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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years ago

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Contact Comfort

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet.

A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo card!

Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork.

“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.

You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face.

It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross.

His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it.

Well, you love him for a lot of things.

“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.”

You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.”

“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.”

If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around.

“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.”

He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice.

“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.

“I could use a hug.”

Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young.

He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter.

How long has it been since anybody hugged you like this? It’s like the contact — the warmth of him — the pressure of his arms around your shoulders — the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek — is lifting some massive weight you never realized you were carrying. All you want in the entire world is to hold him tight, take the comfort while you can, but you know you should pull away.

He hesitates for a second before releasing you, like maybe he doesn’t want to let go either.

Then he’s stepping back, hands in his pockets, slightly pink-cheeked as he bounces on the balls of his feet and gives you one of his frog-faced not-quite-smiles.

“You said something about shitty television?” he asks. “Or maybe we could watch some television that’s not actually shitty?”

“That sounds perfect.”

Turns out Planet Earth is on, which is the rare overlap in your and Spencer’s tastes, and it’s not until you’re eagerly toeing off your shoes that you realize the bed is the only seating option.

Spencer sits cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists, and he stays as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible. You lean back against the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, feeling the need to hunch over, like you could physically protect your heart.

Then again, it’s much too late for that. You knew your heart was in trouble the moment you met Spencer.

Today, especially, you already feel vulnerable, like all your carefully-constructed walls cracked open the second you let yourself cry, and now you’re just ripped-open and bare. You need a good night’s sleep and a long, hot shower before you’ll be able to go about your life as a professional, fully-functional, grown-up human again. Right now you’re just kind of a mess.

“I know there’s the germ thing,” you blurt out, without looking at Spencer. “But —”

His laugh sounds crackly and nervous, but relieved, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “Come here.”

You give him a grateful smile as you scoot closer to each other, and apparently you’d been so worried about your own swollen eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed the fatigue evident in every drawn, wan line of his face.

Not that he isn’t still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You duck tentatively under Spencer’s arm, and it’s not like you’re cuddling, exactly, because there’s still an inch or so of space between your hips and legs… but the bony plane of his chest, between collarbone and heart, makes a surprisingly perfect pillow. You pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, tucking them under your chin, curling up.

The moment feels delicate, like a soap bubble that you could burst if you simply breathe too loudly, and you hold yourself stiffly, at first, not wanting to move any closer for fear of pushing a boundary. It feels like you’re glowing at the points where your bodies are touching; the warm weight of his arm feels like bright spring sunshine across your upper back. His palm on the round of your shoulder is thawing away the last chilly bits of your self-consciousness.

When the commercial break starts, Spencer says, “Do you ever think about how little physical contact the average single adult experiences on a regular basis?” His voice is quiet and almost sheepish.

You smile. “Yeah, I’ve considered it.”

“Especially when we live away from our families,” Spencer says wistfully.

You can feel the vibration of his words in his chest. You shift, making yourself more comfortable, feeling dazed and dumb with his proximity.

“The monkeys. I feel like — you know?”

“Harlow. I know exactly what you mean.”

Trust him to get that from your ridiculously vague mumbling.

“Except they’re babies,” you add.

“The emotional benefits of physical touch don’t decrease just because we get older,” he says softly. “It’s just that the fear of judgement makes it difficult to be honest.”

There’s silence for a minute as the show starts again, and David Attenborough says something about sloths. Spencer’s thumb strokes your shoulder gently, back and forth, soothing. It’s hypnotic, and the tension drains from your muscles, leaving you more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You swallow hard. “For what?”

“Being honest.”

There’s no reason for your eyes to be stinging like this, but they are. “I should be thanking you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This is… really nice.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

He’s quiet again.

Spencer smells like vanilla and old books — although the latter might just be your imagination, something to do with the power of mental association — Spencer could probably explain the science behind that. Your brain has them inextricably linked, though. You’ve caught hints of that smell before, but never up close like this.

The softness of the worn knit of his cardigan makes you want to rub your cheek against it like a cat. His arm, skinny as it may be, feels like protection — like you’re safe here.

After the brutal violence of the case and the emotional turbulence of the day, this quiet, golden moment is even more breathtakingly peaceful by contrast. It doesn’t feel real.

It’s too good to last. This isn’t yours. It’s not going to last, no matter how right it feels, and your chest already aches with the idea of letting him go.

You try to appreciate it while you can, to remember every sensation, but your body is leaden, exhausted down to the bone, completely drained of whatever adrenaline-stubbornness-caffeine combination was keeping you running until now. Spencer’s thumb rubs invisible circles on your shoulder, and he breathes evenly, and you feel safe.

You’re asleep before the next commercial break.

A distant car alarm wakes you, sometime later. In the handful of seconds before it’s turned off, you come to without opening your eyes, trying to remember where you are and who you’re with. The smell of vanilla makes you relax instinctively, before you can process why.

Spencer has all but melted against you in his sleep, soft and boneless. He’s got both arms around you now, holding you close, his breath tickling your forehead. Then he stirs, and you can feel the moment he realizes where he is, because his muscles go tense as he freezes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely. He’s barely audible over the infomercial voices coming from the TV. “I didn’t mean to — sorry. I’ll go.”

And before you can think better of it, you whisper, “Don’t.”

He’s still frozen, and silent for a second that feels like an eternity. “You mean —”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay.”

Honesty seems to be your default setting tonight, and anyway, you can tell without looking at a clock that it’s long past midnight, well into the early-morning hours where boundaries and reservations and reality don’t seem to follow their usual laws. You can’t lie to him (or to yourself) right now.

Spencer’s voice cracks as he says, “Okay. I’ll just — let me get the light.”

You don’t open your eyes as he slips away. This all seems like a dream, and the sharp bright lamp light might make it dissolve around you. You might wake up.

The TV goes quiet, and when you tug at the hotel comforter, sliding between cool sheets fully clothed, the barely-there rasp of moving fabric sounds loud in its absence.

Spencer turns off the lamp, and you open your eyes. You can just see his shape as he navigates the dark room, negative space on a charcoal backdrop, but as your vision adjusts, you can see a faint suggestion of his features in the blue-black.

You feel it, though, when his weight makes the springs of the old mattress dip. You’d expected him to lie on his back again, but instead his face is just inches from yours when his cheek comes to rest on the pillow. You feel the way he’s breathing, quick and shallow and nervous. You feel your heart kick in your ribs, thudding so loud he must be able to hear it.

He reaches out slowly, hooking an arm around your ribs, and pauses with just the very tips of his spidery fingers touching your back, between your shoulder blades: five soft points of contact that you feel so intensely they might as well be electrode pads connecting you to a defibrillator.

This is crossing a line, and you both know it.

It’s not a sexual touch, it’s not that sort of thrill going through you, but something about this feels profoundly intimate. That intimacy is almost more shocking than lust might’ve been, and it’s much more dangerous. It’s the sort of closeness you don’t walk away from unscathed.

Spencer’s fingers flutter, butterfly-wing delicate, like one or the other of you might be trembling.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

Maybe you’re both trembling.

His palm comes to rest on your back, easing you closer, and you shift, settle, readjust. He pulls back and tilts his head just long enough to brush his lips over your temple, soft and sweet, before tucking you neatly under his chin, where you fit like you were meant to be there, with your nose nudging at the gap between his collar and the delicate skin of his throat.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, sounding just as awed as you feel.

“Sweet dreams, Spencer.”

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message!

More Criminal Minds fic is here.

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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jadelynlace · 3 years ago

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Hey boo!

You know I'm completely obsessed with Ink Drinker Ivar and the AU you've created. If I could pick one universe to live in, I'd pick this one in a heartbeat.

There's one thing I've been wondering: how's Ivar and after care? We've got a feel glimpses of it before, but maybe you could give us a little more detail?

Hello my love!

Thank you for your kind words—I too, would live in the Ink Drinker AU if I could. (I mean I’m already in EMS, I’m just missing that giant, tattooed, squishy nerd.)

Alright, so Ivar and aftercare! Ivar loves after care—when those caretaker vibes are flowing, he swears he’s a God. His last relationship, with she that shall not be named, hindered him in all of the wrong places and one of them, was aftercare. She wasn’t a cuddler, and so after she came, Ivar never got to hold her, and that was detrimental to him. She would put space between them and Ivar was left to sulk on his own, by himself.

Ivar lives for the first few seconds after his release, where everything is still quiet (minus the breathing), and he’s floating in that post-orgasmic headspace. He loves when your nails climb his back, or you give him head scratches as you both come down. If you two switched up positions, and Ivar lays over your back, you make sure, to the best of your ability, that you can wiggle your hands free to find his. Even if you feel weighed down by a lead balloon.

Since Ivar’s one to come in you, the kinky bastard’s been known to go back down on you afterwards, cleaning you up in a sense. But he’s always quick to get a cloth, since we know how much this man comes. After he regains consciousness of course, and he always says something like: “I’ll get you a towel just give me a second, I can’t feel my legs.” He sort of stops saying that after his accident, and changed it to: “I’ll get you a towel just give me a second to come back to planet earth.” Any mention of his legs still pulls on his heart strings, but he’s getting better slowly.

Another favorite of his is shower time; holding you under the hot water and giving him additional time to check you over. Rubbing the bite marks he offers you, or if he spanks you. And he loves when you wash him, taking the suds over the red lines you’ve etched into his back, tracing his tattoos, admiring his body.

It’s no surprise he’s into cuddles after sex; whether it be after the shower, or with no shower, he’ll help you clean up and he’s the first to grab a sweatshirt of his for you to wear. He’s got quiet the collection, and they all smell like him. You both take turns picking what to watch, one night it’s your turn, and the next it’s Ivar’s. But sometimes you snuggle up next to him and fall asleep, and since he keeps a sketchbook by his bed, he’s perfectly content to use his right hand to comb through your hair, and his left hand to draw.

Now—in the case of you being in change (or the ever so loved time you pegged him), Ivar gets a little tricky for aftercare. He’s so, so used to being the one to do it, and he loves it so much, that he can forget he’s supposed to be letting you do it. He’s touch oriented by nature, and no matter what, he’s going to fight for five more minutes to hold you, even before you try to move. Whether it’s to get up to get you both water, or to pee (he always makes you go to the bathroom after sex because he’s Good Dude Ivar), or anything you think he’ll need, he always, always wants to hold you first.

He also really likes to snack post sex; which probably should be no surprise. Some of his favorite after care moments come when you’re both cleaned and dressed, snuggled up and he puts in an order for takeaway. Or raids the pantry and brings back chips and cookies and you two end up snacking in a blanket fort on the living room floor. But, if you two are having sex right before lights out, he loves the moments where you fall asleep tangled up with him. Where he can just watch you, stroke your skin, push the hair from your face, and thank every God imaginable that you’re his.

#vikings #modern vikings #vikings au #ivar lothbrok #ivar au #modern ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #vikings fiction #ivar #modern ivar #— hands so bloody tastes like honey. ( ink drinker vibes: ivar )#— a gun shot. ( answered )#— i am i am i am. ( my writings & creations )

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awindylife-writes · 3 years ago

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Voyage of the Damned Part 3

Relationships: the Doctor x reader, Astrid x reader (platonic), Astrid x Doctor (platonic)

Summary: Voyage of the Damned rewrite. The Doctor and you find yourselves on the Titanic, space edition. You meet Astrid and get ready for a wonderful day, but then a meteor shower hits the ship and it starts falling towards Earth.

Author's notes: There was a number of things l didn't like about this Christmas special so again, l rewrote it.

Warnings: a ship crashes, multiple mentions of dearth bc a lot of people die, Astrid dies

"It's for the Doctor!" Astrid yelled at Midshipman Frame over the comms. She needed to teleport NOW. "Y/n and him are down on deck thirty-one, alone, against all the Host and Gods know what else and they're doing it for us!" Silence on the other end. "It's time we did something for them," she ended her speech with a finallity.

A moment passed and she feared she'd failed.

But then, "Giving you power," came through the comms.

"Only one person could have the power and the money to hide themselves on board like that. And l should know, 'cause..." the Doctor trailed off. You stared at the strange compartment you had found on deck thirty-one.

"My name is Max," a voice finished for him. A strange machine with a head in it came through the smoke.

"Who the hell are you?" it demaned.

"I'm y/n, and this is the Doctor," you pointed at your friend with false cheerfulness, "Hello!" you wiggled your fingers in greeting.

"You wreck the ship and the board find their shares halved in value." The Doctor was spelling out Capricorn's plan.

"But that's not enough," you interjected. From what you've learned about them, mad billionares who were losing all their money didn't do things half-way.

"Oh yes," the Doctor went on. "'Cause if a Max Capricorn ship hits the Earth, it destroys an entire planet. Outrage back home!" he growled. "Scandal! The buisness is wiped out!"

The billionare's head nodded. "And? The whole board is thrown in jail, for mass murder!" His eyes shone with revenge.

"While you sit here, safe in the- what's it called?" you turned to the Doctor.

"Impact camber," he filled in.

"I have men," Capricorn gloated now, "waiting to retreave me from the ruins. And enough off-world accounts to retire me to the beaches of Enhaxico Two where the ladies, so l'm told, are very fond of... metal."

You were going to puke.

"So that's the plan," the Doctor growled in rage. "A retirement plan. Two thousand people on this ship, six billion underneath us, all of them slaughtered and why? Because Max Capricorn is a loser."

"I never lose," the billionare's head scowled in threat and your voice immediately rang out, mocking, "You can't even sink the Titanic!"

"Oh but l can, pretty girl!" he laughed. "I can cancel the engines, from here!" Red lights and alarms were suddenly flaring everywhere before you could spit in his face.

The Doctor yelled behind you, "You can't do this!"

"Host, hold them!" Caprocorn ordered in turn and began the Gloat 2.0. "Not so clever now, are you? Shame we couldn't work together, you two are rather good. All that banter and yet not a word wasted." The head sighed. "Time for me to... retire."

Ugh, you thought as you furiously tried to get free. That pun alone would be enough to kill a buisness.

"The Titanic is falling, the sky will burn, let the Christmas inferno commence!" Capricorn yelled in victory and called his minions. "Kill them!"

The robots brought up their halos and went for the Doctor's neck.

"NO!" You fought with everything you had but you were late, you'd be too late!

"MISTER CAPRICORN!" a voice you knew cut through your fear.

And it ignited terror. It was Astrid, sitting in a forklift. "I resign," she told the head and drove forward, ful throttle.

"NO!" the Doctor and you screamed, "ASTRID STOP!" "ASTRID DON'T!"

She didn't listen and rammed into the life support system, but its engine was too strong. They were equal and couldn't move each other.

You bit, kicked and screamed, anything to get free.

But then she caught your eyes with hers and everything stopped. There was an eternity in her face. She looked at the Doctor too but you still stared at her.

Then she turned away and stepped on it. The life support lifted and she drove on.

There was no sound. The world was mute as you watched Astrid go over.

You were suddenly at the edge, looking at her disappear into the fire. Someone was screaming. Someone was screaming and you wanted to calm them, help them.

Then you realized it was your own voice.

The world came back into focus. The ship was falling apart and the Doctor was silent at your side. He was staring at the spot where Astrid had disappeared. His face was pale and his eyes blank. You laid your tears aside and took his hand.

"We need to go," you told him, your voice wet with tears. He didn't move.

"Doctor, we need to go," you told him again calmly. You thought that was why he looked at you suddenly, and then stood up.

He rewired a Host with lightning speed. It took you each under one arm and off you went.

When you broke through the ceiling of the bridge, you were still in one piece. Arms you had used to shield your head were a bit bloody and you were sure there were at least two splinters in them. You don't look the gift horse in the mouth, even though you would prefer a different Christmas miracle.

"What's your first name?" the Doctor asked the injured Midshipman Frame.

He answered in confusion, "Alonzo."

"You're kidding," the Doctor breathed as a shocked smile spread on his face. You didn't know. You just didn't know anymore. You were drowing in the emptiness inside you but his name was Alonzo.

"Allons-y, Alonzo!" the Doctor yelled and you held on tight. You didn't scream. You didn't even open your mouth. There was nothing anymore.

The Doctor whoohooed when he managed to right the course of the ship and you were just there. Were you there? Astrid wasn't. And that was what mattered in the end.

"TELEPORT!" the Doctor yelled and it didn't matter. "Y/N, SHE WAS WEARING A TELEPORT BRACELET!!!"

That woke you up. You ran faster than ever before, to the main deck where the teleport was.

"Brixton, sonic," the Doctor demanded from the billionare and caught it as it was thrown. "Mister Copper, the teleports, have they got an emergency setting??"

"I don't know, they should have?"

"She fell, Mister Copper, she fell!" the Doctor told him while pulling apart the machine like a madman. "What's the emergency code?"

The billionare interjected, "What the hell are you doing?"

"We can bring her back!" you yelled with everything in you.

The historian explained, "If a passenger has an accident on shore leave, their molecules are automatically suspended so they're in stasis, so if you just trigger the shift..."

"THERE!!!" the Doctor screamed and flicked the switch.

And there was your Astrid.

"Falling..." You could hear her voice!

"Only halfway there, come on!" The Doctor wasn't finished with the teleporter.

"I keep falling!" She was scared. Your friend was scared and you wanted nothing but to calm her. You carefully walked up to her and took hold of her hand. It felt like holding warm smoke.

There were tears on your cheeks already, again.

"If l can find the molecule grid, boost the restoration matrix and-" The computer snapped and threw sparks. "NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!!" the Doctor screamed in desparation, "need more phase containment-"

You sobbed, but you knew what was coming. You just looked at your Astrid Pith, into her crystal blue eyes and sushed her. "Hey, hey Astrid, it's alright. It's me, it's y/n, remember? You're alright. l've got you," you promised with a voice as soft as sunlight.

She didn't look as scared as before. Then, so slowly you thought you were imagining it, she looked at you.

"Let her go," you could hear the historian and you sobbed again.

But then Astrid's voice cut through. "Stop me falling?" she asked and you nodded. You found her gaze with yours and promised her, "Anything."

"She's just atoms," you heard Mister Copper from behind you. "An echo with a ghost of consciousness."

"She's stardust," you concluded as your voice broke. "You hear that Astrid?" you asked, still looking into her blue eyes."You're stardust."

She didn't seem to hear, so you did the only thing you could think of.

"There's an old tradition," you told her and softly kissed her cheek. Then you kissed the other, and then her forehead.

"You dreamt of traveling," the Doctor came to stand beside you. You were still sobbing when you pulled away from her and you didn't try to stop. There was no one there you needed to save face for.

"Now you can travel forever," you told her. You knew what the Doctor would do, and your eyes didn't leave hers for a moment.

You heard him soothe her, "You're not falling Astrid."

"You're flying," you both said in one voice.

You watched as she floated away, through the window into the universe.

Then you turned to the Doctor and buried your face in his chest as you both cried.

"I transferred all my shares to Max Capricorn's rivals. It's made me rich," the billionare Brixton admitted, disbelieving.

You were empty, and you were tired. That was the only reason why you didn't tear this man limb from limb. Astrid was dead.

"Mister Copper," the Doctor's voice woke you up. "I think, you deserve one of these."

You turned around and saw him holding a teleport bracelet out to the historian. Then, after the latter took it, he slipped one on your wrist. He took your hand and suddenly you were standing in the snow.

"But l can have a house, and a garden and-" You couldn't help but smile a little. At least Mister Copper would be alright.

The Doctor yelled after him, "Where are you going?"

"I have no idea!" the man replied in joy.

"Well, we don't either," your alien smiled gently at you and you tried to smile back, you really did. He looked at you, his brown eyes full of sorrow, and pulled you to him. You held onto him tightly as he hugged you.

"But! Y/N!" the historian yelled and you turned in his direction.

"I won't forget her," he promised you. You were tired, so so tired, so you just nodded. "Thank you," you told Mister Copper for her. "We won't either."

"We won't," the Doctor assured you softly, just to be sure.

Then he opened the TARDIS door and stepped into your home after you. You walked up the way and then stood in front of the controls, lost.

The Doctor walked up behind you and decided he would do anything, anything to keep away the blank look in your eyes. He turned to you and pulled you to him again. You let him, your movements sluggish and dazed.

"I've got you," he assured you. "I've got you, y/n. You aren't alone, and you aren't lost. You've got me." And that was enough. You sobbed into his chest, you didn't know for which time today.

But this was different. This was yours, and you clung to the Doctor as everything in you came to the surface.

His tears joined yours. He'd lost Astrid too, and he hated seeing you in pain. He slowly brought both of you down to kneel when you were too tired to stand.

And that was it. That was what you needed and that was what you had. You would be alright. In time, you would be alright.

#doctor who #doctorwho #doctor who x reader #doctorwho x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #the doctor x reader #the doctor #10th doctor #tenth doctor #doctor who fanfiction #doctorwho fanfiction #reader insert #astrid #astrid pith #astrid pith x reader

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imarvelatthesight · 4 years ago

Text

Spar

A/N: I’m trying to branch out to more Marvel characters :) let me know if I should start adding a fic summary

Summary: Reader fights Thor on Saakar.

Pairing: Thor Odinson x Avenger!Reader

Pronouns Used: Gender Neutral (They/Them)

Recommended Song: Tia Tamera by Doja Cat ft. Rico Nasty

Word Count: 1,578

Warnings: fighting, one mention of blood, reader has super strength and partial magical abilities, mention of alcohol, swearing, it’s kinda sad in places

The day you had been brought to Sakaar had been possibly the worst day of your life. And that was truly saying something. Being in a relationship with a god-- never mind the fact that he was also an Avenger-- was a trick in itself. Trying to have a good relationship with his adopted brother? Well, that’s how you ended up in this mess. Get caught snooping around his room once and suddenly you’re on a different planet.

Your clothes were uncomfortably tight and the decorative paint on your face had you dying to itch it. Every week for the past two years you’d suffered this same treatment. Though, the fact that you had survived your rounds in the pit meant you were treated more well-off than others. A nice room, any alcoholic drink you could wish for (but because you were from Earth, more than a couple of sips would have you off your ass in moments). Even with all of your so-called luxuries, you felt empty. Why had no one come to rescue you? Did the Avengers even notice you were gone?

The door opening in front of you interrupted your thoughts. There was no time to think about anything else other than trying to survive. The roar of the crowd above you had your ears nearly ringing. “My champion!” You heard The Grandmaster announce. You burst out into the area, the crowd seemingly getting even louder. Before you had time to revel in the applause, one of the few advantages of your predicament, your eyes settled on your opponent. “Oh shit.”

“Yes!” The god of thunder boomed, excitement covering his face. Silence befell the crowd. Your features softened for a moment, happy to see your lover. You knew, however, you would not be able to express it. If you showed any fondness for each other it would surely compromise your life. “They’re my lover!” He threw his hand in the air, swinging his weapon up with it. “This is great, Y/N! I’ve been looking for you- Loki’s alive. Loki!”

Your eyes snapped up to the god of mischief. You scowled. You could faintly see him gulp and mouth something. “Thor.” You turned back to him, leaning forward slightly. “If we don’t fight, they’ll kill us both.”

“Nonsense, come with me and we’ll go-” Thor’s words were cut off by you grabbing him and flinging him away from you. His body slid through the dirt, a pained groan leaving him. The stands erupted with joy at the battle beginning. Thor jumped to his feet, brushing himself off. ��Love, this is embarrassing! I told them we’re lovers!”

His words made you hesitate. You didn’t want to hurt Thor. But you couldn’t risk both of you dying. Someone would figure something out. Hopefully. You raised your hand and Thor’s weapon flew out of his grip, finding it’s home in your palm. The mace was in your hand for a fraction of a second before you flung it back at your partner. Your eyes clamped shut, not wishing to see if it struck him. After a few seconds you opened them and watched as Thor caught the mace and swung it back in your direction. Quickly, you raised your hands in an attempt to catch it again, but the tip of the mace nicked your cheek. You dropped the weapon, your thumb sliding over the wound to collect the blood from it.

Your feet carried your body with agility as you leapt through the air. Thor threw a swift punch to your abdomen, throwing your frame into the wall where it dented from the force you landed with. Fuck, that hurt. A collective gasp filled the arena.

The sound of quick footprints coming closer caused you to groan and assume a pleading position with your hand outstretched in front of your face. “Y/N, sweetheart?” You lifted your head, watching as Thor crouched to your level and extended a hand to you. “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you anymore. No one will.” The god of thunder cooed. Timidly, you reached out to him. “There you go, c’mere darling.” He smiled and pulled you into a hug, practically purring.

You melted into the contact. You were home. Anywhere with Thor was home. But part of you couldn’t resist looking up to where The Grandmaster sat. A frown soured his expression, Loki bouncing his leg at the opposite end of the couch. “Shit.” You whispered, though your Asgardian boyfriend didn’t notice as he placed a tender kiss to your forehead. The crowd was growing restless. Reluctantly, you pulled out of his hold. You grabbed his biceps, mentally admiring the way the muscle rippled under your touch, and lifted him in the air--using both your strength and your magic to assist-- before slamming him into the ground again.

Your fists found purchase on his face, tears filling your eyes and a scream tearing through your throat. To the crowd, it was a war cry. To you, a plea of mercy to whatever higher being was listening, and a shriek of forgiveness from Thor. The god laid there, your punches landing blow after blow on his cheeks. Within moments, his body and eyes flowed with electricity, and he returned your action, the lightning launching your body into the air and backwards, where your head made contact with the loose dirt.

Both astonishment and horror ebbed through you at the sight of Thor, covered in lightning, walking in your direction with purpose. You thought to do the same move you’d tried previously and leap at him. Only this time, he copied your movement and delivered an uppercut to your jaw. The sonic boom that erupted from Thor’s fist had your ears feel as if they were bleeding. Luckily, you’d managed to gather your bearings and land in a three-point stance. As Thor paced toward you, blue flashes decorating his muscles and dancing from his fingertips, he suddenly began to convulse and fell on his side. “Thor!” You cried, falling on your knees beside him.

Your gaze shot to the large window again. The Grandmaster slid his finger back on a device and Thor stopped twitching. Of course. He couldn’t afford to lose. You stroked your lovers face. His hand covered yours. “My love, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He chuckled. “It was quite a fight you put up. I’m sure Tony would have liked to see.”

“We’ll tell him when we get back to earth.” You muttered. As Thor went to speak again, he started shaking again, the veins on his face darkening. Mere seconds later, an electric jolt shot through you and your consciousness slipped away.

When you awoke, it was with panic. You recognized the room as the one you’d been forced to stay in for so long now. You groaned and attempted to roll over, being stopped by the weight of another person. Your breath hitched and you tried to move away, only for an arm to be wrapped around you and pulling you closer, a deep sigh escaping the person.

“My love.” Thor rasped out as you flipped over to face him. He playfully rubbed his beard against your jaw. His contentedness left as his hand gently grasped your face, his thumb moving over the scratch on your face. “Oh, Y/N. I wish this had never happened. I’m sorry it has taken me so long to find you.”

You turned your head and placed a kiss on his palm. “A few years is quite a long time.” You agreed.

“Years? You’ve only been gone for a week, dove.” He cocked an eyebrow at you. “Though according to Loki, time does move quite differently here.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ugh, Loki. That fool is the reason I’m here in the first place.” You snuggled into Thor’s chest and he pulled his arms tighter around you like you would disappear. “I want to go home, Thor. I want to listen to Steve complain, and I want to watch TV with Wanda, and I want out of these stupid devices-” You barely noticed the sobs leaving you as you tugged on the technology implanted on your neck.

Thor took your face in his hands. “We will get out of here, sweetheart. I will be sure of it. And Loki will right his wrongs, I swear it.” He kissed you softly. You nodded, silently acknowledging his words. “I love you, Y/N L/N.” Another kiss. “The light of my life.” Another.

You held back a laugh in favor of burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Stop, you big sap. I love you, Thor Odinson.” You suddenly pulled away with wide eyes. Thor only smiled in confusion. “Valkyrie! She and I get along quite well, she’ll help us. I know it!”

Footsteps from down the hall had Thor scrambling out of the bed, standing politely with his hands folded. You rushed to the door, where Valkyrie nodded in you greeting. “Y/N. It was quite shocking to learn that you are romantically engaged with our lord of thunder here.” She motioned with her hand.

“It’s god of thunder, actually-”

“We must get to training, Y/N. You two can kiss it up later.” She looped her arm through yours. You cast a look over your shoulder at Thor, who gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“So, Val, I must discuss a proposition with you...”

“Does it involve drink?”

“It can.”

“I’m listening.”

#thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #thor imagine #thor odinson imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #chris hemsworth x reader #chris hemsworth imagine #thor ragnarok

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kominum · 4 years ago

Text

semoto (corpse x fem!reader)

4 times you think tuxedo mask!corpse could be yours + 1 time you learn to stop feeding your own delusions

pt. 1 + background info can be found here! please read for context.

basic rundown of classic!sailor moon (anime) lore ‘creatively’ used in this two-part:

sailor moon and tuxedo mask are star-crossed lovers/soulmates that faced tragedy in a previous life.

sailor mars (aka you/reader) had a crush on tuxedo mask’s non-hero persona, darien/mamoru, for a while

sailor moon is the moon princess and tuxedo mask is the earth prince.

sailor moon’s non-hero persona, usagi/serena, bickered a lot with darien/mamoru.

fem!reader // tw: death mentions, bodily injury, unrequited love to the very end, some unresolved tension.

1. “Whaddup, baby?”

Without much reason, you and Corpse trade off calling each other whenever a new monster is defeated. You’re figuring out all of this as much as he is, but he doesn’t have much guidance besides some supernatural force within him. He’s not taking instructions from a black cat and white cat like you and the other girls are who can help fill you in on the gaps -- all he knows is that he’s pivotal to maintaining Earth’s existence, and he’s not exactly thrilled about it.

But the calls are never about the fights, never about your secret identities. In fact, you’d be willing to bet half your grocery funds that he still hasn’t made the connection between you and your Sailor Mars persona and part of you wants to keep it that way. Sometimes you’re mentally exhausted and just want to forget about the events for the day or night, which is why you usually end up calling him soon after everyone disperses or vice versa. It’s almost instinctual these days, and you wonder how long it’ll be before you accidentally crack.

Right now, the rule of thumb seems to be, “Never trust new flashy shops that open with no warning and have too-good-to-be-true grand opening offers.” This time, some luxurious salon opened up by a famous local hairdresser had been the said attraction. All of you weren’t ignorant enough to believe the sham, but the star of the show had taken the chance to say, “Let’s go scope it out!” when really, she wanted that free haircut. You had called her out on it, but she argued that if anything happened, then perfect, you all could take care of it right then and there. Needless to say, you do not want to be attacked by a monstrous version of Edward Scissorhands ever again. Corpse had made a dark, humorous entrance, a style he’s really adapted to because he knows it pisses Sailor Moon off,

About an hour later, you’re home and bandaging up some cuts and rubbing salve on bruises, phone on speaker and dial tone blaring through the bathroom. You’re addressing the scrape on your knee when he picks up, a low drawl of, “Whaddup, baby?” comes through and your heart stutters.

The girls call you a number of terms of endearment: sweetie, honey, love, dear, babe, queen, but the last person to address you as ‘baby’ with any amount of affection was your ex-boyfriend.

You scoff to hide how flustered you actually are, quietly hissing as you attempt to put some Neosporin on the scrape and catch onto some stray skin. “Are you drunk?” You ask jokingly, knowing full well he wasn’t.

“Drunk? Nah. Tired? Yeah. But that’s always.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s old news. But uh, what’s up? Been a while since we last talked.”

“We talked like...three days ago. You called me, remember?”

“Feels like forever. I like talking to you.”

You wonder if it’s irony or plain, cruel fate that this man will probably be the death of you.

2. “Don’t lay a fucking hand on her.”

It’d been a bad day overall. Lack of sleep compiled on by a growing pile of assignments in addition to having to get your tires checked out for an air leak because your car said, “Not today, honey,” -- everything came together in torrential hurricane and the last thing you needed was to be caught fighting another force of evil.

You’re so tired.

Sailor Moon seems to have all the energy in the world as she dodges attacks left and right, but your muscles are screaming in agony. You’re constantly hunched over and panting, but looking for the right openings to weaken the monster. Luckily, the creature has its back towards you when it dashes over to Venus and you muster everything you have to summon a bow and arrow made of fire, pulling back and making sure your arms don’t quiver.

But at the last second, your lack of oxygen gets the best of you and your flame sniper barely manages to graze the monster’s side and narrowly avoid Jupiter. It’s enough to cause a distraction, but the anger in its glare as it’s directed at you elicits surrender in your heart. There’s nothing left in your bones to help you run or hide, and your knees buckle painfully onto the concrete. Everything else hurts so bad that you’re not bothered by the sediments digging through your skin. Venus is running towards you but she’s not quick enough, and you feel your eyes begin to slip. If this is what death feels like, then so be it. You hope that the girls’ mourning will be short, that they can still complete the ultimate mission, and--

“Don’t lay a fucking hand on her,” an angered, frustrated baritone spits out and you’re torn between laughing or crying. In a separate romantic context, you’d like the idea of wholeheartedly leaving your life in his hands. But in this reality when either of you could die at any moment and the world be consumed in darkness, it’s something you would never wish upon anyone. It’s a different situation than your bonds with the girls.

The pain is enough to send you in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes. But strong, warm arms sit you up, though they’re slightly trembling and keeping you awake. “Hey, you okay? What happened to you? You’re stronger than this.”

“G-great way of telling me, fuckthathurts, that I was...shit today,” you joke, but hiss when you try to move your legs and the deep scrapes scream in agony.

“Take it easy, ‘kay? Or your princess is gonna have my head--”

“Thanks man, but we got it from here,” said princess interjects, hoisting you up with the help of the other girls. “You can go.”

“Speak of the devil,” Corpse chuckles and helps make the transfer less painful, a lot less awkward jostling around. “Look, I saved her--”

“And I said thank you. We’ll see you around,” your stubborn friend dismisses.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

“Not your baby, piss off!”

3. “I’m always gonna be there for you, no matter what.”

It’s soft yet sonorous, deep yet light. Twilight hours are cast high above you both, separated by walls and buildings connected over wires and unseen forces. Technology is the sharpest, double-edged sword you’ve seen and used on this planet, because Corpse has never felt so close yet so far than in this moment. Your mind deludes you further by indulging in believing he’s right there next to you, strong arms holding you much like he did when you were on the brink of unconsciousness just two weeks ago.

Wishing, hoping, wanting. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.

The one year anniversary of your ex-lover’s death looms over you on another sleepless, caffeine-fueled night. It’s no surprise when his custom ringtone chimes softly throughout your room during these graveyard hours, but it certainly raises your eyebrows when after a minute or two, he asks tentatively, “Are you gonna go visit him?”

There’s no question as to who or where “him” is. You haven’t been since the funeral, if you’re honest, swept up by work, classes, and your new side job. But Corpse doesn’t know that, and you know it’d be the right thing to do. Maybe it’d help settle the storm of anxiety (or guilt?) that swirls in your gut on a daily basis.

“I think so,” you reply quietly after a moment of silent contemplation, already thinking ahead to what the drive might be like. “He deserves better.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Charming, compassionate, thoughtful, absolutely too good for this world -- the three-letter affirmation nearly slips off your tongue without a second thought. You can’t risk him seeing you, putting two and two together, and potentially forever losing him to his long-lost princess. Selfish delusion creeps through your veins and you fight back the shiver of guilt that runs down your spine.

“I think I’ll be okay. Might be a visit made best alone, but I really appreciate you even asking.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. You know I’m always gonna be there for you, no matter what. Right?”

Warmth. Strength. Oblivion.

“I know. Thank you.”

4. “I don’t have anyone else but you.”

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because we can’t sleep and have nothing better to do.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” you chuckle into your phone, free hand swirling a pot of instant ramen. “I have better things to do at 3 in the morning than watch The Poltergeist with you.”

“Then go fucking do it,” Corpse laughs teasingly.

“And leave you high and dry? I don’t have the heart.”

“I mean, you really don’t have to--”

“Seriously, I was awake anyways. Just giving you shit.”

“One of these days, you’re gonna fucking regret it.”

Ramen done and lamp on, you snuggle beneath your blanket and start the traditional countdown to pressing ‘play’ on the movie. Neither of you really had the technology to screen share on this Discord call (your laptop is almost on its last leg and your apartment WiFi can be spotty at times), so it seemed better this way.

The next roughly 2 hours are filled with laughter, small jump scare yelps, and quiet yelling at the ignorance and twisted logic of horror movie characters. But towards the end of the movie (and arguably the climax), your eyelids start to droop, body succumbing to the warmth of your bed. The screaming and cheesy, orchestrated music are all background noise as your breathing evens out, shifting in and out of consciousness. Ending credits roll on screen before you know it, and the only think that rips you awake is Corpse’s gentle calling of your name.

“Sorry, fell asleep,” you murmur tiredly and squint at your screen, languidly closing out the window and letting the Discord window take precedence. “Tells you how riveting I found this movie.”

“Should’ve just let you sleep, my bad,” he chuckles. “Thanks for staying up with me.”

“Yeah of course -- I wanted to, just got a little sleepy. Wanna watch another one?”

“ ‘m actually gonna try to sleep. Don’t wanna bother you too much. You got work tomorrow?”

“Not ‘til noon so it’s okay. You sure?”

“Yeah...yeah. I’ve only had like...3 hours of sleep lately. Fucking awful.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You do enough by just letting me call at the fucking crack of dawn, seriously.”

“I’m your only option, let’s be real,” and your voice is a mix of fatigue, humor, and some bitter sardonicism. There’s no malice intended, and you really hope it’s conveyed accurately.

“...I don’t have anyone else but you,” he all but murmurs. Your heart clenches painfully, anxiety and fear and love surging through your lungs. Those words don’t hold the connotation you desperately wish for, but what matters most is that he knows he’s not alone and you’re not the only one he’s got. You verbalize as such and he only hums back in a façade of agreement before wishing you a good night.

And sometimes, while you do know that your girls have your back and that you love them to death and would take a bullet for them any day, there are nights where you really do feel the same.

That you have no one else but Corpse.

5. “He was never yours.”

There’s nothing you hate more than psychological monsters. You’d probably take physical pain over mind games any day because at least, it’d heal faster to some degree, or there would be a more surefire way of minimizing symptoms. But sometimes, there are days when the egotistical chess players of hell come to wreck havoc on the world, and you get lost in their trap. It’s annoying, a pain in the ass, and affects you a lot more than it should at times.

This particular instance makes you want to quit. It makes you, Sailor fucking Mars, guardian of the planet of fire and passion and perseverance, leave all of this behind right here and now. You’ve never hated yourself more for feeling so weak.

You’re not sure what to call it -- altered dimension, distorted reality -- but all you know is that you and the princess are kept in separate cages hanging from an endless ceiling, labelled as baits for tuxedo mask/Corpse to come. The enemy lets you both stew in the confines of the metal, watching with glee as your partner attempts to cut through the rails with her tiara and ultimately fail. It seems they’ve thought of everything because you’re not their #1 enemy today. Or maybe you are. You’re not sure anymore, even as they launch into villainous speech.

“Nothing brings me more joy than watching you lose all your energy to fight, both physically and mentally. I’ve seen all your dreams and wishes. Nothing’s more fickle and double-edged than love, no? We shall see who the prince really belongs to.”

Mention of the prince has you snapping your head to meet the enemy’s eyes, slowing squinting as they catch yours and begin cackling like your demise is racing at the speed of an oncoming train. Your princess looks confused, but dread is heavy mercury filling your veins because you know, you know, your best held secret is coming to fruition.

“What the fuck are they talking about?” She hisses across the void.

“I don’t know,” you lie through your teeth, eyes flicking toward every corner of the cage now to find a way out. This isn’t how you wanted it to happen, much less happen at all.

“Are they talking about Corpse?”

“Is there any other prince they’re referring to?”

“Do you always have to be a smartass with me?”

“Somebody’s got to,” you allow yourself a slight reprieve of laughter. It’d be dumb to try to set fire to this thing, knowing you’d only burn yourself in the process. Your exorcism tags also have no use and you can hear the clock ticking down in your mind.

“Think it’s pretty fucking rude to keep a couple of girls in cages, not gonna lie,” a baritone voice cuts through. It sends temporary sparks of relieve down your spine. Perhaps you’ll have a fighting chance to get out of here.

“Welcome, welcome! I’d like to get straight to the point, but maybe we’ll up the stakes a little bit before you answer my question,” they tease cartoonishly and you want to roll your eyes.

“Is this a fucking test--”

Both you and sailor moon yelp as the cages drop into a miraculously (or not) appearing large body of water, but still hanging just above the surface so you have enough air to breathe. You look out and down to see how deep this pit is, and though it might be some elaborate illusion seemingly defying all laws of physics, you see nothing but descending darkness. You don’t even have to hear the question to know what the enemy is going for, to know that they’re trying to hit you where it hurts the most, and you loathe how cliché and goddamn unfair this whole situation has turned out to be.

“So, dear prince. Pretend that the fate of the world depends on the princess. Before you are just two girls you know and care for, stuck, captured, and on the brink of drowning. You may only save one. Who would it be?”

It’s fucked up. Corpse seems stunned, perplexed by the question. “What the absolute fuck is this? Just let them go if you had an issue with me.”

“Quite frankly, I have an issue with allof you, so this is only fair. Now, what’s your answer?”

Corpse catches your eyes first. Is it from the water that your eyes seem to be brimming with unshed tears? Is it stubbornness or defeat in the way your hands clench around the cage bars?

And this is why, once again, you hate enemies who strictly play mind games. Confirmation that Corpse would never love you the way you do him, knowledge to the princess that she’s the source of your deepest unhappiness despite the bickering friendship, realization to Corpse that the girl he’s treasured so dearly and maybe unknowingly kept as a bit of a placeholder was doomed to love him -- pain on all of you, lashes and scars on what was once believed to be unbreakable bonds, as soon as the villain explains it all with sick glee.

“Do I have to give you an answer?”

“If you don’t, I’ll really consider drowning them since I honestly wasn’t before.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“Ah, just to make things a little more interesting -- I’m aware you and the princess speak regularly outside of all this.”

They what? This was certainly news to you.

“And?” Corpse asks somewhat defensively.

Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. Please don’t--

“Say Mars, don’t you enjoy those late night calls with him, too? Though I must say, meeting in a hospital while your ex-boyfriend is having life-altering emergency surgery seems rather morbid in its own respect.”

You don’t have to look at him to know and hear the gears turning in his brain, the villain allowing this brief silence to let everything sink in. There’s a disbelieving whisper of your name, your real name, but he’s cut off from saying anything more.

“You have 10 seconds.”

You know the stories. You know the couple’s tragic end in their previous lifetime. You know that as much as the princess denies feeling anything but annoyance towards Corpse, she looks forward to seeing him. There’s a certain softness that he treats her with, different from the platonic affection that he showers you in. You’ve lied to yourself for too long.

The countdown has no chance to finish when Corpse spits out a name that’s not yours, your eyes squeezing shut to fight back the tears that threaten to flood over. Everything disappears and you land on your butt -- a quick sweep of your surroundings registers two things: Corpse running over to your princess and the villain standing proudly at the chaos they’ve created. It’s instinct that has brings your powers to surface, arms and fingers quickly notching a fiery arrow with pinpoint aim at the imaginary target on their head. “Move!” You yell at the two and they scramble to gather their bearings and avoid your rage.

They don’t run or cower. The maniacal grin only grows wider and more sinister and you’re this close to screaming expletives.

“Hurts, doesn’t it, to know that he was never yours?”

It’s the last thing they say before you release the arrow, watching with no remorse as they burn and disintegrate. When the dust disappears and the dimension shifts back to some abandoned building with an exit, you run.

You run until your lungs burst, until they scream over the aching of your heart, until your costume dissolves and you’re finally buried under the blankets. You turn on ‘Do Not Disturb’ and only allow notifications from a select few important numbers.

And maybe you’ll keep running. Maybe you’ll go off the grid. Maybe you’ll let your voicemail inbox fill up with unheard messages, apologies that you don’t and never will deserve.

But the love you feel and cherish will never fade. It’ll run alongside you; a bright, burning star, forever bittersweet--

Forever out of reach.

#corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x fem reader #corpse husband angst #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband

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actress4him · 4 years ago

Text

Bonus Whumptober Content

I had no plans originally of continuing the story from Whumptober Day 28. As far as I was concerned, it ended badly and that was that.

But you can all thank @outtacommission , because I was bribed into continuing it!

If you need a refresher on the original chapter, click the link above or read it on AO3.

This is the start of the new content, which ended up being super long, so I broke it up into three short chapters. I’m really excited and nervous to share this. Writing sequels for oneshots that weren’t originally supposed to be continued is...tough. This is the second time I’ve done it, and I always feel like the continuation isn’t as good as the original. But I’m pretty happy with how this turned out, so I hope that you guys enjoy it, too!

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Warnings: (big spoilers!) needles, implied CPR, broken bones, blood, brain damage, paralysis, amputation, panic attacks

“Quiznak. Oh, holy quiznak, Keith?”

“He’s not breathing. I’ve got no pulse.”

“Hold him steady, I’m cutting the back of this chair off so we can get to the shrapnel.”

“Come on, Keith. Breathe. Breathe!”

“Look, I found this in Red’s first aid kit. I’m a universal donor.”

“Get it hooked up, he needs everything we can give him.”

“Please, Keith. Please.”

“Shiro, his ribs…”

“I know. They’ll heal.”

“Wait! Look!”

“Oh my g-...okay. Okay. Hurry, let’s get him to the Black Lion. I’ll need you to ride with him so you can keep up the transfusion.”

“Right behind you.”

Consciousness came in spurts. The first time, he surfaced from the never-ending blackness to nothing but cold and pain, and the feeling that his insides were twisted into a big knot and trying their best to exit his body. As he retched, body automatically jerking to try to sit up or roll over and sending even more pain shooting through him, frantic voices surrounded him.

“...reaction...blood…!”

“But...O neg...shouldn’t…”

Somebody scooped him up like a baby and ran, jarring his screaming abdomen with every step, before depositing him onto a semi-soft surface.

“...Galra…”

“...sample...synthesize more…”

The words meant nothing to him. All he knew was pain and nausea, and a blur of lights and movement above him.

Just before he passed out again, there was a sharp prick in his forearm that momentarily drew his attention away from the rest of the pain. He couldn’t find the energy to protest it.

The second time, voices were the first to filter in, hushed tones that sounded as if they were speaking a foreign language. His eyes fluttered open, but the bright lights overhead made him wince and squeeze them back shut.

“You’re okay,” someone soothed, the only words he could actually pick out from among the rest. “You’ll be just fine. Go back to sleep, now.”

There was a prick on the back of his hand, and he whimpered involuntarily. But a moment later the nothingness was taking back over, and he gladly slipped underneath.

The next time he woke, he had no recollection of the first two times, or of anything that happened before, but for some reason he was surprised to be waking up. Somehow, he didn’t think he was going to do so. But here he was, awake. Only, he had no idea where here was.

“Keith? Bud? You with us?”

He knew that voice. Turning his head toward it, he willed his eyes to open, and after a moment, they obeyed. A blur of yellow and brown met him.

“Hey, bud! It’s good to see those eyes open. Can you hear me?”

Keith blinked, trying to bring the person into focus. Once their features had solidified enough that he could make out dark brown eyes and a smile, he licked his chapped lips and attempted to speak.

“Hunk.” For some reason the N dragged on for much longer than he had intended, but it was a word, regardless.

“Yeah! That’s me! Oh my gosh, you have no idea how happy I am that you’re awake and okay.”

How long had he been asleep? It must have been a while for Hunk to be worried. And he was pretty sure he felt okay, though maybe a bit numb overall. Maybe he really had been asleep for a long time. It kinda felt like he was waking up after one of those naps you take while you’re sick and your fever breaks in the middle of it.

He licked his lips again, to no avail. “‘hirsty.”

“Yep, yep, I’m sure you are.” Hunk turned and snatched something up off a nearby table, bringing it toward Keith’s face. “Here ya go. Small sips.”

The water was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted in his life. He wanted to gulp it all down, ignoring what he had been told, but Hunk pulled it away after only a couple of seconds.

“Okay, I’m gonna go get Shiro and Fallenta and let them know you’re awake, alright? I’ll be right back.”

Keith struggled to process that sentence. He didn’t think he recognized one of those names, and he still couldn’t figure out why him being awake was such a big deal. Unless...he had gotten hurt in one of their fights. But then why wouldn’t he be waking up from the pod, not in whatever bed this was?

“Wha...happened?” His words continued to come out strangely, despite his best efforts. Maybe he had been sleeping on his face, because it was one of those numb parts of him that didn’t seem to want to move properly.

Hunk froze at the doorway, turning slowly to face him. “Um...what do you remember?”

It was a good question. Wrinkling his brow, he searched his still half-dazed mind, trying and failing to grasp at the snippets of memories that danced by. It didn’t take long for his head to start hurting, and he shut his eyes, giving up for the moment. “Don’t know. A fight?” He had a vague recollection of being in Red recently. “In the Lions?”

“Um, yeah, well, that’s...one thing that happened.” Hunk seemed nervous, fidgeting with his hands. “I’m gonna go, um, get the others, and they can tell you everything, ‘kay?” Without giving Keith a chance to protest, he disappeared through the door.

Keith sighed, and tested out various parts of his body. Other than most of his right side being curiously numb, and an almost unnoticeable ache in a couple more places, everything seemed to be working properly. He had been in Red right before waking up there...right? Maybe she could tell him what was going on.

Only when he closed his eyes and reached for their connection, he came up empty. There was nothing there. No hum, no purr, nothing. His heart leapt into his throat. Red! Red, where are you? What if something had happened to her? What if she was gone? What if he had done something to make her reject him, and he wasn’t even a paladin anymore, what if that’s what Hunk didn’t want to tell him? If he wasn’t a paladin anymore, then he’d...he’d be nothing. Useless. There would be absolutely no reason for him to be in the Castle anymore, in space at all. The other paladins would take him back to Earth and dump him off, and he’d have no one and nothing yet again.

The door opened, and Keith shot upright, ignoring the way it made his head swim and that ache in his ribs twinge. “I can’t feel Red! I can’t...what happened? Where’s Red?”

“Hey! Hey, shh, Keith, it’s okay!” Shiro was across the room in an instant, sitting down on the side of the bed and grasping Keith’s shoulders in both his hands. “I need you to calm down for me, okay? I’ll explain, but I need you to take deep breaths.”

Drawing in one such breath to appease the man, Keith glanced around the room, taking in Hunk’s worried expression and the alien stranger that stood on the other side of his bed. “Somebody please just tell me what's going on.” The words were still slurred, which was getting more frustrating by the second. “Why’m I here?”

He hated the look that Shiro shot up at the alien before catching his eyes again. They were treating him like a fragile child. Even when he was a child, he had gotten more bad news in his few years than most adults did in their whole lives, so it wasn’t like he didn’t always expect more.

“You were in an accident,” Shiro finally explained, still speaking far too slowly and softly. “You and Red got hit with a zaiforge cannon and crashed into a nearby planet. Do you remember?”

Keith already knew he didn’t, so he wasn’t going to waste time searching his memory when he still wanted answers. “Where’s Red? Is she okay?”

Offering a sympathetic smile, Shiro squeezed his shoulder with his flesh hand. “She’s in rough shape. All her systems are shut down right now. But Pidge and Coran and Hunk have been working on her, and they’re optimistic that everything can be fixed. With time.”

Letting all his breath out with a whoosh, Keith slumped over forward. It was simultaneous good news and bad news. Red hadn’t rejected him, or at least he didn’t think so. But he hated that she was so badly hurt. “I wanna see her.”

Shiro’s smile twitched up a little higher. “I know. But first, we need to check on you. You’ve been unconscious for quite a while. Everything seems to have healed up alright, but there were some things that couldn’t be tested while you were out.”

As if this was their cue, the alien - an objectively pretty, willowy creature with mauve fur, four long, thin arms, and a myriad of long, thin fingers on each hand - stepped forward. Their voice was light and feminine, and had a lilting accent that reminded him of Lance when he fell into his native tongue.

“I am going to give you some simple instructions to follow, okay?”

Keith frowned. “Who ‘re you?”

“Oh, yes, right.” Shiro indicated the newcomer with one hand. “This is Fallenta. She’s a Tellimite. They’re one of the most medically advanced species in the universe. We wanted to make sure you had the best care possible, so Allura brought us to Tellima as soon as we had you in the pod. Fallenta has been...indispensable.”

His explanation only caused Keith more confusion. If he had been in a pod, then why did he need a doctor? And again, why was he in some bed now?

Seeming to sense his questions, Fallenta smiled and settled down opposite Shiro. “There were some...complications from your injuries. Coran and Shiro made the right call by placing you into a healing pod right away, knowing that it was the only way to save your life, but that meant that your bones that were broken could not be reset before healing. One of my jobs was to correct this once your abdomen wound was no longer life threatening.”

“Yes, you actually had two different stints in the pod,” Shiro nodded. His brow furrowed. “Well, three, if you count the time that your body rejected the blood Pidge had given you and started trying to shut down. Thankfully, Coran had those samples he took from all of us at the beginning, and was able to synthesize some more of yours.”

Keith couldn’t stand the troubled expression on Shiro’s face, especially since he had been the one to put it there. Lifting his left arm, he gently squeezed his brother’s elbow. “I’m okay now.”

Shiro smiled, but there was a sheen to his eyes. “You have no idea how relieved I am about that.”

“Your cognition seems to be just fine,” Fallenta said, “and losing memory of the traumatic event is not uncommon. There are a few other things I need to check, though.”

She spent the next few minutes shining a flashlight into his eyes, asking him some questions about things that happened prior to the accident, getting him to remember a short list of objects, and observing his reactions to various movements and sounds. All of it led Keith to believe that it was his brain being tested, and it made him nervous. No one would tell him anything else, though, simply repeating that they would explain everything shortly.

It seemed to be going well, though, and everyone was smiling and calm, so he tried not to let it get to him. Until Fallenta moved on to testing sensations. She started on his left arm, lightly touching it with her finger, then poking her claw into his skin, then digging in her knuckle. Everything felt like it should.

“Alright, the right arm, now.” She smiled at him and held his gaze, but after a moment of nothing further happening, her smile faded into a neutral expression. Another moment, and he was wondering why she hadn’t done the test yet.

“Do you feel any of this, Keith?”

“What?” He looked down, and her finger was on his forearm. As he watched, she moved it up and down his arm, tapping lightly. He swallowed hard. “It's...it's been really numb e’er since I woke up. My face an’ leg, too.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shiro stiffen. “What does that mean?”

Fallenta smiled again, and as nice of a smile as it was, he was beginning to hate it. “Let’s complete the tests, and I will be able to tell you more. Can you feel this?”

This time he watched as she pricked him with her claw, and to his relief, there was a faint jolt of pain. “A little. It's muted, though.”

“That’s good. And this?” She used her knuckle that time, and again, the pressure was faint.

“Same. What's wrong with my arm?” he demanded, glaring first at her, then Shiro. “Why can’t I talk right?”

“Have patience -”

“No!” Keith yanked his arm away from her with far more effort than should have been required. “I'm out of patience! Tell me what's wrong!”

Shiro put a hand on Fallenta’s shoulder, nodded at her, then reached forward and took Keith’s hand. “When we found you…” He paused, his jaw clenching and eyes flicking away for a split second before he seemed to steel himself to continue. “Your heart had stopped. It’s impossible to say how long you had been like that. I was able to get it started again, but it took a few minutes. So your brain…” Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out in a sigh. “It was without oxygen for several minutes, at the least. Brain damage has been a concern from the very start. When I said you have no idea how relieved I am that you’re okay...it was possible that you wouldn’t ever wake up. Or if you did, that you wouldn’t be able to function at all.” An errant tear slipped out, and he dashed it away with his metal hand. “But you’re here. You’re awake, and you can speak and think and...and it’s gonna be okay. I promise, it’s gonna be okay.”

Brain damage? The words hit him like a blow to the chest. That meant his arm...his face...they weren’t just numb, they were...they were…

He ripped his hand from Shiro’s grip. “How can you say it's gonna be okay? Do you hear me? I soun’ stupid! An’ my arm...how’m I supposed to fight an’ fly if I can barely move my arm?”

“But you still have some movement and sensation,” Fallenta broke in. “That is very good news. It means that, with physical therapy, you can regain even more use. You can even have speech therapy to help you build up your facial muscles.”

“Speech therapy?” He almost laughed at that. “We’re in the middle of a war, we don’ have time for speech therapy!”

Shiro’s hand landed on his leg. “We’ll make it work, Keith.”

“No. No.” He shook his head harshly. “Get off. Get off me, I need...” Flailing his one good hand toward Shiro and Fallenta, he gritted his teeth against the tears that wanted to fall. The weight on either side of the bed moved as the two of them stood. “I need some air. I need...” Red, that’s what he needed. He reached for the corner of the blanket that covered his legs. “I’m gonna -”

“Keith, wait!”

Shiro and Hunk both lunged, but it was too late. He had already flipped the blanket to the side, revealing what lay underneath.

Or rather, what didn’t lay underneath.

He was gonna be sick.

His leg. It was…it was missing from the knee down.

Keith screamed.

The next minutes or hours were a blur of tears and pain in his chest and breaths that wouldn’t come. He vaguely recalled Shiro being in front of him, his lips moving but no sound coming out. He vaguely recalled thrashing and slamming his head into the wall behind him.

After that, though, the nothingness took back over.

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bellesque · 5 years ago

Text

Stop & Smell the Flowers (Loki x Reader)

A Loki Oneshot for the Spring Time with Loki Collab Collection on AO3. Also on my AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.9K BIG yikes

Tags/Warnings: Sex Pollen (therefore Mildly Dub-Con), Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Sex in Space, and some hints of a Praise Kink

Summary: Plant samples from Alfheim and a brooding god as your only companions in a small Quinjet sounds like a recipe for disaster, but some good things can happen in ten hours.

A/N: All I can say is... whoops, my hand slipped?

THE RIDE BACK to Earth is longer than you anticipated.

The small Quinjet is a sturdy and silent thing, the engine’s muffled hum a constant as you hurtle through space. It’s a drawn out, unceasing sound; it brings your boredom to the forefront of your consciousness and warps it into a false sense of steady calm. You might even be able to close your eyes for a second, seeing as there’s nothing but blackness before you—

“Wake up,” a voice snaps from behind your pilot chair, punctuated by a sharp snap of fingers. “You will not crash this ship.”

You straighten in your seat, unfazed by the bite in your companion’s tone. You blink a couple times, squeezing your eyes shut as you stifle a yawn.

“There’s literally nothing to crash into, Loki.”

Heavy boots thud against the metal floor of the ship until they stop by the copilot chair a few paces away from you. “You never were the vigilant type to begin with.”

This time, you sigh. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m turning on autopilot. If you can’t trust me, trust Stark. His tech is unparalleled. We will be fine.” You punch a button on the control panel, and the low hum of the Quinjet rises slightly in pitch. Swiveling around in your chair, you turn to face the god with raised hands. “See? No hands. All good. Course set.”

Loki stares at you, his features set in an unamused scowl, before turning on his heel to the farther side of the ship.

It takes a little more willpower than usual not to allow yourself to snap back at him, but you manage. After all, you’re both pretty tired, and he’s most likely antsy because of how long you’ve been cruising through the void of space. You’re sleepy, he’s irritable.

Still, your estimated time of arrival isn’t for another eight hours, and seeing as you’re going to be stuck with each other you might as well try to maintain some semblance of cordiality.

“So,” you begin, pushing up and out from your seat, “Alfheim was pretty.”

Loki stands by the glass window that shows you nothing but the expanse of space. His reflection is so clear that the details—like the strong slope of his nose, his aristocratic cheekbones—are unmarred.

“Yes,” he answers curtly. “Home to the Light Elves. As Stark briefed earlier, if you had been paying any attention.”

You swallow the retort, letting it fizzle out on the tip of your tongue. Stark did brief you on your mission, alright. You just wish knowing how to handle a brooding, irritated god was one of the things on Tony’s agenda.

Your mission was simple enough—collect some plants and flowers and shrubs and cuttings, he said. All the planty things. It’ll be quick, he said. Two rides through the Bifrost from Earth to Heimdall’s Observatory in Asgard, and then to Alfheim, followed by a short Quinjet ride to the nearby planet-slash-moon-thing, he said. Piece of cake, won’t take too long to get there.

He failed to mention how long it would take you to come home since you couldn’t use the Bifrost for reasons that were “none of your damn business.”

“You know, you’re not usually this much of a pain in the ass,” you find yourself saying as you stand side by side.

“And you’re not usually this mouthy,” he replies. He cocks his head at you. “Are you certain the coordinates have been set for Midgard?”

“Yes, sire,” you say, unable to keep the mocking tone from your voice at bay. “I told you. Trust me. If not me, then Stark.”

You lapse into silence, watching distant planets and stars twinkle against the dark backdrop of the void, the unending vastness pulling you into thought.

You’ve been working with the Avengers for just about a year. In this time, you’ve gotten to know everyone in the tower.

Including Loki.

He’s… quite a character, to say the least. Silent. Calculating. Not plotting his next attempt at world domination, but still, many are wary of his presence. You’ve spent enough time with him to know he’s a different Loki from the one in New York, though. You’d even go as far as to say that he’s… almost kind of good. Wreaking chaos, sure, by way of annoying the hell out of Steve and Tony especially, but… good.

And you’ll even admit to yourself, just a little, that he’s nice to be around. Not right now; no, he’s unnecessarily bitchy at the moment. But when it’s just you and him in the tower while the rest are either off-world or taking a day off outside the tower, it’s almost refreshing. His presence is companionable. When you watch a movie, his comments are genuinely witty and they make you laugh. He’s more aloof—more himself, you feel, and he allows himself to actually fucking smile.

And hell, when he does, looking at you with those green eyes and that heart-wrenching, happy smile—

You huff, squashing the blooming feeling in your chest. Pivoting on your heel, you make towards the other side of the ship: the small corner by the hatch that holds your collection of plants from today’s excursion. Maybe the weird, exotic flowers will keep you from acknowledging your tiny (but growing) crush.

“Do you have plants like this on Asgard?” you ask, hoping to inject some light into the heavy and tired air that hangs between you.

It takes Loki a second to move from his stance by the opposite window, but he ends up by your side eventually. He picks up a glass jar that houses a plant with blue, stunted leaves. “No.” He brings it up to eye level, examining it and rotating it in his hand. “The plants we’ve acquired are native to the Alfheim regions, it seems.”

“What does Stark want with them?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

He sets down the jar with a dulled thunk and picks up another. The flower inside this one is pretty: curling petals with an orangey, reddish, and golden iridescence to it. It glitters in the low light of the Quinjet’s interior, and you can’t help but voice your admiration for it.

“Do you know what that one’s called?”

“No.”

“So why’d we get it?”

Loki’s eyebrows scrunch together, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Are you a child, mortal? Why must you ask such—”

You never get to hear the rest of Loki’s question; the Quinjet makes a hard, stuttering sound, almost as if it’s skidding over gravel, and the entire ship lurches forward and then sideways. The scraping sound of metal doesn’t cease as the ship continues to vibrate from the turbulence. You lose your balance, clutching at air to steady yourself, only one particularly hard jerk to the side causes you to stumble into Loki with a soft oof.

The pair of you are jostled to the floor, and the next thing you register is the distinct sound of glass shattering.

After a few seconds, the vibrations stop. Thankfully, because you were really starting to worry that dying in space was going to become an actual thing. The lights flicker before steadying and it resumes its normal hum as though it didn’t just go through the most unholy turbulence you’ve experienced. Granted, this is only your third time in space, but the unexpected collision leaves you spooked out nonetheless.

“What was that?”

It’s this moment that your mind chooses to notice that Loki’s chest has seemingly cushioned your fall, the top half of your body splayed on top of him.

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you hastily clamber off him. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, only rises to his feet and dusts off the front of his clothes. “You and I are in big trouble,” he says.

You hurry to the cockpit, which isn’t much of a cockpit considering how small the ship is compared to what Stark usually provides. A space rock just about the size of the ship lazily rolls away. “Looks like an asteroid?” you say, uncertain. “Are we caught in a belt?”

“No, it was a rogue one. The trouble I pertain to is not that, mortal. I’m afraid we’re one plant short now.”

“What?” Your head whips to the back so fast that your neck cricks, and you rush to the spot Loki points at.

Broken glass, and a flower that’s lost some of its iridescence. Some particles glitter on the metal floor, and you curse.

“There’s a spare jar in one of the overhead cabinets. Maybe we can still salvage this one.” You sigh. “What if this had some super special healing power and we just ruined it?”

“I told you not to crash this ship, and yet—”

“Shut it, Reindeer Games.” At this, you can see in your periphery how Loki’s nostrils flare just the slightest at the nickname. He hates it. Hates it because Stark uses it.

You manage to pick up the bigger pieces of broken glass without inadvertently cutting yourself and throw it into the waste bin. Loki hands you—well, more like shoves into you—another glass jar, into which you carefully place the flower. You slot it with the other plant samples and straighten up.

“There are still some smaller shards of glass around here,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the floor, “so we just need to be careful when we walk here.”

The floor shimmers in some angles: some attributed to the minute glass shards, some from the flower. Loki dips his chin in acknowledgment before resuming his perch by the window, staring out at the abyss of space as he was doing before you and he decided to look at the Alfheim plants.

A decision you’re regretting more and more with each passing minute.

You’re back in the pilot chair, scanning for any possibility of crashing into another space rock. If what you were feeling earlier was sleepiness, how you’re feeling right now is that tenfold with an extra weight of ten pounds on your head. Your eyelids are heavy and your body is beginning to feel warm. You sniffle, your nose a little congested, and a sneeze permeates the silence.

You swivel around to face Loki. The simple action of it causes your head to spin; you feel almost lightheaded, the same feeling you get when you’re sick. You steady yourself by planting your feet on the floor. “Hey. Are you feeling a little woozy?”

Loki’s eyes snap to you, concern written on his features. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Not really. Feels like… like an allergy. From the flower.” You sneeze again. “Head’s heavy. Wanna sleep.”

“There’s a pull-out cot you can rest in.” In a flash, Loki’s helping you up, one arm around your waist. You can’t stop your eyelids from closing this time, feeling your grip on consciousness slip from you as your head lolls onto Loki’s shoulder. It’s a weird feeling. Heavy and light at the same time. You want to voice how it feels, but all that comes out is another sneeze.

“Perhaps the Alfheim flowers are a little too intense for your mortal body.”

Maybe it’s the allergies, but you swear you hear the hint of a smile in his voice. Loki drapes a blanket over you—wait, is he tucking you in?—and cards his fingers through your hair. You’re not sure if it’s real or not, but it feels nice.

“Sleep,” he says, voice distant and muddled. “I will take care of the ship.”

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep to the Quinjet’s comforting hum.

It’s hot.

Way too hot.

You blearily open your eyes, the feverish warmth that’s spread over your body the first thing you notice. The funny thing is you’re hot but you aren’t sweating. At all.

Just warm.

Excessively so.

“It’s hot,” you blurt out dumbly, sitting up on the strangely comfortable cot. The blanket falls away from you as you squint at Loki’s silhouette in the pilot chair.

The lights are a little dimmer, you think. Not as harsh and cold, blinding white too, but almost warm. You didn’t even know the ship had that feature.

Loki doesn’t answer you. You realize this a little late after marveling over the Quinjet’s new lighting. “Are you hot?” Your voice sounds foreign, different to you—a different timbre, a little more hoarse.

“Not particularly.”

Your stomach does a little flip because shit, his voice sounds different too.

You swallow, rising to your feet. “How long was I asleep?”

“I did not keep track. Perhaps an hour. Maybe two.”

He swivels in the pilot chair, and your stomach does a funny kind of flip. He’s the perfect picture of a confident, cocky prince with a sort of casual regality; he’s leaning back just a little lower with his legs spread open, one arm hanging over the armrest while the other is bent at the elbow, a closed fist by his face. Like he sits on his own throne, proud and powerful and incredibly sexy.

And you’ll be damned if you don’t admit it’s an attractive sight.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his head falling to one side. The intensity of his gaze burns into you, and something inside you coils unmistakably. What the hell…?

“I…” your voice catches, and you clear your throat. “I did. Maybe—do—uh, do you want to take a nap this time? ’Cause I can keep watch.” You hurry to your feet, and your legs feel like jelly as you stand. It’s as if they aren’t a part of your body as they take you to the heart of the ship, the halfway point between the cot and the cockpit.

Loki stands, still staring at you, and even in the dimness of the ship you can see that the intensity with which he looks at you hasn’t waned. He reaches you, standing a good foot away, and stops.

You try to calm the wild beating of your heart, rooted to the spot from his attentions, and you fidget. Your eyes are flighty in contrast, flitting from his face to his chest to the void outside the Quinjet and back again.

He lifts a single finger up to your face, tipping your chin upwards so your eyes meet. Heat begins to pool somewhere specific now, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Obviously nothing, your brain screams in protest. It’s like your mind is swimming, your afterthoughts delayed and your actual thoughts heady, private wishes just bubbling at the surface.

“Your face is red,” Loki comments, his voice low and soft. Like the blanket he tucked you into. No, a part of you thinks, stop this right now—

He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, regarding you with great interest. “You’re burning up as well. Shall I take you to bed?”

Surely he doesn’t mean for his words to come out as much of an innuendo as they do, but that’s immediately where your mind goes: into the gutter.

“A-aren’t you tired?” you say instead, allowing Loki to steer you by the shoulders back to the pull-out. “I can definitely—”

“No, you need to rest,” he insists. As your butt hits the mattress, Loki’s expression shifts into a thoughtful one. “Although your suit seems to be an unfitting set of clothes, considering you’re quite hot. One moment.”

Loki disappears, walking to a hidden part of the ship and you take this time to fan yourself. It’s still unbelievably hot, and the way your folds are slippery without any stimulation (except, you think with a small smirk, Loki’s little pilot chair moment was visual stimulation enough) causes alarm bells to ring faintly in the distance of your mind.

You experimentally flex your lower muscles and—oh. Oh.

“Here,” Loki says as he saunters back into view. He tosses you a dark green shirt. “Wear that.”

You stare at the bundle of fabric in your lap and realize it’s his.

And just like that, a fire is lit within you.

You bring up the shirt to your face, inhaling his scent when he turns his back, and fucking hell does he smell good. Your mouth practically waters at it, your eyes trained on Loki’s back as he settles back into the pilot’s chair.

Unconsciously you bite your lip as you wonder what his skin might look like underneath his armor.

“Don’t turn around,” you say, fighting the urge to jump him right then and there that surges to the fore. You’re tempted. You really are. And you also want him not to listen to you and turn around, watch you undress and change into his shirt.

Again, what in the hell…?

You shimmy out of your clothes and pull Loki’s shirt over you. It’s Asgardian in design, likely tailored specifically for him. You wearing it just feels so intimate. The smell that’s so distinctly him envelops you and quite frankly, it’s intoxicating.

You stand, and the shirt falls just to your mid-thighs. He didn’t bother getting you any shorts; you’re not sure if you’re grateful or angry, or maybe a heady mix of both.

Bundling up your used clothes in your arms, you clear your throat. “Thank you.”

Loki swivels around, stuttering to a stop when he sees you. His eyes rake over you, from your messy bedhead down to your exposed legs. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat quite visibly, and your pride rears its head in victory.

“No shorts, though?” you ask innocently, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Unnecessary,” he answers with a devious grin that makes your insides melt and ignite all at once.

He turns his attention back to the controls, and you lay your clothes by the side of the pull-out.

Wearing Loki’s shirt does little to cool your temperature—in fact, it’s still blistering despite the Quinjet’s air conditioning.

“Are you sure it isn’t hot?” you ask again. You know you’re asking unnecessary questions, but you want to get him talking, speaking to you in that gorgeous velvet full voice of his.

You hear him chuckle, a gush of heat rushing towards your center. “I’m afraid that’s all you, little one.”

Sighing, you flop onto the bed, pulling a pillow over your legs. Maybe if you take another nap, the heat will subside from your body.

Your arousal, on the other hand…

A thought enters your mind, fleetingly, because you immediately push it away and chastise yourself through the murky fog of your brain. Pleasuring yourself? In Loki’s presence? The absurdity of the idea. You should be feeling shame… only you don’t. Not really, at least.

You shift onto your side, squeezing your eyes tight. Sleep does not come to you. You try lying on your back, on your stomach, and then again—

“Are you alright back there?”

The normal tone Loki uses astounds you, seeing as you’re somehow a feverish, horny mess and he isn’t. It puzzles you, and some deep part of you wants to figure out why. Only your brain seems to refuse to cooperate unless you’re thinking of doing certain things.

Things you certainly don’t mind doing with Loki.

“I-it’s hot,” you explain, embarrassed defeat lacing your words. How many times have you said that to him? You probably sound like a broken record.

At this, Loki lets out a full peal of laughter, husky and with a sensual edge to it. You wish you could make him laugh, hear it one more time. Or twice. Or on loop. It doesn’t really matter.

He swivels again to face you, his sitting posture similar to the one earlier, and it does things to you. Causes an uproar that’s novel to you, a need rising within you that must be sated.

Loki makes a smooth come hither motion with his fingers, curling from his pinky to his index. A beckoning you can’t refuse. “Perhaps I can help. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m quite adept at magic. It may help the current predicament you face.”

You slide off the cot and walk barefooted to the copilot chair. He looks a little different, you realize as you amble towards him. Maybe it’s the allergies, but just as he sounds different, there’s something different about him now that you’re really looking. He’s always been a pretty face and you’ve always found him extraordinarily handsome, but right now is different. You just can’t put a finger on it, so you chalk it up to his aura changing. Or the allergies. Most likely it’s the allergies.

You’re about to sit in the copilot chair beside him, only to be stopped when Loki laughs again and wraps his fingers around your wrist. All you hear is a faint, “No, silly girl,” before he pulls you in between his legs.

Pulls you with surprising strength, it seems, because your butt lands almost unceremoniously in the crook of his groin and lap. Your knees are hooked over the opposite arm rest, which means if you shift even just the tiniest bit to the side, your hip will come in contact with a certain part of him.

It’s a dilemma, you think with a giggle, if you want to be caught in a hard place.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you close to him, and it just registers that you’re sitting on his lap holy shit you’re sitting on his lap.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, adjusting your position so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. Instantly your mouth goes dry; it’s the proximity. You’ve never been this close to him before, and being in such a… an intimate position has you tense and rigid on top of him.

“I think so?” you squeak, stilling further as Loki’s nose burrows into your hair. He parts the curtain of your hair with side to side movements, until he buries his face into your neck. He inhales, and a delicious shiver runs down your sides.

“Good,” he breathes.

You’re frozen on his lap, afraid to even let out the smallest puff of air. His face just stays there, in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Are… you okay?”

And then your heart stops, because he’s lifting his head, his fingers brushing your hair to the back and exposing your nape to the cool air. The next second he’s tracing the tip of his nose from your chin up to your earlobe, where he pauses. You’re acutely aware of his lips against your skin, just barely brushing against it. “Never been better.”

He inhales again, deeply, and another shiver runs down your spine. You were wrong to think he was unaffected; something’s changed between you as you slept, and you aren’t sure why or what it is.

“You smell…” He trails off, moving down and back to the spot behind your ear. You swear you feel the slightest whisper of a kiss there, and it takes extra effort to hold in the sigh that’s caught in your throat. “…different.”

“I have a smell?” It comes out with a halfhearted, short laugh; an attempt to ease the thick tension that hangs over you.

Loki only hums in response. This time, with the pressure on your neck and the puffs of his breathing against your skin, you’re sure Loki’s lips are on you. Not a kiss, nothing more—just a steady weight that anchors you in his lap.

Anchors you to the reality that you are in his lap.

“And you are so warm.” The way he says it, his mouth moving against your skin, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. His arms around your waist tighten, and your hip comes in contact with a little bulge.

Well, not very little, but…

“Y-yeah, I thought you were going to do something about that.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

His hand rests on your exposed thigh, his thumb rubbing hypnotic circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks with his face still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t think so.” Coherency becomes increasingly difficult to achieve; you’re too focused on the sizzle of electricity thrumming within your veins, spidering from where he touches you.

“How about…” His hand glides up your thighs, skimming over your underwear and underneath the baggy shirt until they come up to rest on your hip. “Now?”

You’re sure he kisses you this time, on that sensitive spot below your ear, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from making a sound.

“Still nothing,” you whisper, strained. “As hot as ever.”

There is no second guessing anymore: something wet and hot darts out behind your ear, and Loki’s lips press a firm, lingering kiss there as his hand skims to the center of your stomach. You suck in a shaky breath, your eyes slipping closed at the spark you feel.

“And now?” he questions, just by your ear. The conspiratorial tone and the volume he uses makes you clench in anticipation.

Instead of answering, you shift on his lap—purposefully grinding a little bit on his evident erection. You hear Loki’s breathing change just slightly, his fingers curling on your stomach.

You think he’s about to do something to break the sexual tension and turn it into something tangible, something you both can actually do to ease the ache you’re sure you both feel, but you know the God of Mischief enjoys his games. He enjoys acting unaffected when in fact he is, and you intend to play that to your advantage. Somehow.

“I’m not sure I’m feeling anything,” you say as nonchalant as possible. A plan quickly brews in your mind, and you pretend to notice something on the dashboard. You wriggle in Loki’s lap, making sure to rub him in all the right places as you tell him you swear you saw something whiz past.

The way Loki tenses underneath you brings you a small bout of satisfaction.

“Perhaps,” he starts, his voice clearly strained as you begin to rotate your hips ever so lightly against him, “perhaps a nap is what you need.”

“But Loki,” you say, exaggerated and almost whiny as you lean back against his lean chest, feeling the full extent of his arousal against your lower back, “who’s going to see if the asteroid comes back?”

You yelp as Loki stands, one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your waist. He’s carrying you, the thought floating through your muddled brain.

“Stark will handle it. Like you said. Trust him and his technology, or something like that,” he says, voice a little rough. “It’s bed for you.”

Loki lays you down with surprising gentleness, smoothing the covers around you. You think you might be able to sleep a little now that a little pent up energy has been released, but you only become shell-shocked when Loki climbs into the cot beside you.

It’s not a very large bed, mind you, which means that you’re trapped between his body and the wall of the ship. There isn’t much room to lay on your back when Loki’s in it with you, so you settle on your side while he does the same.

Loki pulls your back to his chest, completely flush against his body. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Try to sleep.”

Yeah, as if you can with something very hard poking into your backside.

For the record, you do try to sleep. You let your eyes drift closed with Loki’s arm draped over you, but even when you reach that half asleep state you’re focused on his erection behind you and his arm slowly making its way under your shirt again.

And somehow, whether it’s of your own doing or your body on autopilot, your hand slowly makes its way behind, reaching between you and placing it flat against his erection.

It’s like time stops. There’s nothing but static in your brain, the only sound the ever-present hum of the ship. As if neither of you dare to breathe. Loki’s fingers rest on your hipbone, where the garter of your underwear rests.

Neither of you move. You stay like this, for how long you don’t know, until Loki exhales a little, pressing his length against your palm.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, shifting to ease the budding strain in your arm. “Still hot.”

“So am I,” Loki replies softly.

You don’t think you can tense up further, but your body surprises you. “Maybe…” You don’t know why you’re allowing your question to form and where you’re getting the boldness to ask. “Maybe you should take something off.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you don’t turn around to face him. The sound of the sheets rustling and the mattress shifting is enough to tell you that he got up. Cold dread begins to replace the delicious fire that was coursing through your veins—have you scared him away? Offended him?

The mattress dips again, and Loki’s pulling you against him, in the same spooning position you were in earlier. Only… only he’s shirtless, you realize when your back hits his chest.

Shit, you really want to turn around and take a good look at his gloriously naked chest first.

You’re not sure your heart can take any more when Loki slowly guides your hand back to the evidence of his arousal. Once he places your palm on his erection, his hand is sliding over your skin underneath what you’re wearing, resting just underneath the swell of your breast.

“You know, mortal, you are very pretty,” he admits quietly, his finger dashing against your skin. “And your company is… tolerable.”

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself, Reindeer Games.” It comes out rushed, breathy, and a small moan of pain (or is it?) punctuates the end of your sentence as he drags a nail over your skin.

“Do not call me that. Or I will have to punish you.”

When did you decide to court danger?

“Are you threatening me with a good time?”

“Perhaps I am threatening you with the absence of one.”

Fast as lightning, Loki removes his touch from you. “You are still feverish. Perhaps you should take off your shirt.”

“You mean your shirt.” Your heart thumps loudly against your ribcage, your hands now toying with the hem of the fabric. The tone between you two has shifted so drastically, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. You sit up, twisting to see Loki lying on his side, his eyes dark and half-lidded.

You maintain eye contact as you grip the end of the shirt, slowly pulling it as it exposes, bit by bit, the upper half of your thighs, your underwear, your stomach, your breasts, until you pull it over your head and toss it to the side. Loki stares at you all the while, a hungry look in his eye, but does nothing.

“Lie back down,” he commands, running a finger over your bare side. “Perhaps now you will be able to cool off.”

He twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers as you do as he says, the warmth of your center now the focus of your attention as it thrums.

Loki props you against him, on your side again, his fingers dancing across your midriff, moving up until he’s tracing the tops of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples.

Your back arches almost unconsciously, pressing into him where he meets you with equal pressure.

Experimentally you gyrate over his erection, making sure to keep your movements slow and agonizing. His hands skim over your breasts until he takes one in his hand, rolling your nipple between his fingers until they pebble.

His head falls onto your shoulder as you keep with your tantalizing dance over his hips, his breathing growing ragged. He tweaks and pulls at your nipples, squeezing and palming your breasts until it’s the only thing that clouds your mind.

“Are you—are you still warm?” he asks, evidently trying and failing to keep his composure as you buck your ass against him particularly hard.

“You tell me.”

He flicks over your breast in response, your head falling back with a barely held back moan.

“Maybe you should take off your pants,” you suggest with a sigh.

“Maybe I should take off yours.”

“I’m not wearing any, remember?”

Loki stills, which makes you do the same. He shifts, gently guiding you to lie on your back. The confusion must be clear as day on your face, because Loki stares at you with those intense green eyes of his as he climbs on top of you.

Your faces are level, his eyes scanning every inch. You’re not sure where this is coming from; one minute he’s all over your breasts and the next he’s quiet and on top of you. He buries his face in your neck for what feels like the millionth time today, setting off a reaction that sends another wave of want to your core.

This time he sucks on your neck, and you gasp. Your hands move to bury into his hair, but Loki pins your arms to the sides by your wrists. You writhe underneath him as he marks you with tongue and teeth.

He peppers kisses around your neck, your throat, your collarbone as he grinds into you. Letting out a small groan, he moves to hover over your lips.

“Tell me to kiss you,” he whispers hoarsely. “Do it. Now.”

The grip on your wrists has slackened and you take the opportunity to pull Loki’s face to yours. Hungry and passionate is what the kiss is: his mouth moves quickly, in sync with yours, as though to make sure every bit of this is real and not just a fever dream. You savor it, the taste of him, leaving you dizzy and delirious with every swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth against your lips. It’s almost rough, the way he kisses you, but it fits the urgency you feel. You don’t want to have it any other way.

He travels down until he’s suckling at your breasts, and you do everything in your power to hold in the moan that rises in your throat. All you can feel is heat and slick and the pulsing of your blood, overcome with the need to be filled to the brim by him.

You’re about to fumble with his pants when he trails a path of kisses down your torso, stopping when he reaches between your legs.

You’re practically trembling with anticipation now. Seeing Loki in between your legs, a wicked grin on his face, has you wetter than you’ve ever gotten in life. He spreads you apart, settling between them, and feathers kisses over your inner thighs.

“Loki,” you say through gritted teeth, your pussy clenching as he nears your sweet center. “Stop teasing.”

He shifts forward, kissing your hips, your stomach jumping underneath him. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he bares his teeth, scraping over your skin and biting down on the fabric of your underwear.

He slides one side down, his mouth dragging over your thigh, your underwear between his teeth; he does the same to the other side, and again he goes. All the way, pulling your underwear down with his teeth until they’re around your ankles. He discards it lazily, adding it to the growing pile of clothes, and at this point you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

“So this is the source of your sweet smell,” he mutters as he lowers his head between your legs. You’re shaking lightly, wound tight from the excitement, and when Loki inhales the scent of you, long and drawn out, you almost want to cum right there and then.

“Absolutely divine,” he comments. Then he’s placing his tongue flat against you, your head falling back against the pillow, unable to hold in the moan that spills from your lips.

It’s like an explosion of little lights, you think distantly. Little stars bursting from one touch.

He lifts his head from your cunt with a mischievous grin. “I like that sound, little one. Let’s see how many times I can make you do it again.”

The feeling of Loki’s head between your legs, his mouth inside you, is incomparable. He dives into your cavern, his dexterous tongue causing you to sigh praises that seem to only spur him on. It’s a steady, swirling motion that drives you insane, your pelvis arching.

Then he’s moving up to swipe over your clit, and every nerve ending in your body sizzles and frays, another loud moan of his name ripped from your throat. With a grip of steel, he holds your thighs down, parted wide, as he assaults your clit with sucks and nibbles and licks.

“Loki,” you pant, hips bucking against his mouth. Your insides begin to coil in preparation, your walls clenching around Loki’s tongue. “Loki, I—”

He hums, almost like he’s questioning you, and the vibration on your sensitive parts is enough to send you over the edge.

The orgasm that overtakes you is powerful, pulsing through every part of your body as you whisper his name like a prayer. Only Loki doesn’t stop—he licks up every drop that leaks from you, and it’s enough stimulation for another powerful orgasm to build.

His lips latch onto your clit, sucking rhythmically, as his tongue swipes and swirls around the bundle of nerves.

“Loki,” you try to say, only it comes out a breathy whine, “I want to go down on you too—ah—”

He plunges a finger deep within you, curling against your G-spot in time with his sucks.

“Fucking hell, Loki,” you grind out, your fingernails digging into his scalp as you rotate your hips on his face. You can feel the steady climb to another precipice of an orgasm, as well as the tiny smirk that plays on Loki’s face against you.

Your grip tightens on his hair as he speeds up his movements; rapid, quick swipes on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you shallowly. Your walls begin to clench at the splinters of release—

“Not yet,” he says, removing his lips and fingers from you with a dark grin.

Frustration wells up within you, but it’s shadowed by the undeniable thrill that shoots towards your center. If you’re understanding Loki right—which you do most of the time—he isn’t finished with you just yet.

He crawls on top of you like a prowling animal, the pure lust in his eyes mirroring what you feel. He captures your lips in a kiss, languid and seductive, his hands cradling your face.

The juxtaposition of the entire situation hits you like a freight train. He’s gentle when he’s holding you like this, like you’re made of glass, but the urgency with which he grinds into your naked mound detonates another explosion of emotions. One action is delicate, the other rough. Contrast bolting through you at the same time and colliding into one as pleasure.

“You’re amazing,” you sigh into his mouth, and you can feel Loki suck in a breath, pausing at your words. Spotting your chance, you roll on top of him, straddling his waist with a smirk.

Loki’s eyes open, a ghost of bewilderment etched onto his face at the sudden shift, and then when he sees your expression he transforms his own into his usual confident half-grin. As though he’s merely amused by this whole situation—but he isn’t fooling you.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, little one,” he drawls, sliding his hands up your sides.

You grab his forearms, pushing them down to his sides as you rock against the clothed tent in his pants. Loki could easily overpower you, you know that, free his arms from your not so vicelike grip, but he lets you. Lets you pin his arms to his sides just as he did to you.

Lowering your head, you run your nose along the expanse of his chest, up to his neck where it’s your turn to inhale deeply. He smells just like the shirt you were wearing, only ten times more potent, and it sends a fresh wave of heady arousal to wash over you.

“Not yet,” you echo his words from earlier, your grip tightening on his wrists as you grind down into him. You can feel Loki about to respond with a snarky remark, so you silence him by suctioning your lips on his neck. Your one track mind has only one goal: mark him with bruises that are of your doing. Claim him as yours.

You lift off him with a little pop; not a very sexy sound, but Loki seems to enjoy it with the way his hips seem to be moving of their own accord. You kiss across his throat before suctioning again on another spot right below his jaw.

This time, you play a little rough.

Loki’s hips jerk upwards as your teeth rake over his skin, his breath fanning over your hair. “Little minx,” he utters, groaning a second later as you push your center against him with a harder bite to his neck.

“Pants off, Loki,” you whisper.

He frees one arm from your grip and haphazardly waves his hand, and your swollen sex comes in contact with the flesh of his hard and heavy cock.

Just as Loki’s about to jerk up and into you, you lift your hips off of him. It kills you to do it, but the teasing, the foreplay, causes you to feel a smidge of power.

“I said, not yet,” you say, sliding down his body until your face is level with his cock.

His length throbs in front of you, and somehow, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind you think you’ve never seen a cock as beautiful as his. Curious, you lick a stripe down the underside of it, from the base up to the tip.

Loki masks his hiss, turning it into a cheeky exhale, folding an arm under his head. “Go on then. Impress me.”

Whatever intimidation game he’s trying to play, feigning nonchalance, it’s not going to work on you. You take a moment to examine the bead of precum that leaks from his slit, your fingers at the base of his erection, and drag the tip of your tongue over it before sliding your lips over the blunt head.

You don’t bob up and down; unmoving, merely suckling and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hands fist into your hair as your hand and mouth begin to pump up and down his shaft, and just like that promises and praise fall from his lips like wine.

You chance a glance at him, and are utterly pleased by the sight. Loki’s eyes are scrunched shut, barely containing his pleasure, breathing hard through his nose. To have him, a god, reduced to his most carnal needs at your ministrations fills you with gratification. You take him further into your mouth until you can feel him pulsing with almost release, and then you lift off him with a sly grin.

“Not yet,” you repeat in almost a teasing, singsong kind of way.

Loki glares at you, but it’s hardly threatening. You manage to laugh as you level your faces, kissing him hot on the mouth and guiding your slick entrance to his throbbing cock.

You hover over him, not fully seated, his cock just stretching you the slightest bit. Your self-restraint cracks with every passing second you remain unmoving, until Loki takes your hips in his hands and brings you down on top of him, seating you on top of him.

He stretches you in a way you can only describe as full. You lean forward, planting your hands on his lean chest, and rock against him, eyes closing at the feeling.

It’s nothing you could ever conjure up in your wild dreams—he fills you, grinding in time with you and sending you into a barely controlled frenzy. But you keep your movements slow, relishing the way you can feel him throb inside you. Everything feels so new, a first you’ve never experienced: each touch, movement, kiss, no matter how small seems to be amplified in the small ship. It fills you with an unfamiliar, delicious kind of fire, boiling inside you.

“Not—not bad,” Loki grunts, unable to maintain the once casual tone he used before. “For a mortal.”

You swivel your hips and rake your nails over his chest, and Loki’s mouth parts lightly. “Not bad,” you remark, squeezing your muscles around him, “Reindeer Games.”

It’s Loki’s turn to seize his opportunity, it seems, because his eyes fly open, a wild, hungry look to him as he flips you underneath him, his cock still buried in you. The shift in position drives you a little mad, your pussy clenching unconsciously around him.

“What did I say,” he asks dangerously, plowing in and out of you with slow, agonizing strokes, “about calling me that?”

“You’d punish me.” A delicious shiver runs down your spine as the words come out.

“Wonderful that you remember. Because you’re about to forget everything except my name.”

And with that promise, Loki brings your wrists over your head, pinning them above you with a firm grip, his mouth seeking yours as he begins to rut into you more senselessly now. He swallows the moan you make when the tip of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you, making sure to angle it right where you’re most sensitive.

He doesn’t cease his movements when he latches onto your breast, roughly biting and sucking until you’re whimpering soft cries and pleas and praises. His other hand caresses the curve of your hip and ass before he presses on your clit.

If you were seeing stars earlier, right now you’re seeing entire galaxies explode behind your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, your legs spread wide open, and just when you think you’ve felt it all, Loki takes you by surprise and pulls you both into a kneeling position. He bounces you on his cock with unrelenting speed, and your arms find their way around his shoulders as you approach orgasm yet again.

You subconsciously flex your walls around him, biting down on his shoulder to prepare you for an orgasm—only Loki slows to a stop, gently laying you back down on your back.

The release that built inside you ebbs away, and you clench around Loki, a silent signal for him to continue. Only Loki pulls himself out of you, resting atop you with his face buried in your neck, suckling another bruise into your skin.

“Loki,” you breathe, his hand cupping your breast, “Loki, please.”

The god has the nerve to smile against you, you feel it. “What did you say to me earlier?”

“You said it to me first, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Loki lifts his head, his eyes boring into yours, blown with desire and yet… something has shifted. Something else is there.

“You are extraordinary,” he tells you, brushing hair away from your forehead. “You have always been the object of my attention, ever since you walked into the board room on your first day.”

Your throat closes with the genuine admission, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well, I always thought you were pretty neat. Maybe we can talk later and finish what we started?”

Loki chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Smart woman.”

It’s almost as if the tender moment doesn’t happen at all, because Loki’s arms snake underneath you to bring your hips closer to his, plunging into you and reaching a deeper spot that makes both of you groan in earnest. Whatever just happened, you can probably mark it for later with a good sit-down conversation. Right now your focus is on his cock inside you, and you don’t hesitate to tell him how good he’s making you feel.

“Hands above your head,” he commands.

You oblige, and his head immediately dips to your breasts. He’s kissing, licking everywhere he can reach, while your hands tangle in his hair, his shoulders, his muscled back. Your back arches, his cock thrusting mercilessly into you, burying himself to the hilt and brushing against that sweet, sweet spot over and over.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to come back from this. Loki buried within you, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, perfectly slotting into each other. His fingers rub against your clit, adding to your already overloaded senses and fuck, it’s as if all the effects from the foreplay and your heat come crashing down in one big tidal wave.

The speed at which Loki’s pounding into you is almost ungodly, unreal. Your mouth hangs open, your orgasm building with extraordinary intensity—

Almost as quickly as it builds, you’re tipped over the edge, a broken wail of his name accompanying the spasms in your lower body. You’ve never had an orgasm as shattering as this one, your cunt fluttering around Loki even as you slowly come down from your high.

“That’s it,” Loki says, jaw set. “Very good, little one.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down—he continues to wreck you, the sounds of your coupling obscenely filling the air. You want him to feel the seismic pleasure you just did—so you clamp around him, rotate your hips in little circles in time with his thrusts.

“You’re absolutely amazing,” you tell him, watching how he slowly unravels with every new praise. You tell him how good he makes you feel, how good he is, perfect and incredible and oh, the things you would do to—

Loki bends down and kisses you ferociously, licking every part of your mouth and biting on your lips as he bucks, going rock hard and cumming inside you. His movements slow, just a fraction, as you let him ride out his high.

“Glorious woman,” he mutters, his eyes still closed as he kisses over every inch of your face.

You’re about to return with a compliment of your own, but are cut off when Loki grinds into you again.

“A-are you still hard?” you ask, a giggle rising to your throat whose tail end turns into another moan.

“I’ve lost count how many times I’ve made you make that wonderful sound,” he says, hips stirring back to life as you feel a fresh bout of slick moisture gush down your legs. “I think that’s quite a success.”

And then he’s flipping you over, on your stomach, pulling your ass up and sliding his still-hard cock back into your dripping folds, reaching depths you didn’t even know you had, evidently ready for another round.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you make out the faint outline of stars—whether they’re from the pleasure you feel or actually there, you don’t know.

-- -- --

You’d think overstimulation would best you, but your entire afternoon—evening, morning, you can’t really tell, space is just completely dark—has been you and Loki all over each other all over the ship.

You can’t tell how long it’s been, but you can feel the ship beginning to descend into Earth’s atmosphere.

“Hey. Hey, Loki—ah, yes, there—”

You’ve also lost track of how many orgasms you’ve had.

You writhe underneath him, searing hot ecstasy blistering in your core as Loki sucks on your clit, his teeth just lightly scraping over it, his fingers smoothing over your inner thighs.

“You taste so sweet, little one,” he murmurs against you, licking through your folds.

“Don’t distract me.” You swat at his head weakly. “I think we’re here.”

“Haven’t touched the ground,” he says, shrugging, making to dive back into your well-spent cunt.

You stop him before he can seduce you into letting him taste you again, and again, as he’d been doing all day.

Whatever warmth you were feeling earlier has completely subsided from your body, and even your mind feels clearer. As soon as you came down from whatever it was, all that was left was a blissful afterglow that you still feel until now.

Surprisingly, you and Loki haven’t had any awkward, dead air—granted, he has been buried in your thighs and yours in his most of the trip. You thought maybe as soon as the strange fever subsided, you’d both be back to whatever it was before this, but apparently not. It seems to have opened up a door, an opportunity, one you both mutually want to walk through together.

“We still have time,” Loki purrs, caressing your folds with his thumbs.

“You’re insatiable,” you sigh, and Loki takes this as a sign to delve back into your warmth, his tongue gliding into you for the umpteenth time today.

“You love it.”

You and Loki disembark the Quinjet, you with shaky legs and him with a sort of spring in his step. You’re not sure what to tell the others when you see them, a tinge of worry sneaking into your bubble of sexual satisfaction.

As soon as you walk into the board room, you’re met with the expectant eyes of the Avengers, studying the pair of you with varying expressions.

And then Loki’s sliding his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, and the room erupts into shouts of “Called it!” and “No!” and you can’t help but laugh at the raucousness of it all.

“I’m glad we couldn’t take the Bifrost coming back here,” you tell Loki quietly.

“As am I,” he whispers back.

“Yeah, about that,” Stark cuts in, stepping forward, “yeah… you totally could have used it.”

#by belle #smut #loki x you #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki smut #loki imagine #yeah... yeah this VERY long #tom hiddleston imagine #sex pollen

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subbing-for-clones · 4 years ago

Text

The New Apprentice Part 5

Maul x sith!reader

Word Count: 3135

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood, remnants of a battle field and dead bodies, pining, fluff

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When your transport touched down on Malachor you didn't feel the urge to run in exploration like you had exhibited with Corellia or Dathomir. You absolutely felt that familiar pull from the force, you were in the right place but you were still hesitant. When the door opened and the ramp hissed out you turned to your master for instruction.

"I cannot guide you here apprentice. You felt the call and now, you must answer it. I will follow but you must lead the way." He extended his arm out towards the horizon.

Before continuing you reached down and removed your shoes wearing only the wrap from kicking the golden Zabrack’s horn. You took a deep breath and walked off of the ship with your eyes closed. A quiet gasp escaped your lips the second you felt the blackened rock underfoot. It was colder than you had expected. So much colder that it sent a chill up your spine and tapped into your anxiety. It was snuffed out when you felt a gentle pinging tug, deeper inside your belly than when you had felt it on Dathomir.

You knew your eyes would be worthless and possibly even get in the way of this endeavor so you tore at the hem of your pants and fashioned a blindfold. As he said he would, Maul simply watched you, knowing your journey here would be much different than his own. Despite the fact he didn't really understand why you needed to be barefooted and blind.

You led the way across the barren landscape only interrupted by the occasional black spire. Wind whipped around you. A vast crevice ripped through the rock in front of you and your master almost reached out to stop you from falling into it but you had come to a halt. Curling your toes around the edge. You felt the call come from the depths of this haunted place. Once you sensed it you gracefully leapt into the hellscape below followed by Maul.

The air was stagnant, completely void of life. You felt like you had interrupted a deadly pantomime with the slightest twitch of your finger. Although you could not see the bodies that lay out before you, specks of residue that once were life force signatures permeated your senses. Light and dark.

"They're here master."

"You can feel them." It wasn't a question so much as an acknowledgement.

You avoided the rougher terrain and the thousands of bodies expertly. In a way you could see them but it wasn't outlines so much as it was wavering hues.

"Were they Jedi?"

"Some of them, yes. Many of them, no. Malachor was a battlefield in the war between the Sith and the jedi, while our numbers were expansive."

You felt the pulse of what you searched for nearby so you removed your blindfold to mourn all the lives had been lost or thrown away. Seeing now for the first time the true extent of the carnage. Many forms stood in what seemed like mid war cries or attack stances. Your brow furled in confusion.

"Many of them didn't fall to the saber or the attack of an opponent?"

"You are correct. The Sith hold a powerful weapon at the apex of our temple. One that has the ability to rob a vicinity of every ounce of life."

"So, no one won this battle.."

"Not this battle, everyone lost greatly. But it was our numbers that were permanently decimated before the rule of two was put into place." You nodded at his explanation. Staring into the ashen eyes of a Sith warrior frozen in battle with a jedi in front of you. You reached out and brushed a knuckle across his cheek. Your vision all but blacked while stars danced in front of them, your skin tingling. The pulse you felt stronger than ever.

"I WON’T LEAVE HER HERE!"....... your master's voice screamed. "Brother you must trust her. We have to leave … NOW." Savage surged forward trying to pull Maul along with him. They were missing limbs, dust kicking up underfoot.

Your eyes snapped open and fell upon the lord that stood before you.

"What did you see?" Maul asked from behind you.

"I... I don't know."

The form of the man you had touched shifted in front of you as if life sprung from his soul once again. He reached to his side and took his second saber in his free hand. Dropping to his knee with ridged movements he held the two weapons out to you. You bowed your head to the warrior and accepted the gifts he offered to you.

They felt light in your hands, much lighter than the one that hung from your belt. Their hum synced with your heartbeat.

"You must... extinguish...the fear.." his voice was wavering with a slight echo, growling almost as if it hurt to speak. You ignited the new blades, one stretching long and slim, the other half of its length and ever so slightly thicker. A wave of power washed over you, you were on the right path.

"The shadow.. cannot exist... without the light..." the warrior fell, his ashen body crumbling and drifted away in a wind that didn't blow as well as the remains of the jedi he was frozen in time with. Their dust intermingling in the air before falling to the bedrock. You removed the saber you had stollen and corrupted and let it fall to the earth.

Your master sat in awe at what had played out before you both as you turned to face him. The ground started to shake unevenly, pebbles dancing across the land.

"We have to leave." He whispered harshly. "Now!" Maul pulled you out of your state, dragging you away until your feet caught up with your racing pulse. The two of you pounded your feet along the path you had come here on until the sky opened up above you. Maul jumped to the top before you could, shouting for you to follow. The opening shifted and started to close, panic in your master's eyes. You hadn’t exuded enough to make it to the opening and clung to a shelf just out of his grasp both of your arms reaching to one another.

"Master, I'm slipping I can't hold on." His eyes calmed.

"Darling let go. I've got you." You closed your eyes and released your grip trusting your master. You felt warmth from his force energy envelop your body as he lifted you out of the hole just as the crevasse closed behind you. Falling into his physical arms he held you tightly, protectively. You felt his relief ripple out of him and mix with your own.

Heat flickered across your skin and you took a step back as he released you.

"What... what was that down there?" You stuttered. Maul pinched his chin with his finger and thumb, eyes down, in silence for a time.

"I honestly don't know. Nothing like that happened to me during my times in this place or on Korriban. Nor have I witnessed anything in its like. What I do know is that you got what you came for and were then in a way told to leave. I believe we must follow that last instruction and get back to Dathomir." You nodded in an apprehensive agreement and made your way back towards the ship just as the planet started to tremor again.

You turned and took in the sight of Malachor one last time before your master closed the hatch and hurried to take off.

~~~~~

It's like he was waiting for her. Like they weren't his blades, he was simply holding them for her. Extinguish the fear... what could that possibly mean. What will she bring down in this universe? Once the ship was positioned correctly, he made the jump to hyperspace. They had traveled two rotations to Corellia and another to get to Malachor. Three rotations.. what did she see in her vision when she first touched the fallen Sith?

Maul stood and left the cockpit behind him wanting to give you some kind of guidance but he needed more information. He found you with your legs crossed sitting in the middle of the common area. Your eyes closed, feet still bare and your sabers resting in front of you.

He sat behind you, his back lightly contacting yours. He relaxed and tried to extend his consciousness to meld with your own, this time purposeful. Maybe you could show him what you saw there. He couldn't reach you though, your mind was shut to everything around you. The only exception being a pinhole allowing the force itself inside but nothing else. He wouldn't force his way in. He could but he didn’t.

Maul spent his time reading through the Holo-net News, limited strength training and occasionally trying to reach you to no avail. He tried to rest but found he couldn't. Insomnia back in full force without you. The restless sleep he was able to find was riddled with nightmares of Lotho Minor. He didn't realize exactly how strongly he had subconsciously come to rely on your presence. He growled in frustration both on what would be his third night without so much as an hour of uninterrupted rest and his attachment to you. He had never been attached to anything before. You had taken hold of him rather quickly.

The familiar sound of the nav system indicating their arrival proved a comforting distraction as he guided the ship back to their camp. His apprentice's rancor Angel stomped out of the woods and finally your eyes opened.

"We're here already?"

"You've been meditating for the equivalency of three days now. We're you able to expand on your vision at all?"

"Not much but... well.. it's better that I show you."

Maul watched as you stood and strode over to him. You took his hands and held them to your cheeks, taking another step towards him until your bodies were a breath apart. You felt the heat from his breath when you held him the same way you had directed him. Slowly drawing yourself forward and pressing your foreheads together, lips almost brushing. He trembled at the intimacy before figures danced in his mind.

He saw what you had seen on Malachor. Him screaming for you and Savage denying access while you stood, arms raised holding something unseen back with the force. Savage made him leave you there. The two of them ran as well as they could to a destination he couldn't fathom until he no longer felt your force signature.

~~~~~

When the shared experience ended you pulled your head away slightly and opened your eyes. His stare met your own and you could see a sadness in them. A regret of an action that hadn't yet come to pass.

"To predict one's own death is..." you cut him off.

"We don't know that that's what I saw. You know better than I that the future is not set in stone, we don't know what it means or what comes after."

You released him and turned to the cooler to fetch some water. Finally feeling the effects of going three rotations in a deep meditative state.

"You are my Master and I your apprentice. I have already mentally prepared to give my life if it means you would live or if I should fail. Should that be what I saw."

Maul tensed at your words, unwilling to accept this, he made his way for you.

"This... this is more than a master and his apprentice." He tenderly held the outside of your hip. "It has been since I took Savage to the nightsisters. You know it. I know it. I do not know what this is or what it will become but it's much more complicated than what you say."

You laced your fingers with his and leaned back into him. Reaching your other hand up and tracing light touches around the base of his horns that sprouted from the back of his head. He gripped you tighter and nestled his face into the crook of your neck, his chest gently vibrating. "I will always keep you safe." He murmured.

His usual mental armor had fallen away and although you didn't probe, it felt as if his thoughts pushed their way into your mind.

Slowly... gently... do not... devour her....

Heat pooled in your lower abdomen and you whimpered. Turning into his hold you looked up into his glowing eyes, his pupils just starting to dilate. Cupping the nape of his neck you pulled his lips into yours. Lightly gliding them across his until you took hold in a passionate kiss. Maul groaned, had he ever felt this before? He couldn't remember if there ever was a time where he had.

His hands and his lips acted in stark differences. His fingers held your hips hard enough you were sure their print would remain after his touch left. But his lips, his tongue; they danced gracefully almost meekly with your own. Your pulses hammered in your chests, faces flushed and nerves on fire.

Not.. not yet...

He delicately broke the connection between your mouths but your grasps remained. Struggling to catch your breath, he traced your jawline with his nail, gazing into you with adoration. "Patience." He whispered. "You haven't eaten in days." You chuckled and turned away to satisfy one of your hungers; cheeks still heated.

"Once you've satiated yourself bring your new sabers outside and we will verify that your blockage was in fact the jedi's weapon."

"Alright master." You replied, generously slathering butter on bread.

He left you to it and exited the ship to stretch his legs. The kiss already feeling like it had only been a dream. He knew it was real though. Proven by a new found confidence in the air around you when you met him outside. New weapons in hand you ignited them. Maul did the same and took his ready position.

Your forms were a night and day comparison to what they had been a few days previously. You dodged his attacks with intricate acrobatics and strong parries. Maul still got the better of you more than a few times but the difference was adamant.

"Well done. Much better. Still, lots of room for improvement but the simple switch in your weaponry has made an obvious change for the better." You bowed your head.

"Thank you master. I'm sure my abilities will be honed under your instruction."

"I have no doubt of that little one,” a mischievous glimmer twinkled in his eyes.

You lifted your head to smile at him but something pricked at the back of your neck causing your hair to stand on end.

"Savage..." Maul whispered. "He's in pain."

You wasted no time and made your way over to Angel, whispering something. He took off running towards the nightsister's encampment.

"I'm on it master. Its time he come home to us." You sat and closed your lids, taking over the mind of your beast and seeing clearly through his eyes.

"We will be in over our heads if we go to them directly and I personally don’t wish for the wrath of witches... if I can cause a large enough distraction for him to get to us..."

~~~~~

The nightsister's camp was being ransacked by an enraged beast. Savage, covered in deep scratches and bloody bite marks could sense the familiarity as he stumbled out of the rocky fortress towards the barren clearing. "Angel?" The nightsisters had passed him without thought as they retreated into their temple to regroup. While they were out of sight Savage trusted his instincts and jumped onto the back of the beast, allowing it to whisk him away.

~~~~~

When you could see they were almost to camp you opened your eyes and stood. Maul watched you closely but gave the both of you some space when Savage entered the camp on the back of Angel. He slid down the monster and made his way over to you. His body language gave off an air of awkwardness and his eyes were filled with regret.

"Young one... I'm so, so sor-."

You launched yourself up into his arms, tightly wrapping your arms around his neck. Your feet dangled off the ground just below his knees. It took him a moment to get over his shock before he returned your embrace fervently, scrunching up his eyes.

"Please just... shut up. It's alright. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm alright." He set you down tenderly on the ground.

"I'm glad your back, YOU think I'm funny." You shot a playful glare over at your master who responded by coming up to your side and possessively running a finger down your spine before settling his palm across your lower back.

Savage just glanced back and forth between the two of you, computing what had happened in the week he had been away.

"You two.. uh." Maul cut him off by turning on his heel with his hands behind his back looking at him over his shoulder.

"Some things have changed others have not Savage. What hasn't changed is that we will need an army to take our revenge and bring down the jedi. If my memory serves me correctly there are Weekquay pirates who can be paid to become loyal to our cause. Our next move is to acquire their services. We have much headway to cover. Your sister apprentice has made enough headway in her fighting skills to be battle ready.”

Maul made his way back to the transport leaving Savage to blink at you slowly pointing at his brother's back with a confused look on his face. You giggled in response and linked your arm in his, waving goodbye to Angel possibly for the last time before boarding.

It wasn't a long trip to the Sertar sector. It gave you enough time to excitedly fill in Savage on your experiences on Corellia and Malachor. Of course, he tried to ask about you and Maul under hushed breath but you only waggled your eyebrows at him. Eliciting a both a breathy chuckle followed by a slightly disgusted groan.

Your master stayed in the cockpit most of the journey in thought. Thanking the Maker that you were on good terms with his brother, although he did have to fight occasional jealous pangs at your closeness. It was better that you two were friendly. When the planet Florrum came into view he readied the three of you for the next step of your adventure.

#maul x y/n #maul fluff #darth maul #maul x reader #star wars maul #maul x sith apprentice #sith lord #sith reader #sith apprentice #bad writing #swtcw au #star wars fluff #savage opress #platonic savage

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starlightrows · 4 years ago

Text

A Snowy Surprise

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Word Count: 977

Tags: Established relationship, bed sharing, domesticity, family time

Summary: How wonderful to wake up to fresh snow

AN: Happy Friday! This is the first of my new mini series I’m trying out inspired by different kinds of weather settings. I was originally planning to start with a sunny spring time short fic, but when I woke up to a foot and a half of snow this morning I knew it was a sign from the universe I had to change my plans a little bit.

The planet your little trio was currently stopped on was in its last weeks of winter. Spring seemed to be in the air. And while the temperatures were still quite cold, the sun shone brightly during the day. And extra layer of clothing for you and your little green child was all that was needed to continue playing outside in the sparse forest the Crest is parked in. You wondered how Din was fairing during the cold nights with only his underclothes and beskar for warmth. He hadn’t commed you yet, but that wasn’t abnormal for him. Especially since he didn’t think this quarry would take very long.

You had built a small fire just outside the Crest in the late afternoon, longer you and the child could stand to be outside, the more fuel you would have to run the engines and the heating system through the cold night. The baby seemed content to sit in your lap, eating pieces off the loaf of bread you had bought a few days ago. This night seemed a little colder than usual, and a steady breeze seemed to be picking up. Grogu shivered in your lap, and sure sign that it was time to turn in for the night.

“Come on ad’ika, wanna come snuggle in the big bed?” You asked him, giving him a little jiggle to get his attention. He gave a chirpy response, climbed up to your shoulder. You stood up, and used a stick to spread out the dying coals from the fire. You kicked some dirt over the top of the ashes, just to make sure no stray embers got caught in the breeze.

You took Grogu back into the ship, and tucked him into your bunk. “I’ll be right back,” you told him.

You climbed up into the cockpit and powered on the ship. The engines roared to life, and the heating kicked on. The warmth felt good on your chilled skin, it was colder outside than you realized. You stripped out of your day time clothes, and pulled on one of Din’s large comfortable undershirts.

Grogu looked so sweet all cuddled up under the blankets peaking out at you with massive dark eyes.

“Awe, are you cold baby?” You laughed a little, climbing into the bunk. “Come here love,” you scooped him up in your arms bringing him into your chest.

You get under the covers and turn onto your side, holding Grogu in a gentle embrace. “You wanna do a story?” You asked quietly. He cooed in agreement, burrowed further into you. You told him a story from your childhood, a happy story of playing with other children and thinking you’d found buried treasure. Grogu was sound asleep by the time you were finished, and even you were nodding off by the end of it. Before falling asleep, you checked the com link one last time. Nothing. You decided if he didn’t com in by tomorrow afternoon, you would com him.

As it turns out, you didn’t need to com him. You awoke some time later to the sound of the carbonite freezer activating in the darkness. You assumed it was Din, and considered sitting up to greet him, but your body was so tired you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You faded in and out of consciousness for a while, truly trying to say awake so you could properly greet him. Eventually the warmth of his body filled the tight bunk space, and he slid beneath the covers beside you.

You grumbled out some sort of incoherent greeting, but even in your own mind you couldn’t figure out what you were trying to say. He answered you, but you were already asleep again.

You wake again to Din lightly shaking your shoulder. “Wake up, I have to show you something,” he says, sounding way too enthusiastic for morning time, and completely out of character for him.

“What?” You mumbled in sleepy confusion “what’s wrong,”

“Come on, you have to see this,” he said ducking out of the bunk. You open your eyes fully, and look around to find that Grogu isn’t there.

You stuck your head out of the bunk, and found yourself struggling not to fall out of it from the wave of laughter that hits you. Grogu is wearing all of his layers, and one of your scarves wrapped around his whole body. He looks like a little puff of popped corn, and so incredibly adorable.

“Stars, why on earth is he dressed for Hoth?” You asked through a laugh. Din stands nearby, wearing his thermal layers without his beskar, he hits a button the side panel activating the door.

Freezing cold air rushes in, but you don’t even care. Because you are met with a view of the forest trees. Limbs hanging heavy with thick coats of pristine white snow. You gasp, unable to help the smile spreading across your face.

“Snow started falling just about when I got back last night,” he told you “but I had no idea it was going to dump this much snow on us,”

“It’s gorgeous! I haven’t seen snow like this since I was a kid,” you exclaimed “Give me 2 minutes to get dressed, then I’ll go take the baby out to play,”

Din chuckles, and scoops up Grogu who is furiously trying to get outside to play in this new environment.

“Put on a hat too, it’s still snowing,” he called over his shoulder, taking Grogu down the ramp. You hastily pulled on a second pair of fitted pants, the only coat you own, boots, and of course a hat.

A thin layer of snow was already covering the ramp, and you slid down on the heels of your boots. Giving a whoop of joy, before running off to play with Din and the baby.

#The Mandalorian #The Mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin #Din Djarin x reader #Grogu #Baby Yoda #Snow #And Now The Weather Series #Starlightrows

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lovecinnatwist · 4 years ago

Note

So I know you wrote a star sapphire Dick au, but I raise you a star sapphire Jason au—he always seems to love everyone around him a lot more than they seem to love him and he just wants to be loved so badly poor baby

Hello Anon! I loveeee this idea! You didnt specify a pairing so I've made it gen. Let me know if you have a pairing in mind. I've left it open for ideas.

All are welcome to slide into my DMs with ideas for star sapphire!Jason.

Lanterns Lead Home

The first moment of consciousness Jason Todd has after being beaten to- not death apparently- is warmth.

The fuzzy feeling of being held by what must be twenty different pairs of hands pulls him back as he wakes. Every broken sob and desperate scream that wants to rattle free of his chest melts away into nothing. The air itself seems to vibrate with something sweet that he can’t put a name too. Every draw of breath fills him with kindness until he can recall the feeling-

love.

Tender touches chase away the bruises and scars until he can’t remember if they were ever there. Soft and caring caresses cup his cheeks and soft lips kiss away his tears. It’s too much and something that he’s been without for so long. For a moment he thinks of Catherine. Who she had been before the drugs. The thought of her breaks something in his chest. He cries and what seems like dozens of voices echo out validations. They sing back welcoming calls to release and let go.

So Jason does but he’s still floating. Still in the warm embrace of what he realizes must be his sisters. They must be because they call him that over and over and over again. A cup of something sugary comes to his lips and he gulps it down greedily. It coats his insides sweeping through him like a scolding saccharine syrup.

Consciousness starts to slip again but insistent slaps to the face jolt him awake.

‘ Not yet. ‘

He knows what the words are but his ears don’t actually hear them. The woman over him has blue skin and gorgeous eyes that see into everything he is. He wants to turn away from it but she holds him steady. There is another cup. She makes him drink and this time Jason feels like he’s suffocating.

He swallows more cups until he feels like he's at his limit. Then the hands are moving him and the rocking motion makes him feel sick. He passes from one hand to another until someone is bringing him to his knees in front of a huge glittering basin.

“ Purge Ja’s Purge and be reborn. “

He feels dizzy and sick. Like he’s still rocking. He clenches onto the cool surface ahead of him. He tries to collect himself but memories start surfacing like bile in his throat. He remembers everything in startling detail. It all flashes before him until he flies forward and purges.

He shakes and shudders through it. The loud cheers after every heave grounds him in support. Many hands hold him to stop him from falling in but no one stops him from emptying everything that he is into the quickling filling basin.

He trembles and they replace that one for another. He can’t believe there’s more to give but everytime he feels peace a vile memory twists up and sends him face first into the bucket. By the time he’s thoroughly wrung out and empty- gentle hands pull him up. He doesn’t fight as he’s taken by many hands to a cool pool that bubbles against his skin. It fizzes and sizzles but doesn’t burn as his body is submerged. His eye lashes flutter.

He gets a vague glimpse of blue skin and pinks and then someone tells him to hold his breath.

He does and goes under. Everything goes black.

Most Pink Lanterns don’t need to go through the rebirth. At least that is what Ja’s has heard from the others. The ring finds them before anything bad can happen. Usually during high emotions of love or joy something Ja’s has felt little of. Or well maybe that isn’t quite right.

He does love, he loves everything. He loves hard, fast, passionate and ferociously but sometimes it feels like there isn’t any left for him. Sure he’s had people care for him, but to choose him first? To love him first…. Wilis loved money, then Catherine loved the drugs, then there's Bruce who loved the Crusade and Alfred… well Alfred could never love him more than Bruce.

It had been that that drove him to Ethiopia in the first place.

He remembers everything in startling clarity now. His birth, his life, his death and of course both rebirths. It’s hard to forget the feeling of splitters digging into your fingertips and the taste of mud as you dig yourself out of your own grave. Who knows how long he had been wandering Gotham in a fuzzy haze? No one found him, no one had been looking for him. At least that's what he thought until he saw a pink glow.

The star sapphire. His star sapphire to be precise.

Lost in the memory he gently touches the gem. It’s a wonderment, meeting the sisters of the lanterns corps and of course… getting permission to be- well who he's always known himself to be, Ja’s as they call him.

It had been freeing to be allowed to be nurturing. To be allowed to be tender and to care. Despite the changes that he’s gone through he feels more like himself than ever before. Like his body suddenly fits and he is grateful for the Zamarons for allowing him the ceremony. They honor his pronouns, as they all honor and celebrate femininity as its essence and not as sex or gender. Ja's has learned nothing if not the suffering of smothering his divine feminine in his last life.

Now he is free.

( He tells himself that's why he hasn’t gone home to Gotham. Not because the existence of the third Robin Bruce has replaced him with. )

He does a good job at ignoring his old life and memories for the most part too. The few indulges he allows are watching digital transmissions of different versions of pride and prejudice with his sisters. Even in space nothing seems to beat human literature, something that Ja's gets to share with the others. He learns how to love deeper. Not only himself but more importantly everyone and everything. Mostly in the emotional sense… while the others- well Ja's isn’t quite ready for the sexual sense yet.

Like many of the Pink Lantern Corps he has yet to meet his soul mate.

The thought flutters low in his stomach. While he could easily show someone their love in his ring, the power didn’t work for star sapphires themselves. They simply had to wait for the pull and circumstance when they would feel the electricity in the air. Other members in the corps said that the feeling is indescribable. Like swallowing lightning or crashing into a planet with nothing to cushion the fall.

Though unfortunately, most of his sisters felt that with every good looking creature they came across.

Ja's takes a drink, lounging about in the Green Lanterns station. They’re taking a short interlude before heading back home. One that the others are taking full advantage of. It’s kind of embarrassing how the revealing costume and reputation of his corps makes others stare. He hears the whispers and feels the eyes on him just as clearly.

It’s stupid because he isn’t even the best looking of them all. In a universe full of aliens most lanterns find humans rather dull. He hears the giggles as the others flirt. That’s all it is sometimes, flirting. While other times- Ja's turns the blind eye to Nadia’s wink as she disappears with a lantern down the corridor. He doesn’t flush long familiar with their games. Still a little part of him feels empty.

If only he could give as freely as they did.

The chair next to him creeks making him sigh. Great, another lantern trying their luck. Couldn’t they tell he just wants to finish his drink in peace? He turns around to give the person a piece of his mind, anger already hot on his tongue.

That is until playful green eyes fall on his. Ja's immediately tries to escape but Ryner grabs his wrist.

“ Well if it isn’t my favourite Star Sapphire. “

Ja's knows there’s no way he’s going to be able to pull the other off without causing a scene. He gives one more futile tug while Kyle just raises an unimpressed eyebrow. He groans just as the lantern orders himself his own drink.

“ What do you want Ryner? “

The green lantern only lets go when he’s sure Ja's won’t run. Which is funny considering the fact that he's always running. Whether it be from bad guys, suitors or most times his sisters. It’s something that comes from growing up on the streets. The only place he’s ever felt safe had been… warm memories of the manor and Bruce's smile tug at his heart.

“ What makes you think I want something Ja’s? “

The very clear inflection of his voice Ja's wants to say. The other human has always made himself a pest whenever their corps comes to visit. It’s probably because they are both humans and around the same age. Not that they’ve really spoken about how they both ended up here.

He doesn’t answer Ryner and takes a sip of his drink instead. The playful smile on the green lantern holds no matter how long Ja's ignores him.

“ So I'm going down to Terra thought maybe you’d like to come? Apparently Batman could use some extra hands. “

At the mention of Batman Ja's interest piques. It’s rare to hear about anyone from his former life. Of course he does look through mission logs from time to time. It’s public access in the lantern corps library after all- but otherwise it's uncommon for Bruce to ask for help. The last thingJas's saw was Batman, Nightwing and Robin rescuing Hal from a villain he didn’t recognize.

Ryner is either ignorant to his inner conflict or ignores it.

“ It’ll be fun. You know Bats never lets us in his city. Could be nice? We could get a burger afterwards. Maybe catch a movie. “

It sounds like a date. Ja's would think it’s one too if he hadn’t told Ryner exactly how he feels about those things. He’s a nice guy, not bad looking from what he can see… but still he needs- well he wants the spark.

He meets the boyish smile with a frown but it does nothing to make it go away. He shouldn’t. He’s done pretty well ignoring both earth and the bats. Still the big huge heart in him wants. He wants to see Bruce again and help him.

A tiny part of him wants to go home and pretend like his dad still loves him even though he’s gone and gotten a new kid. One who’s probably in Ja’s room with all new clothes that are fitting of a good son. A loved son.

Ryner bumps shoulders with him pulling him out of his head. His ring had begun to flicker a bit from the emotional distress. The other human places a hand over it to block the light and Jason let’s him. It’s a distraction.

“ C’mon Ja’s Earth isn’t like you remember it. Let me show you a good time? “

That stupid hopeful smile and the shy way Ryner really looks at him hurts. He’s weak to things like this. People actually caring about him. He’s practically starving for it. He swallows down his protest. After all it would probably be nice to see his family again. They probably wouldn’t even recognize him. He could go and help and then maybe take up Ryner on his offer for a burger.

Something light. Something Casual.

“ Fine.. That sounds ok- I’ll go. “

Ja's wishes he could ignore the stupid happiness radiating off of the other lantern.

“ Swear to God Ja’s this is going to be so much fun- You aren’t gonna regret it. There’s this one place that serves burgers like the size of your head and the art on the wall is just so hilarious- “

Ja's rolls his eyes as he finishes the last of his drink.

“ Shut up Ryner and don’t make me regret this. “

The green lantern mims zipping his mouth shut and Ja's laughs.

Turns out he’s actually right as well.

Jas's hasn’t been to Earth in years and it really shows. The place looks different. Even Gotham in all its dirt and grime feels foriegn to him. He joins the other lanterns in their job of catching and sending the aliens back to a prison at the corps. It’s fun with the little quips the Green Lanterns seem to toss back and forth between one another. Jason isn’t used to it but it’s a vibrant kind of energy that leaves a smile on his face even while he’s fighting.

With the group supers the battle is over quickly. Quick enough and Ja's finds himself disappointed. He doesn’t know why but ever since they’ve been back in Gotham he has been positively vibrating. It’s new and exciting and maybe it’s because he caught a few glimpses of familiar capes and blue.

When they all land on the roof for briefing Ja's feels like he’s about to burst from the excitement.

This time when Ryner bumps into his shoulder it isn’t quite as annoying and he bumps back. It’s playful and light which seems to be the mood with them all. That is until Batman comes down with his dark dramatics.Jas's goes stone still at the sight of him. A blue and Black shadow follows behind before the bright colors of Robin pop up the edge of the building.

It’s- strange to him. Like being on the wrong side of a mirror. He takes in what he can see of Bruce’s face from under the mask. The worn lines seem just too deep to be on the man he thought of as his father. Even Dick’s posture feels different and the new Robin… Well Ja's wishes he could say he feels anger but if anything he just feels- strange. There’s also something else. It’s slow and thrumming in his mind like he’s running on outdated software. His entire body itches all over and all he wants is to get closer. He needs to be closer. Close enough to touch, feel and just make sure they're real. That they are who he remembers and not just a figment of his imagination-

Ryner nudges him and Ja's hisses under his breath.

“ We gotta go. Didn’t you hear the man? “

Ja's had not heard him. The soothing quality of Bruce’s voice always made it hard to focus. The dark timber of it has always been more relaxing than menacing in his opinion. Just- being so close to them but not with them feels so strange. He knows he has to go over there. It’s been years and he probably doesn’t even fit in space left. There's anxiety at the thought, to go home he'd be willing to cut away any parts of him that he needed to. He swallows. It’s a sad and small mindset, something that he’s supposed to be better than by now.

“ Heard him say what? “

Someone clears their throat and now there’s all eyes on them. Apparently they weren’t being as quiet as they thought.

“ That your help has been appreciated but you are not welcome in my city. “

Hearing it and knowing it are two different things. While Ja's always knew how Bruce felt about metas and supers, actually being told to leave is equal parts hilarious and frustrating. The itch that has been nagging him turns into an entire rash. He takes two steps forward but Ryners hand stops him from closing the distance. He shrugs off the touch, it doesn’t feel right.

“ Yea? And who decides who comes into Gotham. Last I checked I have a birth certificate sayin i’m Gothamite and that means I can come to this cesspool whenever I want. “

He spits the words in the accent to prove a point. He’s giving away too much- too much information. He knows how Bruce obsesses over identities. It's not like the corps where everyone knew everything. A few people look around and Jas's suddenly feels even smaller. Ryner pulls him back and he can’t get himself to move. He just stares at Bruce hoping- wishing that the man will know it’s him. That he’ll close the distance and hug him and hold him. That he’ll smell like home like he always did when Jason could fit on his lap.

Because as many sisters as he has now he only has one living father, brother and grandfather. He only has them and Jason wants so badly to be told that he could have them again. Space has never felt like much of a home. As much as the others made efforts they’re versions of love and his are different. He clung to the idea of meeting a soul mate and being full but now that he’s actually in front of Bruce he just wants to be here. With his dad.

The shush on the roof is eerie. Ryner pulls harder and this time Ja's stumbles back.

“ Ja’s lets go. “

The hardness of his voice spurs him into action. Bruce doesn’t move. He doesn’t move an inch and it hurts so badly he thinks he might die. When the lanterns take off he hesitates for just a moment. His eyes find Dick’s hoping for…. He doesn’t know what. When their eyes meet his heart pounds and his blood rushes in his ears. The blankness he gets back makes him flinch.

His eyes flicker to the Robins and the innocent wide eye stare is just- too much. He feels like a spectacle. His eyes flutter around and soon he realizes just how out of place he is. Not like he ever fit to begin with.

Shame rolls over him. He staggered back a few steps. No one moves and his throat goes dry. He turns and flies after Ryner in mortification.

#star sapphire jason au #ficlets #lanterns lead home #gen fic

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chaos-of-the-abyss · 4 years ago

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Why Dany’s Motivation for Abolishing Slavery is Not “Condescending Compassion”

Anon: Someone I know irl keeps who’s a Dany anti keeps saying that they don’t like Dany because she has “condescending compassion” for the slaves she freed. I really want to argue back because I know they’re wrong, but I can’t articulate why. Could you give me an example of what condescending compassion really is, and explain why that’s not what Dany is showing?

Whew, it’s been a while since I got an ask about Dany, but I’m always open to defend her. This one was long and interesting for me, so I put it in post form rather than just answering the ask. I hope you don’t mind, anon.

Dany’s attitude towards the freedmen and the slaves she wants to free in the future is far from “condescending compassion.”

“Condescending Compassion is when a person feels magnanimous enough not to hold someone's 'faults' against them openly. They can't help being a commoner, idiot, mutant or simply wrong so it would be rude to treat them badly because of it. Instead, they resort to the much better idea that they should be sympathetic or even friendly to that lesser being, but of course, they won't really take them seriously.”

Source

This is not what Dany does. Here’s an actual example of condescending compassion. Under the cut for length and Fate/Grand Order spoilers, even though I really don’t think any of my followers know about or play it except for my constant spamming. Also, I will warn you that I ended up talking more about Fate/Grand Order than Dany because I was trying to explain the example, so... sorry about that. Also I got carried away

Someone who really exhibits a serious case of condescending compassion would be Goetia, the main antagonist of Fate/Grand Order Arc 1: Observer on Timeless Temple. Goetia is one of the seven Evils of Humanity, the Sin of Pity, which is, in essence, the embodiment of condescending compassion. To explain:

Goetia was essentially the collective consciousness of the 72 Demon God Pillars, who were familiars of King Solomon, the founder of magecraft. Solomon made a spell to manifest said collective consciousness as Goetia, so the Demon God Pillars could continue to protect humanity after his death.

As Solomon’s familiar, Goetia shared Solomon’s ability of Clairvoyance, which, in Solomon’s case, enabled him to see all of the past and all of the future. Over time, Goetia became enraged that Solomon refused to do anything about the constant death and suffering of humanity despite being an extremely powerful mage who could see all the hardships that had occurred and were in store (thanks to his Clairvoyance). Thus, after Solomon’s death, Goetia possessed Solomon’s corpse, obtaining the majority of his powers as well as nine of the ten rings given to Solomon by God, which was the source of a good bit of Solomon’s abilities. The tenth ring, however, was sent into the future by Solomon on God’s command, so Goetia wasn’t able to obtain it. That’s an important plot point for later.

Goetia waited until modern day (2018 I think?) and then used measures he had put in place to wipe out all of humanity. Not just the humans living in the present, but all of the humans who had lived in the past were killed, too. So think of it as everyone who exists, ever existed, or will exist, dead. The only survivors were the protagonists of Fate/Grand Order.

After incinerating humanity, Goetia planned to convert all of the destroyed mankind into magical energy, which he would then use to travel back in time to the planet’s creation. He wanted to start Earth all over again and establish a new humanity. However, this new humanity would be different from the old humanity; they would be unchanging, deathless organisms with no biological or emotional flaws, much like Goetia himself.

The thing is, Goetia loved humanity in his own way and wanted what he thought was best for them. It essentially goes like this: Humans know so little, while his knowledge, through his Clairvoyance, borders on omniscience. Humans turn on and hurt each other for their own self-interest, while he is capable of thinking and acting on a much wider scale. Humans have to die eventually, unlike him who’s immortal, and so everything that every single human ever did, in Goetia’s mind, was for nothing. Why would it have meaning, if their only possible option is to die eventually?

Poor things, right? He has to help them. They came out wrong. They’re so weak and hopeless, so he’s going to destroy their existence and their history and create them anew, the right way. (Aka his way.)

The way he loves humanity is belittling. No one wants help from someone who thinks of them like that. This quote is a pretty good summation of his love for humanity, borne of a legitimate case of condescending compassion.

“Do you think being forced to watch the lives of humans is an interesting task, one worthy of me!? I’m sick of it! No matter what happens, they just disappear, and only fear remains! Every human’s life is a story of hate and despair! It’s a terrible thing to watch!”

He invalidates all of humanity’s struggles, every single human’s life, because he’s not human himself. It’s not true that death means that everything that one ever does is pointless, but Goetia, being an immortal being unfamiliar with the concept of death, someone who doesn’t have to worry about an end ever coming to him, doesn’t understand that (for now). This is displayed in the multiple times he asks the protagonist and Mash, the deuteragonist, why. Why do they keep fighting, knowing that they can’t beat him? Even if they somehow could – why do they keep fighting, knowing that they’ll all die one day? Why do they keep fighting, when it’s so pointless?

But then, the basis of Goetia’s immortality is destroyed when Solomon reappears, having actually been one of the protagonist’s main allies disguised as a doctor. Remember that tenth ring that Solomon sent to the future under God’s instruction? Although Goetia has the majority of Solomon’s powers now that he possesses his corpse and the remaining nine rings, the tenth ring was something he never obtained. As it turns out, the real Solomon retrieved that ring, which was used as a catalyst to summon him, when he manifested in the modern era.

Solomon now uses the power of the gathered ten rings to perform his trump card – The Time of Parting Hath Come, I Am He Who Surrenders the World: Ars Nova – to return all of the powers God gave him back to God. In essence, he “closes the curtain” on himself, everything he has ever done, and everything he’s ever created, including Goetia. Ars Nova removes Solomon entirely from existence (rip), but it also removes Goetia’s immortality, and then the protagonist manages to land a fatal blow on him.

A little before Solomon uses Ars Nova and vanishes, he explains to Goetia why he didn’t try to change humanity the way Goetia did, despite seeing all of the past and future and consequently being exposed over and over again to how inevitable humans’ deaths were.

“That’s what you fail to understand, Goetia. Of course nothing is eternal, and pain awaits us all in the end. But that doesn’t make life a story of despair. Not at all. It’s a fight against death and separation in what precious little time one is given. It’s a repetition of meeting and parting, despite knowing there’s an end. ...Humans’ stories are dazzling, brief journeys, like the twinkling of the stars. They are stories of love and hope.”

At first, when he was still immortal, Goetia refused this logic, saying that it’s “deception” on Solomon’s part. Now, though, with Solomon having used Ars Nova and the protagonist having landed a fatal blow, Goetia is dying. For the first time, he’s confronted with the possibility of an end to his existence. He has no way, absolutely no means, to prevent his death now. Yet, when the protagonist attempts to escape the now-crumbling dimension in which Goetia made his temple, Goetia says this. (And I cut out a lot, because this is a long-ass monologue.)

“We finally understand each other. I’m not going to let you leave alive. You will die here with me. ...My dream is in ruins. Everything I did here in this temple, all the time I spent planning... All of it, for naught. [...] No matter what I do here, now, I cannot redeem my failure. Killing you will change nothing. ...This is a meaningless battle. This would have been an unthinkable choice for me before. But...

...Yes, indeed. I also have my pride. Or rather, I do now. I now understand human mentality. Now that I have a limited, mortal life, I finally understand. [...] My name is Goetia. I am the one who used humanity to destroy humanity. The one who strove for what lay beyond. A climax with no one around. ...I strove for an empty wish that none truly wanted. I am born now and I shall perish now. This battle may be without resolution or reward, but I shall put my entire being on the line to crush you. ...My sworn enemy. My hatred. My destiny. I want you to witness this. This brief moment is now my story. This brief but precious time has given the creature called Goetia true life.”

This quote is so poignant. Although Goetia attempts to pull a “taking you with me” on the protagonist, this is a rare example of the trope that is not meant to paint the villain in a final negative light, as a petty sore loser. Rather, it’s an indication that Goetia finally understands Solomon’s view on humanity, why humans strive so hard despite their lives being so short, and why the protagonist and Mash put their everything into fighting him despite knowing that they’ll inevitably die no matter what the outcome is. Humans’ time on earth is, in Goetia’s own words, “brief but precious.” He actually echoes what Solomon said about humans’ stories being “dazzling, brief journeys”, despite having so vehemently rejected it when he was immortal.

There’s no point in Goetia killing the protagonist. Just like he once believed human life to be meaningless, it should be meaningless whether he wins or not; he’ll die no matter what, and his plans are already foiled. When he was immortal, he never would have thought like this.

But Goetia isn’t immortal now. He has a finite lifespan; in fact, he’s about to die. There’s nothing he can do to save himself. Yet, he still wants to take the protagonist down with him, simply because he “has his pride.” And what’s more? Even if he loses, he wants the protagonist to witness his end. He asks to be seen, acknowledged, and remembered, despite all his work having been for nothing.

Both of those desires are human things. Goetia now knows what it’s like to be human. His case of condescending compassion is closed; he no longer looks down on humanity, because he understands them. He empathizes with them. He experiences being human.

But Dany? She never once looked down on the slaves she wanted to free. She doesn’t think, “Oh, poor things. They can’t possibly help themselves, not with how frail and simple they are. They’re so vulnerable, so delicate, so abused. Let me save them.” No.

Dany always understood what it feels like to be owned. She was abused by her brother for years, with no means to protect herself from him. Then she was sold to a man more than twice her age and made into a glorified sex slave, again with no way to defend herself. She’s already experienced something very much like what the slaves she strives to free have gone through. And even though she later gains agency and power, she never forgets what being owned, being unable to fight back, is like.

As the hours passed, the terror grew in Dany, until it was all she could do not to scream. She was afraid of the Dothraki, whose ways seemed alien and monstrous, as if they were beasts in human skins and not true men at all. She was afraid of her brother, of what he might do if she failed him. Most of all, she was afraid of what would happen tonight under the stars, when her brother gave her up to the hulking giant who sat drinking beside her with a face as still and cruel as a bronze mask.

A Game of Thrones – Daenerys II

"There speaks one who has been neither." Dany's nostrils flared. "Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and I ... my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid?"

A Storm of Swords – Daenerys II

Safe. The word made Dany's eyes fill up with tears. "I want to keep you safe." Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. "No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don't always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …"

A Dance with Dragons – Daenerys II

More than anything else, Daenerys always understood that her brother sold her as a bargaining chip – his own sister, and he uses her like some animal hide to trade off. She understood that she could do nothing to defend herself when she was with Viserys, and later, with Drogo. If they wanted to hurt her, no one would have stood up for her, no one would have protected her, and if she tried to protect herself, she would have been punished. She was in the same position as an object; no rights and no guarantees of basic decency. Dany experienced that fear and dehumanization firsthand. She empathizes with the slaves she wants to free in the way that Goetia, only at the end of his life, empathized with humans.

That’s why she wants to abolish slavery. She went through that horror firsthand, and she doesn’t want anyone else to have to go through it again. She wants to protect people from it, because she knows how awful and disgusting and traumatic it is.

TLDR: It’s a complete and gross mischaracterization to write off Dany’s motivations for abolishing slavery as “condescending compassion”. It’s spitting on everything that she suffered from Viserys and from Drogo. It’s empathy, not condescending compassion, that motivates her.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys defense squad #the queensguard #asoiaf meta #asoiaf quotes #my asoiaf meta #goetia #solomon #fate series meta #fate series quotes #fate series #fate grand order #fate/grand order

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edelwoodsouls · 4 years ago

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i still pick up at the sound of your call [fic]

"Is that a dalek on tv?" [or: Martha has some choice questions for the Doctor regarding the new Prime Minister's addess]

Inspired by this post

Word Count: 1,799 | Also on Ao3

"Oi, what the fuck is going on?"

The Doctor blinks. Pulls the phone away from her ear, to check the number again, check she isn't hallucinating. She'd hardly believed it when she saw it, hasn't seen those numbers strung together in years, though they're still burned into her mind.

Another life, another time.

Another friend burned to ashes.

She hesitates, for just a moment. Takes a deep breath. "Hey, Martha," she cringes instantly at the hollow lightness of her tone, only drawing attention to the lifetimes between their last words. "What's up?"

A heavy pause on the other end. The Doctor tries to imagine her old companion, for just a moment. She'd promised herself she would check up on her friends from time to time, make sure they were okay, if she could help them from the shadows in any way - but that promise has fallen between the cracks, lost along the way with everything she ever thought was true.

The last time she saw Martha, she saved her life. Moments before her own - his own, back then - had slipped between her fingers.

She'd looked happy. The Doctor could never have predicted Martha and Mickey of all people, but she was glad for them. She had ruined their lives in so many ways by crashing through them, by falling in love with Rose - this was the least they deserved.

So she imagines Martha like that. Curled up on the sofa, cornrowed hair and sparkling eyes. Legs tangled up with Mickey as they watch tv in the burnt orange glow of a dying London afternoon.

Oh, fuck. The tv.

"Uh, hi," Martha answers finally, wrong-footed and uncertain. "I wanted to speak to the Doctor, could you put him on, please? Sorry, I- uh, I'm Martha. Jones. I used to travel with him. I'm guessing you're the new companion? What happened to Donna?"

An unexpected lump rises in the Doctor's throat. Thousands of years - thousands - have passed since she last bothered to check in on Martha Jones. How many companions have been and gone in that time? How many have crumbled to ash beneath her fingers?

She swallows it down, files it under Compartmentalise, and Never Think of Again.

Sunshine. Enthusiasm. Energy. The tenets she's founded herself on this go around. She plasters a bright smile on her face, as if contorting her muscles will trick her tone into believing she means it.

"Just me, I'm afraid," she grins, skipping around the TARDIS to fiddle with the controls to keep her hands busy. "Had a bit of a change of face since you last saw me."

Furious whispers on the other side of the phone, far enough away from the receiver that even she can't hear them. She imagines Martha and Mickey, confusion and surprise warring with each other.

This reveal never gets old.

"Sooo, how've you been? How's Mickey? It's been, what, nearly ten years since you last saw me?"

"Uh, yeah," Martha returns to the phone, hesitant. She's never had to deal with regeneration, really. "I didn't know you could- I mean, when you said you change, I didn't realise that-"

"I can be anything I like! It's great, innit? I could have two heads or green skin if I felt like it. First time I've been a woman, though. Well, first time I remember, I guess. Still haven't been ginger, though. Maybe one day."

"Different face, same amount of energy," Martha laughs, and the sound lifts a weight from the Doctor's chest she didn't even know was there. "Mickey says hi."

"Yeah- hi!" A more distant voice echoes through the phone, startled at being addressed.

"Hi! It's great to hear from you!" She twirls the phone cord around a finger. If there's one thing she always regrets in her lives, it's the way her previous selves treated their companions. Each one with a different idea of relationships, of how things should be done.

This version of her thinks Mickey would be a great companion, if not for her Rose-tinted blinders.

"So, to what do I owe this call? Hope you kids have been keeping out of trouble, though somehow, I doubt it."

"Right!" Martha yelps. The whole regeneration thing definitely threw her for a loop. "Yeah, Doctor, what the fuck is going on? Is that a dalek we just saw on tv?"

"Ah, yeah... it is, yeah."

"And?"

"And I'm sorting it out?" The Doctor glances over her shoulder, towards the corridor the fam disappeared down a few minutes ago to get ready. They'll be back any second.

It's not that the Doctor doesn't want the fam to know about her old companions. They've met Jack, know she hasn't been on her own all this time, but- still.

Her companions don't have the best survival rate. It's selfish, probably, to keep having them, and yet she somehow never goes without them for long.

(She's lonely, she knows it. She's not a good person on her own. She clings to these fragments of knowledge and calls it reason.)

"But why is there a dalek on tv, Doctor? New security drones, that's what they're saying. Do they not remember the whole Earth-moving, twenty-seven planets, dalek invasion thing?"

"Or the Battle of Canary Wharf?" Mickey adds, words heavy with an underlying anger. Rose was lost to save the world from daleks, after all.

The least she deserves is to have her sacrifice remembered.

"I'm not sure, to be honest," the Doctor admits, flinging herself onto one of the crystalline seats near the console. "It's incredibly weird, actually. As far as I can tell, the entire human race has forgotten that aliens exist at all. No stolen Earth, no Titanic flying over London or Racnoss star at Christmas. No Battle of Canary Wharf."

"That's- I mean, how does that even happen?"

"I have no idea. Something to do with collective consciousness, I'd guess. Some manipulation from another race wanting to remove Earth's knowledge and wariness of aliens. The Arkangel network is still flying strong in your orbit, after all. It wouldn't be so hard to harness the technology. Maybe even your own governments, or some rogue branch of Torchwood. I never did find Torchwood 2 or 4."

"Then how the hell do we still remember?"

"Probably my fault. You're still keyed into the TARDIS's neural network, so she's protecting you from the effects. Sorry about that."

"No, it's- it's good," Martha splutters. "Are you going to try and fix it?"

"Maybe," the Doctor leans back in her chair, pulling the phone cord as far as it will go. "Once all of this is over, I might look into it. Just to check if it's malevolent or not. It's not a bad thing, necessarily. To forget. Some of things they must have seen..."

She shakes her head to clear it. Can't let herself stop and think for too long, or she might never escape the whirlpool's tide.

"Anyway," Martha says - she always was good at noticing her spirals, circumventing them. "How's Donna?"

Nevermind. She speaks the words lightly, but in a tone that says she noticed the Doctor's avoidance earlier and is bracing for bad news.

"She's great!" the Doctor manages a smile, glad to have something, anything to latch onto that isn't her own thoughts. "Happily married, actually. Won the lottery a few years ago, doing very well for herself."

"That's- that's really good to hear."

"She doesn't remember me." She lets the words fall, as much as she wishes she could hold them close and buried and gone. But Donna needs to be kept safe, and Martha reaching out to her would be- not good. "She doesn't remember anything that happened. I- I had to wipe her memory, after the daleks. It was killing her."

The silence stretches longer this time, and for a moment the Doctor is sure she's broken everything.

"Well, I'm glad she's happy," Martha says eventually. "There are worse fates, right?"

So many of your companions have had worse fates, she doesn't say, but the Doctor reads between the lines anyway.

"Yeah," she breathes.

"And how are you doing, Doctor? You're not alone, are you?"

"No! I'm great, actually. Got my fam. Yaz is really cool, you'd love her. Ryan and Graham are great. Jack's back in town right now, helped me out of prison-"

"Helped you out of where?"

"-and we're just sorting out this whole dalek thing! Should be all over pretty soon. Just, stay where you are."

"You know we can't do that, Doctor." If anything, Martha sounds amused. Determined. Ready to pick up her sword once again, defend the Earth from whatever might be coming.

In this second, everything is right with the world, and she misses Martha Jones in a way that hurts both her hearts at once.

"Well, stay safe at least. I'll call you back when this is done, to let you know."

"Thank you, Doctor. Maybe we could, I don't know- grab a drink, or something. Catch up."

"I'd like that," she replies, and they both know she has very little intent on following through.

Yaz appears at the end of the corridor, eyes bright, smile warm. She's chattering to someone, probably Ryan, completely oblivious, no weight on her shoulders.

The Doctor wishes she could keep Yaz like that, happy, delighted, laughing. Wishes that smile was just for her.

But she might have ruined it forever.

She's learnt to trust the TARDIS over the years, learnt that the TARDIS arrives when she thinks the Doctor should be rather than where the Doctor wants to be. She wants to trust that this, too, was for a good reason. The TARDIS has never led her wrong, in the end.

She has to believe.

"Well, I'll let you crazy kids go be heroes. Beat up some daleks for me, will you?"

"Of course, Doctor," Martha says. The Doctor imagines her smiling, linking fingers with Mickey. "Stay safe out there."

"Always," the Doctor grins. As Yaz and Ryan approach, she jumps up, throws the phone back on its hook and grabs hold of the TARDIS's controls.

"Who was that?" Yaz asks, wary, unsure of how to act around her. They need to sit down and talk, hash out the last ten months - and nineteen years - but now isn't the time.

Unfortunately, the time rarely seems to appear.

"Just an old friend checking in," the Doctor shrugs, avoiding her new companions' eyes. "There's daleks on the tv, haven't you heard? Let's fix that."

She throws the TARDIS into flight with a delighted whoop - after all these years, the thrill of flight never quite fades.

She's lost companions before, but as Martha’s call has reminded her, not all of them have met bad ends.

She refuses to let the fam down on that one, too.

#doctor who #dw spoilers #revolution of the daleks #martha jones #thirteenth doctor #mickey smith #yasmin khan #thasmin #fanfiction #own work #morgan writes

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years ago

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Tᴡᴏ Fɪɴɢᴇʀs

Word Count: 2056

Requested: yes. not my best work, but i think i’m satisfied with the result. i’d like to do more things like this.

violence. graphic description of loss of limb.

“The universe is made of five elements, and each of the five fingers is represented by one of these elements. The thumb represents the fire, as well as universal consciousness. The index finger represents air and individual consciousness. The middle finger represents akasha, or connection. The ring finger represents earth, and the little finger the element of water.

When these five elements are not in balance, we can experience disease in the body.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Anakin gasps as he hits the ground. The blow knocks all the wind from his lungs, leaving him heaving and choking for air. The soreness creeps into his muscles suddenly and without warning.

His left palm slams against the matted floor below him, tapping out. The slap rings out, but Anakin almost feels like you didn’t hear it. He hits the floor a second time, slightly softer with his urgency.

“I’m out,” Anakin gasps. “I’m out!”

“I know,” you say smugly. You stand tall above him as proof of who’s won this fight. It was just sparring, but that didn’t make the man feel any better. You weren’t necessarily more powerful than him, or a better Jedi. But you were more flexible and swift in combat, which made you a more challenging opponent with hand to hand sessions.

Your hand drops down to the man, an offering to help him up. After raising his head just enough to observe it, he rolls his eyes. His left hand reaches up to clasp your own. For extra support, his right, metal one comes up as well. You grip both tightly, using your knees to bring him up.

“You’re lucky we aren’t fighting for real,” you say as you heave the man up.

Anakin gives a single, humorous huff. “You’d never fight me. We both know it.”

Then you looked into his eyes. A small, calm and loving smile formed on your lips, taking in the shape of his face. Bright blue orbs, slightly arched brows with a slit from his scar. Smooth skin, chapped and pink lips. He was the chosen one, the one who walked the sky. The most beautiful, important person in your life. Your colleague, your friend... your family. Your love. The one you would follow anywhere.

“I guess you’re right,” you say simply, admiration glued to your eyes. “I would never fight you.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Now it was your turn for your body to feel sore.

It stemmed from your chest, at your most important organ. Your heart was buzzing between not beating at all and beating all too fast and hard. Your lungs were begging for a real breath of air, and try as you might to deliver it, it was difficult. Every intake of oxygen was agony, no matter how long ago you saw it as a blessing. Everything inside of you was falling apart, crumbling and crippling and hacking itself into millions of pieces. It hurt.

You were leading your troops into battle over Saleucami. There was a few cruisers for support, firing at the opposes forces Separatist ships. Multicolored lasers everywhere, you and your men zipping about in your fighters.

Flying was always fun for you. Anakin and yourself used to race in your off time, laughing when Obi-Wan fell behind. Anakin won too many times to count, you a close second. But this time flying wasn’t fun. Something went wrong.

“I’m glad I have you,” you said over the coms, following your commander’s acts. Some daft droids were on your tail, being very persistent about following you before he shot them down. “You’re the best, Izzy,” you promised him. And normally, he would’ve said something back. But this time, all you heard was a quiet breath.

Commander Izzy shot you out of the sky, taking out one of your engines. You clambered forward, bracing your head as you spiraled out of control. The smoke was filling your chamber fast, your fingers jamming in between panels and oozing with blood. The Clone shot at your fighter again for good measure. A few seconds later, you crashed through a ray shielded Separatist hanger and skidded across the ground.

Order Sixty-Six had taken something from everyone. It took Cody from Obi-Wan. It took Padme’s will. Ahsoka was left with nothing but a shattered state of mind, and Rex not far behind her. Maul no longer had a sense of direction. The Jedi lost their troops, and their lives. The troops lost their family. The only Jedi who gained anything from the Order was Master Windu, who had earned the pleasure of being right in his final moments. But you had lost more than just one thing, or one person.

The first thing you lost was two fingers.

Your left pointer and middle were trapped in between a slot of two metal sheets. You could feel the wires under them. No matter how much they wiggled, they wouldn’t come free. They were burning, straining, losing blood and fast. The deep ruby color was coming down in thick streams as you grit your teeth, holding it at the wrist as you pulled and growled.

The burning ceased with a pop. You didn’t have the time to scream or shout or bind the wound. Your memory was rather blurred, but you managed to roll out of your fighter just before it exploded into millions of pieces. Then you laid on the floor for a while, heaving as you clutched your left palm close to your chest and your veins froze over. The blood was pumping out of you in rivers and splotches and staining everything. The pain was immobilizing, but there was more to it.

All you could think about was Anakin. You didn’t know why. His name just continued to drum over in your mind like a vibration. You could hear distant screams of friends and younglings. You could hear your own, future screams of agony. You could feel Obi-Wan’s tears drop down in heavy drips. You could even smell the birth of a child, followed by another loss.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Then, Order Sixty-Six took your loved ones. That’s why you are where you are now.

The planets heat was licking your face furiously. Bubbles of lava exploded into bolts in the distance. You hadn’t believed it when you’d seen the giant, obsidian fortress looming into the sky, but now you were forced to. You hadn’t believed it when you’d heard Obi-Wan say the words, but now you were forced to. You hadn’t believed it when you felt it deep in your soul, when you had seen it all through his eyes. Now you were forced to.

And it felt awful.

It hurt like hell. It hurt worse than tearing your fingers apart. It hurt worse than the time you were speared through your shoulder. It hurt worse than losing Izzy. It hurt worse than watching Ahsoka walk away. It hurt worse than anything in the galaxy. It was more than just physical pain too- it was emotional, mental. Rooted deep down inside of you and gluing itself to your bloody tendons. But it was real. It was alive and clear as a Tatooine dawn. That was the worst part.

“You turned her against me!” Anakin had yelled. His chest was raising with heavy breaths of rage, eyes flitting between Obi-Wan and yourself. Your own lungs felt like they were collapsing in time with his.

Obi-Wan stood strong. “You have done that yourself,” he promised. Had air always been this difficult to not choke on?

“You will not take her from me!” Anakin seethed. His hair was glowing in the fiery light. Eyes were piercing and daring and troubling all the same, melted like a sickness. A Sith sickness. They met yours, and you know he feels vengeful and disappointed in you all the same. He’s wrong for it, but it stings nonetheless.

“You came here to kill me!” he accuses.

You give out a painful breath, trying not to let your eyes fill with tears. “I came here to save you!” you roared back over the lava. “To talk some sense into you!”

“You’re the one who needs some sense talked into you!” Anakin retorted angrily. His right hand drops to his saber at his side. This time it hurts your bones. “You’re traitors! The both of you are traitors!”

“Anakin do you hear yourself?!” Obi-Wan yelled. Anakin didn’t tear his eyes from yours.

“Join me, or fight me.”

Was Anakin even Anakin anymore? Blinded by hatred and revenge and everything he’d sworn to destroy, he would kill you if he had to. He would kill everything you had once shared. Stories, truths, jokes, stares that lasted longer than they should’ve. He was going to let it die, and you with it. Maybe he even wanted to finish it himself.

“I said I wouldn’t fight you,” you told him. “And I meant it.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You never saw Anakin again.

Obi-Wan and Anakin... Obi-Wan and Darth Vader slipped away from you in battle. They disappeared down a bridge and hallway, their blue beams clashing against each other over and over again. It was more than hard to watch. You were ashamed of yourself for not being able to fight him like Obi-Wan had, for lacking the strength or courage to do so. But Anakin was everything to you. You couldn’t find it within yourself to harm him, especially not after the promise you’d made to him so long ago.

You took Padme back to the ship. Then you sat and waited, knowing someone was not coming back. Whether it was Anakin or Obi-Wan, you couldn’t say. But you could feel everything you chest fluttering. Every lightsaber swing from him, every beat of his heart. You could feel it like it was your own.

And when he fell down into the fires of Mustafar, your whole body went aflame as well. Burn marks appeared like drawings on your skin, scarring you forever.

Anakin didn’t come back. Anakin wouldn’t come back until years and years later, after even Obi-Wan’s death. If you lived to see it, he wouldn’t know. Once he became the metal man, his bond was separated from you. Anything you two might’ve had was gone, melting down in the lava as he had.

The only time he’d see anything of yours again was about a month later, when a droid had brought him two skinny, long fingers as proof of your death.

You’d begged him not to go down the path that he had chosen. He could remember your voice ringing in his mind with all the memories, dividing the man even further. But what was done was done. Darth Vader couldn’t have brought back the lives he’d taken. He couldn’t have asked Padme to forgive him, or Obi-Wan to help him. And he couldn’t ask you to kill him, because you’d made a vow to never strike him down out of pure love.

You’d loved him more than anyone, and that’s how he knew. Padme had left him, and he struck her down. Obi-Wan had challenged him, and he dueled him out. But when Anakin had killed everyone, and left everything behind, you had stayed strong in your promise. Even when his actions had costed you part of your hand, you were true.

That’s what broke his heart the most.

At nights, when all in the galaxy is quiet and asleep except for Lord Vader himself, he opens up his hologram. Some nights he sees Padme. Some nights he sees Ahsoka. Most nights, he sees Obi-Wan. But then there’s nights where he forces himself to look at your face again, admit to you what he’s done. If you’re dead, he doesn’t know it. He just knows he can’t feel you anymore.

He doesn’t know that you share his burns. He doesn’t know that you live in exile with only eight fingers. But he misses you. And when he returns to where he belongs, when Anakin returns to the light, he’ll tell you he’s sorry. He’ll tap out, one last time.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @imagines-im-obsessed-about @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @haztory @fanficsforheartandsoul i think that’s everyone this time.

#anakin angst #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker angst #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagines #tcw imagines #twc angst #tcw x reader #star wars angst #darth vader x reader #angst #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

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andcontemplation · 4 years ago

Text

Old Friends, New Lives

Joyce Byers saw a ghost. Right there in the produce section of the supermarket.

Across the display of crated oranges, hovering over the bulk bins, Jim Hopper had caught her eye. She stopped in her tracks and gasped. It was clear by the shock written all over her face that she wasn’t expecting to see him.

“What are you doing here?”

The words tumbled out of her before she bit down on her bottom lip so hard, there was no way she didn’t taste blood, and her eyes went wide. She blinked once, twice, and gave her head a little shake. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing -- was it really him?

“Getting groceries for my mom,” Hopper gave a half shrug. “What does it look like?”

He waved the list at her as if to convince her that yes -- he was indeed real, and it wasn’t really a big deal. Not like she hadn’t seen him in just a smidge over two years.

843 days to be precise… not like either of them was keeping count.

A smirk tugged the corners of his mouth at the sight of her floundering above the mixed nuts, but he fought it. She was still so cute when she was flustered, and to be honest, he was enjoying making her squirm—just a bit.

Joyce just shook her head impatiently.

“No, I meant, what are you doing here? At home. We weren’t expecting you…”

Hopper glanced at his list and grabbed a box of oranges for his basket.

“I’m on R n’ R. Uncle Sam let me come home for a few weeks before my next tour.”

Joyce continued to shake her head, moving from impatience into disbelief. Or maybe hurt? Anger. Sadness.

She blinked back what looked like tears and nearly choked on her next words.

“And you didn’t think to call? Or write?”

“Well, I was going to…” Hopper shrugged again, wondering how much longer he could keep up this charade of not-giving-a-fuck. Then he reminded himself that he kinda had a reason to be distant and cold with her.

“So why didn’t you?” she asked.

Joyce shifted her weight, and even though he couldn’t see it, he knew she had her hands on her hips behind the display. He couldn’t meet her gaze, so he glanced around the store, at the walnuts on sale, at a young family passing by pushing their baby in a shopping cart. Looking anywhere but at her.

“Didn’t think it was right to hit up someone else old lady at Christmastime,” he muttered after a second.

Joyce sighed deeply, and it drew his attention back to her.

She was staring at him, in earnest or exasperation, he couldn’t tell. Her eyes drifted over him as if taking in his image just in case it was the last time she might see him again. It didn’t feel like much had changed since they’d seen each other last. Sure, his messy, dirty blonde mop was now cropped high and tight, and the old button-down flannel he’d got from his closet didn’t quite fit him like it used to just a few years ago back in high school. He’d bulked up from his time in the army and lost some of that boyish charm and innocence somewhere along the way to the jungles of Vietnam, and maybe she could see that too.

She was staring into his soul now. As much as he might’ve been hurt, she was hurt too, maybe even worse. If that was even possible.

“We’re still friends, Hop,” she said, finally.

“Are we?”

Joyce nodded, her cheeks flushed. She looked down for a long moment, and when she raised her head again, he swore she looked just a little bit guilty.

“Yeah,” she said. “We are.”

Then she stepped around the bulk bin, out from behind the crates of Christmas oranges and into the open where he could see now why she might feel guilty. Just a bit.

Hopper knew about the wedding. He didn’t know about this...

Joyce pushed her cart to the side and walked closer to him, fully aware it was his turn to stare now. Her left hand fell to her belly self-consciously, and Hopper didn’t know what hurt worse: the flash of a modest gold ring on her finger under the harsh fluorescent lights or the graceful swell of the child growing inside her.

She was glowing with her rosy cheeks, dark hair pulled up high in a bouncy ponytail, and a blue corduroy jumper dress that flattered in her condition. Motherhood looked surprisingly good on her, and Hopper struggled with the emotions bubbling up inside; that it wasn’t him who put her in the family way instead.

“Christ, look at you,” was all he managed to get out, his hardened exterior slowly starting to melt away.

Joyce heaved a sigh and leaned against the bins.

“Yeah.”

Hopper’s heart sank at the verbal confirmation that what he was seeing was the god awful truth. He cleared his throat and tried to talk over the lump forming there.

“I heard from Mom that you and Lonnie…”

He couldn’t finish. He didn’t want to think about the fact her new last name was now Byers.

“Yeah,” Joyce said again, looking sorry. “I wanted to tell you. I just… didn’t know how.”

Hopper just shook his head.

“How-- I mean… When are you… due?”

“Any day now.”

Hopper rocked back on his heels, searching for something more to say than abject stammering. The emotions were getting the best of him.

“He treating you good?”

“Yeah,” Joyce breathed, a happy grin creeping up on her lips. “Never thought I’d say that. But Lon’s been really sweet on me since he found out he’s gonna be a dad. It was even his idea to get hitched,” she said, trailing off, “I wanted to wait…”

Anger and jealousy won, and Hopper’s lip curled, despite himself.

“Didn’t wait very long, huh?”

He only sort of regretted saying it the second Joyce’s grin vanished.

“Well, good for Lonnie,” Hopper continued, trying his best not to sound too sarcastic. “Never pegged him for the marrying kind.”

The color disappeared from her cheeks then, too. Joyce set her jaw and glared.

“At least he stays true to his commitments. Unlike some people.”

Hopper rolled his eyes.

“Yes. Clearly, Lonnie knows where his priorities lie. Like sending his pregnant wife out to get groceries for Christmas dinner right when she’s about ready to pop.”

Joyce gripped her shopping cart and pulled it towards her in defiance.

“Well… a wife’s responsibility is running the house, you know.”

“Not when you’re as big as a house.”

Hopper realized what he said as it left his mouth, and he had never felt more regret in his twenty short years on Planet Earth.

“Excuse me?”

“Whatever happened to women’s lib?” Hopper tried to backpedal. “I thought you were all for getting women out of the house…”

“I am nine months pregnant, Jim Hopper--”

“I just meant you shouldn’t be on your feet right--”

But Joyce refused to hear him.

“I cannot believe you! That is the rudest--”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

He cut her off, raising his voice, causing the nearby shoppers to stop and gawk at the trouble brewing next to a case of apples and oranges.

“You know what?” Her hand went up, and she leaned forward over her cart handle. “I’m going to stop you right there before I take out your knee caps using this shopping cart as my battering ram.”

Her eyebrows shot up as if she was telling him to try her. For a moment, he was actually scared of the five-foot-three mother-to-be -- she was absolutely Horrifying with a capital H when she was hormonal and angry. No Viet-Cong could send chills down his spine the way she just did.

Then, as if a switch was flipped, Joyce straightened up, looked at her wristwatch, and pressed her lips together, slowly pushing her cart away.

“It was really nice running into you, Jim, but you’ll have to excuse me. I suddenly have more important things to do… like pick out a ham.”

“Great!”

Hopper grabbed an apple and slammed it into his basket. He grabbed another and squeezed it, bruising the fruit as he watched her walk away.

“Excellent. Thanks for the catch-up. Let’s do this again sometime!” He called out after her, eliciting a few more concerned glances from passers-by.

She stopped at the next aisle, looked over her shoulder, and gave him an exaggerated eye roll and a dismissive wave.

“Have a nice life, Hop,” she muttered over her shoulder, just under her breath. Just loud enough so only he could hear her.

“Same to you, sweetheart,” he snarled, even though he was pretty sure only the bananas heard him that time.

A few moments later, Hopper was awkwardly standing in front of the bountiful display of yams and potatoes, his shopping basket at his feet, hoping Joyce would be done with the cereal soon -- where he needed to go next -- when he heard her cuss. Expecting it to be directed at him, he turned, ready to start the argument up again but instead, his blood ran cold.

Joyce was holding herself up against the Cheerios, clutching the shelf with white knuckles. Her face was twisted in pain.

Hopper left the basket at his feet and crossed the produce section to get to her as fast as possible.

“You okay?” he asked as he approached, worried.

“Yeah, fine.” Joyce waved him off through a grimace. She rubbed her belly and tried to convince the both of them. “It’s just a little cramp. I’ve had them all morning.”

“Joyce,” Hopper said, reaching for her as the cramp worsened.

“I’m fine!” She shouted, pulling her arm out of his grasp. The motion made her fall back into her cart, and Hopper caught her just in time before it rolled away on her.

“No,” he told her firmly. “You’re not!”

Joyce grimaced and whined and bore down through the pain.

“I- I think I’m…” she stammered before it happened.

Hopper stepped back just as her water hit the floor tiles with a sickening splash. Joyce looked up at him, stunned.

Oh shit.

“Okay,” he said, taking charge. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“The groceries…” Joyce said in a daze, reaching for her cart as Hopper was escorting out towards the store’s front.

Just like in combat, Private Hopper never skipped a beat under pressure. All sorts of pressure. Like navigating a minefield or getting his ex-girlfriend to the hospital to deliver his arch-enemy’s baby.

“Forget the groceries,” Hopper told her before he started asking the tough questions. “Where’s Lonnie?”

“I… I don’t know,” Joyce admitted as she waddled down the aisle, Hopper helping to hold her upright from behind. She let go of his hand she didn’t realize she was holding as the wave of pain started to subside.

“He’s not at home?” Hopper asked her. Why was he even surprised?

“He said he was going to visit a friend last night, but he didn’t come home.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Hopper snorted.

As they turned the corner towards the front doors, they passed an unavoidable crowd -- the checkout lines were full of onlookers.

“Hey buddy, clean up on aisle three,” Hopper said to the nearest bag boy.

Everyone at the checkout lanes stopped what they were doing and stared. Some, who knew the pair, whispered between them; others smirked but averted their gaze. The bag boy, who was all of fourteen, turned white as a sheet when he realized what was going on, but the kid quickly nodded, opening the door for them out into the parking lot.

“Out of the way!” Hopper shouted to a group of smoking, loitering teens, and they scattered at the foreboding sight of the pregnant lady going into labor.

“Where’s your car?” Hopper asked Joyce.

She stopped to catch her breath.

“There.”

She pointed at her mom’s beat-up old Ford Galaxie in the expectant-mothers stall and handed him the keys from her purse.

He opened the passenger door for her and all but pushed her in. If she hesitated any more, it might’ve looked like a kidnapping to any other bystanders.

“Do you need anything from home?” he asked as he climbed into the driver’s side. “Or do you want to go straight to the hospital? Joyce?”

She had a distant look on her face, and all the color drained from it in a split second. She was going into shock.

“Joyce!” Hopper barked like he was trying to get a new Private’s attention. “Answer me!”

“I’m fine! I’m fine.” She snapped out of it and moaned. Clutching her stomach, she closed her eyes. “Just take me to hospital. Please hurry.”

He did as he was told, and it didn’t take them long to get there. The Galaxie practically floated down Main street towards Hawkins Memorial on what was left of the suspension. Hopper drove the big pink boat like it was a Ferrari, weaving in and out of the wintery mid-day traffic, and silently practiced what he’d say if they got pulled over. But by the grace of god, they never did.

He got her to the Emergency Room in record time, leaving the car parked and running at the entrance. An orderly helped him bring Joyce to intake, and Hopper helped her answer questions through another wicked contraction. Then, as he got her comfortable in one of the waiting room chairs, with the assurance that it wouldn’t be long now, Hopper got the feeling like maybe he had done all he could, or should...

He would park her car, call a cab to take him back to the supermarket, finish up his mother’s shopping, and go home. His job here was done. Yet he couldn’t help himself when he asked aloud:

“Do you want me to stay?”

Joyce’s eyes were red, rimmed with tears as she tried not to cry while she contemplated his question. It felt like forever before she shook her head.

“No…”

Hopper nodded slowly but took the answer quickly, half expecting it. He squeezed her arm and stood up to go.

“Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Can you find Lonnie? Please?” she asked. “Call Norm Brown. 0465. Or maybe Tony’s? He’s at 3112. Or was it 3113? Shit. I can’t remember…” Joyce wracked her brain for the phone numbers to give him, looking panicked, sucking in shallower and shallower breaths. She was starting to hyperventilate.

“Hey, breathe…” Hopper said, crouching in front of her, getting her to slow down. “Just breathe. I’ll find him for you, okay? I promise. What about your mom? Want me to call her too?”

Joyce focused on her breath, speaking between long inhales and exhales.

“She’s not here. Taking care of aunt Darlene. It’s just Lonnie. And me right now.”

When her breathing evened out, he caught her eye, giving her one last reassurance.

“I’ll find him. Don’t worry your pretty little head… Mom.”

Joyce laughed at the absurdity of the new name on her.

“This is actually happening, isn’t it?” A couple tears ran down her face, and Hopper caught them with his thumb before they got too far down her cheeks.

“Yup.”

“I’m not just dreaming this?” she sputtered, followed by another short giggle.

Hopper forced a smile, even though he knew it was tinged with sadness.

“Nope.”

It looked like Joyce was about to say something more when a matronly grey-haired nurse with a wheelchair interrupted, killing the moment.

“Missus Byers? We can take you in now. Does Dad want to come in too?

Hopper stood up and let go of her hand, practically recoiling.

“Oh, no. No. No… I’m not…”

The older nurse frowned.

“Oh.”

Joyce smiled awkwardly.

“He’s just an old friend.”

“A close friend of the family,” Hopper added.

The nurse raised an eyebrow.

“Sure, whatever you kids wanna call it,” she said, then turned to Joyce. “Are you ready?”

Joyce closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

“Yes,” she said to the nurse. As Hopper helped her into the wheelchair, she reached for him one last time.

“Find him for me, Hop?”

“I will. Hey,” Hopper locked eyes with her and then leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Thanks.” She whispered back, squeezed his hand, her fingers lacing with his for a brief moment in time.

Hopper swiftly kissed the top of her head as he stood up to go. Then, he watched her get wheeled off beyond the swinging double doors and into the next stage of her life while he stayed firmly planted in their old one.

When Hopper had parked her car and left her keys with hospital reception, he found a payphone and called the numbers Joyce had given him. One was no answer. The others said they’d pass along the message to Byers, which was good enough for now.

Then Hopper called a cab to go back to the supermarket, but he could barely focus. He grabbed the essentials from what he remembered from his mom’s list, lost somewhere along the way to the hospital, and then went home in a daze himself.

He wondered how it was they got to this point -- former best friends, lovers, now perfect strangers in each other’s lives, except for those few moments in between when it was only them and whatever trouble they’d found themselves in. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend the merry-go-round of misunderstandings and his-and-her mistakes in life that brought them here. Any sane person would say it was time to let go, move on.

Was a friendship even salvageable after all they’d been through? She seemed to think so, briefly before he ruined it with his bad attitude.

Later that evening, Hopper tried to get comfortable and get some sleep, something he was sorely lacking since jetting halfway around the world only a few days prior -- he was still on Saigon time. But he could only toss and turn, thinking about Joyce. Worried that Lonnie might still be MIA, and she’d be all alone, he got up, grabbed the bouquet of lilies he’d brought home for his mom from the airport out of the crystal vase off the dining room table, tied it up with some ribbon he found under the Christmas tree and drove back to the hospital.

He wasn’t entirely sure what his plan was when he got there. He just had the urge to see Joyce again, one more time, and tell her it’d be okay.

But when he walked through the front entrance to the Maternity ward, Lonnie was there in the waiting room just beyond the intake desk, smoking a cigar with a few buddies, looking like they’d just finished up a shift at the bar. The sight of the other man was enough to stop Hopper dead in his tracks. The last few times they had interacted ended in fisticuffs, and Hopper knew better than to engage, especially tonight. Lonnie might’ve been an asshole, but it was still his first kid. He had a right to be happy and celebrate, without anyone shitting on his parade or stirring up trouble.

Hopper doubled back to the pretty red-headed nurse at the front desk and handed her the flowers, interrupting the paperwork she was shuffling through.

“Give these to Baby Byers. Tell the family congratulations for me.”

The young nurse nodded and smiled sweetly at Hopper as he turned to go.

“Oh, but there’s no card,” she said after him. “Who should I say they’re from?”

Hopper shrugged.

“Just an old friend.”

#For Anon #Jopper #Oneshot #joyce byers #jim hopper #fanfiction #drabble #?

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