

She had attached a few photographs of smiling couples on the beach and at dinner for reference. You groaned and rubbed your temples. You didn’t think there was enough coffee in the world that would be able to address these minor inconveniences. Intimacy was not your thing. Romance was not your thing. Love was not your thing, and yet here Julia was telling you to make those things a thing. A reality. You gulped down another mouthful of coffee, burning your tongue in the process.

“Food?” Sonia asked, pushing a plate across the wooden bench table in front of you. You smiled in thanks and began eating though not really tasting the food. Jimin’s eyes watched you carefully and you sighed, already knowing he was going to ask you if you were okay.

“Just work stuff, Jimin, nothing to worry about,” you said.

“You make it hard to not worry about you though,” he murmured, avoiding your eyes. “Sonia said you shouldn’t be working while you’re here, that you need to enjoy the city before you go,” he added.

“Tell her I have a really big project to complete and I appreciate her concern, but I can’t just ignore work,” you replied, pushing your fried egg around your bowl. Jimin translated again and Sonia shook her head before walking away. You hoped you hadn’t offended her.

“Is this for your Saipan video?” he asked. You shook your head.

“I got contracted by a travel company to create a “vlog” type advertisement for a getaway package they’re selling to Bali. Julia, the contact, sent over some new additions while we were on the flight and I’m not sure how I’m going to get it done, but they expect me to deliver, especially since Michael recommended me,” you finished.

“What exactly do you have to do?”

“Basically be in love and capture it on film.” Your mouth turned down in disgust at the thought. Jimin laughed at you. You turned your laptop to face him so he could read the email to show him you weren't joking.

“That doesn’t seem so hard,” he commented after he was done.

“For you.”

“Oh come on, Y/N. Love is a beautiful thing. It’s everywhere if you think about it. I mean, look at Sonia and William. Don’t you remember the first time you fell in love? The pleasure it brought you, the happiness. You can’t tell me you don’t want to experience love like that again,” he said seriously.

You faked thinking about it. “Nope. I think I’m good.” You stood and poured yourself a second cup of coffee, wishing you could pour all the memories of Tiago down the drain. Especially after this morning. You tugged on your ears, the blood rushing to them as usual.

“That’s what you think, but I’m sure I can change your mind,” he said with his shit-eating grin. You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious, Shutterfly. All you need is my true love and affection -” Jimin was interrupted by Sonia dragging William over to you, an envelope in her hands. She shoved it in his and waited for him to start speaking.

“Uh,” William scratched the back of his head, “Sonia wanted me to give these to you.” He handed the envelope to you. Sonia smacked his shoulder and gestured for him to continue before she turned her expectant gaze on you. “She said you should not worry about work and you should go and enjoy Hong Kong so she is gifting you with tickets to the Hong Kong Museum of Fine Art. It is a ten-minute walk and Jimin can show you his -”

“- favorite exhibits. Right. Thank you, William and Sonia,” Jimin interjected.

“You’ll go, right?” Sonia asked eagerly. You opened your mouth to protest but didn’t have the heart to say no to her in her bunny apron. Not when she had worked so hard to make sure you were comfortable and well-fed. But also because you didn’t want her to attack you with her wooden chopsticks. You nodded and she clapped in excitement before she started going off a mile a minute at William who cowered slightly away from her. Jimin chuckled at their interaction.

“Isn’t love amazing, Y/N?” he said wistfully as he cleared the table. You rolled your eyes and texted Michael that you’d seen the email, Julia was out of her mind, but you would do your best to complete the task so you wouldn’t disappoint along with the address of the hostel.

After returning your laptop to your shared room, you and Jimin set off for the museum in the sweltering sun. You were overjoyed that you’d chosen to wear your dark t-shirt from yesterday, though you were still conscious of your sweat stains being visible. Jimin looked elated as you walked through the busy streets and you struggled to keep up, your own Jordans way out of time with his own.

“So you have favorite exhibits here?” you asked slightly out of breath. He slowed as if he just realized how far behind you were.

“Yeah, I was here a few months ago and stopped by. They have some pretty cool stuff here.”

You continued walking and you gasped as the museum came into view. Perched on the edge of the water, the building stretched along the harbor. Its walls were textured and stone grey. Clear blue windows peeked through the exterior and there was a steady stream of people loitering outside. You wished you’d brought your camera as you snapped a few photos of the impressive architecture on your phone.

Inside was just as magnificent with its low lights and marble flooring. The cool air conditioning was an additional plus as you and Jimin stood in the lobby. A large sign displayed all of the pertinent information about the exhibits available for view. You’d always been a sucker for museums and you felt lighter just being there.

“Aren’t you happy you came?”

“Very,” you whispered, looking around in awe. “Hey look!” You pointed to the exhibit directory, “Garland Sans has an exhibit showing.”

“Hmm?”

“Garland Sans. Michael said he’s having an exhibit in New York in a few weeks and wants to go. It’d be cool to see some of his work before then. I’m not too familiar with his stuff,” you explained. Jimin nodded.

“Yeah, sure. We can start with some selected works from the Chih Lo Lou Collection and work our way through?” he suggested. You nodded and followed him to the second floor, excitement thrumming in your veins.

You’d spent the better part of three hours roaming all of the floors in the museum with Jimin and spending most of your time at the Xubaizhai exhibit, the afternoon rolling in with ease. You were lost in the stories of the Ming and Qing dynasties, amazed at how detailed the small villages were depicted using ink and color. It was like reading the stories of their lives. It also didn’t hurt that Jimin was there to translate the calligraphy on some of the scrolls. He seemed to enjoy the Garland Sans exhibit less and you debated the motives behind each painting endlessly. Unsurprisingly, he was well-versed in the arts, more so than you and something he chalked up to hanging out with too many artsy folks, and you wondered what else you would learn about him.

“Don’t museums make you just want to fall in love?” Jimin nudged you with his elbow as you headed back to the lobby. You laughed loudly.

“Not at all.”

“Oh come on, Y/N. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything in your cold, dead heart as we walked around the museum. You looked so content and at peace,” he added.

“I was. That was the effect of the artwork, not you.”

“So you don’t think I belong in the Greek statue exhibit at the MET Museum?” He flexed his arms behind his head as he winked at me. You did your best to ignore the flutter in your belly as you disagreed with him. “It’s okay. I’ll win you over. Even if it’s only for a really good video. I haven’t forgotten that I’m your muse.” You shook your head at his usual attempt to flirt when his phone rang in his pocket.

“Yes?” he answered, irritated. It sounded out of place from his usual casual tone. He excused himself and you sat on a bench in front of the museum to wait for him.

The view of the harbor was stunning and you welcomed the gentle breeze keeping you cool in the 84-degree heat. You took a short video of the boats drifting at the dock, a few of them further out bobbing along with the waves. Your own phone buzzing distracted you from the serene riverscape, Adele’s name appearing on the screen with a picture attachment. You opened it and nearly dropped your phone.

Adele: Told you so. [16:57].

Below it, a photo of her and your brother. He was smiling into the camera as the two of them posed. Milo’s face had lost its chubbiness, his jaw more angular and his cheekbones more pronounced. His dimples were just as deep and matched the same pair Adele sported. That particular gene had skipped you; you got stuck with the freckles. His hair was cut short, different from the long floppy locks he used to wear in high school. How he had managed to take this photo without Adele ripping that gold hoop out of his nose was beyond you and you smiled seeing that your rebellious little brother was still there. Milo really had come home.

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#jimin x reader #jimin fluff #bts fanfiction #jimin fanfic #BTS jimin #fic: bitter and beloved

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elylandon · 5 years ago

Text

Part 1 - Chapter 12.1: Quarantine

Summary: You’re running for your life when you cross paths with an ex-bounty hunter and his small, green companion. You never thought you’d find someone throughout the whole galaxy who was as lost as you.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Word Count: 5,035

Rating/Warnings: M for mature content. Swearing, hints of smut, etc. Also soft/domestic Din.

Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

Note: (Dream AU - Slow Burn) Thanks for reading! ❤

---

You woke groggily, coming to consciousness as if you were trying to break the surface of water. Light tickled at your eyelids. Natural light. Which wasn’t something that was normally found on the Razor Crest.

You blinked against that light, and as your vision adjusted, you saw that you were in a room made of wood. The eastern wall was lined with three large windows, all of them open. A balmy spring breeze slid between sheer white curtains, making them sway.

Where the hell…?

You sat up, confused. It was then that you realized you weren’t sleeping on your uncomfortable cot, but a large, cozy bed dressed in quaint and simple linen. When you glanced over, you took note of the unmade, empty second half of the bed. Apparently, you didn’t sleep in this bed alone.

Okay, seriously. What the hell?

You scrambled out of the bed, and made your way to the door opposite the windows. You had no idea where you were, and you needed to find answers. Best case scenario, Din had found a safe planet to squat on, and you’d apparently forgotten the landing part, the splurging-on-a-cabin part, and the sharing-a-bed-with-him part. Worst case, you had completely imagined the last two months of your life and were at one of Thasar’s many cabins, sharing a bed with one of his many business partners.

That was highly unlikely, but you had always been rather paranoid. And for good reason, too.

As you opened the door and swung out into a hallway, you called out a tentative, “Hello?” When you were met with the sound of approaching footsteps, you suddenly wished that you had your blaster on you. Really, what if it wasn’t Din?

Your heartbeat picked up as the footsteps grew louder. You kept walking down the length of the hall, determined to meet them halfway. A figure turned the corner just as you reached it and you staggered back, heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. It most definitely wasn’t your armor-clad Mandalorian, nor anyone you recognized.

It was a human man. He looked to be in his late thirties, with short, almost scruffy brown hair, high cheekbones, and brown eyes that were slightly clouded in concern. There was a somewhat patchy beard lining his jaw, and the beginnings of a mustache resting above his plump lips. It was strange how familiar his face was when you had never seen it before.

However, before you could panic, he spoke, and you realized that you did know that face, just not by sight.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

Your brows came together as you gaped at this man. It was his voice, and it was his face, as you had painted it in your mind after tracing his features only a day ago. But why was he here, standing before you without an inch of beskar, or a helmet-

You suddenly gasped and quickly clapped your hands over your eyes, heart slamming as the magnitude of what you had just done came crashing over you. You had seen his face! Din’s face! His oath, his Creed, all of it broken because of you. You swore under your breath and tried to back up, but Din’s hands caught your wrists.

“What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“I-I’m so sorry! I saw you. I didn’t m-mean to. I didn’t know it was you coming around the corner, or that you wouldn’t be wearing your helmet. I should have been more careful. Fuck! I’m sorry!”

There was a slight pause before Din slowly said, “I haven’t worn my helmet in over three months, Y/N.”

“W-what?” you stuttered, keeping your eyes covered. For all the good that would do; you had already seen him.

With some effort, Din gently pulled your hands away from your face, and instructed you to open your eyes, claiming that you had seen his face everyday since he had taken the helmet off for good.

“I have?” you asked as you looked back up at him, still bewildered. “Why did you stop wearing it?”

Meeting Din’s brown eyes again-- wow, they were just as warm and rich as you had always imagined them-- you found that he was staring at you intensely, brows furrowed, eyes searching. When you asked him that question, his eyes only narrowed further, and the way he was observing you was almost that of suspicion.

Then, abruptly, he sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes widened as if realizing something. One of his hands let go of your wrist and shot up, smacking against your forehead. You grunted and blinked up at him.

“Ow, Din, what the hell are you-”

“You’re warm,” was his only explanation. “Come on.” His other hand moved to yours before tugging you along behind him as he moved out of the hall. You dazedly followed after him.

He’d taken off his helmet three months ago? For good? And you’d been living with him since then, seeing his face every day? Why? Why had he stopped wearing his armor? Why were the two of you living here? Why couldn’t you remember any of it?

Din guided you through a small dining area that connected to a spectacular kitchen with pristinely white appliances. The two rooms were separated by a breakfast bar at which Din halted for a moment before laying his hands on your waist and hoisting you onto a bar stool. You let him, at this point just riding along the confusing roller coaster until you got some answers.

Din reached over and opened the cupboard above one end of the bar and rummaged through what looked like a medicine cabinet. He quickly found what he was looking for and turned back to you, holding it out. It was a thermometer.

“Here. Put this under your tongue.”

As if you weren’t already completely lost.

“You want to take my temperature? Why?”

“You thought the cough you’ve been having over the last few days was because of allergies, but now you’re exhibiting signs of confusion and you’re heating up. That’s too many symptoms. We need to see if you have a fever or not.”

“Symptoms of what? And what allergies? I’ve only ever reacted to the pollen on-”

Your words stopped dead in your throat as your head jerked towards the sliding glass door in the dining room. You scrambled off the bar stool and slid around Din, who released his signature sigh of annoyance and followed you as you rushed over to the door. Looking outside, you saw that the cabin was surrounded by a lush forest that seemed so achingly familiar. The trees were tall and looming, birds flitting between branches, moss creeping up their trunks. The sky peeking through them was blue and dotted with white, puffy clouds. Wildflowers and tall grass blanketed the dirt floor, swaying in that spring breeze. Other planets exhibited similar ecosystems, you knew that, but this? None of them ever matched this so completely, nothing ever feeling the same as your childhood home.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you tried to breathe, finding that your lungs were having as difficult a time processing this as your brain was.

Shakily, you said, "Is this… a-are we…"

You couldn't even finish your thoughts. Was it really possible that you were… back on Earth? You hardly took notice that Din was hovering until he reached around you, snagged your chin between his fingers, and pulled you back to face him. Then, he shoved the thermometer into your mouth.

"Under your tongue," he demanded, and you were so completely gone, you automatically did as you were told. When Din was satisfied, he nodded.

“While we wait for that, I’m going to ask you some questions. Just nod yes or no. Afterwards, we’ll try to alleviate some of your confusion, alright?”

You agreed.

“Are you experiencing any shortness of breath?”

Aside from just this moment as you were silently freaking out about the whole situation, no, you were breathing just fine. You shook your head.

“Body aches? Chills?”

No.

“Fatigue?”

No.

“Headaches?”

No.

“Sore throat?”

No.

The thermometer chirped and Din instantly snatched it from your mouth. You huffed at him, starting to feel a little annoyed. Not only were you confused about where you were, what was going on, and why you were missing three months of your life, but now he was hounding you like you had some unknown ailment. If it was any other moment, his fussing might have been… cute. Now, though? Kind of frustrating, actually.

When he sighed, shoulders relaxing in relief as he inspected the thermometer, you said, “Do I pass, Dr. Djarin?”

He quirked a brow at you, and you were taken aback for a short moment by how fascinating it was to see his reactions in his facial features, and not just in his body language. You shook yourself out of it, though, and waited for your explanation.

“No fever. And the lack of other symptoms is a good sign. However, this confusion you have is extensive, so I’m going to keep an eye on you until I’m sure it’s not an actual symptom.”

“Again I ask, a symptom of what? What the hell is going on?”

Din gestured for you to sit at the bar again, and asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?” You tried to think of the last thing you did before falling asleep the night before.

“We were on the Crest, in the cockpit, and you were telling me about one of your bounties. The one that tried to convince you that you were actually after his twin brother.”

“And you fell asleep in your chair.”

“Right!” you exclaimed.

“Even after all those times I told you not to because doing so made you sore.”

“Uh, right,” you murmured sheepishly.

Din shook his head disapprovingly, then explained how a few days after that, the two of you had been getting sick of searching for someplace safe to go, but realizing that no matter where you went, bounty hunters would soon follow. That was when you suggested Earth. You meant it to be an offhand joke, knowing full well that it was a nearly impossible trek. But that was the point, Din realized. Nobody would be stupid enough to follow a bounty there.

Din started to explain how exactly the three of you made it to Earth, but that part of the explanation became strangely out of focus for you. No matter how hard you concentrated, you couldn’t seem to comprehend Din’s words, and everything around you blurred. It almost seemed like there was a thick wall of cloudy glass between you, and his words became garbled as they tried to penetrate it. Eventually, you got tired of asking him to repeat himself and motioned for him to continue.

Din found the intergalactic underground you had been sold to, and converted all the credits you had gathered from looting Thasar’s things into American currency. It actually wound up being quite a considerable amount, and the two of you used it to buy this cabin. Unfortunately, if Din wanted to find work, he couldn’t go around in a full suit of beskar armor. People would think he’d just stepped out of some kind of sci-fi convention, and wouldn’t take him seriously. Unlike anywhere else in the galaxy, Mandalorians just didn’t exist here.

So he put the armor away, and found a job in the nearby city as Earth’s version of a bounty hunter. You held up your part of the job, and watched over the child while he was gone. Only, it wasn’t so much a job anymore. All of it had started to feel rather… domestic.

It was comfortable, and quaint, and nice… until a few weeks ago, when countries all over the world started shutting down because of some sort of virus pandemic. In order to slow the spread of the virus, everyone was encouraged to stay home and practice social distancing. It was meant to be temporary, but it had gone on for weeks now, with apparently no end in sight.

“So that’s why you asked me all those questions. The cough, the confusion, and a possible fever are symptoms of this virus, along with all those other things?”

“Yes. Although, at this point, I’m just being paranoid. The three of us have been living here in isolation for so long, if any of us actually had the illness, we would have known it a few weeks ago. I’m just being overly cautious.”

“It sounds serious, I don’t blame you.”

So… that was it. That was the last twelve weeks of your life. You and Din had found a way to travel to Earth, bought a cabin, started living a life far away from the outer reaches of the galaxy, and were now under quarantine from this virus. But, how could you have forgotten all that? How could you have forgotten seeing Din’s face for the first time, or living in this domestic bliss with him for so long? Why was the last thing you could recall the child sitting on your stomach, playing with his silver ball as you fell asleep at an ungodly angle in your co-pilot’s chair to the sound of Din’s rough, modulated voice? Was it really a sign that you were coming down with this illness?

“I still can’t make heads or tails of all this. And if this confusion, this lapse in memory, really is a symptom, shouldn’t I isolate myself even more from the two of you?”

Din shook his head.

“It wouldn’t matter. The virus sits in your system for weeks without anyone being the wiser. If you’ve had it all this time, which I highly doubt, then we’d have it too.”

“I think we should try to go through the day as normally as possible. Do all the things we’ve been doing since the quarantine started, and see if it jogs your memory.”

You nodded slowly. “So, what do we do now?”

Din thought about it for a second.

You glanced around the cozy cabin, hoping something might grab your attention and help you remember. “I don’t have any better ideas. What exactly have we been doing since we’ve been cooped up here?”

“Well,” Din sighed, glancing out the back door. “We normally take this time that the kid is still asleep to get in some target practice and training. But I have a feeling that, with the memory loss, the comfort you’ve been gaining in the last couple months will be gone.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, tilting your head. “I’m comfortable with target practice.”

“With blasters, yes. But we’ve been working with guns in order to blend in better here.” You’re stomach lurched.

“Oh.” Guns. Blasters were one thing. Zekir had initially helped you get used to them. But guns? The last time you had seen one… you shuddered.

Din’s eyes narrowed, observing you. All those times that he’d done this before, it really had been the weight of his gaze that you were feeling behind that visor. That weight in your chest now, it was still the same. As were the butterflies coming to life in your stomach at his attention. Finally, he nodded, coming to a conclusion.

“We’ll stick to the simple things for now. No need to jump in the deep end just yet.”

“Alright. How about we do something we’ve done here that we couldn’t ever do on the Razor Crest, or while we planet hopped through space?” He hummed in agreement, understanding where your thoughts were going.

“The kid likes to explore the woods, so we go on walks every day. But we’ll have to wait for him to wake up first.”

“What else?”

After another pause to think, Din’s lips twitched and morphed into a small, crooked grin. Your heart stuttered just at the sight of it.

“Binge watching.”

Just then, that strange blurring moment from before occurred again. One moment you were wondrously staring at Din’s soft smile, the next you were in a living room, standing in front of a bookcase cluttered with music, books, games, and movies. So many movies. There seemed to be a few television shows mixed in as well, with so many unfamiliar titles jumping out at you, all you could do was stare. Clearly being back on Earth had spurred you into experiencing, reading, and seeing everything you had missed in the last ten years. You figured that’s what Din meant by “binge watching.”

“Where do we even start?” you asked incredulously. Din chuckled.

“Honestly, this is more your thing, and I’m just sort of along for the ride. So pick whatever jumps out at you, and I’ll let you know if we’ve watched it or not.”

“Okay. What about this?”

You pulled out a particularly aesthetically pleasing box from the collection and examined the front. Game of Thrones. You were sure you hadn’t seen or heard of it when you were last on Earth, but you always used to enjoy fantasy stories, so it looked interesting enough. However, Din made face, brows and nose scrunching as he shook his head.

“You’re currently boycotting that one. It’s a show, and we got around four seasons in. You weren’t really enjoying it to begin with; there was a lot of gore and themes you didn’t care for. You were trying to stick with it, though, because you liked the story and some of the characters. But then we got to a particularly gruesome death scene and you haven’t watched it since.”

“Do I even want to know?” you asked, casting him a furtive glance. He shook his head.

“I’m pretty sure your exact words were ‘I could have gone my whole life without seeing that.’”

You shuddered and replaced the box back onto the shelf, then continued browsing. Your eyes fell upon several flashy-looking movies lined up in a row and your jaw dropped.

“Whoa! Are these all Marvel movies?” Din nodded. “They had only released Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk in this cinematic universe before I left. There has to be twenty other movies here.”

Din reached up and plucked three movies from the collection. The moment you saw their covers a huge smile broke out across your face and you started to bounce with excitement.

“You were pretty excited about those, but, for the sake of what we’re trying to do right now, why don’t we start with something smaller?”

“The Lord of the Rings! Yes, let’s watch those. They’re my-”

“-your favorite, I know. I had to stop you a few times from re-watching them over and over again, including the companion movies. But I think I can make an exception in this case.”

You blinked up at him.

“Companion movies?”

Din full on smirked then, and reached for three other boxes. This time your jaw hit the floor.

“The Hobbit! No way! They turned that book into a movie too?”

“Three movies, which seems like a bit much, but you weren’t complaining.”

You were absolutely vibrating at this point, and Din had to tell you to stop squirming several times as the two of you settled down to watch The Fellowship of the Ring. Just as the movie was starting, a hesitant cooing had you both glancing over to find the child standing in the living room entrance, ears drooping from sleep. As if you weren’t already full of giddy happiness, seeing him was the frosting on your cake.

As far as you knew, you had just seen him the night before on the Crest. But after everything Din had told you, it suddenly felt like months. You wanted nothing more than to hold him close to your chest, and watch him babble a seemingly elaborate story at you while you pretended to understand it

So you quickly leaned down and scooped him up as he waddled over, and he effectively made himself comfortable by somehow sitting on both of your laps and wriggling into both of your sides.

“Aawww,” you couldn’t help but croon, softly grazing your finger over one of his ears.

“Mmm,” Din murmured suspiciously. “He’s buttering you up so you forget the fact that he’s still escaping his room at night.”

“Well it’s definitely working.”

He shot you a disapproving look. Perhaps this was an ongoing problem you kept getting suckered into forgiving by the adorable creature nestled against you. Regardless, you only shrugged and smirked.

“Give me a break. I’m suffering from a memory lapse here, remember?”

He sighed, and it was both mesmerizing and amusing to see the amount of emotions flit across his features as he did so. So much different than hearing the sound through a filter, and watching his shoulders sag in defeat. You snuggled in closer to him and the child, beaming from ear to ear, and settled in for the long movie.

The day passed quickly after that. It seemed strange, that bizarre blurring from before bringing moments in and out of focus.

Din absolutely refusing to let you sit there and watch another eight or so hours of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. The three of you walking through the forest as you watched the child hunt for frogs. Making BLT sandwiches for lunch and enjoying them in the open spring air. Playing hide-and-seek with the child while Din handled work-related things in the study. Finally convincing him to at least start The Two Towers, but dozing through most of it with the child. Baked chicken, potatoes, and string beans for dinner, and angel food cake with strawberries and whipped cream for dessert. Playing Legos with the kid in his room until he grew tired, then reading him to sleep.

It was such a… vanilla kind of day. That was the only way you could describe it. It was so simple, and blissful, and happy. It was the kind of day you hadn’t experienced in over twenty years, and you couldn’t believe you got to live like this, every day, with your child, and the man you cared so deeply for. You were safe, content, and fulfilled. As if all the fighting you’ve had to do since your parents had passed, all the suffering you’ve had to endure, all the darkness swirling inside of you, it all led to this.

There was such a clear parting in your life. Before, and after. Before these two had stumbled into your world, all you had been doing was existing. But now? Now you were living.

When the two of you were alone in your room that night, Din checked your temperature again, and frowned when you still didn’t have a fever.

“No fever is a good thing, isn’t it?” you asked, shucking off the day’s clothes and changing into an oversized shirt to sleep in. It was in your drawers, but you were pretty sure it actually belonged to Din.

When you glanced over at him, you found him watching you, but not in a way a woman would like to be watched by her partner as she changed. His eyes were narrowed again, studying your movements warily, once again assessing the changes in you that came with your memory loss.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him, perplexed. Changing in front of him wasn’t a new thing, even in just your own memories. Even before your relationship together had changed, you had always felt comfortable doing so, as it wasn’t like he was going to see anything he hadn’t seen before. Or see anything others hadn’t seen before him. As long as you shifted in a way that he couldn’t see your scars, it never bothered-

Oh.

It seemed that, with the memory loss, all the comforts you’d found in your relationship with him over the last few months really were gone. For the entire day, that must have felt strange to him. Maybe even a little sad too. But, of course, he would never admit as much. He was still more concerned about your health than anything else.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered. “You’re not sick, and you were fine yesterday. And yet, here you are, missing three months of your life. Nothing we did today helped you remember anything either.”

With clear frustration, he pulled the blankets back from his side of the bed, and sat, leaning his back against the headboard and crossing his arms. He sighed heavily, thinking. “Maybe it has something to do with your powers.”

“Maybe,” you hummed, then bit your lip, eyes jumping between him and the empty space on the bed, an idea forming in your mind.

As he seemed to lose himself in his thoughts, you slowly crept closer, and carefully climbed onto your side of the bed.

“I mean, maybe I just need to sleep, and come tomorrow morning, I’ll remember everything.”

“Hmm,” Din murmured in distracted agreement, still oblivious to your movements. You scooted closer to him still, and it was only when you fully slipped onto his lap, that his focus returned, and those beautifully warm brown eyes snapped up to meet yours.

“Or maybe,” you started softly, straddling him and laying your hands on his broad shoulders. “There are a few other things we could still try.”

“Y/N,” he began, tone not quite assenting. You raised your brows, head tilting a little as you brushed your fingers up his neck. He visibly swallowed, but his eyes steeled over with resolve.

“I don’t think-”

“Before you make that argument,” you interrupted. “Let me just ask you this. Whether this happened a day ago in my memory, or a day ago in yours, either way I was okay with it, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you said that if I wanted you to stop, that was all I had to say and you would?”

“Yes.”

“And what did I say in return?” you asked, fingers trailing against his jaw now, remembering the lines you had traced there the last time you had touched his face. Din’s eyes studied you, resolve melting into a blazing fire that sent your insides dancing. Carefully, his large, calloused hands tickled over your bare thighs.

“That you didn’t want me to stop.”

“I still mean that,” you murmured, moving forward, breath stalling in anticipation.

The second your lips touched his, Din reacted. He was so fast. Had he always been this fast? One moment you were hovering over him, the next his hands were gripping your thighs, and you yelped as he flipped you onto your back. You blinked up at him dazedly, and his lips twitched, his expression just the tiniest bit smug.

“Still mean it?” he asked.

“Oh, definitely,” you breathed, reaching up and folding your arms around his shoulders as his mouth crushed yours in a bruising kiss.

His hands skipped up your thighs and slipped under the hem of your shirt. It quickly dawned on you that, unlike before, he was completely free of armor, and you planned to take full advantage of that. As his hands moved up along your sides, yours glided down over his shoulder blades, taking inventory of each dip and rise of bone, and muscle, and skin, relishing in just how exposed he was, your Mandalorian warrior.

Not exposed enough, though. His damn shirt was still in the way.

You grabbed a fistful of the fabric and tugged. Din complied and pulled back for a brief moment to allow you to yank his shirt off. You laughed a little as his face reappeared, a dazzling grin stretching across his face from ear to ear. But then that laugh morphed into a moan as he kissed you again, hungrier than before. His hands found the spot they had left off as he fit himself over you again, and his thumb carefully grazed against the underside of your breast. You writhed, urging him to continue, fingers burying themselves into his disheveled hair, hips moving up to meet his, friction sparking as your core brushed against his-

You jerked upright, gasping, breathing labored as your eyes took in the drastic change of a lit, wooden room, to the dark, metallic surroundings of the Razor Crest. You quickly glanced around, confused and struggling against the strange sensations you were feeling. Your lips felt swollen, your chest light with pure, unabashed happiness, your insides burning from- well, you didn’t really know what, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling at least.

You sat up a little straighter, pulling yourself out of the ungodly position you always seemed to find yourself in when you fell asleep in your co-pilot’s chair, back leaning against one armrest, legs dangled over the other. The child was laying on your stomach, dozing, and you looked up to see Din casting you a curious glance over his shoulder from his own chair.

“Another nightmare?” he asked quietly.

Your brows furrowed together as you tried to remember.

“N-no. I-I don’t think so. It was a good dream. I just don’t… remember it.”

You reached up and massaged your temples, disappointed that the dream was already slipping away. Why was it that you could remember the nightmares so vividly, but when a nice dream came along, it was gone before you were fully awake to process it? As you tried to recall it, you stretched, groaning at the soreness in your back and neck. You heard Din release a modulated sigh.

“I keep telling you to stop falling asleep in the chair like that.”

You smirked over at him.

“Hey, I think you said that in my dream.”

“So you do remember it.”

“Only bits and pieces,” you grumbled. “Like white curtains, The Lord of the Rings, your voice, some kind of global virus…”

“That… doesn’t sound good. At least not that part.”

You shook your head again, giving up. Din studied you for a moment, then said, “Either way, it’s good that you’re awake. I-” he paused, considering. “I received a message while you were asleep.”

“From who?” Again, he hesitated.

“From the man who originally started me on this path.” Din’s helmet tilted in the child’s direction. “Greef Karga.”

---

Tag List: Please, please, please let me know if I missed you or the tag isn’t working.

@sirianfromsixties @doubtedbus409 @shadowfoxey @knockbeforeyouspeak @ispilledmyink @sinon36 @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @imaginebeinlovedbyme @marvelobsessiononastick @pascalisthepunkest @yepimthatperson @stevieharrrr @sunkissed-winter @the-feckless-wonder @fruitsaladtree @adikaofmandalore @irishleesh93 @sevvysaurus @pisss-offf-ghostt @mrsparknuts @marvgrrl @kateb013 @readsalot73 @eli-bourne @absurdthirst @everythingaboutnothingstuff @leo-moon @notawhitegirlblog @legendofcilla @tastefulmisunderstanding @gracieadorable @depresseddarth66 @fioccodineveautunnale @earthtokace @weirdowithnobeardo @altarsw @mcakiecorgana

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #baby yoda

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notcanoncompliant · 5 years ago

Text

Flight (And What That Means To You)

Merry Christmas to @darker-soft-starker! <3

@starkersecretsanta

(I read your prompt and my brain took off, totally deviated from the rom-com feel, I hope you still like it!!)

warnings: mild violence, anxiety attack symptoms (kind of)

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

The Prompt:

Canon Divergence AU - Tony and Peter are neighbors. Tony is not obscenely rich, just a regular Joe, maybe a cop or something and lives across the hall from Peter's apartment. Peter is still Spider-Man and regularly gets caught by Tony limping back to his apartment bloody and beaten, peter gets stuck to his doorknob and there are a lot of awkward moments etc

And away we go...

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

Like many important things, Tony’s life resets with a ‘bang’.

On his back, ears ringing, staring up at inky-grey smoke that eats up whatever view there had been of the stars, he takes ragged half-breaths and wonders if he’s done enough, if this was the right way for him to go. When his vision tunnels and his consciousness begins to recede, he still doesn’t have an answer.

You’re lucky.

It’s what everyone keeps telling him. Lucky he was far enough away from the blast that he didn’t lose any pieces, lucky his vest held up just enough to keep the shrapnel from burying itself in his chest.

Lucky.

He might be, but it’s hard to feel it when he still hurts like there’s a baby grand parked on his ribs. Harder still when he wakes up, over and over and over, with the taste--the grit--of sand and copper in his mouth the echo of too-hot sun on his skin or the stinging, freezing cling of ice water on his face (in his mouth, his eyes, his stomach, his lungs--he can’t, he can’t, pleasenomorehecan’t).

It takes him four days to wake calmly enough he doesn’t bolt upright, doesn’t frantically pull off sensors and yank the drip out of his arm, doesn’t get held back down and sedated.

It takes four days for him to get his hands on a notepad and a pen.

When he does, he draws a metal behemoth shooting into the open sky.

He has no idea what it means, but he feels free.

‘Indefinite medical leave’ should’ve been a punch to the gut, a slap to the face. By the time they’d gotten around to giving him the mandatory psych eval, though (and it had gone as swimmingly as expected), he’d been out of the hospital for three weeks, and well-acclimated to feeling like he’d taken a fist to the stomach.

Before, he might’ve argued, fought, done his best to prove that he could still be an asset to the team, that his mid-forties are practically his prime, god damn it!

He doesn’t, though. None of it seems as important as it used to.

Being taken off the force is the least of his concerns, not when the tug to vent the dreams (visions, almost) onto paper-canvas-something is so strong he shakes with it.

The dreams are wild. Vivid and jarring. He draws bits and pieces of them all.

He’s got the time to do it, now.

Rogers is the first to stop contacting him. Barnes follows suit.

Clint hangs on a little longer, but ultimately stops coming around after the first month.

Rhodey doesn’t feel like a loss, for all that he and Tony have undeniably drifted apart. Rhodey’s got his family; Carol and the kids. He has time for coffee, for a quick chat sometimes. He doesn’t ask after the dreams. Tony doesn’t blame him.

Nat sticks around a little longer. Stops by every couple weeks. Comes in and drinks his crappy instant coffee and looks at whatever he’s working on. Sees him go from pencil sketches to paint.

When she sees his latest piece, she arches a brow at him.

It’s a glove, she says, flatly. The hint of good-natured amusement sparking in her eyes is nice, even if it’s not enough to counteract the rest of her reaction.

She’s a better liar than the others, because she lies with her whole body, her whole self. It’s only because Tony knows where to look does he see the wariness in the way her glance keeps flicking back to the canvas, catching on the bronze shape, on the spots of bright color that contrast so sharply.

The visit ends more quickly than usual (and they were never long to begin with), the redhead gone after a well-crafted excuse and a lingering hug. Tony knows he’ll see her again, but it still feels like a goodbye, of sorts.

He’s not bitter about any of it, doesn’t blame or begrudge his team for not staying; their jobs, their lives didn’t end when Tony took that blast, when a cut-and-dry shipyard raid (as cut and dry as any raid can be) went a little sideways.

And, if he’s being honest, the relative handful of times he’s seen any of them after his retirement (after four months he’s given up calling it ‘leave’, given up assuming he’ll ever even try to come back), there’s something hanging silently over them, dragging between them.

The feeling of distance (and slight relief when they part) is mutual, Tony thinks.

There’s one constant, outside the dreams. One figure flitting in and out of the corners of his days, his nights, his mind.

His neighbor, Peter, is a mystery. A gorgeous, twenty-something, world-weary mystery who’s eyes flicker too sharply over the whole of Tony’s body whenever Tony opens the door to find him standing there at completely ridiculous hours.

(Not that Tony’s got a healthy circadian rhythm to disrupt, anymore).

It feels less like random kindness and more like he’s been assigned security detail, the kid’s greeting and polite inquiry--How are you today, Mr. Stark? (because he can’t get the kid to call him ‘Tony’)--accompanied by eyes moving too sharply over the whole of Tony’s body, checking for damage, before he’s off again to do whatever it is he does.

Tony’s not really sure what to do with it at first, how to respond. He’s not used to being watched over, is typically the one doing the watching, the protecting. It’s especially difficult the first couple of times, because the kid--Peter--always looks a little worse for wear; favoring one or more of his limbs, and at least one visible, fresh bruise, small scrape or cut marring his features.

He does him the courtesy of not asking about them, because Peter doesn’t ask invasive questions and obviously tries very hard not to look past Tony and into the apartment, important concessions to Tony’s privacy. It’s only fair to let Peter have his, feels like an even (if increasingly painful) trade-off.

He also doesn’t want to do anything to risk losing this. He’s glad his ‘detail’ keeps showing up. Keeps existing.

After a while, it becomes routine. Once a day, Peter knocks, Tony opens, and they have their exchange. It’s...a spot of light in Tony’s world, even if it feels sort of heavy.

The lightness is due in part to the way that, regardless of apparent injury or hour of the day, Peter always offers Tony a genuine smile, even if it’s also quick or small or tired.

Sometimes, though, the smiles are more grimace than anything else. There are bands of steel behind those ones, and Tony wonders how (why) this kid got so strong, and why it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone telling him he doesn’t have to be. On those days, Tony thinks about inviting him in, offering to take a look at the injuries; he’s got first aid training and still keeps his own supplies in his place.

(He doesn’t ever offer to drive Peter to the hospital; the option never seems to occur to him until after Peter’s already vanished, down the hall or into his own apartment across from Tony’s.)

There’s something that stops him, something beyond the respect for Peter’s privacy. Something about the faint blush that appears on Peter’s cheeks sometimes during their short conversations, something about the way his own eyes sometimes drift over Peter’s form in return.

He wonders, sometimes, what Peter would think of the paintings.

He's imagined it a few times; showing him, watching him see them. He doesn't know if Peter's into art at all (not that Tony even really is, not in the technical sense), but it wouldn't really matter; Tony's fantasies don't usually revolve around the younger’s critique of his work.

More than anything, he wants to see Peter in his minimalist-but-cluttered space, sitting on his couch or leaning against his kitchen counter, propped against the windowsill, a mug of something hot in his hands and a truly relaxed smile on his face.

Sometimes the fantasies are less innocent, but...something in him just wants to see Peter safe.

“Okay, we need to talk about this.”

They’re standing in Tony’s doorway, another ass-crack-of-dawn ‘status check’, and there’s blood actually trailing down from Peter’s left sleeve, dripping off the kid’s fingers.

Peter fidgets in place. “...About what?”

In spite of his concern, Tony nearly snorts a laugh at the completely terrible evasion.

He reigns it in, arches his brows. “You’re getting you on the carpet.”

The kid shoots a quick glance downwards at his hand, blanching slightly. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s--it’s really nothing, I just--”

“‘Nothing’ is a papercut, Peter,” Tony snaps. “Putting aside the bruises, fat lip, and the fact you’re obviously favoring your right leg, you’re standing here with blood running down your arm. That’s not ‘nothing’.”

He’s tired and frustrated and afraid, finally venting these feelings after weeks of this, weeks of wondering if Peter’s just going to stop showing up, weeks of being on edge between visits even if they come like clockwork because he just can’t lose these moments, he can’t--and he doesn’t realize he’s moved forward into Peter’s space, how close he is until he finishes speaking.

Peter’s staring at him with saucer-wide eyes, a pink stain on his cheeks, his slightly wheezing breath fanning across Tony’s chin.

Tony backs off quickly, hands in the air. “Fuck, I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay,” Peter says, and Tony watches the bob of his throat as he swallows. “You--I’m okay. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I am. You don’t need to worry about me Mr. Stark.”

The determined set of Peter’s jaw is both compelling and frustrating, and Tony just barely manages to muscle back his urge to argue further.

“Just...I’m here,” he says, finally. “If you need to talk. If you need anything. Please.”

Something desperate and pained slashes across Peter’s features, and then it’s gone. The younger man nods, short and tense, turns and disappears into his apartment.

Tony stares at the closed door for another moment, before stepping out and shutting his own door, heading down the hall.

Air. Air will be good.

Air is good. It’s always good. Always helps after the dreams, chills away the sweat, clears his head.

It doesn’t do quite as much, now, when his worries are linked to reality instead of a dreamscape, but it feels good nonetheless.

He stands on the roof of the complex, high up, until the edge of the sky begins to change color. Like he does every time he comes up here, he thinks about his favorite of the dreams, the brief period when his nights were filled with the exhilaration of flight.

He hopes Peter has somewhere like this, that he has something good to return to, his own version of reaching the sky.

"Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good..."

Wind. Reddish puffs of dust in the air, unnaturally colored sky--everything is wrong, everything is ending, failure, failed, no--

"I don't wanna go, please--I don't wanna go!"

He can't lose him, he can't lose the kid--it's his fault, Tony's fault--he shouldn't have been here, he shouldn't have--

Tony bolts upright, gasping past the taste of dust in the air--gritty on his tongue, in his throat, burning his eyes.

With a clumsy, half-conscious drive, he drags himself up off the couch to the easel, practically throwing the painting of the glove (gauntlet) to the side and slapping a blank canvas up.

He doesn't start this one with a pencil sketch, no swipes of graphite or charcoal. The paint ends up on his bare hands, coating his fingers, and then he's frantically tracing and contouring a face, neck, shoulders, craggy grey rock and more of that reddish dirt--shades of beige and brown, orange and red and blue, grey and black twisting (crumbling) away.

Time is nothing, a non-entity; all Tony knows is the need to touch, to hold, to stop the inevitable--

When it's finished, the energy drains with disorienting suddenness. It's difficult to keep his arms extended, so he doesn't; he pulls them towards himself, hunching over with a sob and burying his trembling, paint-tacky hands in his hair.

The dreams have only ever been abstract; images in a mental blender. Vague human shapes and random objects, landscapes--weird, vivid amalgamations of feelings and colors and sensations. Tasting the dirt, feeling the loss; those things are par for the course.

But none of the people in them have ever had a voice; no one has ever said a word.

He couldn’t make out clear features of the face, even staring head on...but the voice that still rings in his head sounds a lot like Peter’s, and now that the frenzy is over, it’s almost paralyzing.

After an indeterminate number of minutes, the dream fades in the way dreams do, and he uncurls with a heaving sigh and stands, drags himself to the kitchen counter to make coffee.

He's already painted it out, it’s usually enough, but when he sits back down in front of the easel, he feels sick, anxious. His hands are unsteady, knuckles white where he grips the handle of his mug, the liquid inside it rippling slightly.

Patches of the paint are still shiny-wet on the canvas, and part of him wishes it would stay that way, something about the wetness making it seem alive. It's blurred, as though he’s looking at the image from behind frosted glass, but there’s an obvious shape, the body of the owner of that heart-rendingly familiar, rasping voice. It's faceless; a kernel of (relative) normality he clings to, so he can try to convince himself this painting doesn't feel like the manifestation of his greatest failure, of a grave error that doesn't really belong to him but still spreads, aching, behind his ribs.

He's sore everywhere--his shoulders and neck from being hunched over, his arms from being held aloft for far too long. His hands ache, too, and they’re dry, paint cracking and peeling in an ugly neutral blend of the colors he'd smeared on his fingers.

He showers, manages to get the paint out of his hair.

But he can’t watch as the color flecks and melts (disintegrates) from his hands and disappears down the drain.

Every day.

Every day for the last four days.

The dreams and the art are a cycle: he dreams, he draws, he gets a few days respite while he finishes the piece...and then he wakes again from a new nightmare or dreamscape and starts over.

He’d finished the first painting the same day...but he keeps having the same dream. Keeps hearing Peter beg to stay, keeps feeling the body in his hands crumble away to nothing. The taste of dirt in his mouth won’t leave, isn’t touched by coffee or food. He’s got five variations of the same painting piled in the corner of his apartment, and he’d been sure that if he doesn’t do something, he’s going to live the same horror over and over and over.

So he’s doing something.

He’s maybe ending this vicious repetition, but he’s also making up for the way he’s been ending their conversations more quickly, the way he’s been holding back and hiding, pretending he doesn’t see the flicker of hurt on Peter’s face when Tony’s the one who evades, bids farewell and closes the door.

He’s the one knocking, now.

“Mr. St--Tony?”

Seeing Peter like this--standing there in a t-shirt and boxers in the doorway of his apartment, less bruised than normal, looking confused and alive, he looks amazing--blows whatever plans Tony had away, ash on the wind.

He doesn’t think, just sighs Peter’s name and pulls the younger man forward into a tight hug, buries a hand in his hair, presses his face in the softness, too, everything in his head spinning with relief and joy and a painful kind of apology--

--before he notices how stiff Peter’s gone in his arms.

Probably because, in the months since they’ve been doing this, they’ve never actually engaged in physical contact...or had a real conversation beyond the single argument those days ago. Peter doesn’t know about the dreams; he doesn’t know anything, and Tony must seem like he’s having a mental break.

Before he can make himself let go, though, Peter’s arms snap up to wrap around him, tight, so tight it makes Tony’s ribs ache.

It ends too soon, Peter pulling away to stare at him with suddenly wet, red-rimmed eyes and hope so sharp it hurts to look at.

“Are you--do you know? Do you remember?”

Cold trickles down Tony’s spine.

He knows, without a doubt, he should. He should remember, and he doesn’t. It feels like another failure that he can’t say ‘yes’, that he can’t bring himself to answer that hope with something other than tense silence.

His heart breaks when Peter steps back after a few seconds, looking embarrassed and a little panicked.

“Never mind, I’m sorry--”

“Wait, no,” Tony blurts, barely resisting the urge to pull Peter back in. “Don’t--Look, I can’t...I don’t know what you’re talking about, but maybe you could tell me? I just…” He sighs, frustrated at himself, at the feeling that he’s missing something huge and that huge thing is Peter-shaped

“I just need to be around you for a little while,” he finally says. “Is that okay?”

He’s sure he’s going to get a door shut in his face; Peter’s expression is torn, aching, and Tony wouldn’t blame him in the slightest.

But he’s lucky.

“Um, yeah,” Peter says carefully after another long moment, something like resignation coloring his tone. “Come in, please.”

The layout of Peter’s apartment is a mirror of Tony’s, but significantly less cluttered. Pretty minimal, actually, less like a choice in aesthetic and more like he’s only just moved in: a futon and a desk for furnishing, a small microwave and coffee pot on the counter, no pictures on the walls or taped to the fridge.

Tony’s not judging, can’t; he’s never lived particularly extravagantly either, and his studio only looks lived in because of the art supplies taking up a good third of it.

As for the lack of personal touches, of photos, memories...If anything, it makes Tony feel a further sense of closeness, of camaraderie. He doesn’t have pictures up either, not anymore; can’t look at the ones of he and the team, of he and Rhodey through the years. Not since everything changed.

The futon draws his gaze, again, still pulled down flat, like Peter’s just woken up, or had just laid down for bed. Tony stares at the pillow and rumpled, pulled-back comforter, and feels a twist of guilt (not enough to leave, but it’s still there).

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Peter’s saying as he closes the door and moves to stand a little off to the side. “I wasn’t expecting company at...um. Whatever time it is.”

Cracking a joke would be ideal to diffuse the tension, or maybe even giving a generic, polite response (‘it’s fine’, ‘I don’t mind’, or, ‘you have a lovely home, literal man of my dreams’), but when Tony pulls his gaze from the futon, Peter’s lips are curved in a tight smile, his stance awkward, yearning, like he’s trying not to approach Tony, but he wants to.

“Can I touch you again?” Tony asks.

He realizes how it sounds as soon as he’s blurted it out, and as he watches Peter blush, lips parting in silent surprise, he wishes he meant it that way; that he was only trying to finagle his way into further messing up Peter’s bedspread, wanting to touch for a reason so mundane as arousal, instead of out of the powerful desire to reassure himself of Peter’s continued existence.

Before he can apologize or rephrase, he’s got an armful of shaking, but warm and solid, Peter.

Peter’s face--his cheeks, his nose, his lips--are warm, pressing into the bare skin at the junction of Tony’s neck and shoulder, a sensation that takes Tony’s breath away more so than the return of the tight bands of Peter’s arms, one low around Tony’s waist, the other angled up between his shoulder blades.

Fabric tightens across his shoulders and a little at his neck, like Peter’s gripping a handful of his shirt, and Tony feels more than hears the younger speak.

“Yes, please. Touch me.”

Tony swallows thickly and hugs Peter back. The ‘thank you’ is burning in the back of his throat, threatening to spill out...so he lets it. Breathes it strained and hollow into Peter’s hair, the kind of ‘relieved’ that hurts so much worse before it gets better, and Peter shivers in his hold.

It shouldn’t feel so good. It shouldn’t feel better to hold Peter, this virtual stranger, than it does to even think of being near his family, his old friends (his other friends, other; they’re not gone, they’re just...distant--not gone, not gone, not wrong), but it does. It feels right, in a way nothing else seems to feel anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself say, “I’m so sorry, Peter, I’m sorry…”

He’s sure he’s holding on tight enough now that it has to hurt, but he can’t make himself stop. His hand ends up back in Peter’s hair, fingers twisting into the soft brown curls, his other hand gripping at the back of Peter’s thin, worn t-shirt, and suddenly he needs more. Needs more proof, needs more confirmation that he’s not dreaming, that Peter’s not going to crumble apart in his arms. He’s just not sure how to say it, if he can--

He flinches when he feels Peter shift, feels him nosing at his throat, feels lips parting.

“I miss you,” Peter whispers, ragged and strained, breath warm against Tony’s skin, and it doesn’t make sense, but it does.

The fading bruises on Peter’s skin taste the same as the pale, unblemished places, are just as soft when Tony’s lips and tongue brush over them, and this isn’t what he’d meant to do, but it’s what’s happening now and neither of them appear inclined to stop it.

They should be talking; Tony should be wondering about the question Peter asked when they hugged for the first time. He should be panicking about how Peter apparently knows him enough to mourn him (he’d said ‘I miss you’ the way Tony talks to his mother, like he was talking to a gravestone) even though Tony had definitely never met him before he left the force, before the dreams. Would’ve remembered a face like his (an everything like his, really).

But they’re not talking. Instead, he’s tangled with Peter on the futon, dragging his lips from bloom to bloom of fading green-yellow-purple down Peter’s torso, his scalp tingling with every reflexive tightening of the fingers in his hair, the disbelief and awed arousal on Peter's face as much an aphrodisiac as the taste of his skin, the texture of it under Tony's hands.

Every motion feels like something slotting into place, the restless places in Tony's mind settling a little further, the empty spaces filling with heat and emotions too big for how little he really knows this person--this beautiful, strong, wonderful being.

Tony’s not panicking. He’s not wondering. He still doesn’t know how this is happening, still doesn’t know Peter beyond the last few months, barely knows him now, but nothing has felt this easy, this right, in a long time.

When Peter spills, warm and liquid, over where their hands are wrapped together around their twin hardness, Tony swallows Peter's soft gasp, kisses him and groans Peter's name as he finds his own release.

There are things he needs to say, things he needs to show Peter, the way he knows there are things Peter needs to show him, tell him.

The enormity is there, a strangely relieving weight, blanketing as they sink into each other in soft, post-coital haze.

It's complicated. It’s bigger than the dreams, bigger than anything Tony can fathom.

But when Tony fades, curled together on the futon, Peter's head under his chin and one of Peter’s hands resting on his sternum…

He dreams of flight.

***

#starker #starker secret santa 2019 #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #nff #tony stark #peter parker #starker fic #multiverse au #canon divergence au

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