#they demand too much and after every shift i’m so exhausted i want to die
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prettyboysmlm · 1 year ago
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hmmm
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yesimwriting · 4 years ago
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The Needs of Pain
A/n as promised,,, here is my gift to you bc I finished ap gov today :))
The darkling x heartrender!reader story based on the whole ‘no one but me can hurt you’ thing :))
Warnings: sexual innuendos,, attempts to sexualize pain if you squint, kinda lemon-y
I kinda want to write a smutty part 2 let’s see lol 
Summary: after a training injury, Kirigan reveals how he views the dynamic of your relationship and figures out how to best help you work through the pian 
--
In an odd way, the most painful part of my injury had been the wound on my pride, not my shoulder. Though the pain that begins beneath my collarbone and continues down my left shoulder is not exactly pleasant. I can’t bring myself to pity myself too much as I stare at the extent of my burns. There’s a war going on. People die, people lose loved ones, I have to tolerate pain for an hour or two before a healer can be sent to be. 
I told Genya I’d be fine in the medical wing, but she insisted that I wait for a healer to be sent to me. The people here look up to me, if news of my injury got out, especially considering it’s a training wound, morale would take a blow we can’t currently afford. Genya had looked relatively sympathetic when she told me that many healers were occupied considering how difficult training had been and I had told her I could bear the weight. 
Now, in my room, staring at the basin full of water, I’m starting to regret my desire to be self sacrificing. I dip the towel in the water, squeezing out the excess before daring to dab the fabric on the outer edge of the wound. The feeling is fire against my skin all over again. An instinctual curse leaves me as I drop the towel on the counter that surrounds the basin. 
Arthur hadn’t meant it. I can still hear the frantic apologies tumbling from his full lips. He should have been more focused on the task at hand, he should have never stopped to look at me, at the way I could control so many living things at once. In some odd sense, his distraction had been a compliment. Many of the girls here would sell anything to have Arthur’s attention, even if it resulted in such a careless mistake. 
I grimace, picking up the towel and preparing to start again. I should at least clean it before the healers have to deal with both a physical injury and an infection. The sound of my door flying open and then shutting angrily is enough of a distraction for me to accidentally dab the towel against my skin too harshly. I curse again, turning my head towards the bathroom door. Did Genya exaggerate the severity of my wound? Are the healers that desperate to get to me? 
I turn on my toes, towel forgotten by the basen full of water as I approach the door that connects my room with the bathroom. “I’m--” Words meant to calm a frantic healer stick to the back of my throat as soon as I register all the black in the room. General Kirigan. Great. He no doubt heard about my injury after prying it from Genya and now he’s here to scold me for the childishness of it all. To be injured because a boy and I just couldn’t help ‘make eyes at each other’. All he does is insult my refusal to become bitter just because I was born possessing power. 
“You’re what?” His words are a different level of callous, darker than the shadows he creates with the will of his mind alone. “An idiot that let herself be sent back to her room instead of demanding to see a healer?” 
That’s an odd thing for him to focus his anger on. At least it’s not fully directed at me. On instinct, I half turn, attempting to hide my injury from his piercing eyes. My instinct tells me he should never see me so mortal. “Genya recommended it,” my words are determined yet calm, “It’s such a small injury it isn’t worth risking everyone’s morale. A healer will come here when one is available.” 
His face tightens in what must be some kind of disgusted disbelief. “Foolish girl--have you no instinct for preservation?” 
Every decision I’ve made since being injured made sense before he spoke to me. The fierceness of his voice leaves my face warmer than it was a moment ago and reminds me of the stem of my dislike for him. General Kirigan speaks and I am left a clumsy child. “Some things are more important than one’s self.” I expect he’ll turn that into something else to mock or belittle about me. “And it’s not a grave injury it’s barely--” 
The distance between us seemed so great less than a second ago, but he’s closed it so quickly, grabbing my left wrist and extending my arm forward so that I can’t hide anything from him. “You’re burned.” There’s the slightest bit of surprise coloring his words along with something else I can’t interpret. “How did you get burned?” 
Kirigan doesn’t know. My stomach knots, anticipating embarrassment. “Training incident--I was standing too close to an Inferni.” 
His grip on my arm tightens. I grimace as he pulls me forward with no regard for my injury. “Who?” The voracious way he says the word leaves my thoughts trembling. He is a void of darkness, starving for a victim to snuff the light out of.  
When my thoughts settle, I cannot bring myself to tell him the truth. “I didn’t see, I was distracted by the burning.” I exhale slowly, desperate to escape the flames behind his eyes the way I could not escape the fire of earlier. “It doesn’t matter, I’ve been injured worse in training.” His hold on my arm doesn’t loosen, I glance down at his hand, his firm grip on me somehow worse than the burn. “You’ve injured me worse in training.” 
“I may push you, exhaust you, and leave you mad--but I have never done anything that comes close to--that!” The last of his words carry themselves louder than the rest. 
If the skin of my shoulder wasn’t so sensitive I’d try fighting his tightening grasp. The accusation on my part had been a little much, but it was meant to serve as a reminder that he’s not one to care about my comfort or well being. “Why does it matter?” I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. “You’ve never cared about any of my injuries before.” 
Kirigan releases my arm in a stiff trance, raising his hand to brush his thumb down my cheek. The contact is reminiscent of an extremely different moment. “The first night here you only let a few tears escape you when you were convinced that no one could see them. Do you remember how I turned and wordlessly wiped them away?” His gesture had not been comforting then and it isn’t comforting now. He never wanted to comfort me, he wanted to assert some strange power over me. “I let those tears fall because they were because of me and I knew it was for the best.” I say nothing, letting his thumb ghost tears that will not come. “The moment I discovered you, what you could be, you became mine.” 
“I am no one’s.” The reaction is instinctual, a pride my mother instilled in me. My voice is too loud, too brash. “I am my own.” 
I brace myself for his anger, but all I receive is the slight relaxation of his lips. “It’s things like that give you so much potential in other ways.” His voice is a jagged rock caressing my skin, not minding the scrapes it leaves behind. “You’re a fair plaything, as well as useful.”  
He’s speaking so gently his voice borders on vulnerable. Something in me warms, but I can’t tell why. I know that Kirigan finds joy in my discomfort--why else would he belittle me so often? “The healer will be here soon.” 
“Yes,” he makes no move to leave, instead Kirigan grabs my wrist again, forcing me to turn so that he can analyze the extent of my burn, “Which is why I will ask you again…” I try to catch his gaze, but his stone stare is focused on my burned shoulder entirely. “Who did this?” 
“I told you.” He can never know. “It was a training accident.” 
“And someone is responsible.” 
I let out a breath, tired of feeling so incomplete. I just want to be healed and go to sleep. “Why does it matter?” His fingers trail up my arm patiently, my body betrays me by shivering. “Accidents happen, you’ve put me in more risk than--” 
“I’ve always intended to break you one way or another,” his voice is more supple than it’s ever been before, “Your goodness is too tempting to not tarnish.” He turns my wrist over easily, ignoring my slight wince. “But if someone else were to do it…” Kirigan trails off, expression tightening in a way I can’t read, “I don’t let others break my play things.” 
Some strange resolve in my chest cracks at that. “Kirigan--” 
“Who are you protecting?” He moves his free hand, placing it without reservation on my shoulder. “Not telling me will only make it worse.” 
Thoughts of Arthur paying for such a small mistake leaves my stomach rolling in guilt. “Make what worse?” 
His expression tightens again. I wait for some kind of rebuke. Kirigan’s lips part as if he expects to criticize my naivety, but instead of speaking he turns sharply. He doesn't release his grip on my wrist as he leads me into my bathroom. 
“What are you doing?” 
Kirigan ignores my surprise, releasing me to pick up the towel I was so quick to abandon. “If you’re too good to take a healer from someone, you should at least avoid infection.” 
“I’m not an idiot, I was cleaning it.” The sharpness of my tone is ignored, Kirigan simply places one hand on my forearm to keep me in place. “Wha--”
 He brushes his thumb over my pulse gently in an effective attempt to silence me. I part my lips in hopes of protesting, but something odd reflects across his eyes. It must be some trick of the light because his expression seems...hesitant. Maybe even concerned. And then cool fabric is pressed into my burn. I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed. 
“Saints.” 
His expression shifts to that of almost amusement. “I think I’d like to hear you curse in a,” he exhales softly, fingertips trailing up my forearm, “Slightly different scenario.” 
The shock of such a bold innuendo clears my mind from thoughts of pain. But the most startling thing is that the innuendo isn’t entirely unwanted. In the wake of my surprise, he presses the wet towel into my wound again. I fight against a grimace, but that doesn’t go unnoticed by Kirigan. Instead of mentioning it, his free arm touches my uninjured shoulder. For the first time since he’s come here I’m aware of how improper my attire is. I changed out of my starched kefta and into a silk nightgown in order to leave my shoulder unbothered. Genya had helped me change, bearing all of my grimacing and pained curses. 
I should push him off of me. Kirigan can get away with a lot because of his status, but I by no means have to allow something like this. I should not feel shy, I should not be embarrassed. He’s the one that’s out of line. I look up into his eyes, prepared to yell at him for being so out of line. But when I meet his eyes, I see something so un-monstrous I am left breathless. There’s a gentleness to the way he tilts his head downwards, eyes never leaving mine. Is he asking for permission? Permission to--to what? I stay frozen as his lips brush against the unmarred side of my collarbone. His touch is almost enough to make me forget pain ever existed. He pulls away enough that I can feel his breath against the base of my neck. Thoughts I’d never dare speak are banished as the towel presses against my skin again. My face cringes immediately, but he’s quick to press his lips to the base of my neck, lingering kisses melting into my skin. 
“I thought you said you were fine.” His chiding is half-hearted, whispered between two brief kisses against my bare ski. 
He dabs the towel on the burn again, but before I can think to complain, his lips are against my skin again. This time, his lips part slightly allowing his teeth to graze over my pulse. Kirigan pulls away slightly, expression hardening, “I’m almost sorry about this part.” His words leave him in a whisper as influential as sin. 
“What part?” My voice feels foreign in my throat. 
Kirigan doesn’t reply, but then I feel the sharpest pain yet. The towel is cleaning the worst of the burn, the ruined patch of skin that will never recover without supernatural intervention. The gasp I let out is that of a bird with shattered wings. A cry forms in the base of my throat, but before it can leave me, Kirigan’s teeth bite into the skin above my pulse. The pained sound is reduced by my shock, twisting in an odd combination of some kind of pained sound and something dangerously close to a moan. 
He releases me with one last soft brush of his lips, straightening his back and retracting the towel. “There.” Kirigan drops the towel onto the bathroom counter. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
I can still feel the ghost of his lips, tongue, and teeth against my skin. I understand now. Each kiss had been a way to distract me, to lessen the pain. Something odd swells in my chest as I try to will my eyes to stop watering in pain. 
Kirigan presses his lips together, pressing his hand against my cheek again. His thumb brushes the few stray tears that escape me. “Don’t cry,” his tone is pure velvet, “I won’t tolerate tears in your eyes caused by anyone else.” He tilts his head oddly, hand sliding down my cheek before gripping my jaw, “I can provide reason for your tears if you’d like.” 
Inhaling deeply, I continue to stare at him. Today has been so sudden. He’s flirted with me through strangely sexual insults and threats before, but never has he been so forward about it. 
“I’m fine,” I force my voice to remain clear. He nods once. A soft rap at my door has me turning away from him. “The healer--I shoul--” 
“Come in,” he calls, voice clear and leaving no room for argument. 
My eyes widen. To be caught with him here could be detrimental for my reputation. Kirigan pulls away, something sharp playing at his features, something almost humorous. 
He leaves the bathroom like this is his own room. “Her wound is clean, work quickly.” I walk out of the bathroom in a strange trance. Kirigan’s gaze lands on me as I enter the main part of my room, “I need her at her full strength for what I have planned.” 
There’s a heaviness to his words, a weight that tells me he means more than what his words imply. Goosebumps erupt across my skin as I try to banish the thoughts of his mouth against my skin between inflictions of pain, blending together to create the most intense sense of fight or flight I’ve ever experienced. 
Kirigan begins to approach the door to my room. “I’ll be checking on her later.”
--
People that asked to be tagged in this/expressed interest:
@luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy @i-padfootblack-things @all-art-is-quite-useless @buckverse @mandowh0re @uhanddreag  
@we-love-our-bandz 
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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years ago
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Scandal Ch. 1 - Loki x Reader
Summary: After your child is born a Frost Giant, your husband accuses you of infidelitiy, unaware about his own heritage...
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Warnings: Pregnancy, Childbirth, Angst, Mild Cussing
Noteable: Takes place before Thor 1, Asgardian Fem! Reader
Words: ~1800
I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I
It was as if your anchestors wanted to deliver a warning, for Asgard had never faced a storm matching this fateful afternoon.
The thunder swallowed all of your screams and cries, every curse you spoke with each contraction as the baby made it’s way into this world. All this time, your precious husband would never leave your side, letting you squeeze his hand as much as you needed.
“Only a little bit more, my Lady!” the midwife shoutet from between your legs, her tone calm yet cheerful. “I can already see the head!”
“I’m right here. You’re doing wonderful, my petal.” Loki was softly petting your hair, pressing a wet kiss into your forehead. “You are incredibly strong, Y/N. And I love you so much!”
Remaining collected was using up all of his energy at that very moment, you knew that much. Yet not even the God of Lies could hide all the helplessness and excitement stirring in his head at that very moment.
Being with the Prince of Asgard was just like in a dream.
Once you get to know him, that troublesome arrogant lone wolf turned into a smart, caring - and especially charming - prince. And hel, Loki treated you like a Queen.
All this pain you were experiencing right now would ultimately lead to the greatest bliss imagineable - just like it was with Loki.
Oh, how dearly you had fought, suffered, yearned for him, only to be rewarded with heartbreak and frustration. In between his feverishly chase for the throne and his rivalry with Thor, there was just no room for a loving relationship to grow.
The crushing weight of thinking himself unworthy for affection had made him cold and bitter over the millenias, telling himself the comforting lie that he was above all, born for a glorious purpose.
For the God of Mischief, whose kinsmen had always made him feel out of place or under-appreciated, the process of trusting had always been one step forward, three steps back.
But through your compassion, and with a great deal of patience and understanding, you slowly but steadily melted the ice around the prince’s heart.
Because deep inside, you always knew that it was worth it.
And today would be the peak of your romance: Your child would forever remind the Odinson that he belonged somewhere - right here, with you.
“It’s a boy!”
“A heir?!” Loki exclaimed, smothering your face in kisses. “Well done!”
You smiled weakly at his excitement, in between choked sobs. All that your exhausted self was able to process was the fact that your child is born - and you already loved him beyond reason.
“Where is he?!” you whimpered, unable to realize how the air in the room had shifted - for when the midwife touched the infant, she began to scream in agony.
“What’s wrong?!” Loki’s eyes were narrowing at the midwife that almost dropped his newborn, detecting some sort of burn wound on her palm. Quickly, she had covered the boy in a towel, aware that if any harm came over that baby, she was to die at the God of Mischief’s hands.
A flash of lightning was brightening the whole room, which had only been flooded by dim candle light until now.
Another one of the midwife’s screeched in terror, almost stumbling as she frantically erscaped your bedchamber. The adrenaline from birth and worry about your child sharpened your senses, yet concentration was almost impossible.
Still, the words she was yelling as she ran down the hall send a shiver down your spine:
“It’s a monster.”
Your head was spinning as you rushed into an upright position, with two nurses pressing you onto the bed again. “Milady, you need to rest! It’s still too early!”
“What is wrong with my child?!?” you desperately screamed, kicking with your legs to free yourself from their hold. “Give it to me!”
Their expressions were too much to bear. Your head was spinning, seeing pity mixing up with disgust and anger in their eyes.
“Enough!” Loki finally broke his own silence, his mind having been occupied with all the horror scenarios one could think about.
Walking up to the midwife carrying the infant, he demanded seeing it. “Your highness, don’t-” yet the midwife’s beg was for naught.
Yes, everything will be alright. Loki will take care of it, like he always does. After all, he’s your savior, your hero, the love of your life...
Gently and insecure, your husband cradled the newborn in his arms - a sight to behold. And the baby’s strong cries assured you that it was at least alive.
However, as soon as he dared to unwrap the towel, revealing it’s face, Loki’s heartbeat completely stopped for a second. His trembling lip began to shake, mouth widely agape as he took in the child’s form.
For a brief moment, his mind was completely blank. All emotion dropped from his face before taking in a complete different demeanour.
“Wha-” you wouldn’t dare ending that sentence when your husband’s furious eyes met yours.
The air was so thick, you thought not even Thor’s hammer could break it. Clearly ritten on Loki’s usual unreadable face were so many emotions at once:
Aversion, fury, incredible sorrow...all directed towards you? The child?
Impossible.
Loki Odinson loved you more than anything in this world, this was the only thing you had always been sure he wasn’t lying about.
“From all the people I expected to betray me...” His voice was hoarse, as if the ache in his heart was wrapping around his throat. “Why did it have to be you?”
You could feel the horrendous aura, a wave of sadness and despair coming from your husband. Seeing him like this was like torture.
“What- what do you mean, darling-”
“Don’t fucking call me that, you harlot!” That was surely not the first time your lover had raised your voice against you - he could be a bit difficult at times, obviously.
But this time was different somehow. It sounded so...ultimate.
And the Loki you knew would never use such harsh words against you!
“Please, I beg of you...just let me see my baby!” Everything was just too much for you, almost to the point of passing out. 
And the man did as you pleaded, almost shoving the child into your arms. “There, have your bastard! And make sure to never show your filthy faces to me ever again!”
With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving you with those strange nurses looking at you like you’ve just commited an unforgiveable crime.
There was no use in overthinking this. He’ll come back like he always did. You can work this out, whatever it is - even if you are gonna be mad for a very long time, making such a fuss and then disappearing instead of taking care of you, the mother of his child.
Out of a whim, you decided to finally observe the little being you’ve been waiting for all those months.
A loud gasp escaped your mouth as you realized just why everyone was so worked up about that little boy. Yet the sound you made was solely surprised - not a hint of fear or rejection laced your voice.
It was a beautiful baby boy, little fists balled to the air as if he was searching for the warmth of his parents - though his skin was in the shade of a dark blue. When you dared running your hand over the deep lines and ridges on his body, the stinging pain of frostbite immediately stung your fingertips. His eyes snapped open, looking at you with black irises through red scleras.
You knew the meaning of this, even though you didn’t understand how this was possible: This child was a biological Frost Giant. A small one, but nonetheless.
A curse? Was someone trying to play your family dirty? No. If that was the case, the child wouldn’t also have actual powers together with the appearance.
Just how long have those tears been running down your cheeks in thick streams already? You wouldn’t know.
Only one thing came as clear as daylight to you: You loved this baby, more than anything in this world. And no matter the hardships that came along with it - you would protect him, no matter what!
“He’s magnificent...” you sniffled, pecking some quick kisses onto his small body before the cold could hurt you. “I love you so, so much...!”
Not minding the judging looks of the nurses, let alone wondering about the consequences, resolve was starting to give you new strenght.
The boy got a grasp on your finger, and instead of your skin freezing off as expected, your magic allowed him to the boy to finally disguise itself as one of you. How was this even possible? Well, this is probably the first time something like this ever happened, so no one could prepare you for what to expect with this child.
They all say that birth was an impactful event - but nothing could’ve prepared you for everything that you had to endure on this day.
Yet nothing could’ve stopped you from believing that this child was the greatest blessing that ever came over you.
Now you only had to convince your husband of that very fact...
“Y/N Y/L/N!” the guard wouldn’t even bother adressing you with your full title as his harsh voice woke you up. When had you drifted away into slumber anyway? You were probably way more worn out than you wanted to admit...
Your eyes immediately snapped open, heart skipping a beat until you saw that your son was still sleeping soundly right next to you. Stroking his cheek as he smiled up to you, it almost made you forget about that burdensome situation.
“Hey!” Protectingly, you were holding onto your child for dear life as the guard approached both of you. “I have an important message to deliver!”
You scowled, almost like an animal mother protecting their offsprings with baring teeth, even though you knew in that state you would be completely and utterly helpless. “Why now? What could be more important than the well-being of my child?”
The answer let your blood run cold:
“I am here to announce that Lady Y/N Y/L/N has to face a trial in front of the Allfather. The following crimes she is being accused of: Infidelity, collaboration with the enemy and trying to sneak one of them into our glorious kingdom.”
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kozisjournal · 3 years ago
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𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒈𝒐- 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑦𝑎 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑖
first piece ! this one has a massive tw
reader tries to unalive themselves, vomit mention, cursing as well, but its touya so do we expect anything else
1.9k words all together, and there's an alt ending too hahah.
enjoy!
it wasn’t always like this. touya started to notice his partner’s downward spiral pretty quickly. he didn’t want to admit he was worried. he couldn’t show anyone he was worried. even them. but he couldn’t ignore the pure panic starting to build in his chest. it sat on his chest like a white rage, making his limbs tremble a bit.
they're fine. If they needed something, I would’ve been there.
he began to repeat this like a mantra, a deep breath pulled in every so often to hopefully shake off whatever this was. was this a panic attack? last time he’d had one, he stood in front of his father, pulling out fistfuls of hair with his small and already scarring hands. no. it’s not that. then what is it?
“hey, bacon bitch. we have to go over the mission for tomorrow. will you go find l/n?”
shigaraki. with a sigh, touya’s arms uncrossed from his chest, and he nodded before making his way back into the base. the walk from the bar to their shared room wasn’t long at all, yet the door was closed.
that’s weird, they usually keep the door open.
a swift knock replaced the silence in the air, the odd feeling in touya’s chest dropping to his stomach as no answer came. again, he knocked on the bedroom door, a bit more urgency within his movements now.
“babe? are you in there? shiggy called a meeting.”
Nothing.
“y/n?”
silence. his breathing became heavy, taking in large gulps of air to fill the sudden emptiness he felt. his head shook and a stapled hand around the door knob, his wrist tilting to turn it.
he was half expecting to see his significant other asleep, but the bed was empty, and felt cold against the palm of his hand. bright blue eyes scanned across the bedroom, falling on the open closet, a few articles of clothing laying on the floor in front of it. it was like someone had looked through their belongings. it may explain the closed door. one of the members had come in to snoop, probably toga. no, that wasn’t it either. toga would’ve mentioned something she’d found on her hunt. upon further inspection of the pile of clothes that had been looked through, it seemed like there was something missing. a small box, maybe? if it was something like that, touya had never seen anything of it, or what was inside of it.
“touya~ ya coming? the meeting is about to start.”
“i told you not to call me that.”
“but you let y/n call you that.”
“that’s different. they're— ”
“speaking of, have you seen them anywhere? I haven’t laid my eyes on them all day!”
another shock wave of worry rushed through touya. he stuttered a bit as he spoke.
“Y-You haven’t s-seen them?”
“nope, not once today. i’m sure they're around somewhere. i’ll see you at the meeting.”
and with that, the young blonde basically skipped away, calling out for twice on her way down the hall. did they go out? no, no. they would’ve at least told someone they were leaving the base. touya slid his hands in his pockets, abandoning his now very lonely bedroom to look through the others. with each room, he came up empty handed, finding not even a trace of his love. shit… wait, was that—?
a soft, familiar sound wrapped around his waist and pulled him from jin’s room and to the bathroom door. humming? y/n only does that in the comfort of their room. only after tough missions, or when touya relives the terror of his childhood in his dreams. so, why? before he can even think, his fist pounded against the slab of wood.
“doll? are you okay?”
the voice that followed sent a chill through his warmed body.
“touya…?
“baby, you sound sick. i’m coming in.”
“you can’t.”
“what do you mean i can’t”
“i don’t... want you to… see me like this..”
like what? touya didn’t understand. he couldn't understand. he’d seen his partner through plenty of lows before, but this felt different. were they trying to—?
his hand wrapped around the door knob, but unlike any of the doors he’d opened before, this one was locked. touya figured his mind was just playing tricks on him, and that this wasn’t actually happening. the door in front of him wasn’t really locked, right? however, when he tried to open the door again, it remained sealed.
“y/n. open the door. now.”
only an airy giggle followed his demand. was this a joke? were the events of today all a part of an elaborate, sick prank the league pulled together without him knowing? touya, again, shook his head, pressing his ear up to the door as if that would give him some kind of clue. it didn’t. he kept his hand wrapped around the locked piece of metal keeping him from his beloved, the almost comforting feeling of his quirk completely engulfing his palm. as the metal starts to melt, he threw his body against the wood, finally gaining access to the small room.
in the bathtub was where he found his darling, their head leaning lazily against the wall behind them as eyes fought to stay open. an empty pill bottle and it’s cap laid idly on the tiled floor next to the overflowing tub.
“get out.”
“no. what did you take?”
“it doesn’t matter.”
y/n’s words were slurred as they spoke, and touya paid no mind to their protests as he reached forward to grab the bottle on the ground.
“morphine? how much was in here? when did you take this?”
“touya. i love you.”
“answer my question.”
“i’m sorry…”
his eyes moved from the bottle to his significant other in the tub, as they began to sink into the water. the empty bottle was thrown to the floor, wrapping his arms under y/n’s to pull them up. their head rolled back, eyes following suit as their breathing became almost nonexistent.
“shit. no, no. y/n? baby, answer me!”
nothing came from them, remaining unresponsive in touya’s arms. against his better judgement, a hand moved to land a harsh slap across the unconscious one in his arms face. no reaction.
“fuck—!”
touya dragged them from the bathtub and moved himself and his partner in front of the toilet, quickly supporting their head with the palm of one of his hands. he sat himself beside his love, keeping them up as he pulled their jaw open. a grimace sat across his face as touya’s first two fingers pushed themselves down the other's throat, only to pull his hand away when he felt a gag. bile and the previously swallowed pills pushed their way up from y/n’s stomach and into the toilet with a harsh cough following. two cold, wet hands braced themselves on the sides of the bowl, another gag pushing what was left of the medication out of y/n’s body. their voice was hoarse as they spoke.
“why didn’t you just leave me there?”
“you were going to fuckin’ die.”
“that was kinda the point, touya.”
blue eyes widened at those words, his breath catching in his throat as the two looked at each other. y/n’s breathing was labored, still fighting against the sleep that was trying to pull them away from touya. a very careful, scarred hand moved to rest against the cheek of the other.
“you can’t leave me.”
“bub-”
“shut up. you’re not allowed to just leave after everything. what am i supposed to do without my butterfly?”
no words followed, yet the smaller one in touya’s arms remained awake against their own will. good. arms moved to wrap around y/n’s waist, tugging them closer as he stood. a grunt pushed past his lips as touya hoisted them up from the ground.
“what are you—”
“hush, i’m just taking you to our room.”
as if they had accepted defeat, y/n’s weight rested against touya’s body. an arm hooked under their knees, the other staying around their waist as the taller male lifted them and started carrying them to their room. y/n shifted a bit, resting their head against touya’s shoulder, eyes fighting to stay open with each passing second.
“baby, can you stay awake? please? for me?”
the smaller one in touya’s arms only groaned in response, their head again rolling forward as they started to cave under the heavy weight of exhaustion. touya could only panic, his steady hands now trembling as he lightly nudged the door to their room open with his shoulder. he made his way over to their bed, sitting the other on the edge. y/n didn’t support themselves like touya was expecting, but as he started to move from the bed, he felt the weight of the other move with him.
“shit. hey, y/n. c’mon, let me see those pretty eyes.”
another groan filled the air, and touya felt a sigh of relief rush past his lips. dull eyes pushed open to look back up at touya, their normal brightness now dark with the come down of whatever high had been chased. cold, damp arms snaked around touya’s neck, a steady breath fanning across the burned skin,
“why can’t i just take a little nap?”
“because you could slip into a coma. i’m not letting that happen. sit still, I’m getting you warm clothes.”
he didn’t mean for it to come out like an order, expression flattening while cold hands moved to rest on his shoulders.
“can i have a hug instead?”
touya hesitated, breath pausing for a moment before ultimately shaking his head.
“let's get you dry clothes first… just work with me. please.”
y/n could hear the desperation in his voice, nodding slowly as their hands removed themselves from his shoulder, pulling the sheets into their hold.
touya slowly pulled away, eyes glued to his lover as he did so. hurried movements carried him through the room, his eyes darting to y/n while he filtered through the closet for clothes. finally, a sigh of relief passed through his lips as he returned to them with a set of dry, warm garments. his of course, y/n wouldn't have it any other way. he stood in front of them, their head tilted down, eyes almost losing the battle to stay open. his hands felt more steady now, motions flowing easily through them when he captured their chin in a loose grip, kneeling down to make eye contact.
“hey, angel. think you can stand for me?”
they, of course only nodded in response, the weight of today's events slowing their body. changing was quick, touya’s hands doing most of the work while also managing to hold them up. the wet clothes were discarded, thrown to the side, but a mental note was made to take care of them later.
“i love you, touya.. i'm sor—”
“no, baby. don't apologize. you're safe now, that's all that matters.”
his hands warmed, taking their chilled face into them with the most reassuring smile he could conjure up.
“how about that nap, y/n? still tired?”
“absolutely fucking exhausted.”
“yeah, i thought so.”
he pulled them into bed, tucking their head into his chest as his breathing became more steady. y/n was out like a light, he was certain of that once slow breathes sent a chill down his spine. his head dipped down, pressing a feather light kiss to the crown of theirs.
“i’ll keep you safe from now on… i promise.”
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bisexualwannabewriter · 3 years ago
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“This is killing me” Part Twelve - Spencer Reid x female reader
Summary : You’re working for the BAU, and Dr Spencer Reid is your best friend on the  team. Actually, he’s your best friend, pErIoD. The thing is, you’re not supposed to feel that way about your  best friend. He makes you feel some type of way, everyone in the  team   can see it, except you and him.
In the previous chapter, you put all of your focus on a new case involving a disorganized unsub, with an obsession with conspiracy theories and the existence of “lizard people” within our society. Spencer tried to tell you something about his date with officer Maggie Rowe, and Derek even tried to encourage you to listen to what he had to say. In addition to everything, you overheard a conversation between Spence and Maggie, that left you dubious : the both of them kissed, but it didn’t seem like things were going well between them...
You can find all the previous chapters here.
Chapter Summary : Your hard work has paid off. On the trip back to Quantico though, you and Spencer finally have the most honest conversation you’ve had so far. Your relationship takes a new turn, but things can never go too smoothly between the two of you. Still, after some clarification from Derek, hope starts to creep in...
TW : Violence, death, mental illness, drug use, conspiracy theories, exhaustion, anxiety. It’s fluffy, it’s angsty, it’s romantic, it’s clumsy, the tension is crazy. We’re getting there, people. Slowly but surely.
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(Not my GIF)
You caught the unsub in a stupid way, really. He just killed at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Sometimes it happened. You could work as hard as you wanted, know the killer better than yourself... they would just leave one body, in a way that was even more sloppy than the others, and you could catch your man. One mistake, and that was it. It was a good thing, of course, but in situations like this, you never knew what the unsub's next move was going to be. They didn't even know it, until they did it. Your unsub fit in every category of an unorganized killer : below average intelligence, check. Socially inadequate, check. Worked an ungrateful job near the crime scenes, check. Living alone, check. Check, check, check. Your profile, your whole theory on his obsession with lizard people : check. You knew you would have caught him one way or another, as Spencer had managed to narrow down the places where the unsub could have been living, given the places of the last murders. But you caught him thanks to dumb luck. Gabriel Calahan was just a paranoid schizophrenic, whose mental illness had been exacerbated with severe drug use as a teenager. He believed some higher power was ordering him to uncover the truth about those controlling reptilians, who were going to lead us into chaos.
///
On the jet back to Quantico, you sat alone. You needed some peace and quiet. You were exhausted. You really worked your ass off on this case. Derek seemed a bit worried about you, while Hotch and Prentiss were pretty happy with your efforts. Spencer seemed restless, and the bags under his eyes were even darker than usual. His mind was a wonder that worked in mysterious ways, but you could tell he was just really agitated these days. Not telling you what he wanted to tell you, probably took more efforts and energy from him than an average person could possibly understand. You wanted him to go into a peaceful sleep, to forget about what was troubling him. Even in times like this, you just wanted him to be okay. Things were probably complicated for him right now. You somehow managed to get over the fact that he kissed Maggie, and tried to focus on the rest of the chat. It was wrong to listen to people's private conversations, and you lacked context. What they were talking about could mean a hundred different things, and you would know soon enough anyway. The rest of the team was slowly drifting off to sleep, and you were trying to as well, but you could feel Spencer nervously glance at you pretty regularly. At some point, you just gave up, let out a deep sigh, opened your eyes, and motioned him to come join you on the couch.
He sat heavily next to you. You just stayed together in silence for a moment. You didn't want him to start to talk. Because that would be it. You would be having the conversation you had been dreading for a while. Eventually, he had to start talking, and you felt your heart beating like crazy in your chest. "Go ahead Spence, break my heart." was all you could think about. Instead...
"Listen y/n, I know this isn't ideal. But... you have been avoiding me for a while now and... I don't even know if you want me in your life or not anymore. I just... we texted over the holidays and everything, and we hugged like nothing happened when we got back to work but... Things aren't... Things have been weird for a while now, and... I hate it. I hate to see us drift apart like this." You were listening to every single word that was coming out of his mouth as carefully as you could, like someone waiting for their verdict at court. You felt like you were going to get the death penalty somehow. He paused, before starting to talk again. "I don't know what to think anymore. I've been trying to understand, but it seems like my brain... can't function properly when it comes to you." You were going to die from a heart attack, right here and there. On the outside, you tried to put on your best poker face, but hearing Spencer utter those words made your eyes betray you, you were sure of it. You felt exactly like this when it came to him too. How could two people feel things so similarly, and still not understand one another ? He looked so nervous, as he was looking for the right words to say exactly what his heart had been meaning to tell you. " I guess I'm just... I think... Jesus, why is this so complicated ? Just... say something, y/n. Anything."
You honestly didn't know what to say. He said so much and so little at the same time. What was there for you to say ?
"I... I don't know what you want from me Spence... I know things have been weird, and I'm... I'm sorry, okay ? I've been acting strange for the past couple of months, I know it. I just... Of course I want you in my life. And I hate that we don't even know how to talk to each other anymore... You said you wanted to talk about your date ? What does it have to do with anything ?" You tried the innocent card, but Spencer wasn't biting. "Come on y/n... no more mind games. I was trying to get there slowly but... You're not giving me much of an alternative, are you ?" He stared at you, more directly than he had in a while. You hadn't noticed, but he got closer too. You had to fight the urge to drag his face to yours to kiss him feverishly. He was so right, your minds just wouldn't work properly around each other. Something about the way you were looking at him might have given him some newly found determination, because he carried on without letting you out of his sight at any moment, shifting his gaze between your tired eyes and your slightly parted lips. The nervousness was still there, but he was going to say whatever it was he wanted to say, no matter the consequences now.
"As you know, I went on a date with Maggie. It was great. I wanted to have a good time with her. I really did. Everything worked out just fine. It was almost too cliche, how smoothly the evening went." You felt your heart sink in your chest. Yup, there it was, you thought. The end of all hope. "She was wearing this really pretty red dress, and at first, all I could think about was how you have a really pretty red dress too, that you don't put on nearly as often as you should. But then I thought, hey, you're on a date with her, with Maggie. Y/n even seemed happy for you, even though you thought she kind of hated her. So focus on her, focus on Maggie. And I did. I tried." He paused, looking for something in your eyes. Were you supposed to understand where he was getting at with this story ? "I... we kissed. Okay ? I kissed her, after I walked her back home. It was really romantic. The sky was filled with stars, and there was a nice little breeze... I- It was perfect." You couldn't help it, but you wanted to cry. You felt like you couldn't breathe anymore. Why was he telling you this ? It took eveything you had in you to keep listening to him as calmly as possible. "And then... I don't know why, I just... I couldn't... You're not supposed to think so much, when you're kissing someone, are you ? It just makes sense, and you go with the flow. And so... I thought I could kiss her, touch her, and hold her. I wanted to try to take my mind off of... things. But it felt... wrong ? It just felt weird, like something wasn't... what it was supposed to be ?" And then, the hope subtly came back.
You saw how hard it was for him to express himself. What was the point of all of this ? What was he really saying ? You wanted to scream that question, to just demand an answer from him. Your emotions were all over the place. He had a date with Maggie. It was perfect. She was wearing a little red dress, that looked like the one you put on, when you went out of your way to impress him when you went out sometimes. But he had a hard time focusing on the present moment, even as he kissed her, because... ? "What are you saying Spence ?" you murmured as softly as you could, contrasting with the inner turmoil you were facing. He tilted his head to the side, looking almost desperate, silently asking with his eyes why you couldn't understand the true meaning of what he was trying to say.
Behind you, you felt Hotch and JJ move in their seat. The jet was almost back at Quantico. Spencer saw them, and you saw him slouch a little. He looked more exhausted than ever. The determination in his eyes seemed to have abandoned him. "Nothing, y/n. Forget it. I had a date with Maggie, we kissed, but it didn't work out in the end. It's okay. It doesn't matter now." It mattered. You saw how much the whole conversation meant to him. You thought you could understand now. You felt like it was starting to make sense. But you had to hear him say it, otherwise you would never truly believe it. "Spence..." you tried to call, as he stood up. "We're nearly home, and we need some rest. I'm gonna get my things now."
When the jet landed, Spencer barely acknowledged your presence. He went back home as quietly as possible, without letting anyone know he was leaving. Derek helped you with your luggage "You look like you've seen a ghost. I don't understand, didn't he tell you about his date with Maggie ?" You hesitated : "He tried... I don't really know what he was trying to say." He gave you a soft smile and answered "Yes you do y/n. Come on, let me drive you home."
The ride home was pretty quiet. You were both tired. When you got there, Morgan and you sat in silence for a moment, before he told you : "Listen, I know me and Garcia have done enough already when it comes to the two of you. I don't want to overstep on your boundaries. But I feel like you guys just need a little extra push, otherwise it'll take ages." You laughed a little "I thought you said we were going to find our way back to each other at one point or another, no matter how much time it would take ?" He chuckled "Yeah yeah, I know what I said, but listen... what I understood from this entire situation, is that kissing that woman made him realise just how much he wanted you. The only problem with her, no matter how perfect the whole date was, was that she wasn't you. He thought he could be with someone else, he thought he could give her a chance. After all, you showed him you supported his decision, thumbs up and all that bullshit, right ? He kissed her, felt like shit, tried to kiss her some more to get over that weird feeling, started to think about you, got into it, but then she said something, and that threw him off." You were raising your eyebrows at him, questioning what he was reporting. "Hey, me and pretty boy talk a lot, alright ? And what he doesn't tell me, I understand. I see right through him. The rest is just me being good at my job. The only way the kiss kind of worked, was if he was thinking about you. Trust me, I know that. I've been there. You can try and pretend for a little while, until it doesn't work anymore, and you end up feeling like shit because the poor girl doesn't deserve that." You just stayed there, numb with fatigue and the overwhelming nature of what Derek was telling you. You told him about the conversation you overheard between the two of them "I think she was calling him to try and understand why it didn't work out between them, even after that perfect date. Knowing Spencer, he didn't want to hurt her feelings, and he didn't tell her what was really going on." It wasn't like you did either. What WAS really going on ? Morgan answered "Yeah, he vaguely told me about it. My guess ? She knows it's about you. She just needed to hear him say it. Just like you do. But deep down, you know what this all means. You know what's going on." After a little moment, you admitted "You're right. And I knew what he was trying to say, but I just... froze. I can't really... fully comprehend any of it right now. I think I just need some sleep." You paused, before breathing out with a soft smile :  "He tried... he really did..." Morgan answered "Now it's your time to try, pretty lady." You smiled at him, not entirely sure whether that whole conversation was a dream or not, and headed back home to get some restorative sleep.
Chapter Thirteen is here !
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jingabitch · 5 years ago
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Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell - final
SUMMARY: when you were ten, taehyung adopted you and gave you a home. now that you’re eighteen, the sudden change in your scent perplexes and confounds him.
PAIRING: wolf hybrid!tae x human!reader (all bts members are hybrids)
WARNINGS: talk of ownership (reader is tae’s pet human) | daddy long legs syndrome | angst | suicide attempt | smut (finally!) | heat sex | unhealthy relationships
WORD COUNT: 20.5k (lmfao)
RATING: explicit
A/N: yay this massive fic is finally done!! when i first started this i thought it would be like a 15k oneshot and now it’s a g i a n t. thank you to everyone who read this, left lovely comments and feedback, and cheered me on! not quite sure what i’m going to work on next, but nevertheless I hope to have your support for future projects too. :)
also, shoutout to my wonderful betas @knjkitten and @xoxrinaxox for going over this for me! yall are the greatest 💕
btw the last part of this isn’t betaed because google docs sucks and doesn’t sync reliably most of the time lmao. i’ll work on finding a better solution but in the meantime i hope there aren’t glaring mistakes. 
series index
“The only recorded cases where a hybrid was able to move on from an imprint… is when the object of the imprint passed away.”
When the object of the imprint passed away.
You blinked at Namjoon in shock, unsure how to react. You certainly hadn’t been expecting such an extreme solution, and you hesitated audibly.
“Not that I’m suggesting that, of course,” he hastily reassured you. You nodded slowly, your mind still playing catch up. “We’ll figure out another way to manage it, all right? Don’t do anything crazy.”
“Okay.” You agreed, nodding robotically. It felt like your mind had short-circuited when he said that. You didn’t want to die. After all that had happened to you, you just wanted to live normally, safe and secure in your home.
Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about what Namjoon had said. Spring turned to summer, and then to fall, and it almost seemed as though you could forget about it entirely. Things were going well at home – you and Taehyung had settled into a new routine that was, if not ideal, comfortable enough, and you thought that he was coping fairly well with the imprint.
Now that everything was out in the open, it felt like an oppressive air had been lifted from the apartment. You understood now why Taehyung had done that to you, and while you still weren’t thrilled, at least you knew why. He was relentless in his attempts to show you his remorse, too, doting over you almost obsessively.
Gradually, you eased up around him, too. He was always respectful of your need for space. After the first night where you stayed in his room, you’d returned to your own room to think about how you wanted to proceed. All his cards were on the table now, and it was only fair that you figure yourself out. You still weren’t really comfortable being as close to him physically as you’d been before, and you were definitely leery of any sexual contact, both because of your traumatic experiences on the street as well as because of what Taehyung had done.
He handled your attempts to put more distance between the two of you with grace. You didn’t quite know whether he’d hoped to pick up where you’d left off, but you weren’t ready or willing to do that, and he didn’t push. That wasn’t to say that you weren’t acutely aware of the way his eyes would follow you around sometimes, almost predatorily, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Sometimes you could hear him sigh when you went into your own bedroom at night instead of his.
Still, he never made a move, and you understood probably better than anyone else that having an urge and acting on it were two different things. He couldn’t help the way he looked at you, wanted you, but he held it in as best he could to avoid making you uncomfortable. You saw, and you appreciated his effort. Even though he probably didn’t see it, you were trying too, to move past everything that had happened.
For Taehyung, though, this was like purgatory. Having you so close, just out of reach, unable to touch you, was driving him insane. It hadn’t been so bad at first, because his wolf could sense the sour notes of your fear and reacted accordingly, wanting to provide for you and comfort you. It was difficult maintaining his distance even then, of course, since his instincts demanded that he wrap himself around you to keep you warm and protect you from any threats. His wolf had never been the smartest, of course, failing to realize that it was Taehyung who was the threat.
As you started to ease up around him, though, was when the trouble truly began. When you looked at him and smiled, or didn’t flinch away when he accidentally touched you… every sign that you were finally starting to let your guard down around him, no matter how insignificant it seemed, was a win for Taehyung. He celebrated internally every time he noted a milestone, charting your progress silently. The unpleasant scent of your discomfort was slowly replaced by your natural, happy, fruity scent, the one his wolf found so alluring. Which, of course, meant that he was having a hard time keeping his instincts at bay.
If this was what the rest of his life was going to be like, it was going to be torture. He could handle it, though. He was determined to, for your sake – he would grit his teeth and bear anything you threw at him. He would not, under any circumstances, let his imprint ruin his relationship with you more than it already had.
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Last year, when you were still happy and carefree, you’d noticed immediately when Taehyung went into pre-heat. It had been clear as day to you when you were attuned to him and paying attention – the increased neediness, the voracious appetite, how moody he had been. You’d broken up so many silly arguments between him and the boys, picked purely because Taehyung was in a bad mood.
This year, however, was different. Even though you’d started getting better with time, and Taehyung’s conscientious, careful treatment of you, it was clear you were still affected by your time on the streets. You sometimes avoided Taehyung’s gaze, ate as quickly as you could because you still remembered what it was like to be hungry, and slipped away from the table as soon as you were done with your meal. It was still difficult for you to sit quietly with Taehyung, since it required a level of comfort with him that you hadn’t managed to get back.
Even when you were with him, you were hunched over on yourself, cautious, trying not to do or say anything to anger him. Even though he’d explained why he’d kicked you out and took pains to assure you that it would never happen again, you couldn’t forget the memory of him grabbing your arm and dragging you out of his apartment, throwing you out like garbage. It made sitting with him a far more difficult and uncomfortable endeavor than it had been in the past.
When Taehyung started going into preheat, the boys were on tour, which meant you were too. It was an East Asian tour – a short one, just six weeks, kind of a warm up before the global tour that was going to start next spring. The tour had been, to say the least, stressful. Before, they’d been great fun. Who wouldn’t love the opportunity to travel around the world, getting to eat different things and be spoiled by the boys and their entire crew? While everyone had to work, your life had basically been one giant vacation.
Now, though, things were different. As awkward as you felt around Taehyung, you’d had to act normally in front of all the cameras that were perennially trained on you. That meant giggling, smiling, cuddling up to all the boys, especially Taehyung, and never letting your guard down. Because of the boys’ social media presence, even the hotel rooms weren’t always safe, and it had been exhausting.
Taehyung was equally stressed out, trying to act nonchalant in front of the cameras when you clung onto him and plopped yourself into his lap for cuddles every day the way you used to. He quickly became an expert at shifting you around to avoid making you uncomfortable when his body reacted instinctively, and on not overreacting to your proximity. No stiffening (ha), no sharp inhales, or wide eyes, or anything else that would tip off the fans, who were basically detectives.
Knowing his heat was coming didn’t make dealing with the symptoms of it as it approached easier. This was already shaping up to be the worst heat he’d ever had, and it hadn’t even started yet. His increased sensitivity to scent made it all the more difficult to pretend like he wasn’t affected by you, and as the tour dragged on (and his preheat symptoms intensified) he could also see you withdrawing, the stress of pretending like everything okay evidently too much for you.
When the tour finally ended and you were back at your apartment, you immediately made a beeline for your bedroom and shut the door after you, desperate for time to yourself after spending weeks on end surrounded by the boys. Humans didn’t get their own hotel rooms, after all. It just wasn’t in the budget.
You’d think that spending so much time basically glued to his side would have made it easy for you to realise that he was going into heat, but that wasn’t the case at all. The more time you spent without a break with him and everyone in the crew having to keep up the act, the more it took out of you, until you were barely able to take in anything from being so stressed out all the time. Being so occupied with controlling your own reactions to being so close to Taehyung meant that all your attention was focused on yourself, instead of on your surroundings, and the fact that he was acting weird barely blipped on your radar.
Taehyung looked sadly at the closed door separating the two of you and sighed. Even though things had slowly started to improve, you were still clearly holding yourself away from him, and as much as he understood why and wanted to respect your need for space, his impending heat was making things difficult, bringing his animal side to the forefront and making it harder for him to resist his impulses.
As embarrassing as it was, he steeled himself to have an awkward conversation with you about it tomorrow morning. It was, somewhat surprisingly, the first time he’d ever had to tell you that he was going into heat. In the earlier years that you’d been his pet, all the boys had worked together to keep you from being too exposed to that aspect of their unique biology, and the only difference you noted during his heat was that Taehyung spent a lot of time shut in his own room while the other boys took turns playing with you.
Later on, you figured out fairly quickly what was up, and cottoned on to the symptoms that his heat was approaching easily. By the time you were fifteen, you had established a comfortable pattern and he’d never had to explain to you in words that his heat was coming – you just always knew, based on how differently he acted and the time of year.
It was almost tempting to go back to the way they’d dealt with his heats when you were a child – pawning you off onto his brothers and struggling through it alone without having to have an overly intimate conversation was probably the last painful option. In light of last year’s disastrous heat, though, he figured it was only fair that he let you know what was going on.
He scrubbed his hands down his face with a groan. Why had things gotten so complicated? All he’d wanted had been some companionship, and now there was this huge problem staring the both of you in the face that no one had asked for. Not for the first time since finding out about the imprint, he wished that he hadn’t been born a hybrid.
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You woke up in the morning in your own bed, relieved to be back in your own space after having to share a hotel room with Taehyung for six weeks straight. You hadn’t shared his bedroom since that night, months ago, when he told you everything, and he never pushed, a fact for which you were grateful.
Still, morning meant you had to get up and prepare breakfast, since Taehyung was all but useless until noon. Feeling rejuvenated from the best night of sleep you’d had in weeks, you pushed the covers away and headed for the bathroom. You’d established a new morning routine with Taehyung now that you weren’t sleeping in the same room anymore, that gave you a little more space in the mornings. You’d use the bathroom and prepare breakfast while he got ready, then he’d eat while you got ready.
Today, however, was different. You’d placed his breakfast on the counter and were going back to your room to get your clothes when Taehyung cleared his throat.
You stopped short right as you were about to round the counter and leave the kitchen, your eyes darting towards Taehyung. Had he made that noise on purpose or was he doing that stupid sleepy grunting thing he did when he didn’t feel like getting up?
He stared back at you, and you couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. Damn. So he’d made the noise on purpose then to get your attention, then.
“Y/n, I have to tell you something.”
That sounded serious. You moved back to where you were so that you were standing directly across the counter from him. “What is it?” you asked curiously.
Cue some more awkward throat-clearing and avoiding eye contact.
“Uhhh… you know it’s autumn now, right?” Taehyung started.
You raised your brow. “Uh, yes…?” Did he just want to talk to you about the weather? That seemed very unlike him, especially this early in the morning.
“So… winter is coming soon?”
“Yes… that is what autumn usually means.” You didn’t mean to get snippy with him, but his wishy-washy attitude was starting to grate on your nerves.
“Right, so, um… I’m going into heat…?” Taehyung mumbled his words directly into his plate, his shoulders hunched over as he cringed, not quite daring to look up and see your expression.
Your mind was racing, panic threatening to overwhelm you when you remembered what had happened during his last heat. You’d almost lost control then and let him have his way with you, and it was what had started this whole thing anyway. As you were freaking out, your heart rate picked up rapidly, and Taehyung could hear it even if he wasn’t looking at you.
“Hey, whoa, what’s happening?” Taehyung asked, holding his hands out placatingly. You took a deep breath and refocused on him.
“Are you okay?” his brow furrowed as he watched an array of emotions cross your face in quick succession.
“Yeah,” you said, though your voice was a little choked. “I’m fine. What do you want to do about your heat?” you asked, trying to calm your racing heart. Wild panic was definitely not the best way to go here.
Still eyeing you suspiciously, Taehyung told you, “Well, I’m sure Suga-hyung wouldn’t mind it if you stayed with him for a week or so…”
The suggestion was so unexpected that it completely wiped out your distress, replacing it with shock instead. You gaped at him, unable to find the words to ask him the question you wanted to ask.
Thankfully, despite everything that had happened between you Taehyung was still fairly good at reading you, and he hurried to reassure you. “Oh, don’t worry about all of that,” he said, referring to the imprint and the fact that during his last heat he’d basically gone feral for you. “I’m sure it won’t be too bad.”
You could see on his face though that even he didn’t believe his own words. Even though you appreciated his attempt to smile and muscle through it for you, you couldn’t help but remember how miserable and out of it he’d been during his last heat when you refused him, and your heart squeezed at the thought of him going through it again.
Seeing your clear doubt, Taehyung smiled at you, though it was a little strained and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I- I’m not,” you immediately denied, your voice shaky and unconvincing.
“Okay,” Taehyung accepted easily, not believing you for a second. “Go get ready.”
You hesitated then. “Actually… I think I might stay home today.”
“Oh… okay,” Taehyung said, this time slightly dejectedly.
“I just started a new book,” you offered, a lame excuse to try and spare his feelings. He nodded, acknowledging your effort, but it was clear the conversation was over.
“Well… have a good day at work then,” you said, before escaping back into your room.
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As much as you wished you could say you’d taken on the role of martyr quickly and decisively, the truth couldn’t be any more different. It took days of agonizing over the decision, days in which you stayed mostly alone in your room, pacing up and down despite Taehyung’s repeated pleas from right outside your door to come out and tell him what was bothering you.
You ignored him, knowing there was no way you could tell him. You didn’t know if Namjoon had told Taehyung about the rather radical solution that he’d found to the imprint, but you didn’t want to hear anything Taehyung said about it. The best case scenario would be that he told you insincerely that he didn’t want you to do anything rash, that he could live with it, even though you could see in his eyes and every fiber of his being that he just wanted to be free of the imprint. The worst-case scenario… you shuddered to think about it.
No, this was a decision you had to make alone.
On the one hand, you really didn’t want to die. After everything you’d already been through, why did you have to make the ultimate sacrifice for Taehyung? The injustice made you want to scream in anger at the sky, roll around and pound your fists against the ground. You’d never asked for any of this. All you’d ever wanted was to be a good pet, to love and be loved by your owner.
Then again – Taehyung hadn’t asked for any of it either. He’d gone into all of this with the same hopes as you, just wanting companionship and a cute pet. Instead he’d gotten arguably the short end of the stick, far more affected by the imprint than you were. After all he’d given you over the past nine years, was this the best way you could pay him back? By setting him free?
Even if you stayed alive, what kind of life would this be? Stuck in this uncomfortable situation without any way out, living indefinitely with Taehyung? It was torture for the both of you. Even though he tried to hide it, to show you a brave, unaffected face, and never made you feel bad about anything, you knew he was suffering. You could feel the way his eyes sometimes followed you around hungrily, even if he himself was unaware of the way he was looking at you. During the tour, whenever you’d glomp him in front of the cameras to play the role of an adoring pet human, you could feel him stiffen ever so slightly and hold his breath to avoid inhaling your scent. Was this really the way you wanted to spend the rest of your life, pretending to be a devoted and adorable pet when neither of you enjoyed it?
You’d never felt so trapped before. There were no other options for you – you were too old to be adopted again since everyone wanted babies, and in any case, you were sure Taehyung wouldn’t let you go. Having you somewhere in the world but away from him would be torturous for him given the nature of the imprint, and even in your darkest moments, when you resented him and wanted him to suffer the way you had and were continuing to, you wouldn’t wish that on him.
Why were your only options staying put or death? The unfairness of it all, the feeling that you’d been wronged by the universe, twisted your insides. You wanted to cry, but you’d cried so much over the past few days that your eyes hurt and you didn’t think you had any more tears in you.
The worst part was that you knew this was difficult for Taehyung too. He’d barely left the apartment in the days since his announcement, when he came back from the studio on the first day and found you in your room. Despite your best attempts to cry quietly, his keen hybrid ears picked up the sounds of your muffled sobs and sniffles and he’d been camped outside your bedroom door ever since, begging you to let him in, to tell him what was going on and let him help you.
His heartfelt pleas tore at your heart, and you found yourself sitting on the ground with your back against the door to be close to him even though you needed to be alone, in the same position you’d found yourself in almost a year ago – Taehyung begging to be let in, and you in tears as you refused, for his own good. The irony was not lost on you.
Ultimately, though, you knew the choice had always been clear. Between setting the both of you free and staying trapped in this purgatory, you’d always choose the former.
It didn’t make going through with it any easier, though. Even though you knew rationally that this was the best option, your instincts urged you to cling to life. You could always go back to the streets, hitch a ride out of Seoul and try to eke out an existence by yourself in the countryside. You knew how to grow fruits and vegetables from living with Taehyung’s parents, and you wouldn’t starve. As you lay in bed on what you’d decided would be the last night of your life, you allowed yourself the comfort of dreaming about what such a life might be like. One where you didn’t need to worry about where your next meal was going to come from, or pleasing someone else, where you could live independently, just you and your little garden.
You fell into a restless sleep that night, the tears you’d thought you didn’t have any more streaking your face.
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When you opened your bedroom door the next morning, Taehyung, who’d been leaning against the door while he slept, fell backwards into your room. He jolted awake before he hit the floor and managed to catch himself, leaving you impressed, as always, with his superior hybrid reflexes.
“Good morning,” you murmured as he blinked up at you sluggishly.
“Y/n…” he said softly, his mind still foggy from sleep. “Good morning,” he replied reflexively.
“Did you stay out here all night?” you asked, squatting to bring your face closer to his.
He cleared his throat and nodded, and your heart squeezed from how cute he was when he’d just woken up. You wished you’d gotten to see more of it, and maybe in a different world, you’d have gotten a shot at a happy ending. Thinking about it too much kind of made you want to cry, so you started to stand up to go brush your teeth.
Quick as a dart, his hand snaked out to capture yours, and you looked down at him in surprise. He rarely initiated physical contact anymore, after learning about your trauma, but since he was still half-asleep, old habits came back to the surface. “What is it, Taehyung-oppa?” you asked, kneeling back down.
“I have to go to the studio today,” he rasped in his deep, early morning voice. You suppressed a shiver – as difficult as you found it to be around him sometimes, your body had never forgotten the initial attraction you’d had towards him a year ago, and when he was sleepy and pliant like this he almost seemed like a different person from the cruel man who’d forced you onto the streets.
“Okay,” you accepted easily. In truth, you didn’t understand why he was telling you this – you knew he had to go in. They were already preparing for the world tour next spring, and you were surprised that he’d spent the last two days camped outside your bedroom door when he should really be at work with the rest of the boys. “I’ll go get your breakfast ready,” you said, looking pointedly down at your hand still enveloped in his. He needed to let go if you were going to help him get ready.
“Wait,” he said, blinking the last of the sleep out of his eyes. Yesterday Namjoon had called him to ream him out for not turning up for practice for two days in a row, and even though he’d been understanding about the whole situation with you, knowing that Taehyung was always worried about you now, he’d still told Taehyung in no uncertain terms that he couldn’t just shirk his responsibilities to his bandmates and fans like he’d been doing for the past few days. Taehyung had wanted to stay home with you because you were so clearly upset about something, but he’d been neglecting his duties at work long enough.
“I- I know you’re upset about something,” Taehyung began haltingly. He didn’t know exactly what it was, since you’d refused to tell him, but since it had started right after he told you about his heat, he could pretty much guess that it was related to that. Approaching it, however, was difficult since he didn’t know how to go about it tactfully, especially in the mornings, since it took so damn long for him to get his act together. He really should have written this down last night.
“Y/n…” He stopped, swallowed, then started again. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
That caught your attention, and you froze, staring at him with wide eyes.
“I know you hate this imprint,” he choked out, and the words felt like sand leaving his mouth because of how difficult it was to express thoughts that went so directly against his instincts. “I don’t like it either, and I promise you that I’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want to do, okay? You’re safe here.” Even though he meant well and was trying to reassure you, his admission that he didn’t want the imprint either made you all the more certain of your decision.
“I understand,” you said, reaching out to pet his ears soothingly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” he accepted. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Promise. Even if it’s about the imprint.” His gaze searched yours imploringly, like he didn’t quite know how to reassure you of his sincerity.
“I know,” you agreed. You really didn’t agree with that, but you’d say anything to get that hangdog expression off his face.
He stared at you for a couple more seconds, then let you go with a nod. “All right, then,” he said, looking slightly embarrassed as you fled to the bathroom.
You blinked back tears as you made his breakfast for the last time, feeling Taehyung’s gaze boring into the back of your head from where he sat at the counter waiting for you to finish. He was still worried about you, you knew, though he wouldn’t pry anymore since you’d shut him down. You both loved and hated him for that.
When you set his plate down in front of him, you tried not to look at him because you were barely keeping it together as it was. Then you realized that this was probably the last time you would have the opportunity to and swung your gaze from the countertop to his face, taking it all in greedily.
Taehyung was still looking at you, and when you looked back, your eyes met, which you were completely unprepared for. Your jaw dropped slightly in surprise as he stared intently at you, and in that moment, you felt stripped bare for him, like he was looking effortlessly into your soul. It was too much for you, and you averted your gaze out of embarrassment, hating how vulnerable he could make you feel. Before, you hadn’t minded it, had thought it was a sign of your affection and trust for each other, but after your security in this home had been stripped away, it just scared you.
“Do you want to come with me to the studio today?” Taehyung asked. He was still watching you with that unsettling, piercing gaze, and you shook your head without looking back at him.
“Are you sure, Y/n-ie?” Something was off, Taehyung could feel it, and his instincts were ordering him to keep you by his side. Imprinting wasn’t magic, but it meant he was always hyper-attuned to you. With his hybrid senses, he could hear the erratic beating of your heart, smell the salt of the tears you tried so hard to keep at bay, see the distress written clearly across your face. There was clearly something bothering you, and it killed him to know that he was the cause of it and that he’d ruined the trust between the two of you so much that you were too afraid to talk to him about it. He’d always been there for you, and the fact that you weren’t letting him in now cut him up inside.
“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile as you looked back at him.
His brow furrowed in concern. “Okay, I’ll call Namjoon and tell him that I can’t come in today either then.” He reached for his phone, sitting next to his plate on the counter.
“What? No,” you protested, snatching the phone before he could grab it. “You need to go to work; I know Namjoon-oppa will be mad if you skip again.”
Taehyung’s frown deepened. “I don’t want to leave you alone when you’re like this,” he objected.
“Tae-oppa, I’m fine. Please just go to work,” you begged, using the old nickname you had for him for good measure. You hadn’t called him that since before he kicked you out, and you could see him softening in front of you.
“Are you sure?” he asked, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at you – not that he needed it, with his enhanced wolf vision.
“Yeah.” You nodded, smiling tremulously at him.
“Okay. I’ll see you when I get home then.” Taehyung got up and got ready to leave, and you followed him to the front door. As he was putting his coat on, you sidled up to him and wrapped your arms around him in a hug, the first one you’d voluntarily given him since he’d found you at Hangang Park.
“What’s all this?” he asked, bemused, even as his arms wrapped around you. His wolf just couldn’t resist, and you were so cute, nuzzling into the hollow between his collarbones like you were scenting him. Humming with pleasure, he dropped his head to the top of yours, sniffing your hair.
“Nothing,” you said, your voice slightly muffled. You pulled back a little so you could look up at him, and for a second, your faces were so close that he could have just dipped his head slightly to kiss you. The temptation was overwhelming, especially since you’d initiated the hug, but Taehyung held it together – just barely. You squeezed him a little tighter and it took everything in him to stay still, praying that you wouldn’t notice the erection starting to form in his pants.
Obviously, you did notice it, since it was pressed into your belly, but you graciously ignored it, knowing that he couldn’t help it. Knowledge of your impending mortality made such things seem less significant, anyway.
When you finally released him and took a step back, he blinked for a moment, slightly bereft. Without your warmth pressed against him he felt a little cold, even though he knew it was ridiculous. Still, he had to leave, so he brushed your hair behind your shoulder fondly and asked, “Are you sure you’ll be okay at home?” one last time.
“Yes,” you stressed, pushing him gently out the door. “I’ll be fine, I promise, Tae-oppa.” He still looked a little dubious, but you’d distracted him by calling him that again, and he left with a small smile on his face.
With the door firmly shut behind Taehyung, you leaned against it and sank onto the ground. Just getting him out of the house had been exhausting, and you didn’t know if you actually had the strength to end your own life. Your breath shuddered out of your lungs and you tipped your head back against the door.
Even though you were now alone, you were afraid to give in to your emotions because you didn’t know if you would have the courage to go through with it if you let the fear take over. Instead, you mechanically got on with your morning routine, washing the dishes and tidying up. You avoided the bathroom because you knew what was there.
Since Taehyung had been having trouble sleeping without you in his bed, he’d gotten a prescription for sleeping pills which he kept in the bathroom cabinet. He didn’t use them all the time, you knew, just the nights that were particularly bad. If you thought hard enough, it would be easy to connect the times when he couldn’t sleep to your ovulation cycle, but you were determined to ignore that.
It wasn’t until hours later that you opened the bathroom cabinet and found the pills. You reached into the cabinet, your hands trembling, and closed your fingers around the small bottle. Your legs wouldn’t work properly when you went back to your room and shut the door, and it felt like every muscle in your body was already stiff.
Looking down at the bottle in your palm, you bit your lip to prevent tears from leaking out again. You rolled the container back and forth a little, looking at the sticker with Taehyung’s name on it. The recommended dose was half a pill to one.
Breathing out heavily, you steeled yourself to open the bottle, but you couldn’t do it. With a sigh, you placed it down on your bedside table, staring at it. The little orange bottle with a white cap sat innocently where you’d left it, like it was mocking you.
-----------------------------
Something had been off all day, Taehyung could feel it. Obviously, there was no supernatural aspect to the imprint, but he’d been living with you for almost ten years now, and you weren’t as good at hiding your emotions as you thought you were. Worrying about you consumed almost all of his focus, and he was a complete mess during dance practice – even Namjoon was doing better than he was.
After the third time Hoseok had stopped practice to yell at him, Namjoon intervened, taking Taehyung aside to talk to him in the hallway.
“Tae, what’s been going on with you recently? You skip out on practice for two days, and now it’s like you’re not even here when you are.”
Taehyung shrugged, averting eye contact. He was ashamed of how he was acting, because he knew it was stressing his brothers out too when they were already freaking out over the comeback tour, but he just couldn’t get you out of his mind. “I’m sorry, hyung. Y/n’s been acting a little strange recently, and I’m just worried about leaving her alone,” he explained.
Namjoon’s expression softened. “Do you need to talk about it?” he offered.
“I don’t know. She’s been acting a little strange since the tour ended, and after I told her that my heat is coming up…” he blushed. Hybrids weren’t shy when talking about their heats – it was a normal bodily function for them, after all – but since Taehyung had the imprint, any mention of the heat implied that he couldn’t stop thinking about the way his pet human smelled and tasted. Even though he was coming to accept that the imprint, and by extension, his desires, were not his fault, it was still awkward and embarrassing for him to talk about it. He hadn’t told anyone about it other than you, so only Namjoon knew.
“Yeah? What’s been going on? Maybe she’s just stressed out about it,” Namjoon tried to reassure his brother. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know…” Taehyung pursed his lips in thought. “She spent the last couple of days locked up in her room and I kept hearing her crying. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, though.”
Namjoon was starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. Was this related to the conversation he’d had with you so many months ago?
“And she was really weird today, too. You know she gave me a hug?” Try as he might, Taehyung couldn’t stop the dreamy note from entering his voice. As uncharacteristic as it had been for you, he’d missed your physical affection so much that he couldn’t bring himself to complain about it.
“That sounds nice. Why are you worried then?” Namjoon prompted.
“I don’t know. She just seemed really upset even though she was trying to hide it.” Taehyung frowned. “I even offered to stay home again to keep her company, but she basically forced me to leave the house.”
His jaw tightening, Namjoon’s mind raced. “You should go back to check on her if you’re worried,” he told Taehyung.
“What? But practice and everything, I can’t just abandon you guys-” he protested.
“Please, as if you’re helping us out in your current state.” Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Go, I’ll cover for you with the others.”
“Okay. Thank you, hyung,” he said gratefully before running down the hall to the elevator.
------------------------------------
You picked up the bottle again, shaking it a little and hearing the noise as the pills rattled against the container. “Okay, now or never,” you psyched yourself up with a deep breath. Of course, you’d rather it be never, but you pushed that thought out of your mind. This was for Taehyung, you reminded yourself.
The bottle cap had a child lock on it, which was truly ridiculous when you stopped to think about it, because adult humans were definitely more able to open a stupid bottle cap than a hybrid child was. If they were going to restrict access to prescription medication, a human-proof lock would be better.
Then again, you mused sardonically, most humans were smart enough to know not to break into medicine cabinets and eat whatever they saw, so it was probably seen as redundant.
Opening the bottle easily, you turned it over and emptied the contents into your hand. You dropped the bottle onto the covers next to where you were sitting and reached for the glass of water you’d prepared on your nightstand. Your hand trembled so much, though, that you had to work extra hard to get a good grip on the glass, and even then, you spilled a bit on the bed.
Slowly, you unclenched your hand and stared at the pills. Closing your eyes, you tossed them all into your mouth, then brought the glass of water to your lips. Come on, you thought to yourself. It would all be over soon – all the suffering that you’d experienced in the last year. Just a couple of minutes, and you would slip into blissful sleep. No more nightmares, no more trauma…
Now that you’d decided on this path, the knowledge that you wouldn’t need to continue living such a painful existence was almost a relief to you. Finally, you tipped the glass a little so water filled your mouth and swallowed. You finished the water before setting the glass back on the bedside table, then stretched out so you were lying on your side, facing the door.
Although it was too soon to feel the effects of the sleeping pills, you felt an incredible wave of peace wash over you, and you closed your eyes. Soon, all of this would be over. You’d be free, setting down all your burdens.
Right before you faded out of consciousness, you vaguely registered your phone vibrating against the bedside table, but your eyelids were too heavy to lift, and it felt impossible to raise your hand to pick it up to see who was calling.
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The sense of dread and discomfort Taehyung felt brewing in the pit of his stomach only intensified as he drove back home, and by the time he parked his car, the unease bordered on panic. He’d been attempting to call you the whole time, but you hadn’t picked up, which was strange for you – you’d not been far from your phone ever since you’d gotten your first. It was just lucky that he hadn’t been pulled over or gotten into an accident from how poorly he’d been driving, his gaze constantly flicking from the road to his phone.
He raced up to his apartment as quickly as possible, bursting through the door like a madman. Every second felt like life or death, and he’d almost broken the elevator buttons from pressing on it so hard so many times. “Y/n?” he called, his voice echoing through the apartment the moment he stepped through the door.
There was no response to break the ominous silence, only the deafening sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Kicking off his shoes, Taehyung walked quickly through the corridor, peeking into the kitchen and living room as he passed them to make sure you weren’t in either of those rooms.
“Y/n?” he called again, his voice starting to sound slightly manic. He hoped more than anything that you would appear from around the corner and laugh at him for getting so worked up over nothing, but there was no sound or movement. Your bedroom door was shut, so he knew you hadn’t left the apartment, because you never shut it after you.
Stopping in front of your room, he knocked on the door. “Y/n, are you there? Can you let me in, please?”
Silence.
“Y/n?” He knocked again, a little more insistently.
When there was still no response, he opened the door hesitantly and peeked in. “Y/n?” When he saw you lying on your bed, he relaxed for a moment, thinking that you were just taking a nap. In fact, you looked so peaceful like that, with all the lines in your face from that tense expression you always wore around him smoothed out.
He stepped into the room and realized only then that something was wrong. You were breathing too slowly, and your heart rate was sluggish. Looking closer, he saw the empty pill bottle lying on its side next to you and his panic rocketed through the roof.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed, rushing to you. “Y/n? Y/n!” he tried to shake you awake, to no avail.
“Shit,” he hissed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to prop you up. Your head lolled listlessly. “Y/n, please,” he begged, tears pricking at his eyes that he tried to blink away. He had to keep it together, or you wouldn’t make it.
Setting you back down on the bed, he called the ambulance hotline. The moment he heard the click that meant someone had picked up, he started explaining what had happened, the words spilling out of him in his urgency. “My human, she’s swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills, I don’t know what to do, I—” His voice broke on a sob.
“Sir? Please remain calm. I’ll send an ambulance; can you provide your address?” The person manning the hotline’s soothing voice helped Taehyung, and he took a deep breath as he told her the address.
“An ambulance will be there ASAP. In the meantime, it would be helpful if you could induce vomiting to start removing the drug from her system.”
Taehyung tossed his phone onto the covers and pushed his sleeves past his elbows. “Induce vomiting…” he muttered to himself, his hands hovering uncertainly over your face. “Uhhh…”
Gingerly, he slid one hand under your neck to hold your head off the mattress slightly and winced as he stuck two fingers in your mouth, gently probing at the opening of your throat. No response.
“Fuck, come on…” he said, voice strained as he pushed a little harder and felt you gag. Encouraged, he did it again, and it felt like your whole body convulsed as you started throwing up.
“Gross,” he cried, unable to retract his hand fast enough. He tilted your head so you didn’t choke on your own vomit, and it fell onto the floor instead. He wrinkled his nose – the smell was awful, especially to his enhanced hybrid senses – but he could see the pills lying among the mess, and he sagged in relief, bracing his arms against the bed on either side of your prone form as he bowed his head, his forehead just barely touching your stomach.
And then the paramedics arrived, and everything was a blur of motion that Taehyung could barely keep up with. You were lifted onto a stretcher and someone was wiping off his hand, then he was following the paramedics out while answering their questions about you. Turns out, he didn’t know a lot about what you’d been doing before you decided to do this.
On the way to the hospital, he sat in the ambulance clutching your hand, hovering anxiously above you and watching your face for any sign of discomfort or pain. There was none, of course. You were still out cold, but watching you made him feel useful, and reassured him that you were still breathing and okay. His wolf was frantic, and it was difficult to keep his baser instincts under wraps when his control was so frayed by his emotional state, but he had to, for your sake.
It became almost a mantra for him during the traumatic hours when they wheeled you off into the hospital, pumped your stomach and gave you other drugs to get the sleeping pills out of your system. He reminded himself sternly that he could not give in to his animal instincts, rip into the doctors and nurses who were causing you pain and growl at everyone to leave you the fuck alone. It had been easier staying in control of his animal side when there was a task at hand that he needed to focus on to help you, but now that there was nothing to do but sit around, he felt like he was going crazy, the two sides of his psyche at war with each other.
He sat in the corridor right outside the room you were in, listening to the sounds coming from within: the beeping, the yelling from the doctor and nurses as they tried to save your life, and worst of all, the revolting sounds that came with you having your stomach pumped. You regained consciousness briefly during that time, and your cries of distress and pain were agonizing to listen to. Unaware that there was nothing he could do, his wolf side snarled and begged for him to help, to snatch you away from the people who were torturing you. He bowed his head, sat on his hands and cried along with you.
It wasn’t until you were safely in your own room in the hospital, cleaned up and asleep in your bed with an IV drip in, that Taehyung could finally relax, knowing you would be all right. He texted Namjoon to tell him what had happened, then just sat with you, waiting for you to wake up.
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The room was dark, you noted sluggishly. The door was open, and some light spilled in from the hallway, but the ceiling was barely lit with a dim yellow. It was kind of soothing, you thought as your eyes slid shut again. Everything felt heavy and ached, so you didn’t bother trying to move. It was easier to just go back to sleep.
The next time you woke up, the room was bright again, and when you tried to lift your hand to your face to block out the light, you found that you couldn’t. This was concerning until you turned to see Taehyung, slumped on the bed with his cheek resting against your hand.
You wriggled your fingers a little, just to check that you still could, and the motion woke him up. He blinked slowly, his vision blurry for a second, until he realized where he was and jolted upright. It was probably the fastest you’d ever seen him wake up, and you wanted to make a dig at his expense about it, but when you tried to speak, you realized how dry your throat was.
“Water,” you croaked, and Taehyung leapt to do your bidding, bringing you a paper cup filled with water. You reached out to take the cup from him, but he refused to hand it over, helping you sit up with one arm while feeding you the water with the other. When the cool liquid touched your lips, you sucked it down eagerly, unaware until that moment how very thirsty you actually were.
“Slowly,” Taehyung cautioned. Ignoring him, you drained the cup and asked for more.
When you’d had three whole cups of water, he helped you find the remote control for the bed so that you could sit up comfortably. The blanket pooled around your hips and Taehyung continued fussing over you, making sure you were comfortable.
“I’m fine, oppa,” you said, batting his hands away gently. He looked up at you, his face so close to yours, and the anguish you saw in his eyes took your breath away. “Oppa… are you okay?” you asked, cradling his face with your hand. You swept your thumb across his cheek as his eyes closed. He was supposed to be okay… that was the whole point.
“I should be asking you that question,” he forced out, his voice thick with emotion as he sat back down heavily. “Y/n… why did you do it?”
Swallowing hard, you looked away from him and refused to say anything.
“Y/n, please…” he begged. “I want to help you. That’s all I want.” He leaned forward, trying to meet your eyes, but you slid your gaze away again. “If you won’t talk to me, will you talk to a psychologist or a therapist?”
Your eyes widened in panic and you turned back to face him so fast he thought he might have heard your neck crack. “I can’t talk to anyone else about this!” you cried out. “You know we can’t tell anyone about the… the…” As you realized what you’d almost blurted out, you clammed up, clutching at your blanket in distress as you lowered your gaze.
“Is this… about the imprint?” Taehyung asked, his voice shaky now. You didn’t reply, but the damage was already done. “Y/n, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice choked. He sniffled and blinked away tears. “I know this has been difficult and unfair for you,” he continued. “If you want to leave me, you only have to ask, okay?”
Fuck. This had never been the plan. Now he thought there was something wrong with you and wanted to get rid of you. Of course he did – who wanted a defective pet who tried to commit suicide? “You want me to go?” you asked in a small voice. “Where- where would I go?”
“Will you be happier if you leave? I just want you to be happy, baby. You can go live with my parents, or I’ll get you your own apartment somewhere, or if you want--” He gulped. “I can see if anyone else wants to adopt you. You’re so cute and pretty, I’m sure lots of hybrids want to adopt a human like you.” The words felt like ground glass, but he was sincere in his offer. If it would help you, he would give you up entirely, despite the personal cost to him. Even saying the words had his wolf going crazy, begging and whining for you to stay, but he remained resolute, refusing to give voice to his feelings. This was about you, and it would remain about you.
Would you be happier if you left? Honestly, you didn’t know. You looked up at him and bit your lip thoughtfully. The imprint had been difficult for you to deal with, yes, and he’d ruined your trust in him by kicking you out. But he’d been trying to make up for it ever since, and it had been about eight months of him reining in his instincts and being patient and kind. You were more than aware that his insomnia was caused by you, and it probably wasn’t the only problem that you were causing in his life, yet he’d never made you feel bad.
And—most importantly, he’d saved you. You were sitting in this hospital bed, well and alive, because of him, and he was still trying to help you. Would you ever find somebody who cared about you as much as Taehyung? Who else would go to the same lengths to make sure that you were safe and happy?
Even now, you could see how difficult it was for him to make you that offer. Taehyung was notoriously bad at hiding his feelings, after all, especially from someone as familiar with him as you were, but even without seeing his distress from his body language, you knew that it wouldn’t be easy for him if you left his life. Yet he’d offered, and he was being sincere about it.
Taehyung was one in a million, and you’d lucked out by having him as your owner. He’d been exemplary other than his one slip, and as awful as that had been, you could sort of understand why he’d done it. Besides, hadn’t he made up for it?
Before you knew it, you were shaking your head. Slowly at first, then increasingly vehemently. You didn’t want to leave him, you realized now. Yes, things had been difficult recently, but he’d done his best to make up for it, was truly remorseful about his mistake, and you could feel how much he cared for you with everything he did. For the most part, you really liked being his pet, and you would miss him if you left.
“I don’t want to leave,” you said in a small voice.
Taehyung sagged in relief. “Okay, baby,” he said, reaching out to stroke your hair. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Trust me. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you ever again.”
His promise made you feel like everything was going to be all right, because you knew Taehyung would move heaven and earth for you.
------------------------------
When you were discharged from the hospital a few days later, Taehyung was right there to pick you up, wheeling you out in your wheelchair – despite your protests that you could walk, thank you very much – and attempting to help you into the car. Although you slapped his hands away and got into the car unaided, you couldn’t stop the small smile that stole across your face at how eager he was to coddle you.
Taehyung had barely left your side during the time you’d been in the hospital, and they’d given him special permission to stay past visiting hours because he was your owner. He’d only gone home to shower and change, and to bring you some proper clothes to change into when you were discharged. Your near-death experience had changed your entire outlook on the situation you were in, and you were more open with him now than you’d been in the past months, ever since he rescued you from the streets. Taehyung, for his part, reveled in your new, easier relationship with him, smiling so much at you that you wondered how his cheeks didn’t ache.
You were glad to be home, honestly. Hospital food sucked and you craved the comfort of being back in familiar surroundings. Taehyung looked over at you after pressing the button for the elevator, and you smiled back at him. “You doing okay?” he asked, just to be sure. He’d been doing that a lot over the past couple of days – asking after you periodically, like he just had to make sure that you were still okay.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” you told him, squeezing his arm. You knew it had scared him when you suddenly – or so it seemed to him – decided to take your own life, with very little warning. Since you didn’t have any plans to tell him why you’d done it, not being willing to throw Namjoon under the bus when you knew he’d meant well, you’d made up your mind to reassure him that you didn’t have any plans to try again. You were quite happy being among the living.
When Taehyung opened the front door and let you in, you about leapt out of your skin when you saw the other boys standing in the entrance. “Y/n-ie!” Jimin cried, rushing to give you a hug. Confused, you stood still and let him rub his cheek against your temple, staring with wide eyes at the boys over his shoulder.
“Guys, what are you doing here?” Taehyung grumped, trying to sound irritated but not entirely succeeding.
Hoseok shrugged. “We wanted to come welcome Y/n back,” he explained. “We brought lots of food, too.”
“Aww, thank you guys,” you giggled.
It was easy to not overthink when you were with all seven of the boys. They were rowdy and noisy, as always, yelling at each other and hamming it up to make you laugh. You didn’t need to do much to feel comfortable with them, sliding into old, familiar patterns of interaction as you sat at the table and ate the food they’d brought, giggling at their antics.
Even Taehyung seemed to relax around them, losing the tension you’d seen him carry in his shoulders and the lines around his mouth. As he smiled and laughed with Jungkook and Jimin, you couldn’t help but feel warm inside. This was what you had chosen, and you were happy with your decision.
None of the boys mentioned why you’d been in the hospital to begin with, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but from the way Namjoon kept staring at you, you knew Taehyung had definitely told at least him. You tried your best to avoid his gaze, feeling awkward, but you could feel his eyes drilling holes into the back of your head.
After lunch, you excused yourself to use the restroom while the others started clearing up. As you were washing your hands, you stared into the mirror as the memory of what had transpired the last time you were in this room happened. Right behind the mirror was the cabinet, and you couldn’t help but recall reaching in to grab the bottle of pills.
Shaken, you quickly dried off your hands and exited the room – only to run into Namjoon, who was leaning against the wall by the bathroom door.
“Oppa,” you greeted him, making to skirt around him and return to the living room, where the rest of the boys had migrated.
“Y/n,” he said urgently, and you looked up at him, surprised. You’d thought he just wanted to use the bathroom too, but apparently you were wrong.
“What is it, oppa?” you asked politely, not wanting to make a scene.
“Y/n, I’m sorry,” he apologized, looking down shamefully.
Your eyes widened. This hadn’t really been what you were expecting. “What for?” you asked cautiously.
“For suggesting that you should… you know,” he gestured at you with his hands, unable to say the words.
“Oh… don’t be sorry. You didn’t force me or anything,” you said, patting his arm.
“Still, I shouldn’t have told you about it,” he persisted. “That was wrong of me, I realise now. It’s not your responsibility to break the imprint.”
“Oppa…” you sighed. “It’s really not your fault, okay? I was the one who made the decision, and I was the one who asked you for the information. I know you were just trying to help.”
He raised his anguished gaze to meet yours, and you were surprised by how truly miserable he looked. This whole time, you’d thought that he only tolerated you, that he resented you because of what you’d done to Taehyung. His attitude towards you had shifted so drastically after finding out about the imprint that you’d gotten whiplash, and it was a huge part of why you ultimately accepted that the imprint was mostly your fault. Seeing him so cut up about your suicide attempt was jarring, to say the least.
“No, it was wrong of me,” he insisted. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I realise now that it isn’t your fault all of this happened, and I should have known better than to tell you when you were still recovering from your traumatic experience.”
“What did you tell her?” Taehyung’s voice cut rudely into the discussion you were having with Namjoon, and you both whipped around, eyes wide. It would have been almost comical if Taehyung hadn’t been so furious.
“Taehyung-ah—”
“Tae-oppa—”
Both of you tried to placate Taehyung, but he wasn’t having it. “What. Did. You. Tell. Her?” he asked, louder and more forcefully this time.
You wanted to facepalm. You’d been so careful about not letting it slip to Taehyung, trying to prevent this very situation from happening, and he’d caught you at the earliest possible moment.
“Tae-oppa, please—” You ran towards him, grabbing his shirt with your hands and trying to stop him from advancing on Namjoon. “It was nothing, please just let it go,” you begged.
When he looked down tenderly at you, brushing his thumb over your cheek in a manner that was very reminiscent of the way you’d done the same to him in the hospital, you relaxed a little, thinking he was going to do as you asked. Then he looked up at Namjoon over your head, and you sighed. Oh well, you thought. It would have been too easy if you’d been able to defuse the situation just like that.
Namjoon, for his part, wasn’t doing anything to defend himself, standing with his head bowed and hands clasped in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, knowing that Taehyung would be able to hear him anyway.
It didn’t help. Taehyung pushed you out of the way gently and you stared, wide-eyed, as he stalked towards the taller hybrid. Namjoon could probably defend himself if he wanted to, but he didn’t bother, letting Taehyung deck him so hard he fell onto the ground. Unsatisfied, Taehyung straddled him and continued hitting him repeatedly, so hard you could see Namjoon’s eye already swelling shut as blood spattered on the ground.
“Stop, stop!” you screamed, throwing yourself onto your knees behind the and wrapping your arms around Taehyung’s waist. “Stop, please…” you started sobbing, burying your face in his back. The violence reminded you of being out on the streets, watching the various gang fights between the humans that would take place on a near-daily basis.
The commotion had the other boys rushing to see what was going on, gathering in the hallway as they gawked at the scene in front of them. Hoseok was the first one to snap out of it, running forward to haul Taehyung off Namjoon. The fox hybrid wasn’t strong enough to control the incensed wolf, but Jin and Jungkook quickly stepped in to help, and together they managed to separate the two.
Jimin darted forward to fuss over Namjoon, helping him up while Taehyung strained against his brothers and continued yelling and swearing.
“Tae-oppa, please,” you begged, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Please stop.”
The proximity to you seemed to help, as he relaxed slightly in your hold. “You’d better go,” you said to Namjoon, and he nodded. The rest of the boys filed out with him, leaving you alone with your owner.
“Tae-oppa, are you okay?” you asked worriedly once the door closed behind the others. You pulled away from him and grabbed his hands, examining them to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself.
“Is that why you did it?” he asked. He didn’t sound like himself, and you looked up at him with concern. His bangs hung over his eyes, which were still sparking with rage. He’d never seemed more like an animal than in that moment, and this was including the last time he’d been in heat.
“Taehyung-oppa…” You didn’t know what to say.
“Is it?!” he raised his voice, and you jumped in fright. Your nerves were already shot to hell from the bathroom and then the confrontation with Namjoon, and you broke down in tears.
“I’m sorry,” you blubbered between sobs. “He said it was the only way to break the imprint, and then you said you didn’t want it, and I thought—”
“Hey, hey.” Your distress snapped Taehyung out of his anger, and he immediately turned his attention to comforting you. “I wasn’t blaming you, please don’t cry,” he said, his tone a lot softer now as he rubbed his hands up and down your arms. “You don’t need to apologize, ever, okay? It was my fault for being thoughtless,” he said, ducking a little so he could look you in the eye when you were stubbornly looking downward.
“I don’t ever want you to think that the imprint is a problem for you to solve, okay? It’s not your fault, and I should never have made you think that you had any obligation to seek out a solution, especially one like that.” The strength and conviction with which he spoke the words made it difficult to do anything other than nod, and you finally felt the weight you’d been carrying on your shoulders ever since Namjoon told you about what he thought was the only way to break the bond.
“And I’m sorry for yelling.” He sighed as you hugged him, wrapping his own arms around you and stroking your hair as you sobbed into his shirtfront. “Next time, if you have any problems, I don’t want you to think you have to hide them from me, okay? Even if they’re about us.” He might have imprinted on you, but he was still your owner and he was still responsible for you. He’d been paying for his slip-up for almost a year now, and he was determined to be more mindful from now on. The image of your body, looking so small and fragile, in your bed still haunted him.
------------------------------------
Being back in your room was difficult, you realized once you’d washed up and gotten ready for bed. Even getting into bed made you think of your suicide attempt, and there was also that ugly stain on the carpet from where you’d thrown up. Taehyung had tried to clean it, but he hadn’t been able to get the stain out, and looking at it bothered you.
There was no way you’d be able to fall asleep in the room, so you hesitantly walked over to Taehyung’s intending to bunk in with him. However, the moment you reached the door, you chickened out and paused with your fist raised. Would it be okay if you slept with him tonight? Taehyung would never say no, but you knew it would probably be difficult for him to get any rest with you in his bed. The last time you’d slept in the same room with him had been the night he found out about your experience on the street, and you still remembered waking up to his hard-on pressing into your back.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, you thought. You could always stay on the couch tonight, you decided and turned to do just that. Before you could take a step, however, the bedroom door opened behind you and you turned back around to see Taehyung standing in front of you wearing just pajama pants.
“H-hey,” you said awkwardly.
“Do you want to come in?” he asked. You didn’t ask how he knew you were there – of course he heard you coming down the hall. You bit your lip uncertainly, but sleeping with him did sound like a much better option than the couch, so you said yes and scurried into his room, climbing back into your side of the bed and burrowing under the sheets.
“Are you all right?” Taehyung asked as he got back into bed.
You hummed noncommittally. “I guess,” you said cagily, and he turned onto his side to look at you more fully. The intimacy of this position made your heart race, and you weren’t sure if it was discomfort or something else. His quirked brow was all it took to make you come clean. “Being in my room reminds me of… you know,” you mumbled, feeling guilty for some reason.
“It’s okay,” Taehyung soothed, though he didn’t initiate any physical contact. “You can stay here tonight, and tomorrow we can go stay with my parents for a while, okay? Would you like that?”
Your eyes lit up at the prospect. “We can visit Yeontan?” you asked, your voice lilting with delight.
“Of course we can,” Taehyung said, smiling at you. Your affection for the little dog knew no bounds, and he really should have done this sooner, he realized as he watched you snuggle more deeply into the sheets and shut your eyes. You were asleep within minutes, which he envied, knowing it would probably be a sleepless night for him.
Thankfully, he was wrong, although he thought maybe it would have been better if he’d stayed awake when he woke up and realized that he was wrapped around you again. He was really working on remembering to limit physical contact with you, but it was difficult not to give in to habit (and his wolf instincts) when you seemed more open and comfortable around him than you had in months. Your brush with death had really changed your attitude towards him, it seemed, and though he didn’t really understand why, he was just pleased that you didn’t seem to shy away from his touch as much anymore.
Carefully disentangling himself from you, he slipped out of bed with his phone in his hand and hobbled awkwardly towards the bathroom. Sharing a bed with his imprint was hard (pun intended). Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he called his parents to ask if it was okay if the two of you stayed with them for a little while. They were more than pleased to have you.
The next call he made was considerably harder. Since he wasn’t exactly on talking terms with Namjoon, he called Hoseok to let him know that he would be taking a couple of weeks off to spend time with you and his family. He felt bad about it, and apologized repeatedly, but right now he had to make you his priority.
Hoseok was understanding enough, explaining that he too thought it was best if Taehyung and Namjoon didn’t see each other for a little bit. They were already going to have to push promotions back by a couple of weeks because Namjoon’s face was messed up, so it would be fine if he skipped practice.
When he hung up the phone, he took a moment to bury his face in his hands. God, everything was a mess, but at least you were healthy and seemed to be in high spirits. Shaken up by your near brush with death, sure, but overall doing way better than expected. Thank God for small blessings, he supposed. And big blessings too, like that he’d decided to come home early and found you before it was too late.
You woke up to an empty bed, but that didn’t really faze you. When you peeked out the bedroom door, you saw the bathroom door was closed, and figured Taehyung was in there. Shrugging, you skipped over to your room to start packing. You couldn’t be more excited about going back to Geochang and seeing Yeontan and Kai and everyone else.
---------------------------------------
Being back on the farm was great, you thought. Yeontan came running up to the car as soon as it pulled up in front of the house, and you leapt out to pick up your furry little friend. “I missed you so much,” you cooed, rubbing your face in his fur as he wriggled around excitedly, trying to lick your face. Taehyung’s parents came out to greet you, hugging their son and then you. Yeontan was now panting happily from his perch in your arms, and you cuddled him as Taehyung brought your bags in.
Distractions abounded on the farm, and you kept yourself well-entertained with Taehyung’s siblings, nephews and nieces, and hanging out with your old friends. It made it easy to avoid thinking about everything that had transpired, and every night when it was time for bed, you were so exhausted that you weren’t able to lie there thinking and worrying, falling asleep almost immediately.
Taehyung was enjoying the break too. He loved the city and his work, but being back in the countryside, with the clean air and the family he rarely got to see was a welcome respite. He spent his days mostly in the house, hanging out with his family while you ran around doing whatever. It was nice to see you happy again, he thought one afternoon as you took a nap on the couch, snuggled up with Yeontan. He was still a baby, but he was getting on in age and wasn’t as spry as he once was, something you didn’t mind as you carried him around so he wouldn’t strain his little joints walking.
Still, you could only distract yourself for so long before everything caught up with you, and you found yourself huddled in a shed late one morning crying over everything you’d lost. As healing as being on the farm was, it reminded you of the last time you’d lived here, while Taehyung had been serving in the military. It had been so much easier, everything uncomplicated and simple. You hadn’t had to battle these complicated feelings for Taehyung, knowing that he was struggling with his own turmoil – you’d just been secure in the fact that he loved you the way he should love a pet.
Yeontan, concerned, propped his front paws on your knees and tried to lick your tears away, but you just pulled him close as you continued to sob. Why had everything become so difficult? What had you done to deserve all of this?
As you were having your little breakdown, Taehyung was looking for you. It was almost lunchtime, which you were never late for because you loved his mom’s cooking, so he got concerned when you didn’t pop up with Yeontan in tow. It seemed like the dog liked you better than everyone else, including Taehyung himself, which didn’t seem fair, but he’d gotten over sulking about it when he saw how happy you two made each other.
“Mom, have you seen Y/n? She’s usually never late for lunch, I’m getting worried,” Taehyung finally asked after checking every room in the house and the spots around the farm he thought she’d be.
“Oh, try looking in that old shed on the far corner of the orchard, sweetie,” his mother replied carelessly, plating up the dishes. “She likes to hang out there for quiet time; thinks we don’t know about it.”
With that helpful tip, Taehyung jogged through the orchard to the shed in question, knowing he’d hit the jackpot even before opening the door because of the sound of your sobs coming through the door.
“Y/n?” he called, knocking on the door. “You in there?”
Sniffling, you hastily tried to wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. “Yeah,” you called out.
“Hey,” he greeted you as he walked in, coming to take a seat next to you. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” you said, looking down at your hands, half-covered by your oversized sleeves. Only your fingers peeked out, making you look smaller and more vulnerable than usual.
“Come on,” Taehyung coaxed, knocking his shoulder into yours gently. “You know you can trust me with anything, right? I’ll always support you.”
You clenched your hands into fists, hiding them in your sleeves. Yeontan hopped from your lap to Taehyung’s, and you felt the loss of his warm little body immediately, curling closer into Taehyung in response.
“It’s just… it’s a lot,” you said vaguely, unsure of how to put your thoughts into words.
Thankfully, Taehyung understood without you needing to say anything. “I’m sure it is,” he empathized quietly. His giant frame radiated heat that you soaked up eagerly. As a human, you weren’t quite as resistant to the cold as he was. “If you want to talk about it, though, I’m always here for you, okay? It can be now or any time.”
“I know.” You nodded. Taehyung had definitely demonstrated his commitment to you. Whether it was because he was a responsible pet owner or because of the imprint you weren’t sure, but you knew now that there was no stronger force on this earth than Taehyung’s determination to keep you safe.
It was that sense of security that had you opening up to him. Resting your head on his shoulder, you started speaking. “Being here just reminded me of a simpler time, is all.”
“I get that,” Taehyung said quietly, leaning his head against yours. “Being here reminds me of my childhood too.” He ignored the way his heart seemed to skip at your proximity, determined to be there for you. You’d always enjoyed physical comfort in the past, and it wasn’t anything more than that. What kind of owner would he be if he couldn’t even cuddle his pet?
He looked down at Yeontan, sitting on his lap and panting up at him happily. That’s right, he tried to convince himself. You were just like Yeontan. Pesky imprint aside, he shouldn’t see or treat you any differently.
Thankfully, you didn’t notice any of his inner turmoil since you were so absorbed in your own thoughts. Looping your arm around his, you continued speaking, feeling like now that the dam had been broken the words were spilling out of you almost too fast, without any control. “I know none of this is your fault – well, except for kicking me out, that most definitely was—” Taehyung nodded, accepting your censure with grace, “—but it just feels like a lot of pressure, you know?”
Taehyung stiffened. “If I’ve ever made you feel obligated to do anything—” he began, but you cut him off, shaking your head.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Your brow furrowed as you thought about the best way to phrase it. “It’s just that…” you paused to think for a moment, before continuing. “Knowing how much you’re struggling makes me feel like I should be doing more to help you,” you explained.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to, really, you shouldn’t worry about this at all,” he stressed, and meant it.
“That’s not how caring about someone works, Tae-oppa,” you countered. “Besides, isn’t your heat coming up soon? If we don’t go back soon you’re going to have to go through it here and it’ll be super awkward and—” You stopped when Taehyung abruptly lifted his head off yours and stared down at you.
“What is it?” you asked, looking up at him. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Oppa? You okay?”
“My heat,” he murmured. “I forgot about that.”
Your face scrunched up in confusion. “You forgot? How is that even possible?” The symptoms of his preheat were so disruptive that all his daily activities were affected by them.
“I don’t know, the symptoms just… disappeared.”
Blinking at him, you tried to put the pieces together. “Okaaaay…” you said slowly. “When did this happen?” If there was a problem with his health, you had to go back to Seoul ASAP so he could see a doctor. You’d never heard of this happening before, although granted, you’d never been seeking this information out.
“Uhh, I remember eating way more than usual for breakfast the morning that you, uh…” he paused awkwardly, then continued, skipping over any mention of your suicide attempt altogether. “Then you were in the hospital and I was so worried I was barely eating, so I guess it was then?”
You frowned. That didn’t make sense – his heat cycle had never been disrupted by stress before. Even when there’d been deaths in his family his heat had still passed without incident. Yet it had to be that, since the timing lined up so perfectly.
Taehyung’s lips pressed together to avoid smiling at how cute you were when you were deep in thought, trying to figure the puzzle out. “Come on,” he said, standing up and dusting his pants off. “It’s lunchtime.”
“Oh, okay,” you said quietly, jolted out of your train of thought, as you let him help you up. By the time you got back to the house, lunch was almost over and as you exclaimed your disappointment over your favourite stew being gone, you forgot entirely about the strange mystery of Taehyung’s heat.
--------------------------------------
Being back in Geochang meant hanging out with Kai again. Your reunion with your ex-boyfriend was something you’d been looking forward to since Taehyung even floated the idea of going back to visit his parents. You hadn’t broken up because you were incompatible in any way, of course, but because it was just impossible to be together, since your life was with Taehyung’s in Seoul, and Kai’s family was very happy living in the countryside.
Still, when you went to visit him, his owners just let you into the house, telling you that Kai was upstairs in his room. After thanking them politely, you ran up to his bedroom, bursting in and jumping on his bed, where he was still sleeping.
“Kai! Wake up, you lazy sack!” you giggled as you shook him awake.
He batted you away irritably. “I haven’t seen you in over a year and you’re still just as annoying as ever,” he grumbled, but since he glomped you while he was saying it, you ignored his annoying whining.
You bullied him into going to brush his teeth and sat on the edge of the bathtub watching him as he did so. He was just as handsome as ever, if not more so, but somehow you didn’t feel any attraction towards him. Was it because of the time you’d spent on the streets? Oh God, what if you didn’t like men anymore? Or sex in general? That would be a real tragedy, you thought, pressing your lips together.
Despite your confusion about Kai, the two of you still had a good time together, riding bikes around the countryside the way you used to. It was cold now, since it was winter, but you didn’t let that stop the two of you, even though you were both freezing with red drippy noses. Eventually you ended up in the community greenhouse, setting up a picnic in a cozy corner and shucking your coats. Being with Kai was easy and familiar, and you found yourself slipping into a younger state of mind, feeling lighter and happier. Still no lust, though.
Kai, on the other hand, seemed to have no such compunction – you felt his hand sliding along your lower back, clearly trying to get under your shirt, and you bit back a smile. Even if you didn’t reciprocate, there was something so therapeutic about the predictability of your ex-boyfriend trying to hit on you after all the chaos in your life over the past year.
“Kai,” you rebuked, brushing his hand away from you.
“No?” he asked, pouting at you.
Instead of answering verbally, you just shook your head with a smile.
“Okay,” he accepted, lying back. “I had my doubts anyway.”
“Yeah?” You turned onto your stomach and lay down next to him, propping yourself up with your elbows so you could look down at him easily. “How come?”
He shrugged. “Your whole vibe just seems different,” he said vaguely. “Can you move over a little, please? The sun is getting in my eyes.”
You rolled your eyes but acquiesced so that your shadow blocked out the sun. “What do you mean by that, though?”
“You seem… quieter, and your eyes are different. Like you’re keeping secrets, or you have a burden.”
Well, that much was certainly true, you thought as you hummed in acknowledgement.
“You’re still hot, though,” was his conclusion. You rolled your eyes as you laughed. Kai would be Kai, you supposed.
“Don’t worry, everything’s going to work out,” he said unexpectedly, and you looked at him with wide eyes. He’d always been perceptive, so you shouldn’t have been surprised though. He just smiled sweetly at you in response, and your heart squeezed with affection for him.
“Kai,” you sighed, snuggling close to him and resting your head on his chest. His arm came up around you, and it was nice and secure and warm. Still, you couldn’t shake the thought that Taehyung gave warmer hugs and was altogether better at making you feel like nothing in this world could touch you.
The both of you fell asleep in the greenhouse and only woke up when the sun was starting to set. Kai dropped you off at your place, just like old times, and you smiled fondly at his departing figure on his bicycle before turning around to enter the house.
You almost tripped over Taehyung on your way back into the house.
“Where were you all day?” he demanded.
“Jeez, oppa!” you screamed, pressing your hand over your pounding heart. “I was hanging out with Kai today, don’t worry,” you said dismissively, walking into the house. “Mom, I’m home!” you called out, unwinding your scarf and shucking your coat.
Taehyung came in after you, right on your heels. “You smell just like him,” he grumbled.
“Yeah, we fell asleep after lunch,” you explained with a shrug. This wasn’t necessarily uncommon behavior – even when you were just hanging around the house, you often napped in the afternoon.
His face still looked like a thundercloud, though. “What’s wrong, Taehyung-oppa?” you asked, your brow starting to furrow in concern. Had you missed something important today?
“Nothing,” he sulked. “You just really smell like him,” he repeated.
“All right,” you accepted, though you gave him another strange look before going to the dining room.
Jealousy was inappropriate and ridiculous, Taehyung reminded himself sternly as he ran his hands through his hair. He glanced towards the dining room where you’d gone, and tugged on the fluffy strands hard, hoping the pain would help him ground himself. You’d done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve this weird attitude from him.
Still, he had to admit that he absolutely hated having to smell another man’s scent on you, especially because Kai was human. He knew that you hadn’t done anything with Kai, but still, even if you had, who could blame you? Certainly not his mother, who was asking you about your day with your fellow human.
He needed to get a grip, he decided as he went to rejoin his family. This silly possessiveness over you was because of the imprint. He’d promised you that the imprint wasn’t going to be a problem because he could control it, and he intended to keep that promise.
Although, he thought as he looked over at you again, helping his mother set the table, these days he wasn’t quite sure where he ended and the imprint began.
-------------------------------------------
By the time you headed back to Seoul with Taehyung two weeks later, your relationship with him was much stronger, and you were happier than you’d been since before his last heat. Being in Geochang was like magic for you, the change in your surroundings making it so much easier to talk to Taehyung about all the doubts and insecurities that you’d been battling with for the past year. You’d even confessed your long-held guilt about taking advantage of him during his last heat, which he’d been horrified by.
Taehyung was driving, and he thought you were asleep in the front seat, so you took the opportunity to open your eyes just a crack to peek at him. He looked so good today, his large hands handling the steering wheel with ease, and you never felt safer than you did with him at the wheel.
“Tae-oppa?” you asked hesitantly as he got into the other side of the bed.
He hummed in acknowledgement, letting you know he was listening.
“About your heat…”
At that, he turned around to face you more fully, showing that you had his full attention.
“Can you go through your heat with another woman?”
“Uhhh…” Taehyung blinked at you. The question had come out of nowhere, and it took him a few seconds to digest it. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s not like there’s a manual for the imprint. It was thought to be obsolete technology, remember?”
You scooched further down into the sheets as you contemplated your response. “So what happened during your last heat… will it happen again?” It was kind of embarrassing talking about this, but you needed to be prepared. You weren’t going to end up in the same position as last year, caught off guard and unable to protect Taehyung from himself and you.
Unbeknownst to you, Taehyung was thinking the same thing. “It won’t,” he rushed to reassure you. “Now that I know what’s going to happen, we can make preparations, okay? You’ll stay with Yoongi or one of the others during my heat. You don’t have to worry that I’ll, uh…” He didn’t want to use the word ‘attack’, but that was what came to mind. “Anyway, yeah,” he concluded lamely.
“But you’ll be miserable, won’t you?” you asked, your eyes filled with concern.
“You don’t have to worry about that, sweetie,” he reassured you. “I can handle myself.”
“But I already feel bad about what I let happen last year,” you protested. “Are you sure you can’t go through your heat with someone else?”
His nose wrinkled in distaste at the mere thought of another woman, but he was more focused on what you’d accidentally let slip. “What do you mean what you let happen?” he asked.
Oops. You hadn’t really meant to say that. “You know,” you equivocated, gesturing helplessly with your hands. “You were clearly indisposed,” you tiptoed around it delicately, “and I should have known better than to reciprocate.” God, this was embarrassing. Your hands itched to bring the duvet up over your head.
“Y/n… what are you talking about?” Taehyung, completely flummoxed, had nothing else to say.
Okay, screw this. You burrowed further under the sheets, hiding your head under the covers. You were officially leaving this conversation.
“Y/n, what happened wasn’t your fault at all,” Taehyung said strongly, patting the head-shaped lump under the covers. “I basically attacked you like an animal, and you were the one who stopped it from getting out of hand. Thank you for that, by the way.”
Your head popped back out. “’Thank you’?” you echoed disbelievingly.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have wanted anything to happen, especially when we hadn’t talked about it before. You took charge when I wasn’t able to control myself, and I know it was difficult for you.”
Your eyes started to sting, and you willed your tears away. The relief of knowing, after all this time, that he didn’t blame you and you didn’t need to keep carrying this burden silently was overwhelming, making your throat close. You couldn’t have said anything in response to him, and Taehyung didn’t push you, just smiling down at you before he turned over and went to sleep, leaving you with your own emotions.
You’d thought about that night almost obsessively since, and you were replaying the events that had occurred in your mind again. Ever since then, you couldn’t stop the way your heart sped up a little when Taehyung was around, and you didn’t quite know what to make of it. He just made you feel so safe and cherished, and he’d so easily helped you set down all the emotional baggage you’d been accumulating for the past year. Was it gratitude or was it something more?
You opened your eyes fully and blinked at Taehyung, and he took his eyes off the road for just a second to smile at you. “Did you have a good nap?” he asked, returning his gaze to the front.
“Yeah,” you replied, smiling back at him. It was true – ever since you’d told him everything, you’d been sleeping so much easier. You still had occasional nightmares about your time on the streets, but Taehyung was always there when you woke up to comfort you, and you were starting to move past it.
“That’s good,” he said, the sincerity radiating off him.
Yeah, you thought to yourself. It was good.
---------------------------------
The return of his preheat symptoms didn’t particularly surprise Taehyung, but it definitely complicated things a little. Now that you were less distracted by everything and getting the space you needed from being home, without cameras constantly trained on you, you noticed almost immediately, increasing the amount of groceries you bought and making other small adjustments to make it easier for him.
These days you accompanied him to the studio more often than not, and somewhat ironically, it was Namjoon who was the most grateful to see you there. Even though you still seemed a little uncomfortable around him, refusing to make eye contact and getting jumpy whenever he walked past your chair or came too close, you were also careful to keep an eye on Taehyung, intervening whenever it looked like Taehyung was getting too hostile. Without your presence, he was sure that the comeback prep would have fallen apart ages ago. It wasn’t the first time you’d mediated fights between the boys, but Taehyung had never been so angry for so long before.
As Taehyung stormed out of the studio where they were practicing the choreography, citing his frustration with Namjoon’s inability to get the dance moves right as the reason he needed a break, you winced as you stood up and bowed deeply to the others in apology. “His preheat is making him irritable,” you explained. “I’m so sorry, I’ll talk to him after his heat passes and he’s more level-headed.”
The others made various noises of assent and/or irritation, but they all accepted that Taehyung’s behavior was just going to get more irrational until his heat was over. As hybrids themselves, they were more than familiar with the havoc that the heat wreaked on their emotions.
Turning, you ran after Taehyung, finally finding him in the empty recording booth. He was seated on the couch, his elbows propped on his thighs and his face buried in his hands. When he heard you come in, he didn’t even react.
“Hey,” you said softly, coming to sit next to him. “You doing okay there?”
“No,” Taehyung grumped. “And you probably shouldn’t sit this close to me, either.” Your scent had been distracting him all day, and the sexual frustration added to his existing anger towards Namjoon. He probably shouldn’t have snapped, but he was still so angry at the older man for meddling.
Ignoring him, you rubbed his back soothingly. You’d gotten a lot better about physical contact, and while he was grateful that you seemed to be moving past your trauma quite well, it really wasn’t helping. One consequence of the delayed heat seemed to be that the heat symptoms were coming on a lot faster and more intense, and he didn’t really trust himself around you anymore. Even your comforting touch was making heat coil in his belly.
“Do you want to talk about it?” you suggested.
“I’m just mad at Namjoon-hyung, that’s all,” Taehyung explained sulkily. “I don’t know why you aren’t more upset with him. He literally told you to kill yourself.”
“Okay, first of all, no he didn’t,” you said firmly. “He just said that was the only way he’d found to break the imprint, and he told me explicitly not to do it.” You might not be pleased with Namjoon for what he’d said to you when you were in a fragile state, but still, you didn’t want Taehyung to get the wrong idea. Namjoon had meant well, after all, and besides, Taehyung still had to work with him, and they were brothers.
“Secondly, I was the one who sought him out and asked him. And you know he’s just looking out for you. You weren’t happy about the imprint either and he thought he was being helpful.”
“I guess,” Taehyung grunted. He hated how much sense you were making. He still wanted to be angry with Namjoon, especially since it was giving him another outlet for all the nervous, pent-up energy he had inside him.
“Besides, he gave you information when you asked for it, right? It would have been unfair for him to not tell me when I asked too.” Seeing him start to cave, you snuggled closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “I’m not saying you have to forgive him or anything. You’re allowed to feel how you want to feel. Just be a little more patient with him, okay? He was just trying to look out for you, and he made a mistake. It happens to all of us.”
With your scent in his head and your body pressed up against his, Taehyung lost all sense of reason as he turned his head, caught your chin in his hand, and kissed you. His lips were soft as they moved against yours, but you were completely frozen, your mind blanking at the unexpected kiss. It was only when Taehyung brought his other hand up to cradle your face as he started to deepen the kiss that you regained your senses, pushing him away by his shoulders.
You stared at each other for a second, neither of you sure of what to say. You were sure the shock was written across your face clearly, while Taehyung just looked slightly confused, his eyes still heavy-lidded. Then you could see the awareness trickle back into Taehyung’s gaze and his ears started turning red.
“Fuck!” he exploded, standing up. “Fuck, Y/n, I’m so sorry, I—” For a second longer, he just stood there, then he made an abrupt turn and ran out of the room.
Damn. You ran your fingers over your lower lip thoughtfully. You hadn’t been kissed for a long time – the Big Bang boys hadn’t been big on that – and it seemed you’d missed it. There’d been some initial anxiety when he kissed you, and your mind had short-circuited for a second, but right before you pushed him away… you’d started to enjoy it, just a little.
Huh.
----------------------------------
“Hey, Y/n?” Taehyung said suddenly, breaking the silence that the two of you had been stuck in since leaving the studio. That had been one of the most awkward car rides you’d ever experienced, but every time you wanted to say something, you looked over at Taehyung and his troubled frown stopped you. He really was awful at hiding his feelings.
You looked up from your dinner, happy that he was finally talking to you again. “Yeah?”
“Maybe it would be a good idea for you to go stay with Yoongi until my heat is over,” Taehyung said, fiddling with his stew and refusing to look up at you. He’d been castigating himself about what he’d allowed to happen ever since he left you behind in the recording booth, and feeling lower and lower the more he thought about it. This was the only way to make sure you were safe from him, he figured. He’d promised to protect you, and that included from himself.
You frowned. “But your heat isn’t here yet, is it?”
Some awkward throat-clearing and foot-shuffling later, he admitted, “It’s coming on really strong this time, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry about earlier, but I can’t guarantee that it won’t happen again if you stay here.”
Here it was. You swallowed and put down your chopsticks, lining them up with your thumb on the edge to buy some time. You’d been thinking about this ever since he left, and you weren’t quite sure whether this was the right decision to make, but you wanted to anyway. Taehyung had been there for you every step of the way, not just throughout this whole year-long nightmare, but before that too, and remembering how amazing he’d been throughout it all, even though it had to have hurt him to know how much trouble you were having because of him made something flutter in your tummy.
“I don’t want to go.” Now that the words were out in the open, you looked up through your lashes, sneaking a peek at Taehyung’s reaction. Would he be happy? Excited? Turned on? The anticipation made your stomach clench.
“Y/n…” Taehyung sounded slightly irritated now, and that wasn’t what you’d been hoping for. “Thank you for your trust in my restraint, but please go. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want,” he begged.
“Maybe… I do want it,” you suggested. Your voice was barely a whisper and the words had come out so fast a normal human would never have been able to make it out, but you knew Taehyung would have no problem with that.
As he gaped helplessly at you, you felt a thrill of satisfaction. There it was, the reaction you’d been hoping for. “A-are you sure?” he asked, and you felt a pang of fondness for him. He was always doing his best to look out for you, even at his own expense. If anything, it made you more certain of your decision.
“I’m sure, Tae-oppa.” Then you realized that he might not be willing to do this with a human and quickly backtracked. “I mean, only if you want to too! If you don’t want to be with a human—”
“No,” Taehyung interrupted. “I do, I…” Emotion seemed to overwhelm him for a second, before he composed himself. “Do you know what you’re agreeing to?” he asked, just to be sure. He didn’t think he would be able to restrain himself if you were here with him during his heat.
You smiled at him and reached across the table to scratch his ears. “I do,” you told him with a soft smile, as his eyes closed in enjoyment. He’d always enjoyed this, you thought fondly, and he was so handsome like this, with his features relaxed. He’d spent a lot of time frowning in the past year.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and when he opened his eyes, you saw such profound gratefulness shining in them. You wondered if he saw the same thing in your gaze.
----------------------------------
Now that he had permission, it was like a switch had flipped in Taehyung. He insisted on helping you do the dishes that night, which was usual, but he decided that he absolutely had to stand shoulder to shoulder with you in front of the sink, helping you rinse the dishes and place them on the drying rack after you’d scrubbed them with dishwashing liquid. When you were done, he stood behind you as you rinsed your hands off and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his nose in your hair.
When you went to bed with him, he snuggled up to you like he used to before everything happened, dragging his nose across the pulse point in your neck to scent you as he wrapped himself around you. It didn’t take you long to realise just how restrained he’d been in terms of physical contact, letting you initiate more often than not and only touching you casually and fleetingly when he did reach out to you.
Still, you could tell that he was holding himself back, not wanting to overwhelm you with the sheer extent of his heat-driven desire for you. In the mornings, though you could feel his boner pressing into your ass, he just rolled away when he woke up without you saying anything. Neither of you quite talked about the inevitability of his approaching heat and what it meant that you’d agreed to spend it with him, but the tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife. Taehyung still tried his best to be respectful of your need for distance, though, keeping all physical contact – well, if not platonic, at least affectionate more than overtly sexual.
You could tell it was taking a toll on him, though, and now that you were aware and looking out for the signs, you wondered how it was that you’d been so oblivious last year when he’d been struggling through his preheat. You had to stop going to the studio with him because he was having a hard time focusing on anything when you were around and would often just stare at you instead, which had earned him a few questioning looks from the other boys.
Now that you’d agreed to spend his heat with him, Taehyung’s wolf was finally satisfied after over a year of being in conflict with his rational side, and it felt indescribably good, like puzzle pieces falling into place. He hadn’t even realized how agonizing it had been to hold himself apart from you, like trying to tear the two halves of his psyche apart. His wolf reveled in every touch, every flirtatious look and smile that you sent his way, puffing up proudly every time he saw you. It was a little embarrassing, since Taehyung knew that it was ridiculous to feel that way, but he couldn’t help it. Now that he didn’t have to fight the imprint, it settled into place in his chest warmly, making him feel like he could take on the world. For the first time in years, he actually found himself looking forward to his heat.
As his heat drew ever closer, Taehyung, ruled by his baser instincts, allowed himself to indulge in you. Casual cuddling on the couch while watching TV turned into lazy makeout sessions, which inevitably ended with him lying on top of you, your tongues sliding against each other lewdly while he tried his best not to grind against you. More than once, he’d had to excuse himself abruptly while you lay, dazed and flushed, on the couch, trying to recover and feeling bereft from the loss of his warmth.
This time, Taehyung was well-prepared for his heat, taking time off instead of going to work like a fool like he had last year, so when he woke up one morning and felt the familiar full-body ache that meant his heat was coming, he didn’t have to do anything but pull you closer to him. He knew you were awake from the sharp intake of breath you’d taken when you felt his erection rubbing against your ass, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel all that embarrassed about the way he was basically grinding against you.
“Y/n…” he groaned, his hands sliding up your shirt greedily to feel you up.
“Tae-oppa,” you gasped, and he made a noise low in his throat in response. He liked that, he decided. In his heat-addled state, he wasn’t capable of much complex thought, but he was definitely more than capable of making you scream his name.
However, your priorities were very different from Taehyung’s. As you gradually gained consciousness to Taehyung manhandling you, it occurred to you how nasty your breath was – and how bad his was as well, probably. Knowing that you might not have a chance to brush your teeth for hours if you let him start now, you tried your best to wriggle away from him to get to the bathroom.
“No,” he whined against your neck. “What are you doing?”
“I wanna brush my teeth,” you complained. Thankfully, his heat had just started and he hadn’t lost all sense of reason yet, so he let you go, though he was sulky when you turned back to look at him.
“Come on,” you coaxed with your hand out for him to take, rolling your eyes at his pouty expression. He looked just like a child that had had his favourite toy taken away. Still, he was pliant and obedient, and you even managed to convince him to brush his own teeth too.
“Do you want breakfast?” you asked as Taehyung was rinsing his mouth out. The bathroom door was open, and you were leaning against the wall right outside the door. He wasn’t very vocal this morning, but then he usually wasn’t a morning person anyway, so you didn’t think too much of it.
At your question, his entire demeanor changed. “No,” he growled. “I don’t want fucking breakfast.” He took the couple of steps to you, his long legs eating up the distance, then he was on you, pushing you back into the wall as his mouth descended on yours.
You’d been kissed like this only once before, a year ago during Taehyung’s last heat. He was ravenous, one hand cupping your cheek as his other gripped your hip urgently, sliding around your back to press you closer to him. As his tongue slid against your bottom lip, you let out a small moan as heat rushed through your lower belly. The sound only spurred him to deepen the kiss further. All those makeout sessions on the couch had nothing on this.
Taehyung’s urgency was contagious, and you hooked your fingers in his pajama pants to pull his hips closer to you, reveling in the feel of his erection prodding at your belly. He started grinding it against you, detaching his lips from yours to pant. “Fuck,” he gasped, shuddering. “You smell so fucking good.” Then his lips were back on yours again, his hand diving into your pants.
As much as you were enjoying this, you didn’t particularly want to be fucked against a wall, at least not for your first time. (You decided to put a pin in it to revisit later.) “Tae-oppa,” you gasped as his fingers ghosted over your clit through your panties. “We should go back to the bedroom.”
He pulled back, clearly displeased with the idea of any more delays, but couldn’t fault your logic, so he lifted you off the ground and carried you back to his room. The casual display of strength was more arousing than you could have imagined, and you felt the wetness slipping out of you as you wrapped your legs around his waist.
“Fuck,” Taehyung said again, gripping you more tightly. He couldn’t get back to the bed fast enough now, and one hand slid down to your ass to hold you close to him as he sped up.
Unwilling to part from you for even a second, he fell with you onto the bed, almost crushing you beneath his weight as he kissed you again, a filthy mess of lips and tongues that made both of you moan. He separated from you for just long enough to pull your camisole over your head, although you definitely heard it rip – not that you were overly concerned about it, however, when he was sliding his big hands over your body to grope your tits.
In retaliation, you stuck your hand down his pants. He wasn’t wearing underwear, which was very typical of him, and you smiled against his lips as you wrapped your hand around his dick and he shuddered in response. It felt so good to finally have a cock in your hand again, all warm and hard and throbbing.
Bracing his knees on the bed on either side of your hips, Taehyung lifted himself off you to tug your remaining clothes off, taking your panties and sweatpants in one fell swoop. You continued jerking him off almost lazily, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.
With you now naked, the scent of your arousal permeated the air, driving Taehyung crazy. He had to have more of it, and it was that thought that guided him to shift so that he was between your legs, pushing them further apart to reveal your soft, wet pussy, all shiny from how turned on you were. It made his mouth water and his cock throb between his legs.
“Shit,” he breathed quietly, his eyes completely fixated on what lay between your legs. His unabashed scrutiny was starting to make you feel a little self-conscious, and you started to bring your legs together, but he stopped you with his hands on your inner thighs and a warning look.
“Tae-oppa,” you whined, throwing an arm over your eyes to hide. “Stop staring.”
“Okay,” he agreed absently. It wasn’t a difficult promise to make, he thought as he lowered his head. There was so much more he wanted to do to you.
The first swipe of his tongue across your slit had you shivering. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned before he dove back in with gusto, using broad strokes of his tongue to scoop up all the juices leaking from you before circling your clit. He teased you with light, kittenish licks that you honestly wouldn’t have expected from someone clearly so wrecked, and he moaned like you were doing him a favour by letting him eat you out.
It was all too easy for him to build you up to the brink of orgasm, his heightened senses allowing him to take note of every sigh, whimper and moan that you emitted as he found all your best spots. With his fingers in you rubbing against your g-spot and his lips suckling on your clit, it wasn’t long before you were lifting your hips off the bed, thrashing as you came ever closer to the edge.
“Please, Tae, pleasepleaseplease—” you moaned, cutting yourself off with a choked cry as you felt the tension in your lower belly snap beautifully. You clenched hard on his fingers as you came, your slick dripping out of you and down his hand. When the waves of pleasure buffeting your entire system stopped, you opened your eyes and blinked at him lazily with a small smile.
Taehyung, on the other hand, stared down at you with intense bedroom eyes as he lifted his hand – the one that just been inside you – to his mouth and cleaned your juices off with his tongue, keeping eye contact the entire time. You couldn’t help but feel a frisson of arousal snake through your core again at the clear intent in his gaze.
“Tae…” you held your arms out for him invitingly, and he groaned as he bent to kiss you, one hand planted into the mattress next to your head for balance while he worked his way out of his pajama pants with the other. Too impatient to take them off fully, he left them bunched around his knees as he shuffled closer to you, stroking his erection with his hand.
“’m gonna fuck you now,” he mumbled against your lips as he lined the tip of his cock up with your folds. You held your breath in anticipation – despite everything that had happened, including your brief dalliance earlier this year, the two of you had never actually done this before. You found yourself tensing up as he started pushing his way into you, making him groan at the increased tightness and friction.
“Relax for me, love,” he mumbled, his breath washing against your temple. You whimpered, locking your arms and legs around him and clinging on for dear life. Slowly, biting your lip, you concentrated on doing what he said, and he huffed in pleasure as he sank further into you. You were wet enough that even though you were tight around him, it didn’t really burn, the stretch and fullness teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain.
“Good girl, such a good girl for me,” Taehyung praised, stopping to kiss you. Compared to what you were currently in the midst of, this kiss was gentle and chaste, intended to comfort you. It was somewhat surprising – based on what he’d told you and what you’d observed, you’d expected him to be out of control, unable to focus on anything other than his own pleasure. This considerate, gentle side of Taehyung wasn’t one you’d expected to see until the initial wave had subsided and he could think more coherently.
That wasn’t to say, of course, that you didn’t notice the strain this slow pace was taking on him – he was sucking marks almost viciously into your neck, his teeth catching on your skin almost threateningly, and his whole frame was wound so tight that he was almost trembling. You felt the tension in his shoulders and back, and you stroked his side soothingly, although from the way the muscles under your hand jumped, he didn’t appreciate the meaning behind the gesture.
When he finally bottomed out, you let out the breath you’d been holding as he groaned, holding himself painfully still. He could feel every ripple as you clenched and fidgeted under him, trying to get used to having him inside of you, and it was sorely testing his control. “Y/n, please,” he finally groaned. “Please stay still.”
Instead of doing as he said, you clenched as hard as you could around him, delighting in the shaky groan he let out as he dropped his head, his forehead brushing against your collarbone. “Fuck,” he huffed, reaching down to hook his arms behind your thighs and draping your legs over his shoulders. “I tried to be nice,” he grumbled as he pulled his hips back.
“Fuck being nice,” you purred as you hooked your arms around his neck, one hand finding its way into his hair.
That was the last straw, and all the impressive control Taehyung had been showing up till now shattered spectacularly as he started a brisk pace with his hips, folding you almost in half with his frame. You really didn’t have any clue just how much he was holding back until he stopped, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it as he plowed into you with everything he had.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he huffed, his breath making the baby hairs by your temple flutter. The bedsprings were creaking and the headboard thumping against the wall, but neither of you could bring yourself to care. All of Taehyung’s energy was being channeled into fucking you as hard and as fast as he could, his mind solely focused on the race to the finish. He was going to fill you up so good, you’d be dripping with his cum for days, finally getting those vile human men’s scent out of you…
The thought was endlessly titillating to him, and when he looked down to where you were joined, putting a visual image to the filthy thoughts swirling in his head, he bared his teeth in a snarl. The sight of his cock splitting you in half, shiny from your juices was almost too much for him, but he couldn’t look away.
Taehyung had never looked more like an animal than he did right now, completely focused on fucking your brains out, but instead of being afraid, his fucked out expression sent a shiver through you – the good kind, of course. You wanted to cum with him, but in his current state, he wasn’t focusing on your pleasure, so you snuck a hand between your joined bodies to rub at your clit.
As close as he was to orgasm, the sight of you pleasuring yourself filled him with irrational fury. His wolf howled, demanding that he take care of his mate, and completely under its sway now, he batted your hand away with a growl. “You’re mine,” he snapped as he took over, rubbing your clit with the rough pad of his thumb.
“Cum with me,” he groaned into your ear before he kissed you. He was too far gone to do it properly, of course, basically just pressing his open mouth against yours in a filthy imitation of a kiss, but he still managed to retain the presence of mind to tilt his hips slightly to adjust the angle with which he was pounding into you so that he could brush against your g-spot. The increased stimulation made you wail as you tried your best to move with him despite your limited leverage.
“Fuck, Taehyung,” you huffed, trying to warn him as your hips jerked slightly, pressing your clit harder against his thumb to get that little bit more that you needed to cum. And then it was happening, your mind blanking out as you squeezed his cock tightly, clenching rhythmically as you worked through the waves of your orgasm.
As he heard and felt you cum around him, Taehyung groaned like he was dying and redoubled his efforts, his hips now basically a blur with how fast and hard he was thrusting into you. “Fuck, Y/n, yes,” he groaned breathlessly as he finally came, pushing himself as deep as he could and grinding against you for that extra bit of friction to make his orgasm last just a little longer.
When it was over, he slumped down over your body, letting go of your legs so that you could wriggle them out from under him to wrap them around his hips, a far more comfortable position for you. He felt boneless, so utterly satisfied that he would never need anything again, although he knew that was definitely not true. In about ten minutes, he’d be ready to go again.
For now, though, he was happy to just fuss over you, nuzzling into your cheek and brushing your sweaty, matted hair away from your face. “You’re so pretty,” he sighed blissfully, bracing himself over you with his elbows as he leaned down to kiss you. The urgency was temporarily gone now, and he traded soft, slow kisses with you, feeling so happy his heart could burst.
“I love you,” he blurted out unintentionally, and your eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t know where it had come from either, but now that it was out there, he realized that he meant it. No one had ever made him feel so good – not just physically, of course, but so at peace with the world. When he was with you, everything felt so right, so perfect, like you’d been made for him and he’d been made for you. If that wasn’t love, what was?
You raised your hand to cup his face, brushing your thumb across his lips. The way he looked at you, searching, hopeful, made your heart clench. Taehyung always made you feel so safe, so protected, like nothing could ever touch you. Being with him felt like being free from the difficulties of life that lay outside his bubble of protection. If that wasn’t love, what was?
Smiling back at him, you told him, “I love you too.”
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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago
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Tedious Joys - Chapter 6 -
- Ao3 link -
The jade pendant Lan Qiren had worked so hard on had not stopped burning painfully hot since what he now knew was the day Jiwei had been shattered. It retroactively made perfect sense why his music could do nothing to calm the flames no matter how soothing; the pendant was so hot as to be dangerous even to him, a cultivator in his prime – even if not the most martially inclined – and in all honesty he had not dared to wear it since that day.
Despite this, he hung it on his belt before leaving the Cloud Recesses, ignoring the discomfort.
If Lao Nie did not recognize his sons, which he prized more than the stars in the sky, more than his own life, he would not recognize Lan Qiren no matter how good friends they were. Lan Qiren knew better than to flatter himself in that way. He was confident in Lao Nie’s affection, in his trust and even his love; he had never once doubted that when given a choice, Lao Nie would pick him over Wen Ruohan every time, no matter how often the latter shared Lao Nie’s bed – but Lao Nie was not himself right now, incapable of making rational decisions.
Lao Nie had raised his own hand against those he loved, something he would in the normal course of events never do. Lan Qiren would likely share the same fate as Nie Mingjue, only with even less power to defend himself – he had only music and wise words and inferior swordsmanship on his side, and of those, only his music had even half a chance of stopping a maddened charge.
He would need every advantage he could get, and the jade pendant, he hoped, would provide one.
Lan Qiren left the Cloud Recesses with his guqin over his back, his sword beneath his feet, and the jade pendant burning into his thigh, Nie Mingjue at his side. He hoped that Lao Nie might be able to draw some comfort from the jade pendant, which had been tuned to Jiwei’s frequency; he hoped that he could calm Lao Nie’s wrecked mind with his playing the way he had once sought to calm Jiwei’s rage.
And if neither of those worked…there was still his sword.
To the best of his ability, he would not allow Nie Mingjue to be harmed.
Lao Nie would have agreed, if he could.
When they arrived at the Unclean Realm, both Lan Qiren and Nie Mingjue were exhausted from their trip; even with regular breaks, it was not an easy journey to make by sword, much less twice over, with several days or even a week or more of travel being more customary. Lan Qiren had insisted that they rest for a few shichen in a town just outside of the borders of the Qinghe Nie sect to recover even more of their strength, and tellingly Nie Mingjue had not disagreed.
The Unclean Realm towered over them both as they approached, and to Lan Qiren’s eyes it somehow seemed more intimidating and imposing than that familiar, beloved place usually was – it was as if the tragedy within its walls had tainted it, giving it a more sinister aura than usual.
The guards of the Nie sect were unhappy to see Lan Qiren, as he’d suspected they would be, but they could not override Nie Mingjue, who ordered them to let Lan Qiren enter. A Nie disciple, older even than Lan Qiren but with exhaustion and fear written into every line of him, met them by the entrance, telling them that the Sect Leader was in his study – and that he was asking for them, or at least for Nie Mingjue.
“How is he?” Nie Mingjue asked, and glanced sidelong at Lan Qiren, explaining, “There are times when it is worse, times when it is better and he’s almost himself…”
“Forgive this humble one,” the disciple said, sounding tired. “The Sect Leader’s state is not good. He believes himself to be surrounded by enemies, besieged and betrayed. He believes we have taken you away from him purposefully, Nie-gongzi, and he fears for your well-being.”
Nie Mingjue’s face crumpled. “And when he sees me, he’ll think I’m one of the ones hurting him.”
“It is not your fault,” Lan Qiren told him in an undertone as they walked towards to the study. “He’s been infected with the saber spirit’s rage, becoming unbalanced – not just unbalanced, but unable to find himself. Just like a saber, he sees everything around him as a target, and seeks their destruction.”
Nie Mingjue’s head dropped in a nod. “Baxia’s just the same. She longs to eradicate evil, but her definition of evil is – wider than it should be.”
“We are all made of good and evil,” Lan Qiren agreed. “Right now, Lao Nie can only see the evil, not the good. That’s why he can’t recognize you. He loves you too much.”
Nie Mingjue nodded again and stopped in front of the study, taking a deep breath. Even through its soundproofed doors, they could hear the faint echoes of Lao Nie’s voice, bellowing out demands and threats, calling for Nie Mingjue, calling for Jiwei – my saber, my saber, where is my saber? – and Lan Qiren flinched briefly before recovering himself.
“Go,” he said, and Nie Mingjue opened the door and let them both step in.
Lao Nie was standing by the window, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles bloody from having beaten his fists against the walls in his rage. His back was straight and his shoulders broad, as always, but there was a strange purposelessness to the way his head turned from side to side as if he were trying to hear something just out of range.
He turned to look at them. His hair wasn’t arranged properly, oily as if he hadn’t washed it for a while; his eyes were red and bloodshot, his skin flushed and ruddy, raised veins on his forehead, making him look as if he were on the verge of exploding.
“What do you want?” he spat.
“You called for me, A-die,” Nie Mingjue said, taking a step into the room and then another as Lan Qiren watched. “It’s me – it’s me, it’s Mingjue. A-Jue, I’m A-Jue –”
Lan Qiren never saw Lao Nie move.
One moment he was all the way across the room, the next moment he was standing right in front of Nie Mingjue. There was the resounding echo of a slap: Lao Nie had backhanded Nie Mingjue, knocking him to the floor. “Don’t lie to me,” he snarled, his reddened eyes blank and unseeing. “If you’re my A-Jue, why haven’t you done what I asked, like a filial son should? Bring me my saber! Bring me my Jiwei!”
“A-die – please – she’s gone, Jiwei is gone –”
Lao Nie raised his hand again, clearly ready to strike again, already pulling his leg back to kick at the young man cowering at his feet, a red mark already staining Nie Mingjue’s cheek where the heavy blow from before had fallen – Lan Qiren hadn’t been in the Unclean Realm for enough time to burn a stick of incense, hadn’t even had a chance to say anything, and things had already gotten to this point.
Wait, the doctors had said to Nie Mingjue when he’d asked them what could be done about his father’s illness. Wait. How terrible would Nie Mingjue’s life have become if he had listened to them?
“Lao Nie,” he said, stepping into the room and already reaching for his guqin. “Don’t hit him.”
Lao Nie turned to him, a heavy scowl on his face, and Lan Qiren braced himself for that same speed, that same casual viciousness that Lao Nie had before used only on his real enemies.
But unexpectedly - Lao Nie did not attack.
He didn’t move at all, in fact; he just stared at Lan Qiren, his frown fading into something like confusion.
“Jiwei?” he asked, a glimmer of recognition in his voice.
Lan Qiren’s hands were on his guqin strings, a spell at the ready, but he paused at Lao Nie’s words.
Very cautiously, he shifted the guqin to the side to free up one hand, which he lowered to the jade pendant that hung at his waist. “Yes,” he said encouragingly. “It’s Jiwei’s pendant. You remember? I made it for you, to drain off some of her anger. It’s yours. I brought it to you.”
Lao Nie took a stumbling step forward, and then another, his lost eyes brightening in happiness. Lan Qiren gritted his teeth and tolerated the pain of the fiercely burning pendant, taking it into his palm and holding it out to Lao Nie as an offering.
But it wasn’t the pendant that Lao Nie reached out for, but Lan Qiren himself.
His broad hands fell upon Lan Qiren’s shoulders, and then slid up to cradle his face, his thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones in an unfamiliar gesture that made Lan Qiren shiver despite himself.
“Jiwei,” Lao Nie said, sounding pleased. “Jiwei, where were you? I missed you.”
Lan Qiren swallowed. “Lao Nie…”
“You look so different,” Lao Nie said, undeterred by Lan Qiren’s barely-said protest – undeterred, in fact, by the fact that Lan Qiren was a human being, not a saber spirit.
His hands were warm against Lan Qiren’s face.
“Lao Nie,” Lan Qiren said, very slowly, and after a moment Lao Nie responded, no longer surveying him with his eyes but meeting his gaze. “I am Lan Qiren, your friend.”
“My friend,” Lao Nie agreed, and smiled. It was his old familiar smile, confident and carefree. “Jiwei.”
“No, not Jiwei. Jiwei…Jiwei shattered, Lao Nie. Your saber shattered.”
“Yes,” Lao Nie said, very unexpectedly, and Nie Mingjue, who had gotten up and was cautiously creeping closer, looked at him with hope shining in his eyes. “Yes, I know.”
“You know your saber was shattered?” Lan Qiren said, testing, and Lao Nie nodded. “Do you know why?”
Lao Nie tilted his head to the side.
“It was Wen Ruohan,” Nie Mingjue said. “I think – when he patted it? He did something, I’m sure of it.”
Lao Nie considered this statement, his eyes half-lidded in thought; he looked for a moment very much like he had before, putting aside the state of his hair and clothing. “I think you’re right,” he said after a while. “A-Han was very angry at me, at the start, and then at the end he was still angry, but also pleased with himself in that way that he gets. You know what I mean: when he’s done something vile, something everyone would condemn him for, and he knows no one will be able to do anything about it – the way he’s both pleased with the demonstration of his power and disgusted in himself, and he has to bury the latter in the former to make himself feel better.”
You know what he’s like, why do you like him? Lan Qiren thought to himself but did not say, but Nie Mingjue wasn’t so tactful and asked the same thing, virtually verbatim, outright.
“Grown-ups are complicated, A-Jue,” Lao Nie told him, and Nie Mingjue’s knees gave out at once. He tumbled down to the floor once again, landing on his ass with a thud, and stared up at his father with tears already spilling down his cheeks.
“A-die?” he whispered. “A-die, you know me?”
Lao Nie frowned, not understanding his son’s reaction, and pulled away to turn to look at him – but the moment his hands left Lan Qiren’s skin, the look in his eyes changed, the clarity disappearing and the rage returning. His brow furrowed in confusion and offense, and Lan Qiren thought about how it must appear to him: his beloved son was there only a moment ago, and then he turned and there was a stranger there instead, taking his place. It was no wonder that Lao Nie lashed out so fiercely, no wonder that his anger burned hottest against those he loved the most.
Lan Qiren stepped forward and put his own hand on Lao Nie’s shoulder, and when that didn’t seem to help, his face, instinctively following his teacher’s habits and grabbing him by the ear like a disobedient student in need of some shaking.
“Lao Nie, calm yourself,” he ordered, ignoring the lack of calm in his own heart.
Amazingly, miraculously, Lao Nie did. The red even started to fade a little out of his eyes – they were still bloodshot, still covered in a thin red film, but he no longer looked as though he were on the verge of crying blood. The ruddiness in his face faded as well, the blood summoned up by his rage starting to recirculate throughout his body as it should, and hopefully no longer on the verge of giving him an aneurysm.
Progress, Lan Qiren thought.
“What’s going on?” Lao Nie asked, alert and aware, if confused. “Why is my study such a mess? A-Jue, why are you crying? What happened to you – A-Jue, look at you, you look terrible! Who hurt you? Who dared touch you?”
Nie Mingjue was crying too hard to speak now, shaking his head, refusing to speak.
“You tell me, then,” Lao Nie said, turning his face, belligerent again but so much more normally so, to look at Lan Qiren. “Tell me what happened!”
“It’s complicated,” Lan Qiren temporized, although he stepped forward to press his entire palm against Lao Nie’s cheek, eventually sliding it down to rest at the back of his neck instead, the still too-hot pendant trapped between his palm and Lao Nie’s flesh. He didn’t dare break the contact again, not after last time. “It will take time to explain…”
“I didn’t ask for excuses,” Lao Nie said, exasperated, impatient as always, and the sheer familiarity and nostalgia stuck in Lan Qiren’s throat, choking him. “I asked for an answer, Jiwei, and I expect one.”
The pleasant feeling froze at once, like having swallowed something the wrong way and getting it caught halfway down, stuck in his chest like a weight pressing down.
Not progress.
Or, rather – a very specific type of progress, in which Lao Nie was no longer on imminent verge of death from further qi deviations, in which he was no longer raving mad, rabid and attacking all those around him, but in which he also, apparently, believed that Lan Qiren was…his saber.
This was problematic for any number of reasons.
The first, of course, being that Lan Qiren was not, in fact, Jiwei. He was human, not a saber spirit; he was made of flesh, not metal. He wasn’t even the same gender, insofar as sabers considered themselves to have gender – both Lao Nie and Nie Mingjue affirmatively described their sabers using feminine terms, but quibbled whenever Lan Qiren attempted to describe them as women, claiming that their sabers were sabers, not humans, and therefore difficult to fit into the usual categorization.
At any rate, Lao Nie, at least, did not appear to be noticing any discrepancy.
However, that led them to the second major problem, which was that Lan Qiren and Lao Nie did not have the same relationship between them as Lao Nie had with his saber. The former were friends, however close; the latter were literally intertwined at the level of the soul, human master and spiritual weapon, co-dependent on each other in ways words could not even begin to describe. Even now, only standing next to each other, Lan Qiren could feel Lao Nie’s spiritual energy knocking against his palm, trying to enter his body to begin cultivating with him –
His ears suddenly felt like they were burning red.
What was perfectly appropriate, normal and even expected, between a cultivator and his spiritual weapon was not appropriate between two people, except perhaps dao companions who had agreed to share their lives and bodies with each other. It was entirely reasonable for Lao Nie to initiate such intimate contact – that was how spiritual weapons worked, through the cultivation of a blade or instrument through shared qi – and yet at the same time, because Lan Qiren was most definitely not a weapon, it became an offer for dual cultivation instead.
Right in front of Nie Mingjue.
Lan Qiren very firmly rejected the offer and Lao Nie laughed a little under his breath, an indulgent sound, and casually reached over to wrap his hand around Lan Qiren’s waist, pulling him closer – as if he thought Lan Qiren were merely playing hard-to-get, being prickly and inexplicitly unreasonable. As if a little bit of coaxing would be enough to get him to let down his guard, open up and let him in –
Lan Qiren coughed, abruptly very glad that he had not allowed either of his nephews to join in this trip. Or Nie Huaisang, for that matter, who despite his young age already had an over-active interest in other people’s personal lives.
That, he supposed, led them to the third problem: Lan Qiren was not nearly as easily mobile as a saber, could not be carried at Lao Nie’s belt nor kept with him at all times, and yet ceasing physical contact was clearly a bad idea. Perhaps once he had had some time to calm down…?
Nie Mingjue was looking between them with some concern as well. “A-die,” he said. “That’s Teacher Lan. Do you remember Teacher Lan?”
“Of course,” Lao Nie said, reaching out idly with his free hand as if to swat Nie Mingjue lightly on the head, an affectionate gesture that he forestalled immediately when he remembered that his son was injured. “What nonsense are you talking about? I’ve known Qiren since before I met your mother.”
“Good. That’s…good. I’m glad you remember him. You were sick for a little while, A-die; it made you confused.” Nie Mingjue paused briefly. “Can you tell me who’s that standing next to you?”
Lao Nie frowned at him. “Are you sure you’re not the one confused, A-Jue? Are you telling me you don’t recognize Jiwei?”
Nie Mingjue looked helplessly at Lan Qiren, who looked just as helplessly back.
He had absolutely no idea what to do about this – no notion of what the next step would be.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, the decision was taken out of his hands when Lao Nie looked down at himself and, with an abrupt scowl, appeared to realize the state of himself. “What a mess,” he said, disgusted. “A-Jue, have someone run me a bath. I’ll wash and head to bed for the night, but I want an answer from you as to what happened first thing tomorrow morning, do you understand me?”
Nie Mingjue’s eyes went very wide and traveled very slowly over to rest on Lan Qiren, who set aside his guqin and used that hand, once free, to pinch the bridge of his nose and try to summon patience, careful not to disturb the hand that still rested on the back of Lao Nie’s neck, the pendant still burning in his palm.
“It’s fine,” he said shortly. It was not fine, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do at the moment except continue to indulge Lao Nie’s delusion – his state was so much improved from what it was just a little while before that he couldn’t bear to even try anything that would return him to it at the moment, and he could tell from Nie Mingjue’s constant glances to his hand that he felt the same. “We’ve been night-hunting together before.”
They’d bathed together before – mostly in rivers and lakes and hot springs, not bathtubs – and they’d slept in the same bed before, when that was the only thing that was available at the local inn.
This was nothing more than that.
It’d be fine.
Nie Mingjue did not look convinced, looked in fact on the verge of protesting, but Lao Nie was already looking at him with a growing scowl – he disliked being disobeyed, even though he tolerated it more from Nie Mingjue than from others – and he had no choice but to run off to do his father’s bidding.
The second he was out of the room, Lao Nie reached over and caught Lan Qiren’s free hand, bringing it up to his face, pressing his lips against Lan Qiren’s palm.
“Jiwei, have I displeased you in some manner?” he asked, very earnestly, as Lan Qiren stared at him. “Tell me what’s the matter, darling.”
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nitewrighter · 4 years ago
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I just finished reading the pre-fall Gency argument fic that you made in response to an ask/prompt about another fic, and it’s amazing! Do Genji and Mercy make up after their argument, though? Does Genji tell Mercy more about what really happened with Moira in the Pining/Flight fic, and does he manage to explain to her why he felt he should still be stopping the Shimada clan (the part where he started to trip over his words during the pre-fall argument)? I’m so sorry for all the questions, but I loved this fic so much and would love to see them resolve their argument!
Yeah they make up, but more importantly have you ever gone, “OH FUCK I FIGURED OUT HOW TO WORK THIS FIC INTO A MAJOR CANON PLOT POINT?” Anyone?
Continuing off of this ficlet.
----
Genji lay on his narrow bed, staring at the too-high ceiling of his quarters and replaying the argument between himself and Mercy in his head as he had done so for the past few days.
I messed up.
A part of him felt like he should be used to it, after years of Hanzo telling him he was an embarrassment, but this stung differently and deeper. It wasn’t not meeting the draconian standards of the clan, it was realizing he had a perspective on death that was fundamentally incompatible with the morals of someone he cared for deeply. He glared at the ceiling as he remembered Moira’s words.
You’re finally understanding the difference between those up there, and those of us down here.
But McCree had spoken up against what Reyes had done. He wouldn’t shut up about it the whole mission. 
Well he and Angela were close so... Genji’s thoughts trailed off then, wondering if Ziegler and McCree would talk about how he and Reyes were monsters.
Even after having his body destroyed and reconstructed to this patchwork of flesh and metal, it had at least given him focus and purpose: vengeance. It was a relief from all the pain to commit himself to the destruction of the Shimada clan, to killing Hanzo, and he could have done that through Blackwatch, but now one death of someone who definitely had it coming had blocked the path. He had no way of knowing what was ahead, and he had just alienated one of the few people at the Watchpoint he actually liked talking to. But she didn’t get it, the Shimada clan had to be stopped. Hanzo had to die. What kind of world did she think she was living in? He raised his prosthetic hand and ran the thumb of his organic hand along the lines of its plates.
You’re not a weapon. I can’t let everything Overwatch touches become a weapon...  he remembered her words from the garden on a night that felt so long ago.
So what am I? Shimada Ninja? Blackwatch Agent? Assassin by another name?  Machine? his eyes trailed to his organic hand, Man?
He let his hands drop, hanging over the sides of the bed, I guess I’ve managed to screw up as every single one of those.
His morning alarm started beeping and he sighed. Cybernetics always woke him up a little too early.
After freshening up in the dormitory washrooms and dressing , Genji stepped out of his quarters and walked down the hall to the main body of the Blackwatch facilities. There were fewer bodies moving between the offices today. A significant number of office workers and agents had been either suspended or relocated to other Overwatch operations, and the remaining faces looked exhausted and grim.
It’s not just Angela dealing with the fallout of Venice... thought Genji as he walked through. He needed to talk to McCree, he decided. He wasn’t quite ready to talk to Angela yet. A part of him knew he needed to apologize, but another part of him knew an apology was worthless without a clear adjustment in behavior and perspective--and with the path before him so obscured now, he wasn’t sure what that shift would entail. Plus if anyone knew how to smooth things over between people, especially someone also from Blackwatch...
Genji’s thoughts were interrupted as he heard muffled shouting from Reyes’s office.  He looked around and saw what few agents were down in the Blackwatch offices had all chosen to give Reyes’s office a massively wide berth. One intern lingered close to the glass with wide eyes before being quickly escorted away by a more seasoned-looking clerk. The glass walls around Reyes’s office had been tinted opaque, but he made out Morrison’s muffled voice.
“---can assure you our agents and local law enforcement are doing everything they can, Gérard--”
“Don’t give me that!” Gérard was the shouter, something that sounded unnatural to Genji given how polite Gérard had always been in his previous brushes with the UN Attaché. “None of this would have happened if you had kept Reyes and his team where they needed to be!”
“We don’t have enough intel on Talon movements to know the timeframe on---”
“We have even less intel because of the shit you pulled in Rialto! Do you know how many active files I had to surrender to the UN Inquiry to keep Blackwatch from being completely gutted?!” Gérard snapped, “Talon took my wife and thanks to you I have to deal with that with both hands tied behind my back!”
“You’re not dealing with it alone--” Morrison was trying to reassure him.
“Morrison I cannot tell you how sick I am of covering for you covering for Reyes--And the fact that covering for Reyes is largely my job speaks to how much control you’ve ceded--” Gérard snarled.
“Chewing us out won’t get her back,” Reyes’s voice cut in bitterly.
“No, but you should both understand it’s one more product of your mistakes,” Gérard’s voice was thick.
Genji hadn’t realized how close he was leaning to the tinted glass of the office and started briskly walking down the hall, trying to put as much distance between himself and whatever was going down between Reyes, Morrison and LaCroix.  He heard the door slide open and shut and picked up the pace of his walk. He heard bitter muttering in French a ways behind him before hearing, “Agent Shimada?”
Genji pretended not to hear and started walking a bit faster down the hall.
“Agent Shimada!” there was a rapid clacking slap of expensive oxfords on the cement floor and Gerard suddenly caught up with him. Fast, was all Genji thought at first, I guess he was a field agent at some point-- But that trail of thought cut off as Genji took in the disheveled appearance of the usually suave and stylish Gérard Lacroix. Licks of dark hair were shrouding one side of his forehead, broken free of their usual glossy black coif. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket or tie, his sleeves rolled and rumpled up to his elbows and his usually paper-crisp collar rumpled and wilting, his suspenders emphasizing all the wrinkles of his usually immaculate shirts. He smelled like cigarettes. Genji didn’t even know he smoked. 
“I need to talk to you--it’s paramount importance--Your dossier said Talon tried to recruit Sojiro once--Yes?”
“Um... yes?” said Genji.
“Do you remember any names from that time?” Gérard gripped Genji’s shoulders and Genji’s arms tightened at his sides at the touch, Gérard’s eyes were wide, pleading.
“Er...” Genji hesitated.
“Anything. Any name at all. Even aliases are a lead. Code names are a cypher. I can figure this out. We can get her back--we have to--there should have been demands--there have to be demands--we can’t negotiate but we can buy time--isolate the signal--” Gérard’s fingers were drumming on Genji’s prosthetic shoulder as if punching out sums on an invisible calculator. He wasn’t even looking at Genji.
“I... wish I could help,” Genji’s words came slowly to him. They felt strange, soft, helpless. He really couldn’t remember any names from that time, at least none that he could be sure he actually remembered and hadn’t just pulled out of nowhere that would only lead Gérard on a wild goose chase. For Genji, the only really memorable part of that meeting had been Hanzo had taken a shine to some Talon lieutenant and refused to tell Genji about it when he asked.  
So much for specialized Shimada intel... Genji thought a little bitterly. But Gérard stared straight into Genji’s eyes and Genji saw a flicker of heartbreaking realization in Gérard’s expression.
“....listen to me,” Gérard’s voice dropped slightly as his hands dropped from Genji’s shoulders, “I....I’m talking to a suspended agent hoping for nearly decade-old leads...” Gérard made a sound that was between a chuckle and stuffing down a sob as he pushed those dark licks of hair from his face, “I’m a mess without her.”
Genji’s stomach stung a little at the words ‘suspended agent.’ It had felt so temporary but hearing it from Gérard made it sink in as a reality with no visible end, but just as affecting was Gérard’s distress, the fact that the charming, if a little litigious, agent was suddenly up to his neck in paralyzing fear and helplessness when he wasn’t the one in danger. Genji studied Gérard for a few seconds.  
“Without.... who?” said Genji. He knew it was Gérard’s wife but wasn’t about to let Gérard know he had heard the whole exchange between him, Reyes, and Morrison.
“Amélie,” Gérard seemed to be looking through Genji then, his brow crinkled, “Talon they--I mean we’re not positive yet but--well you aren’t cleared for this yet. I shouldn’t...”
“Suspended,” Genji shrugged, “And... looking like this, I can’t exactly get off-site to talk about it.”
Gérard huffed “And... I’ve heard you’re not exactly the talkative type,” Gérard smiled a little.
“Ninja,” Genji shrugged.
“I-I think she’d like you...” His shoulders sagged, “Practical... steady... if she were here she’d probably tell me I’m making a fool of myself.”
You are and I have no idea how to help you so please let me go, thought Genji, but the smile on Gérard’s face eased him a bit. Genji wasn’t sure what to do with this feeling--helping and yet not helping. He remembered certain looks in Mercy’s face when he would talk about the Shimada clan, those hints of wanting to do something but feeling the ability to do so just beyond his reach. How often did she feel that with all of his fury? With all his grief?
“I wish I understood what was going through Reyes’s mind in Rialto...” Gérard spoke and startled Genji from his own thoughts. 
“...Antonio told him his associates would get him out within the week, Reyes... responded... practically,” said Genji.
“Practically,” a huff fell out of Gérard, “Just like in the debriefs.”
Genji’s brow crinkled. “The point of Blackwatch is to operate from the shadows. It was never about how it would be seen because it... wasn’t meant to be seen.”
“But it still has effects,” Gérard murmured, “And you still have to live with yourself afterwards.”
You still have to live with yourself.
The image of Zhihong Peh gurgling on his own blood on the end of Genji’s sword flashed to his mind. The thwack of his father hitting a fish on a rock in Shirakami-sanchi.
Make it clean. Make it quick.
“Would Amélie still have been taken if...?” Gérard’s voice pulled Genji from his memories again, but Gérard just lowered his head and furrowed his brow. “It doesn’t matter now.  have to find a new angle. I have to... she...” he lifted his chin slightly, “Monsieur Shimada. I appreciate you putting up with the ravings of a madman. I must go. Thank you.”
“....you’re welcome?”  said Genji, but Gérard was already walking past him.
Genji stood there in the hallway a few minutes longer. Amélie LaCroix had been taken. Whether or not that had happened in response to killing Antonio remained to be seen... but it was clear that the fallout from Rialto had not helped. He looked at his hands. For so long ‘practical’ had been a straight line, but now it seemed that the path he had been carving out was caving in on him. What was practical now?
Whatever you can do to help.
And where do you start?
With the people who you know always help.
----
It was late at night in the lab and Mercy was nodding off slightly, her chin in her hand at her monitor when a coffee mug gently clacked down on the desk beside her. She flinched awake and her head swung around to see Genji slowly withdrawing one hand, holding his own coffee cup in the other.
“Peace offering,” said Genji, “...if you don’t want to deal with me right now, you don’t have to. Say the word and I’ll leave you alone.”
Mercy tentatively picked up the mug and sipped at it, glaring at Genji slightly through her eyebrows before lowering the cup into her lap.
“What do you want?” she said, her voice clipped. 
“I wanted to say... I’m sorry for storming off like that and...You were right,” Genji said quietly, “Killing Antonio creates far more problems than it solves.”
There was some hope in Mercy’s eyes, but she also gave him a sort of uneasy, puzzled look.
“And...” Genji’s voice was a bit more tight, “On a... lawful and ethical level, it... was wrong.” He dropped his voice to a low mutter, “Even if he would have wormed his way out of the law.”
Mercy huffed and smiled a little. “I... I know the law also needs reforms so that doesn’t happen, so that justice can be done... but in the meantime...”
“In the meantime we shouldn’t shoot people in the face,” Genji conceded with a shrug.
“Right,” said Mercy. Her smile was a little crooked. There was a long silence then, tentative, and a little anxious. Genji leaned against the desk, wrapping his organic hand around the mug, taking some comfort in its warmth.
“Angela—I need you to understand something about me,” Genji said, not looking at her.
“Please don’t—“ Mercy started.
“Just listen. The first time the clan made me kill someone, I was 14 years old,” Mercy’s eyes widened and Genji’s knuckles rolled tight on the coffee mug, “And that wasn’t the only person I killed for them.
Mercy’s shoulders shrank inward, her eyes not meeting his.
“The clan,” Genji paused and took a steadying breath before continuing, “Worked to make me into something… no one should be. It…cultivated a way for me to see the world that very much affected my concepts of what is acceptable. What is good.” He gave a short huff. “But I don’t… I don’t want to be them. I don’t want to cause the same hurts they have caused.”
She looked at him then. That same searching look. That same ‘I want to help but I don’t know how’ look, and Genji’s stomach stung with the strange helplessness he felt when Gérard was gripping his shoulders earlier that day.
“But Blackwatch never asked me to question what the clan taught me. It just… saw I was angry, saw I was hurt, and pointed me in a certain direction,”  he huffed, “And now I’m stuck here. And I can’t do anything. And... ” he took a steadying breath, “I care about you. I care about our friendship. And I care about what you think of me. I don’t know... if I will ever be fully rid of what the Shimada clan cultivated in me... it... it feels like it only got sharper after what Hanzo did to me. It feels rooted in my very survival instincts. But I know I don’t want to be Reyes, and I don’t want to lose you, and... if what Blackwatch did caused all this hurt to all these people who had nothing to do with what happened in Rialto.. it’s true that it should be suspended.”
Mercy blinked a few times. “Do you really mean that?”
“Well... to an extent...” said Genji, “If Blackwatch still had its intel networks up...”
“Maybe we could help Gérard find Amélie,” Mercy said quietly.
“You know about Gérard?” Genji looked over at her.
“I only got the briefing a few hours ago,” said Mercy. She was quiet for a few seconds. “Genji... I... I don’t think you’re a bad person for what the Shimada clan conditioned you to do. You do scare me sometimes, but I genuinely believe, deep down, you want to do good.” 
“I scare you?” Genji lifted his prosthetic hand and looked down at it.
“Not because of that...” Mercy touched the metal of his knuckles and he let his hand drop as his eyes raised to hers, “I--I’m scared for you. I don’t want you to think you’re alone. And--and I want you to be able to have a life outside of Overwatch.” She huffed. “That’s what it does. It takes in people who have nowhere else to go and who just want to help and it takes everything they can give and you never know if it’s being used to help or to...” her voice trailed off and she was staring forward. Genji touched her shoulder gently.
“For what it’s worth... without Overwatch I would have never met you,” said Genji.
“I’m glad I’ve met you too,” said Mercy, smiling a little, “Silver linings right?” 
“Right...” said Genji.
A long pause passed between them. 
“...so where do we go from here?” said Genji, quietly.
“Well... I still have my work... I suppose this means we can spend more time together?” Mercy shrugged, “And... with Blackwatch suspended... maybe you can take some time to figure out what you want. Outside of Overwatch. Outside of taking down the Shimada clan.”
I don’t know how ready I am to deal with that, thought Genji, but he just nodded.
“So...” Genji swirled his coffee in its mug, “What are you working on tonight?”
“Well... apparently there’s been this incident at Watchpoint Pembrey,” said Mercy, glancing back to her monitor, “But it’s very confusing on, well... a physics level?”
“Something is confusing the genius Angela Ziegler?” Genji pulled up a chair, “Tell me more.”
Mercy snickered a little. Then started telling him.
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thewayshedreamed · 4 years ago
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Death Dance
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Thank you for the prompt submission, Nonnie! I really liked this one.
Prompt: Can u write a Nessian fic involving Cassian seeing Nesta with her hair down for the first time? 🙏
A/N: This starts with an excerpt from A Court of Wings and Ruin, page 408. That scene was my inspiration for this prompt <3
acotar masterlist
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Cassian had been born for this—these fields, this chaos and brutality and calculation.
He didn’t stop moving, seemed to know where every opponent fought both ahead and behind, seemed to breathe in the flow of the battle around him. He even let his Siphons’ shield drop—to get close, to feel the impact of the arrows that he took in that ebony shield. If he slammed that shield into a soldier, his other arm was already swinging his sword at the next opponent. 
I’d never seen anything like it—the skill and precision. It was like a dance. 
I must have said it aloud because Mor replied, “For him, that’s what battle is. A symphony.” 
Her eyes did not stray from Cassian’s death-dance.
------
“STOP!” Cassian bellowed.
At his instruction, the clashes of steel ceased. Two flaps of his grand wings, and he was airborne, traveling the 100 or so yards to where Nesta stood. He landed firmly on the ground in front of her, sending vibrations through the earth beneath her feet. His brow was furrowed, nostrils flared, and his shoulders were tense as he assessed her.
“Problem, Commander?” she asked him dryly.
He huffed a breath through his nose, squaring his shoulders for the verbal sparring that he knew was coming.
“Nesta, who was your target?” he demanded.
“Cassian, I don’t understand the problem. You have trained me for battle, shaped my skills into what they are. Now, you scold me for employing them?”
It was true. The General Commander had started training her all those months ago, refining her physical competencies in battle as well as her strategy. Although resistant to his help when they originally arrived in Illyria, Nesta had been a talented pupil, her skills increasing at an exponential rate. Her wit and propensity for strategy served her well, and her mental tenacity helped fuel her progress through her lessons in technique.
Today was a day of group trainings, including battle drills designed to expose the legions to various strategies and threats alike. Nesta woke with an excitement on drill days, the opportunity to practice her skills pulling her from her bed earlier than any other day. She came alive in combat scenarios, as they allowed her to employ her newly honed skills without giving her the time to ruminate too much over which strategies to utilize. Only times of crisis were strong enough to compete with the brutality of her thoughts.
Additionally, she felt a compulsion to never find herself in another situation like the war with Hybern.
“Your skills are fine, and you know it. But you aren’t alone, Nesta.” His wings twitched, exposing his irritation. His voice was all rasp and intense focus; nothing of the pure and genuine male that existed off the battlefield.
“I’m fully aware, but I was disarming them easily. I don’t see why I shouldn’t take care of it.” She tossed her long braid over her shoulder, the end of it landing on her leathers just above the small of her back with a soft slap.
“You are engaging every enemy, but they are not your intended target. You need to evade them and allow your legion to support you as you move,” he reminded her firmly. “So I ask you again, who was your target?”
“How am I supposed to make peace with leaving my comrades behind me, unsure of their fate?” she spat.
His nostrils flared, his patience fraying by the second. “You have a responsibility to ensure your specific skill set is where it needs to be when it needs to be there. You are not a hero for clearing the field ahead of them, only to exhaust yourself prematurely or get yourself killed,” he seethed. “Your death leaves them unprepared for your intended target and increases the odds that they die as well.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered his words.
“So should I have left you there, too? Bleeding out on that battlefield?” she hissed.
He recoiled as if she struck him, obviously surprised to hear her mention the moment they shared during the battle with Hybern. This was the first and only time she had done so.
He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Who,” he asked through clenched teeth, “was your target?”
“You,” she said through a snarl.
“Correct. Move through this field, allow your fellow soldiers to support you. Save your energy for when you get to me.” he ordered, leaving no room for protest. He took off without waiting for her reply, the wind from his wings blowing back the loose strands of hair around her face.
He repositioned himself in the target location, his shield in place. Once he lowered it, they were to begin. Nesta fell in line with the other soldiers, steeling herself for when that red shield disappeared. She was still angry, but she felt a sense of calm wash over her as her focus shifted. Cassian waited for the opposing soldiers to move to their positions, then he dropped the shield.
Nesta ran, opting to pull a long dagger from the sheath along her thigh rather than pulling the sword from across her back. She knew she could move faster without the weight of the sword in her hand, and if she were meant to evade those she confronted, she felt her dagger would lend enough defense until another soldier arrived.
She never imagined that she would feel so at home on a battlefield, that these drills would become almost therapeutic. She moved forward, deftly knocking her first opponent off their center of gravity and causing them to stumble. She didn’t hesitate to move forward as instructed, daring to glance back quickly to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She was pleased to see her comrade engage the soldier, halting any plans they may have had to pursue Nesta.
She slipped into an eerie sort of calm, evading soldier after solder in her pursuit of Cassian. She could see him where he stood, waiting. She’d yet to best him in combat, and honestly didn’t hold that expectation in the absence of using magic, but she knew she was being assessed purely on her ability to get to where he was. She continued to move, only glancing back when absolutely necessary, and she was filled with a sense of honor that her back was covered every time.
She continued to feel a certain serenity surround her as she moved from one opponent to the next. She glided through them with grace and precision; as if she had learned this battle as choreography. After successfully blocking the blows targeted at her, she was already extending her dagger to the next, carrying herself through the field. There was a certain rhythm thrumming through her; her heartbeat akin to the cadence of a battle drum. She let it guide her and propel her forward, tugging her closer and closer to her target. She let it pace her, her footfalls coordinating in time with the fall of her daggers and her transitions between soldiers. Her movements came together in perfect harmony, an art form all their own.
She moved so briskly through her opponent's forces that her last obstacle to Cassian seemed to be caught off-guard by her arrival. She had him disarmed in less than a minute, promptly turning to lock eyes with the Illyrian warrior that awaited her.
He met her gaze with sheer focus, finally raising a scarred brow to her in challenge. She felt it like a blow straight to her chest; felt compelled to make her way to him. The steady beat of that battle drum pulled her once again, urging her feet forward toward the General Commander. She meant to break into a full run, but she felt a sharp tug on her long braid, snapping her head backward.
She risked a small glance at who held her. She didn't rotate her body being that she was unsure of how much that would compromise her ability to evade the attacker, but she turned her head to the side and dared a peripheral look their way.
The very last solider she'd disarmed had managed to grab hold of her braid, almost all the way at the bottom, near her lower back. She cursed herself for opting to wear it this way rather than her usual crown braid, but it seemed like an incredible amount of work for an activity that provided minimal appreciation for intricate braiding.
She saw her ally engaging with the enemy who was gripping her hair, so she knew it was not their failure to cover her that got her in this position. She had likely stopped too soon, not allowing enough distance to be created between them before pausing to assess Cassian. In those seconds, the soldier had regained access to his weapon and reached for her. It didn't surprise her, considering who had trained him. Even small opportunities could change the direction of a war, and he capitalized on her misstep in a way she had to respect, if she were honest.
All of these things burst through her brain within a couple of seconds before she started to scan it for a possible solution. Had she ever learned how to get someone to release her without getting hurt or killed in the process? The thought was pointless, because even if she had, it wasn't serving her at the moment.
And so, she moved.
— — —
From the second Cassian had lowered his red shield, his eyes were glued to the female meant to engage him at the end of her pursuit. She had arrived in Illyria with almost no skills and even fewer battle instincts, but when he had introduced her to training, she came alive. The idea that wars were ever fought without women like her was almost comical to him as he watch her graceful figure glide straight through enemy lines.
He couldn't, nor would be, discount her improvement or her skills in general. She had worked tirelessly for months, never wanting to find herself in a position similar to the day she was Made. She was strong, beautiful, and lethal with the blade in her hand. It was almost as if she were always intended for this.
He was relieved to see that she had taken his feedback into consideration rather than engaging every single soldier in hand-to-hand combat to spite him. It wouldn't have surprised him if she had being that she loved nothing more than to irritate him, but he felt touched at how seriously she was taking her training.
He watched her move through the crowd, entranced by her movements. He stood with his arms crossed, shield and Illyrian blade across his back, assessing Nesta and the others. Her team was supporting her beautifully, and he couldn't fight the smallest smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. She was almost to him now, disarming the man in front of her and pausing to look his way. He had just schooled his face into one of neutrality, thank the Cauldron, but his expressive brow quirked up of its own accord as he continued to monitor her.
That is, until the very last opponent she faced resorted to cheap shots, latching onto Nesta's hair. He gripped it as if she were the personification of his pride, floating away from him on the wind. He held a firm grip down at the bottom, yanking her head backward in the process. It took every ounce of his training to fight the vicious snarl that threatened to erupt out of him at seeing someone touch her in such a way. She paused, but she wasn't motionless for long.
Cassian knew his eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape as he watched in disbelief. As fast as lightning, Nesta turned on her heel, blade in hand. The Illyrian steel went through her thick braid like a knife through warm butter, sending the offender stumbling back.
Her golden strands unraveled as she whipped around and broke into a full run toward where Cassian stood. Her hair billowed around her face, framing it in a way that took his breath away. His breath was suddenly ragged, heart pounding through his chest as she ran toward him. When her steel blue eyes raised to meet his hazel ones, he had to take a step back and steady himself from the blow of emotions that roiled through him.
He knew it then, had suspected it for some time. That one word that changed everything, and by the way her eyes widened slightly, he suspected she knew it, too. She was almost to him; had already prepared the daggers in her hands to ensure she was ready whenever he deigned to attack.
Before entertaining a coherent thought about his actions, he raised his right hand in front of him, palm toward her. She slowed to a halt about 6 feet away from him, the look in her eyes a combination of determination, frustration, and something else altogether. He couldn't breathe.
He could see his own chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his blood singing to close the distance between them. He wanted to lie to himself and claim the call of battle as the reason for his compulsion. Battle, however, was the last thing on his mind.
The wind circled the both of them, and Cassian thanked the Mother for the soothing gesture across his wings. His blood was raging, sweat pouring along the inside of his training leathers. His wings twitched with anxious energy as he continued to look at her.
Her hair was blowing around her face, a few strands slanting across it. She was a vision, the strands looking as if they were perfectly placed to frame her delicate features. Her blue eyes bore into him, made even more stunning by the contrast of the brown whipping around them. He was both angry and relieved that he'd never seen her this way before. Had he, he would have never been able to train her properly, her hair and beauty wonderfully distracting. She was the one to break the silence.
"What now, Cassian?" she scowled. "I've made it, haven't I?"
Her voice was much quieter than before the drill, almost breathy. She was looking intensely at him, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. He tracked her movements as she ran her hand through her strands, from her forehead to the crown of her head, to attempt smoothing them.
"Nesta." he managed, his voice a whisper.
She continued to look at him, that unidentifiable emotion worn all over her beautiful face.
He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to say what he needed to through his nerves.
"You're my mate."
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laurore-stormwitch · 4 years ago
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the demon and the witch
Here’s the second chapter my first fan fiction! This is from Zoya’s POV which was so much harder to write. Hope you all enjoy it! 
word counts: 4392
You’ll find it in full in AO3
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Zoya hissed while trying to strengthen the bandages on her wound, through which a small flower of blood was already blossoming through. Damn those kerghud and their blades. She checked her sides too, finding with relief she was not in much pain. At least the healers were able to take her of that; but the poison the Fabrikators found on the kerghud’s knives was slowing down the process on the deep cut on her shoulder.
You still prevailed, rumbled Juris inside of her. You took down all of them on your own. The voice was beaming with his pride.
And got thrown against a tree for good measure, she answered grimly while examining her wound. It could’ve been worse. Still, it wasn’t a good sign; the Shu were supposed to be their allies now. Why did a pack of kerghuds attack her? They really didn’t need another thing to worry about. She sighed, opening the windows and letting the cold air revive her a little. The ride back to the palace had left her sore; it took her hours and standing on a horse with a throbbing chest and blood all over her hadn’t been pleasant. She arrived after dinner only to be welcomed by a furious and shaken Genya who had tried to cover for her absence and had immediately taken her to get patched up. Not really an ideal day.
She was pondering whether to drown her sorrows either in bed or in wine when she heard some strained voices in the corridor; they sounded rushed, worried. Someone was giving orders to her guards to stand down and resign their post, sending them away. Oh, for Saints sake, not now, she thought as the door slammed open and Nikolai Lantsov stomped in her room with a weary expression, stopping in front of her. Of course he found out.
“What the hell happened Zoya?” She glanced at him, both annoyed and warmed by his uneven breath and messy look; he seemingly ran through the whole palace to get here, already in his more comfortable clothes for the night. Armour in place, her words were clipped and sarcastic.
“Did anyone never bother to teach the future King of Ravka the subtle art of knocking?”
Nikolai looked exhausted; he released a long breath he seemed to have been holding for ages while he carefully skimmed her for injuries, lingering on the bandages on her shoulder and upper arm with a worried look. She quickly put her kefta back on covering them, uncomfortable under his gaze. When he seemed to have assessed that she wasn’t going to die in the next couple of minutes, he relaxed, releasing the tension in his shoulders, shoving the worry away and regaining his usual merry attitude.
“No one thought I’d actually be the future King, you know. Maybe that’s why they skipped it.”
His tone was light, but he took a couple of steps in her direction, still checking her. She rolled her eyes, making a good show of being irritated. He was being overly dramatic. She knew that whoever told him of her little excursion would also have told him that she was safe and sound and healers already had tended to her; he had no reasons to put up these theatrics.
“I’m fine.” He huffed in response, casting his eyes heavenward too.
“You broke three ribs.”
“Two”, she corrected, “And they’ve already been healed.” He didn’t flinch, taking another step forward and gesturing to her arm.
“What about that?”
She shrugged her shoulders ignoring the stab of pain the movement provoked.
“Are you here to question me or do you actually need something?”
Nikolai grinned, leaning against the wall next to the balcony. She shifted unconsciously away from him. He was too close, only a couple of feet apart from her. And they slipped inside their usual banter too easily: everything came too easily with him. Her look wandered outside the window, averting his amused eyes still trained on her with an intensity she didn’t want to consider.
“Ah, there’s the spite. You’re really fine then.”
There was an affection in his voice that was hard on her nerves. What was he doing here? The whole point of her actions was to keep the distance; this didn’t exactly fit with the plan, the two of them alone in her chambers at this hour of the night. She collected her strength, making the decision to ignore him. His smug face was making her want to shove him out the door. The silence stretched and she waited with hope that he would just leave her be, sensing her irritation. But Nikolai was Nikolai after all, seemingly untouched by her demeanour.
“I already sent word to the Shu. We…I’ll take care of it.” She sensed him stop before adding something else, no doubt avoiding saying Ehri’s name and leaving her out of the conversation. Zoya shook her head, even more unnerved by this unwelcome caution in her regards.
“It doesn’t matter. They’re going to say it was a rogue attack. I took care of it.”
Meaning I burned them all.
“Just tell our dear princess to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Somebody else could’ve gotten really hurt.”
“But they found Zoya Nazyalensky instead. What a stroke of luck for them.”
She didn’t react to his praise, so he just kept talking, keeping an easy attitude. But she knew him well, and she could hear the strain in his voice, the turmoil he was trying to keep hidden.
“Do you care to tell me why my most valuable general decided to take a stroll in an open field and almost got herself killed?”
Fine then, so ignoring him was not the correct strategy; she resorted to her ruthlessness and his guilt.
“Most valuable.” Zoya scoffed. “Thought you’d be satisfied; you’d finally have the perfect excuse to replace me.”
She turned to him while speaking, holding a firm gaze; so she was able to see the shadow of shame and pain that swept through his eyes at her words.
As hurt as she was, their fight the other day served her right. It was bad enough to convince her that staying away from him was the sensible thing to do, and now it gave her a weapon to use to keep distancing him. Also, she really didn’t intend to linger on the topic and explore the reasons why she made what she knew had been a reckless decision. Lately, the palace was far too crowded for her liking; it had begun to feel suffocating, and not only because avoiding Nikolai was growing harder and harder by the day. The dragon inside her craved the sky; the power in her was constantly rumbling, pretending to be unleashed. She still didn’t understand it, the force of it, the craving for destruction that came with it. It was slowly changing her: each and every day her senses got stronger, her hunger got deeper. It demanded to be used; there were times she didn’t know how she kept still, moments in which the air around her crackled without her control, nights in which thunder boomed and clouds darkened the sky as her mood grew more sour. So she started taking these rides outside the city, trying to find places where she could test her abilities without risking destroying the Little Palace. In a time that seemed long lost, she would’ve liked to confide in Nikolai with this. But he wouldn’t understand now, he wouldn’t get what she feared to become if she kept searching for more. And she made a choice after Isaak’s death, the choice to give up on her foolish hopes and dreams and be a general after all. That choice included letting Nikolai go, which he was making hard to do.
They looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. A pang hit her throat, and she felt an unfamiliar prickle in her eyes. Why did she want to cry now? She searched for her anger, trying to bury the feeling of despair that was troubling her mind. She prayed for him to say something spiteful, or to turn on his heels and go. Instead, he came even closer, moving a delicate brush of his fingers over the bandages that peaked near her collarbone, sending a shiver through her. Too close. Get away.
“I’m sorry, Zoya.”
And why for all Saints on earth did he have to say her name like this? It was almost like a prayer. A soft whisper full of honesty, not even an inch of his casual arrogance or boldness. She sucked a breath in, holding her pose, arching a brow in his direction.
“Nice speech. Bet you practiced it a lot in front of the mirror.”
He waved a glowing smile at her, while she pondered wherever this good mood came from.
“I had a nice speech, you know. And yes, I also practiced it. But then you went on to put yourself in danger and I got a little distracted.”
She glanced at him. “I’m not a helpless girl whom you needed to run to and save from a monster.” I may easily be the monster myself, Nikolai. Leave. He didn’t back down.
“I didn’t say that, as a matter of fact. I said I got distracted by you being hurt.”
You’re still too close. Get away. Her feet didn’t seem to listen to her brain, which was sparring with her heart for dominance. She turned to her side, away from him.
“Get out, Nikolai.”
“I don’t think I want to.” She was going to kill him.
“I want you to go.”
“And I want to be more handsome than I already am, but some things are just too hard to get.”
Her glare would have made every man on earth shiver with fear. It was apparently useless on Nikolai.
“Enough childish games, Nikolai. Say what you have to say and then leave.”
He sighed. “Just listen to me, please? I really did have a speech. I was out of line the other day, and I didn’t mean a single word I said. I reacted in the worst possible way and I hurt you. And I’m sorry, both for doing it and for waiting too long to realize it.”
She stopped him with an irritated laugh, her eyes slitting silver. How arrogant of him.
“You didn’t hurt me. You were just being the harsh leader you may finally be growing into.”
He shook his head, ignoring the remark, determined to go on with this charade.
“It’s more than that. I should’ve said something sooner. What happened in the Fold...we never got the chance to talk. I don’t know how you are, what you’re going through.” Maybe punching him in the face was not a bad option. Alina did it after all, if she remember correctly. “I let you drift away and I regret that.”
The conversation was steering in dangerous territory. She clenched her jaw and her fists, equally intent as him to stop this.
“You’re gonna regret this if you keep talking.”
“Why?” His controlled tone slipped a bit as he threw his arm in the air, getting more nervous. “What’s wrong with talking? What’s wrong in saying that I was an idiot to behave like I did, that I need my general by my side? That I don’t like all the distance you’re putting between us?”
“There’s no us, Nikolai.” She spatted, fists still clenched, trying to keep the hold on her power already rising inside her. She sensed where this was going and desperately tried to prevent it. “You shouldn’t even be here at this hour. You are going to marry your Shu princess, and be the King Ravka needs. I am your general, as you dutifully pointed out, nothing else. Stop acting like a fool.”
Oh, how well do you lie to yourself. Are you ever gonna stop? That was not the moment for Juris to chide her and mock her, doubting her decisions. She hushed him, trying to focus. Nikolai looked struck at her words; he opened his mouth and then closed it again, seemingly deciding what to say. She narrowed her eyes, an uncomfortable suspicion creeping in her mind. Speechless Nikolai Lantsov was never a good thing.
“Maybe I’m not.” He cleared his throat at her confused look. “I’m not marrying Ehri.”
Juris roared. Zoya widened her eyes in shock: a wave of outrage flooded her thoughts, along with an unwelcome strike of hope she suffocated.
“Nikolai.” His name was said much like a threat. “What on earth are you saying?”
He held up his hands, speaking slowly, trying not to set her off and appease her wrath.
“I need you to trust me on this. I may have another solution, one that doesn’t involve forcing me and Ehri in a loveless marriage we both despise. One that still assures me the alliance.”
She was not having this. The air around them started to feel more dense, the smell of a rainstorm filling the room. Her voice grew louder, her temper brewing.
“I hope you’re joking, or you’re more of a fool that I ever thought possible. Whatever she told you, she’s tricking you. What are you thinking? Ravka is on the brink of destruction, why would you risk your country?”
“It’s not about Ravka.”
"You don’t get to choose, Nikolai. You are a ruler. You have a duty.” He let out an exasperated sound, coming even closer. There was barely the space of a breath within them. She kept going. “You are our King. I won’t let you do something so reckless.”
Now he was losing his temper too, flames burning in his eyes. He caught her wrist, his grip like steel.
“Why do you run from this? Why do you deny yourself of happiness when there’s another way?”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything! I don’t want to marry her. And I don’t want to see my country fall.”
“You think you can have it all? Then what do you want, Nikolai?”
He shot her a pleading look, his soul pouring out of his eyes. Her heart missed a beat, as she shook him away and took two steps back, finding herself with her back on the wall. No. She regretted her question in an instant.
You know what he wants. You know who he wants. Juris wasn’t backing out either.
A whisper rolled out of Nikolai’s mouth.
“Zoya…”
“Don’t.” He came towards her. They were dancing; she cast him a warning look.
“Why not?”
“Because there’s no coming back if you say it!” She was shouting now, shivering with rage and dread. “Because I will believe you if you say it and it won’t change anything!” Tears threatened to fall again, her whole body was vibrating with power. She couldn’t hold back anymore, she would’ve hurt him. And yet this stupid boy was not yelding his steps, not afraid of the woman in front of him.
“I’m not giving up on you.”
“Please, Nikolai.” A sob escaped her. Was she pleading with him now? But as much as her, he had made a decision, and he wasn’t gonna abandon his resolve. He went on, unforgiving, holding her gaze and his chin as he spoke.
"You need to hear me. And you can trust me."
"Stop." She was losing.
“It’s always been you, Zoya. You’re the only thing I want.”
The sword drew through her hearth, cracking it open.
Show this boy king what you are.
She threw her fist open unleashing the storm, tears streaming on her cheeks, and shot a speeding gust of wind in his direction. It knocked Nikolai over, trashing him on the floor; he hit the wall, the current howling and holding him in place. The window on her side shattered as lightning fell from the sky, leaving a trail of smoke in their wake. Papers were rustling around the room, a cold breeze sweeping over them; she watched in horror the destruction she brought. Abruptly, the air fell still as she drew away the power, not wanting to meet Nikolai’s eyes and the disgust she was sure to find there.
“Go away, please.”
He heard him breathing heavily, getting back up on his feet. His uncertain steps crunched on all the letters left on the floor.
"Zoya, it’s okay. I’m here."
"Shut up."
Juris wasn’t finished, too. He growled. Don’t be a coward. You should be the Queen.
“Shut up!”
The scream rose from her sore throat and she fell on her knees, hitting the pavement and catching her head between her hands. Her heart hurt. Her lungs hurt. She made a desperate attempt to fight back the pain as she grasped the last bit of sanity in her mind, huddling on herself like a child. Electricity ran through her skin and a final thunder rolled over the room. Everything stopped as the place grew silent, Zoya shaking on the floor.
“I’m not leaving.”
His voice floated to her like they were underwater; it didn’t even tremble, it was calm and firm, not the one of a terriefied man just taken on by a summoned storm. He slowly walked to her again, rubbing the back of his head a little. Did she hurt him? Shame towered over her. He lowered himself down to her; his movements were delicate, attentive, as if she was a wounded animal he needed not to scare. Another whisper came to her and she grasped at it like an anchor.
“I’m not leaving you.”
She felt his hands on hers, his touch soft as a feather as he circled her wrists and he tried to pull her back on her feet with a soft tug. He caught her elbow, steadying her; instinctively her other hand tightened around his shoulder as her vision blurred and focused back on him; she let her head lean on his chest, catching some air. They stayed like that for a while, Nikolai’s tender eyes waiting for her to get back to herself. He gently tilted her chin up to look at her, brushing some strands of hair away from her face and sighed.
“I missed you.”
The words fell on her like an avalanche. There was a fierce purity in this ordinary admission, spoken like a confession he knew she wouldn’t be able to take. There was so much more to this; it spoke of all the things they never allowed themselves to say, of all the stolen glances and forgotten truths; of how they belonged next to each other, the peace and quiet they found together, how hard it was to be apart; of the times she saved him, and the ones he saved her.
Stop fighting, General. Lower your weapons.
She was tired. Saints, she was so tired. She wanted to rest in the comfort of his arms. She felt herself beginning to surrender.
He is yours to keep. She trembled in his hands, shaken by the conviction in Juris’ voice.
Zoya looked at the boy in front of her, still gently grazing her cheek with his knuckles, at his tousled flocks, at the glowing rays of sun hidden in his eyes. She moved one hand to his stunning face, tentatively touching his lips. A shiver went through him, but he stayed perfectly still while a look of confusion and yearning flashed through him.
He has always been yours. Juris roared, sending flames scorching her chest.
Zoya of the broken heart. Be whole again. Take him.
And once again, just like she did in the Fold, Zoya let herself fall.
She pulled him to her with a hand on the back of his neck, closing the distance between them, crashing her lips onto his, releasing the hunger and the despair that plagued her. When they met, it felt like a war. It felt like a blessing. She registered her king reacting in a split second, without even a hint of hesitation: the hand that was on her arm went to hug her waist, drawing her closer than she thought possible with a desperate need, while the other one was now entangled in her hair. He was holding onto her for dear life, as if she would break if he let her go.
Kissing him was a thousand lives and a single fleeting moment, time stretching in this suspended bliss; she broke free, gasping for hair, drowning in the shock of what happened. Nikolai wasn’t a fool, and he knew her all too well; he knew it would only take her the fraction of an instant for realization to dawn over her, so he didn’t let her slip. He pulled her to him again. But that flicker of oxygen to her brain was enough for fear and remorse to clench at her soul. She pushed lightly onto his chest, and this time he got the hint, leaving her mouth and backing up just what was necessary for them both to release their breath. Good, she thought. At least one of us still has some semblance of control . If it really was up to her will, once so unbreakable, she would’ve never stopped.
“Saints, Zoya.” The words rolled out of his mouth in an ushered tone, as if speaking too loudly was bound to break the enchantment cast upon them. She mustered the courage to look at him: he was watching her in awe, the golden freckles in his eyes darkened by a sheer desire. He may have stopped kissing her, but his hands were still keeping her flushed against him, his uneven warm breathing grazing her neck, making it almost unbearable to try and form a coherent thought. Her heart was aching.
“We can’t.” Her voice was barely audible, devoid of every resolve she had hoped to still have in herself. She trained her look on the floor, the pain squeezing the air out of her lungs. What did I just do? Zoya sensed Nikolai shifting closer, brushing his lips on her lashes, her cheekbones. He rested his forehead on hers. Was he smiling? Why was this damned boy smiling? She cast her eyes up; he really was smiling, cocking his head slightly on one side.
“What?”
“You’re really stubborn, you know.” He teased her. Zoya marvelled at his confidence, at how unfazed he seemed at the fact she was basically rejecting him after shoving him against a wall and possibly giving him a concussion. Not that she felt herself being convincing: all ruthlessness seemed to have left her body. She still didn’t trust herself much to talk; each word was agonizing to get out.
“I just told you we can’t do this. Why are you smiling?”
“I know you don’t mean it.” He shrugged his shoulders, still refusing to let her go. Like the truth was as simple as that, and he had the gift of knowing. Fighting this was tiring; the moment their lips met, every carefully hidden thought, every feeling she locked away flooded out with an overwhelming strength, knocking down each and every one of her defenses.
“How come?”
“You haven’t pushed me away. And you did kiss me, just so you remember it.” Zoya’s lips curled a little before she could stop herself, rolling her eyes. Bold as only Nikolai could be in a moment like this. “Someone told me you were going to find a way to surprise me” He mumbled under his breath, lost in thoughts for a second.
“Besides”, he added. “I’m not in a rush. I’ll convince you eventually. You know my charm has no limits.”
She huffed, but didn’t find it in herself to step out of his grip. She was still falling, and he was the one to catch her. Zoya let her hands rest on his chest: she could feel his heart pounding like it was about to take flight, echoing in her mind and sending waves of soothing calm over her. His certainty was endearing.
“You’re insufferable.”
Nikolai looked perfectly at ease, beaming with confidence. He let out an amused chuckle and placed a soft kiss on her hair.
“Don’t run from me.” He turned serious, placing both his hands on the sides of her jaw, keeping their eyes locked together. “I need you with me to face all of this. We’ll find a way; I know we can. We’ll figure everything out together. And we can do this right.”
General Nazyalensky knew better than to trust fragile promises of peace. And yet the hopeful girl she’d been held onto this one like it was a long awaited shore in a storm-swept ocean. She could regret this tomorrow: for tonight, maybe she wanted to be that girl. And against every belief she had, she really did trust him like no one ever before. She found herself nodding lightly, slightly amused by his hint at doing things right. Nikolai and his idiotic sense of honour. The dragon inside her had spread his wings, roaring his power. Bolts of desire were still shooting through her, leaving her brain a mess, and she could see the feeling mirrored in Nikolai’s eyes. She didn’t know that freeing her heart from the cage it was trapped in would taste so sweet and terrifying.
You are the dragon, Zoya. You will bide your time. And you will have it all.
She brought her hand on one of his, still wrapped around her neck, intertwining their fingers. Deep inside of her, the stone hit the bottom of the well: waiting there for her there was a quiet feeling of belonging, a home in which she could be safe. A place full of light in which she could rest. Someone to hold her. Someone who loved her. As the fall stopped, Zoya handed over the fight, easing herself in the embrace of the boy that tore down her walls and built her a fortress.
Tell him to stay. She didn’t know if it was Juris or her heart demanding it.
“Stay with me tonight.”
A breath-taking soft smile enlightened his features. Nikolai leaned towards her, whispering an oath in her ear, a secret to share in the midst of night.
"Always.”
He caught her lips and kissed her again, deeper, with more urgency, leaving whatever sense of self-restraint they were keeping to shatter in a million pieces as the silk of her kefta slided away from her shoulders, wrinkling through his darkened fingers, the demon and the witch.
And the world went on fire.
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jasontoddiefor · 4 years ago
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As Lightning to the Children eased Chapter 14
Chapter 14 is out! Read on AO3!
Padmé did not call Anakin out when she found him hiding in her living room, arms tugged beneath his knees, his chin resting on top of them. He didn’t look like he had gotten any sleep lately and she was not about to stop him from getting at least some rest.
Instead, he merely put a cup of tea in his hands and went about her work. Halfway through midday, she got the call she had been waiting for.
“Senator Organa,” she greeted her ally and friend. Bail Organa was a good man, friendly and charming on top, and Padmé wondered what would happen if she were to let him meet Obi-Wan sometime. The two seemed like the kind of people who’d get along like a house on fire. “How are you?”
“Quite well, thank you,” Bail replied. He glanced at Anakin once but didn’t further react to his presence. “And yourself?”
“Exhausted, if I’m honest,” Padmé said. “The war hasn’t even truly started and I already feel as if I’ve aged years, but let’s not linger on that. How is your charge?”
“Adjusting,” Bail said. “I offered to take him home to Breha, but he decided that he wanted to stay on Coruscant. I’m not sure whether it’s the proximity to the Jedi or if it’s because he has to protect me in turn for keeping him safe, but I decided it would be beneficial for his health to remain at my side.”
Padmé smiled at him, honestly and truly happy. “I’m relieved to hear that.”
Finally, some good news during this catastrophe. When the Jedi had taken them all back to Coruscant, nobody had been too sure what to do with little Boba Fett. Technically speaking, his father – no matter how undeserving Padmé thought him of the title – was a deceased criminal and there were enough people who wanted Boba to pay for his father’s crimes. Hi status as a clone also didn’t really improve his situation. Padmé would have taken Boba in himself, as would the Jedi, but neither was quite the right fit, and when Bail Organa had offered to take him in, then that was just good fortune.
“If you ever need someone to babysit, I can jump in last minute,” Padmé joked.
Bail smiled and nodded. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Padmé, but I believe Boba would protest quite heavily against being babysitted.”
“He can be part of my protective detail then,” she amended. “I’m sure he will do excellent work.”
X
The Council room was dead silent.
“You’re joking, aren’t you?” Qui-Gon asked, allowing disbelief to seep into his voice.
Whereas some of his fellow Masters smiled in tired exhaustion, others only rolled their eyes.
“A new member this Council needs,” Yoda said. “Wise in the Living Force you are and raised a brilliant Padawan you did. A new member of this Council you may be if you accept.”
Qui-Gon wondered what Dooku would say about this. His Master had already departed with his own clone battalion, heading straight to the Outer Rim and into the zones that promised the most gruesome battles. Dooku was a brilliant talker and given his relationship with the Senate, he’d probably be more useful on the Council than Qui-Gon. He had already been on the Council once.
Qui-Gon knew he was stubborn and thick-headed and unlikely to change his mind unless proven wrong. Both Dooku and Obi-Wan had told and shown him so often enough. Qui-Gon wasn’t chosen for delicate and amicable peace talks. He usually went to do the negotiations where they expected things to blow up, and more often than not, they did.
He was not the best option for a War Council, especially when he struggled to wield the Force as he used to.
“Why me?” he finally asked when he didn’t know what other question there was left to voice.
“Love this Order more than anyone else, you do. Had Knight and Padawan Skywalker not found their way here, found your way to them, you would have. Listen well to the world, you do. Not afraid to speak your words, you are. Ready for this, you are.”
Not yet. Speak first. Right a wrong, my dear child, explain your scars—
“I have to talk to Anakin,” Qui-Gon said, his heart hurting at the thought of the youth, yet rejoicing at finally getting a glimpse of the Force again. “I cannot give you an answer before I spoke to him.”
The Masters nodded and Qui-Gon left.
X
Anakin was easy to find, hiding away in one of the lowest accessible levels of the temple. These days, he was either at Obi-Wan’s sickbed when Obi-Wan was asleep, at his mother’s when she wasn’t telling him to finally go talk to Obi-Wan, hiding away in Padmé’s apartments or down here. Qui-Gon had first thought that Anakin would try to go deeper, search for what lingered beneath the warm marble of their temple, but he never moved from his spot.
“Anakin.”
The Padawan winced when his name was called, then slowly turned his head only to return to staring blankly at his hands. He looked absolutely miserable, tired too. Qui-Gon sighed.
“Do you remember the mission to Naboo? When we accompanied Padmé back to it?”
Anakin gave no sign that he was listening to Qui-Gon, but he decided to keep talking anyway. “When we entered the ship, you collapsed. Something set you off, something incredibly dark and harmful, and, best I could tell, it flipped a switch for you. Revealed something it shouldn’t have.”
Anakin’s hands curled to fists as Qui-Gon sat down next to him. “Obi-Wan and I didn’t know what to do, so we- no, I decided to do what I thought was best. I blocked those memories, dressed them up in kinder images.”
Even now, so many years later, Qui-Gon remembered it so clearly. The chains wrapped around Anakin’s entire body, the sun burning him, reminding him that he was not supposed to be there.
“And then, when you tried to heal me later on, you needed the knowledge that I had hidden from you to do better.”
“To let you die, you mean,” Anakin said. His voice was hoarse as if he hadn’t spoken in days. “It would have stopped me from resurrecting you.”
“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed. “I would have died and it would have been alright because it was my time. My actions took away something you should be able to recognize subconsciously and I want to apologize for it.”
Silence followed Qui-Gon’s statement as they let his words linger. It was true. That he realized now. Whatever he had done, it had shifted something within Anakin that wasn’t meant to be shifted sideways.
“I think you made me human,” Anakin replied, wings unfurling as bones cracked. “I don’t think I was meant to be human.”
His eyes were still closed, but Qui-Gon could still fill all of them watching him, waiting for a reaction, a confirmation.
“No, you were not,” Qui-Gon replied. “And I’m sorry I made you something you weren’t supposed to be in my fear of what you might have become in that moment.”
“I want to be human,” Anakin muttered. He stretched out his fingers, sharp claws, golden like his teeth, bleeding as if from scratching his arms raw, trying to dissect himself and sew his flesh back together in the right way, anything less hurtful. “I don’t want to be like this. Everything is so loud and I’m always too much and if I get angry, I break the world apart. It isn’t fair that I can feel so much, but I’m not allowed to embrace it.”
“Oh, Anakin.” All thoughts of logically expressing this to his Grandpadawan were forgotten. “Who told you that you can’t embrace your emotions? You just can’t let them become too much. You can’t let them consume you. You need to find your balance again.”
Qui-Gon knew it was a cruel demand to make when he had been so afraid of what would become of Anakin almost a decade ago now. There was no telling whether Anakin would still exist once he found that balance again or whether he’d return to his silent parent. After all, what parent would abandon their child if not because they knew they weren’t needed anymore?
“I’m scared,” Anakin admitted. “I was afraid my mother would be put back together again wrongly if I healed her so I lashed out and murdered all of them in cold blood and then I was scared to lose Obi-Wan and instead he lost his arm because of me and I’m scared that if I try to fix me, I won’t be me at all. I know I can do it. I’ve been looking, I can see where you used your paint on me, but I just—”
Anakin looked up, bright blue eyes staring at Qui-Gon as he cried and wrapped his arms around him, hiding his face in his robes.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Gently, Qui-Gon held onto Anakin. How strange that a being as bright and strong as him needed an anchor as fragile as Qui-Gon. He ran his fingers through Anakin’s hair, humming a melody under his breath he’d been taught years ago on a small Mid Rim planet.
Minutes passed, hours without either of them moving until Anakin’s shoulders stopped trembling.
“I can’t tell you what the right path is, Anakin. You have to decide that for yourself. The only advice I can give you is this question: do you love the Jedi?”
“What?” Anakin’s confusion was painted across his face in broad brushstrokes.
Qui-Gon smiled. “I asked if you loved the Jedi?”
“Of course! You’re my home, my family! How could I not?”
“Good.” Qui-Gon nodded. “Then you will remind yourself of the fact that you love your family and that your family loves you every day and every action you take will be in this knowledge. Do not act against this love in your heart, Anakin, and may it ease the burden on your mind.”
May it guide you well.
X
Obi-Wan’s hand trembled. He hardly had any control over his new appendage and it frustrated him to no end. He was a perfectionist at heart, had spent hours training his fine motor control to become a Master of his form. He tried to keep his breathing under control, to focus, and not let the pain overwhelm him. If not for his own sake and to resist the temptation of just throwing his lightsaber halfway across the room, then for Anakin.
His Padawan already felt so guilty for Obi-Wan’s injury, he didn’t want to make him feel worse.
He couldn’t stand the thought of looking at Anakin’s sad eyes.
“Rough night?”
Obi-Wan turned his head around to find Shmi standing at the entrance of the training hall. Her injuries had healed well during her stay with the Healers, only a few faint scars across her face and shoulders revealing what she had been through. She was dressed ready for battle, wearing the new armor the Jedi had been given. Obi-Wan had tried it on once and immediately wished he could message Satine and ask her whether he could borrow one of hers for the war. Mandalorian armor was so much more comfortable.
Not that he thought the Jedi should wear any at all.
“Are you shipping out?” he asked.
“Yes, Dooku asked for backup. Apparently, he’s been dealing with a Sith apprentice – a different one than the one you encountered on Geonosis – and intends to chase her down. Someone must take over his battalion. Since he dragged me back home from Tatooine, I’ll return the favor.”
“Take Anakin with you,” Obi-Wan heard himself say. “He needs to get out of the temple.”
“You haven’t talked yet,” Shmi stated, her tone not allowing for any disagreement.
“No,” Obi-Wan agreed. “And I don’t think Anakin will talk to me as long as he hasn’t gotten a proper break. So, please?”
Shmi studied him for a moment, then she sighed. “Alright, but the moment you’re fit for duty, he’s your Padawan again.”
Obi-Wan managed to crack a smile at that. “Of course, I’d never trade him for another.”
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prodbyteez · 4 years ago
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jwy. kilig [f]
(n.) the rush or inexplicable joy one feels after seeing or experiencing something romantic
inspired by the song Never Knew I Needed by Ne-Yo ; Princess and the Frog soundtrack ftw
ORDER FOR TABLE NUMBER 8
this was the third overtime shift you’ve picked up within 4 days. the diner was packed for the friday night dinner rush. babies crying, high schoolers yelling, couples on dates - there wasn’t one age group that wasn’t in the building. you needed the money to stay afloat between school loans, rent, and public transportation. your parents did send you some money once in a while, but you used that mostly towards groceries and daily necessities. everything else came purely from your own blood, sweat, and tears. 
you rushed back and forth between taking orders, serving, and wiping down tables for the next group to be seated. you turned to look at the giant clock on the wall. 5 more minutes till my dinner break. i can do this. though you were only a waitress, your manager and all the chefs did what they could to relieve your stresses - cooking meals for you and giving you an extra break in your shifts. you never had time outside of work and school to do much else. relationships were foreign to you. your friendship circle was really limited to your co-workers and maybe a handful of classmates. and him.
jung wooyoung. the raven haired dancer who always sat at the counter at 7 pm every day after dance practice and ordered a cookies and cream milkshake with some fried food, but always made sure to leave enough for you to eat with him during your break. 
today was no different. you heard his voice before you saw him.
IT’S BREAK TIME FOR A SPECIAL SOMEONE
i love you, but please don’t yell while i’m serving soup to a grandma
okay okay i’m sorry, but it is your break and today i’m feeling ... fries
one fries and a cookies and cream milkshake coming right up
you yelled the order through the kitchen window to the chefs as you took off your apron to avoid stares as to why you weren’t waitressing. you sat next to him at the counter head buried in your hands. stressed was an understatement. your body was severely overworked, but it wasn’t like you could take a day off. you felt a poke in your side and groaned in response.
you look like you’re about to die. talk to me please
you turned your head to the side allowing one eye to peak out from your elbow as you spoke.
i’m exhausted. but i need to work. honestly, i feel like i’m going to collapse
i tell you all the time to take care of yourself, but you just don’t like listening to me. i’ll tell you something someone once told me when i was tired of dancing and i wanted to give up. it’s okay if you need to slow your run to a walk or even a crawl, but don’t stop. one inch forward is still progress. so even if you need to take a few days off to set your mind straight, do that. besides, you know that your manager is okay with giving you some days off if you need it
dang i wonder who told you that
you did. the first time wooyoung stepped into the diner and ordered a cookies and cream milkshake with onion rings he looked like he was ready to pass out. on your dinner break you took of your apron and sat next to him. he told you that he was losing passion for his love. he was tired of hitting a wall when he felt that he wasn’t growing as a dancer. he compared himself constantly and thought that to be an amazing dancer he had to be extremely versatile and he had to be able to branch out into other styles. and that’s when you told him to never give up. funny how that played out. 
someone i care about told me. their words helped me realize i needed to take care of myself sometimes more than try to improve myself. 
you lift your head up from the counter and settle it on his shoulder not noticing the way his breath hitched. 
thank you. if you hadn’t come into the diner 5 months ago, i never would’ve had such an amazing therapist like you
the both of you laughed as his order is placed in front of you both. wooyoung takes a fry, dips it in the milkshake, and holds it in front of your face. 
what’re you doing?
feeding you
why?
cause i can hear your stomach begging for food. eat it
you lean forward to catch the fry in your mouth. 
thank you
with your head still on his shoulder you turn to look at him. has he always been this handsome? a sharp jawline, soft hair, eyes that sparkled like the sun, the mole under his eye he demanded to call his ‘dot’, and lips...the bottom one plumper than the top. you only caught yourself staring when you look at wooyoung’s eyes and saw him staring at you back.
were you staring at me?
...no
eyy, yes you were don’t lie. why were you staring? do you think i’m handsome? ooh~ you wanna kiss me so bad
and what if i do?
what?
ballsy you were. you leaned in and rested your lips on his pillowy soft ones and kissed him. you pulled away looking down. 
i probably shouldn’t have done that. i’m sorry. 
you started to rise from your chair as you grabbed your apron off the counter until you felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you back. you were met with the same pillowy soft lips one again as wooyoung cupped your face. 
it’s okay. i liked it. a lot. i’ve kinda been wanting to do that for a while. 
that was so cheesy
you laughed as you brushed his hair out of his eyes.
i like you woo. i do, but relationships are scary and new for me and i’m so busy that i don’t even know if i have the time to maintain one. 
and that’s okay. i like you too, but i’m not going to make you sacrifice everything for me. i’ll wait until you’re ready, but until then, i am going to sit at this counter everyday and order my usual and stare at you while you work and be your daily dose of serotonin. if that’s okay with you of course
at this point your heartbeat was ringing in your ears. he was so great. your mind had so many things it wanted to tell him about how caring he was and how you would do your best to take care of yourself so that you could love him better once you were ready for a relationship, but all you could muster to say was
it’s okay. but if i catch you staring at my butt i’m kicking you out
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toosicktoocare · 5 years ago
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prompt: “ Hi! Could you please write a fic where Jaskier tries to help Geralt to find something to eat, and accidentally eats a slightly poisonous fruit before Geralt could stop him, and now he have to deal with the aftermaths?”
Four days in the woods, and their food is growing sparse. Jaskier’s beginning to feel the ill effects of not having eaten anything substantial in two days. He feels weak, exhausted. He can only stand for a few minutes without feeling faint, so he’s stuck to sitting on a fallen log, back leaned against a large tree, while Geralt grows frustrated as his fishing net comes up empty each time.
Jaskier’s eyes drift closed at the rhythmic sound of the net splashing against the small, running stream, but Geralt’s loud groan has his eyes flicking open to see Geralt starting away from their small camp.
“Geralt,” he starts quickly, getting to his feet. The ground tilts beneath his feet, and he leans with it, blindly reaching out to the closest tree for support. His ears are ringing, and Geralt’s footsteps toward him sound muffled. He can see Geralt’s mouth moving, see the faint furrow of his sharp brows, and then Geralt’s in front of him, one strong hand on his shoulder, and sound comes back in a loud wave.
“Jaskier, sit down.”
“Where’re you going?” Jaskier slurs as he’s gently pushed back down onto the log.
“Food,” Geralt grunts out.
“I’ll help--”
“--you’ll stay.”
Jaskier narrows his eyes and gets to his feet, willing his vision to remain clear despite the pressing urge to chase the dizzy sense spiking through his inner being. “I’ll help,” he presses, doing his best to mimic a tone that leaves no room for argument. He watches the flicks of conflict tug at Geralt’s strong, worn features with a frown. “You are tired and hungry too, you know.”
“Yes,” Geralt agrees, nodding toward the strong grip he’s got on Jaskier’s arm. “But I can stand.”
Jaskier pulls his arm away from Geralt’s grip, pausing to see if he can remain upright, and after a few moments of standing firmly on two feet without tilting toward the ground, he turns a sharp smile toward Geralt.
“As can I.” He crosses his arms. “Now, shall we go search for food?”
“You aren’t going to give this up.” Geralt says this as a statement, but Jaskier still responds with a wide smile.
“Nope.” He starts passed Geralt, ignoring the low grunt from Geralt as he leads the way deeper into the woods.
They search for forty minutes. Jaskier’s not sure how he’s even able to still be conscious right now. Perhaps it’s Geralt’s pressing gaze that seems to follow his every move despite his near constant reassurances that he’s not going to drop dead.
He wanders a little far from Geralt when he spots a bush they haven’t checked yet. As he stumbles closer to it, he can see bright yellow berries littering the green shrub, and hunger pushes past instinct as he gets close enough to pluck a single yellow berry from the tree. His hand is shaking as he looks longingly at the small berry.
“Geralt,” he calls out behind his shoulder. “I’ve found some berries!”
He drops the berry between his teeth and bites into it, sucking on the sweet yet slightly bitter juice that spreads out across his mouth. His focus is solely on chasing his hunger away, so much that he doesn’t hear Geralt shout his name, doesn’t hear the Witcher running toward him until he’s being knocked to the ground with a harsh grunt.
“Geralt, what--” his words fall short when Geralt shoves two fingers into his mouth, and he spits and sputters against the rough pads of fingers swiping across his teeth and tongue until Geralt draws his hand back, a look of fire coating his amber eyes.
“Did you eat it?” Geralt’s voice is far too low yet still frighteningly demanding.
“Of course I ate it!” Jaskier shoves at Geralt’s chest. “What else would I do with it? Play it a lovely tune?”
Jaskier’s pulled roughly to his feet. The grip on his arm is starting to hurt, strong fingers digging deep into his flesh, and then he’s being lead back to their camp. “Geralt,” Jaskier tries, sparing a longing look back to the abandoned berry bush. “What on earth is wrong?”
“It was poisonous.”  
Geralt’s growl rings deep within Jaskier’s chest, and his longing for food is replaced by a grip of fear. His knees grow weak, and he allows himself to be pulled harshly back to camp. Once back, he’s shoved onto a log, and Geralt makes to gather clean water.
Jaskier watches, taking mental account to how he feels, which, at the moment, is surprisingly fine. No pain, no dizziness, no hunger...
“Why do I no longer feel hungry?” He asks, more to himself, but Geralt still whips around from the stream with a deep frown.
Jaskier meets the Witcher’s eyes, tries desperately to read what’s never verbally said, but then a burning cramp pierces across his stomach, and he staggers away from the log, one arm curling around his abdomen. He makes it a few steps away before he falls to his knees and vomits, muscles convulsing against waves of nausea that pull at him from all directions.
He doesn’t hear Geralt approach him over the sounds of his own, echoing gags, but he feels an uncharacteristically gentle hand drop onto his back. He tries to focus on Geralt’s hand, on the way Geralt slowly smooths his thumb in rhythmic circles, anything to distract him from the sharp pain ripping across his stomach. He’s shaking from head to toe, yet he feels uncomfortably warm despite the shade from the trees, and his stomach hurts terribly.
He doesn’t mean to whimper Geralt’s name in between burning gags, but he does, and he can feel Geralt’s hand tense against his back for a brief moment. He wants to ask Geralt if he’s going to die, if he will live to see another morning, but his graying vision is answering his unspoken questions. He looks back to Geralt, a single tear slipping down his cheek, then succumbs to the darkness plucking at his mind.
He’s disoriented when he awakes the first time. There’s a bottle being pressed to his lips, and he turns his head away from it. He’s too nauseous. His stomach feels like twisted knots.
“Jaskier, you need to drink something.”
“Mmm, no,” Jaskier mumbles. He tries to curl away from the deep voice. He wants to go back to sleep, to get away from the pain. He wants to dream of ice, anything to cool his overheating body.
“You’re dehydrated.”
For a brief moment, Jaskier thinks that that makes sense; however, sleep is tugging at him, and he doesn’t fight it.
When he wakes the second time, he’s only aware that he feels considerably worse. He’s freezing, yet his clothes are damp and clinging to his skin. It’s uncomfortable, and he cannot stop shaking. He grits his teeth and curls into himself. He hears shifting, and then he feels warmth at his back, warmth wrapping around him, encompassing him, and he leans back into it with a shaking sigh before nodding off.
His eyes open the third time when something surprisingly soft and warm presses against his lips. He parts his lips and frowns at the warm water that rushes down his throat. He coughs and sputters and tries to move away from the hands gripping his shoulders. He cannot see straight, everything is glassy and hazy. The water works with the muted nausea, and he groans against the pain, too weak to say anything.
“Jaskier, please.”
There’s desperation clinging to the deep voice, and he wants to chase it, but he’s fading. He reaches one hand out, feels a strong hand cup his shaking one, then everything goes black.
He wakes the fourth time to a single, repetitive string being plucked over and over. He pries his eyes open. The sky is a soft, quiet pink that’s warming toward a new day, and he keeps his gaze trailing up until he sees Geralt frowning at his lute and plucking at a string. It takes him a moment to realize his head is resting atop Geralt’s thigh.
At his small movement, Geralt turns his eyes from the lute to Jaskier, and Jaskier, though having to crane his neck to meet Geralt’s eyes, locks a faintly hazy gaze to worried amber eyes.
“Jaskier.”
Jaskier can physically feel the relief bleeding from Geralt’s voice. It coats him like a warm blanket, and his lips curl up into a soft smile. “You may be many things, Geralt of Rivia, but you are no musician.”
“I do not understand how you play this.” Geralt continues plucking at the same string, and Jaskier breathes out a faint laugh.
“Maybe one day I will teach you... when I don’t feel like I’m two moments away from a grave.” Jaskier shifts his gaze back to the sky, listening as Geralt sets down the lute, and when a large hand drops to his forehead, he breathes out a deep sigh at the cool touch.
“You’re through the worst of it.”
“I suppose I should thank you,” Jaskier starts, words pausing at Geralt’s low grunt.
“Thank me when you are back to pestering me like normal.”
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chaseatinydream · 4 years ago
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pirate king (73) || atz
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You sink.
The impact from the waves knocks all air from your lungs, and then you’re enveloped by the cold, wandering fingers locking around your ankles, dragging you beneath the surface. You try to move, dazed, reaching for the little sunlight that manages to pierce the waves, but the warmth doesn’t reach you in the least.
Your lungs start fighting for air, heart fluttering wildly like the wings of a desperate bird in its dying throes. You open your mouth to breathe, but only water enters your lungs and the world around you spins, shades of black and blue and then nothing.
It’s silent.
Lonely.
You’re going to die alone.
This is the end, you think, hopelessly. There’s no pain, no sadness, and the cold of the sea feels nothing more than a comforting embrace you’re returning to. You’ll die here, a speck in the infinite ocean, just like you were always supposed to. It was foolish of you to try and go against the way of nature.
Vaguely aware of the fact that you’re still sinking, your eyes close, and uncontrolled streaks of colour flash behind your eyelids. The silence is suddenly drowned out by noise, and you strain your ears to hear the sounds more clearly.
“Chin Hae!”
The voice is urgent, laced with desperation, familiar. Who’s that? You wonder dazedly to yourself, sinking deeper and deeper into the blessed warmth. Who are they calling for?
“Wake up! Fight!” The voice resounds in your ears, a begging plea, but you shake your head, unwilling. What’s so bad about the situation you’re in right now? You’re just tired... and you want some rest. You’ll just close your eyes for a while longer... and then...
“Choi Chin Hae! You can’t die! You promised me!”
Something hard and cold presses into your hand, sharp grooves digging into the skin of your palm, a painful memory. Your promise?
Promises.
You’ve made so many of them.
You must keep your promises, even if you have to move the entire ocean to do it.
Your fingers tighten around the cold steel in your palm. There’s a tug in your chest, like there’s a rope tied to your heart and someone is yanking at the other end. It aches, but you remember now.
I promised.
And the sea explodes.
>>>
Hongjoong doesn’t know how long he’s been screaming.
He can’t seem to breathe. The world seems to move in slow motion, tiny cogs turning at a sedately pace, the ripples on the ocean surface swallowed up by the waves. His legs carry him forward, nearly throwing himself over the side of the ship, but something yanks him back.
That man is saying something, a small part of his mind registers, but he can’t find it in him to care. His throat is raw with agony, but he can’t feel it. All he sees is the surface of the ocean, and what he knows lies beneath it, out of his reach.
You.
He’d failed. He’d broken his promise to you, to his crew. He’d watched one of his family get thrown into the waves helplessly.
And he had done nothing.
You’re gone.
Something in him snaps.
“Captain, the sky!” One of the ship’s crew screams, and the quartermaster looks up in surprise. His surprise turns into shock, then into horror. Previously a shade of summer blue without a cloud in sight, he sees dark grey rolling in from as far as his eye can see, so thick that it blocks out the sun. Day turns to night, and the air hums, dropping in temperature and the smell of ozone rends the sky itself.
The quartermaster spins around in shock to stare at the captain who’s on his knees, still looking over the ocean even as the winds pick up into a roaring gale, whirling over them. The ship lists to one side, before another tempest pulls it in another direction, and the sky splits to let the rain fall.
It falls - no, it crashes - onto the deck and the crew scramble to bail water before the ship goes under. The waves heave over the deck and a man screams as he’s swept over the side, gone the second he hits the waves. The mast creaks under the force of the wind, groaning in pain, before the entire thing snaps in the middle and the thick pillar of wood falls into the sea as well.
“The sea goddess is angry!” Someone howls in fear from the crew. “Captain, what do we-”
Another wave washes over the ship, and when it subsides in frothing white foam, the man is gone, like he was never there to begin with. The quartermaster whirls to demand what is going on from the captain, but all he catches sight of is a length of short rope between the man’s fingers.
His one green eye flickers up wildly to stare at him, bloodied lips curled into a maniacal grin.
“I’ll have you pay with everything you have.”
With a tug of his fingers, the knot falls apart.
In an instant, the winds scream and the sky splits in half in a massive flash of light. The deck rolls beneath their feet, and the foaming sea heaves, causing the ship to plunge on the trough of a massive wave. Rain lashes against the crew’s faces, before they look up and realise - no, that’s not the rain.
The crest of the wave is twice as tall as their remaining mast, black water standing proud and tall, defying gravity... and it’s coming straight towards them, an unstoppable force of nature.
The wave crashes down on them, and the entire ship splinters like nothing more than matchwood.
>>>
There’s something warm and gentle pressing against your lips.
You wake up coughing and choking.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Chin Hae! Breathe slowly.” A pair of arms come up to support you as you hunch over, panting and choking shallowly, water dripping from your nose and mouth. You want to open your mouth and ask what happened, but the second you try to say something your throat screams in protest, and you turn to the side, violently gagging on nothing.
“Take it easy.” A gentle hand runs up your back to soothe you and you lean into his grasp, every bone in your body suddenly too heavy for you to hold up with your own strength. What on earth happened? You try to ask, but all that comes out is a painful, choked wheeze.
Something hard digging into the skin of your palm gives you pause.
“The key...” You manage to say weakly, raising your hand to see the little piece of steel trapped between your fingers. Wooyoung’s key. It’s here. “I’m... glad...”
A pair of hands grab you sharply by the collar, and you gasp at the sight of your captain hovering over you, his one green eye brimming over with fury and something inexplicable. Oh, you realise after a moment... he’s lost his eyepatch.
“You almost died!” Your captain practically screams at you, hands balled in the fist of your shirt. It doesn’t take you long to realise that he’s trembling, knuckles bleeding bone white. “After all of that, you’re still worrying about a stupid piece of metal? Worry about yourself first, you fool!”
He says that, you think dazedly to yourself, but he’s the one who’s crying.
Without thinking, you reach out a hand to wipe the tears falling from his one eye. To your horror, that only makes your captain sob harder, twisting away from you to bury his face in your shoulder. Warmth pools there, and you wrap your arms around him to pull him close.
He’s warm.
Alive.
You both are.
“You’re alive.” Hongjoong barely manages to say, shaking his head, words muffled against your dripping clothes. “Fuck, when that man threw you into the sea, I thought I’d lost you forever.”
“I’m alive.” You repeat after him, testing out the words on your tongue. You can barely believe it yourself. You’re alive.
But how?
You must have said the words aloud, because Hongjoong pulls away from you, absentmindedly stretching out the wrinkles on your damp shirt.
“I don’t really know what happened,” Hongjoong admits, before he sits back on his haunches to look at you seriously. “All I remember was seeing you thrown into the sea and I got so angry, I used the last knot on my rope.”
Your mouth falls open in indignant fury and you smack your captain on the shoulder hard. He winces. “Captain, are you crazy? We’re in the middle of the sea! You could have died!”
He shakes his head with a wry smile that doesn’t match the severity of the situation, glancing down at the short length of unraveled rope in his hand. “Well, we didn’t. We should have, that was by far the biggest storm I’ve ever seen in my life, but what matters is that we’re both alive. I somehow clung to this raft the entire time, and when I came to, I found you floating a few feet from me.”
“Sounds like some sort of miracle.” You mutter, before you let out a cough and a sneeze. Even under the midday sun, you’re freezing, toes blued and fingers trembling. Hongjoong scoffs, nodding his head. “Maybe the sea goddess saved us, although I have no idea how we’re going to survive out at sea like this.” He glances over at you, mouth softening in concern. “Well, let’s take care of what’s in front of us right now. Are you cold?”
You nod your head, trying not to shiver too hard. You did nearly drown, after all. “Yeah,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself, “but there’s nothing much we can do about it. I’ll be fine when the sun dries my clothes.”
“Here.” You look up in surprise to see Hongjoong shifting about on the small raft, pressing close against you. His arms wrap around you suddenly and you yelp in surprise when he tugs you close into his hold. He practically radiates heat, you think, leaning into his warmth before you can think about social propriety. “Thank you, Chin Hae. Thank you so much for staying alive.”
You too, you want to say, but it’s as if exhaustion has finally caught up with you. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you rest your head against his shoulder. You’ll face your other problems later, but right now, you’re just tired.
He’s warm, you repeat to yourself. He’s warm and you’re both alive.
And that’s enough for you for now.
As you slip into a deep slumber, you don’t notice the red marks around your ankles left the weight of the chains and the anchor, the skin there slowly starting to flake off, drifting like tiny pieces of matchwood in the puddles left on the raft.
>>>
“She agreed, but the sea witch warned her that if she did not fall in love with a man before her legs crumbled into soil, she would return to seafoam as she did not belong on land and from there on would cease to exist.”
- The Little Mermaid, author unknown
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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago
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A Minute
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Okay, a few nights ago I was feeling crappy and vented into this fic. Unfortunately, because I was feeling crappy I couldn’t find the energy to finish it. So the last few nights have been spent wrangling with it.
The wonderful @tsarinatorment​ and @janetm74​ are amazing and say it works, but to be honest it is 1am, I have work tomorrow and I have been fighting with this for more than three hours trying to write the last six hundred words, and can’t see the fic for all the words splattered all over the page. So I’m dumping it here and running.
Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy it. Virgil, Scott, buckets of angst and hopefully a little comfort to help.
-o-o-o-
Her VTOL flared as she came to a halt above the ocean miles from nowhere.
Securing her autopilot, Virgil let his shoulders drop and his head fall into his hands.
Deep breaths.
His ‘bird breathed around him.
“Thunderbird Two, report. Why have you stopped in transit? Is there a problem?”
He didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t want to answer. Couldn’t answer. He just…
“Need a minute, John.” He waved his brother’s signal away.
And closed his eyes.
The throb of VTOL supported his heart.
“Virgil?” Scott’s voice.
No.
Just stop.
Need. A. Minute.
He pushed away from the dash as the comms on his baldric lit up, his big brother’s worried voice tinny in his ear. Standing up, he unclipped his baldric and dropped it onto his co-pilot’s seat.
Where Gordon usually sat.
He spun away only to be faced by the back of the cockpit.
There was nowhere to go.
His name issued from the dash again.
He clenched his fists.
He just needed a minute.
He stepped onto the hatch, grabbed a safety line and clipped himself to his ‘bird.
A shove and he threw the overhead hatch open. Wind whipped around him, tangling in his hair as the roar of his ‘bird battered his ears. But as he rose up into the cold air, it bit into the skin of his face.
He sighed and sat down on the hatch, falling rather inelegantly more than anything else. Cahelium vibrated through the material of his uniform, though his fingertips.
He closed his eyes.
Atmosphere combed through his hair and cupped his cheeks. The beat of his ‘bird echoed his heart and kept it going. And the sound encapsulated him, keeping the rest of the world out.
So he could stop.
Breathe.
Take a minute.
Gordon was okay.
It had been close, but he was okay.
Four had seen better days, but that could be fixed. He was taking her home himself while Scott flew their brother to London and to a very worried Penelope.
Gordon was fine.
Unfortunately, it was becoming very apparent that Virgil was not.
Why a close call like this was affecting him so badly was a question the analytical medic at the back of his mind was desperately trying to ask him. But honestly, he…just…needed…a moment.
He let his sense of touch steal away the terror of his little brother not answering on comms. The roar of his ‘bird shook the image of Four crumpling before him on the dash. Yet again. Again. He was losing his little brother again.
A sound issued from his throat, but he didn’t hear it.
But Gordon was okay.
He was okay.
Virgil’s hands shook as he wrapped his arms around himself and just hung on.
He sat there for he didn’t know how long. At one point he realised he was rocking back and forth.
A part of his brain was yelling at him. He couldn’t stay here forever. He was sitting on his ‘bird, for goodness sake. She needed attention. She needed him to fly her.
But he knew his girl. She was keeping him safe and could keep him this way for some time.
After a while, his mind shut down and gave him some of the peace he was craving. Caught between the roar of his beautiful ‘bird and the world around him.
His breathing slowed.
And an arm slipped around his shoulders.
He should be startled. Should flinch away. But there were only two people in the world who could approach him like this and both of them were brothers. So, instead, he turned towards Scott. Because it was Scott crouched beside him, jet pack strapped to his back, worry in his eyes. Thunderbird One hovered unheard over Two’s roar not far away behind him.
Virgil grabbed at his brother.
Scott’s eyes went wide and his mouth said something unheard as Virgil pulled him close and buried his face in his uniformed shoulder. His brother’s helmet clapped against Virgil’s skull.
Scott’s arms flexed against him, startled, but gripping him tight, nonetheless.
No words made it between them. But Virgil didn’t need them anyway.
He just needed…time.
But Scott was anxious and obviously wanted answers. His brother pulled away and reached for Virgil’s wrist control.
Tired of everything, Virgil let him have it, and quick fingers had the lift lowering before anything more could be said, verbally or not.
As soon as they cleared the overhead hatch, Scott shoved it closed with a grunt.
The quiet was startling and Virgil blinked, staring up at his brother as Scott turned around and pulled off his helmet.
“Talk to me, Virgil.”
Virgil looked up at him with eyes that wanted nothing more than to close and not open for a very long time.
“Is he okay?”
“Gordon? You know he is. Penelope has him. Virg-“
And then there were tears running down Virgil’s face and his throat was trying to strangle him.
Arms wrapped around his back, a hand gently nudged his head to a blue-clad shoulder, stroking through his hair, and his brother muttered worried words that tried to comfort.
It was exhausting, confusing and a little terrifying that he was reacting this way. But it was as if his body had taken over and was demanding release.
Tears ran off his brother’s uniform, the material ever water resistant.
Scott’s fingers were still in his hair, combing gently.
Words bubbled to the surface. “It happened again. I was up here and he was down there and the bridge. All that concrete. So close. So close. I thought he was going to die! Again!” A gasped-in tremble of a breath. “Why? I tried, but…” He pulled away a little and sought his brother’s eyes. “Why? Hasn’t he been hurt enough? Haven’t I…watched enough?”
Scott held his arms. “He is okay, Virgil. He is safe.”
Virgil wilted in his brother’s grip, chest heaving as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen. His forehead dropped to Scott’s chest and he closed his eyes. “I can’t lose him, Scott. Not Gordy, please not Gordy.”
Scott sighed and held him tighter, his voice parched. “We didn’t lose him. He is safe.”
Virgil heard the words, knew their truth, but he couldn’t escape the thought of next time. What would happen next time?
The possibilities leapt up and crowded his brain. But at the same time, he could see no solution.
“Gordon is Gordon.” Scott took the words from Virgil’s mind.
They couldn’t cage the fish.
The thought just wilted Virgil further. This was on him. Gordon was just doing…his job.
A torn sound dragged past his lips.
“Virgil?” Scott’s voice was ever so soft.
He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry.”
Scott shifted, curling around Virgil as he sat down beside him. Virgil’s face ended up nestled into his brother’s collar bone.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” Scott’s tone tolerated no argument.
Virgil groaned quietly, slumping against his brother. Eyes closed, Virgil once again sought calm.
Scott’s pulse danced silently against Virgil’s forehead.
His brother spoke ever so quietly. “When I came back from…Bereznik…I had trouble sleeping.”
Virgil froze. Bereznik was taboo. Scott never mentioned it. No one mentioned it. Topic forbidden.
Because Scott had suffered so much more than just trouble sleeping.
“I tried to hide it, but Dad…Dad knew.” Scott swallowed and his pulse picked up, his skin warm against Virgil’s hairline. “I had trouble with…memories.” Another swallow and Virgil almost pulled away. But Scott must have sensed it and his fingers curled tighter around Virgil’s arm. “He caught me in the liquor cabinet late one night.” A disgusted noise rumbled through his chest. “I’d had it. I just wanted it to all go away. Joe, Sonia, all the faces.” A sigh. “It hurt.”
Virgil shifted, pushing himself up. “Scott, no-“
Blue eyes fastened on him and took his breath away. “I know it hurts, Virg.” Those eyes dipped. “I see him, too.” Scott looked away, but pulled Virgil to his side, holding him close. “Dad saw Mom.”
The lump in Virgil’s throat threatened to overwhelm him.
“I know you remember. You were there. Dad didn’t have anyone to pull him away from the liquor cabinet. I…I didn’t know.”
God, Scott. Again, Virgil tried to sit up, but this time his big brother simply just held him down. “Listen to me, Virg.”
Virgil swallowed and attempted to relax against his brother’s side. Perhaps Scott needed to say this as much as he wanted Virgil to hear it.
“I was angry with Dad for denying me that escape route. After all, it worked for him.” A grunt outlined exactly what Scott thought of that statement. “I wasn’t in a very good place.”
The hand on Virgil’s arm spasmed.
“Dad said memories are to be cherished. For…every bad thought, there is a good one. We can’t choose all of them, but we can choose some.” Another swallow. “I think if something did go horribly wrong, that Gordon would want us to be thinking the good ones.” A half-hearted snort. “Possibly the ones involving pink dye.”
Virgil’s lips pressed together. If only it was that easy.
“Mom had the most beautiful eyes. I can still see her smiling.” Scott looked down at him. “Don’t let her death take away her life.”
His mouth dropped open but Virgil said nothing.
Scott looked away. “It’s not a magic wand, but it is a start.” He straightened. “That and any help you need, Virgil. I’m not kidding. You need it, I’m there.”
And Virgil found himself drawn in close once again. Mouth still open, he let his brother hold him.
A moment and Virgil was returning the embrace, clinging to Scott with every heavy lifting muscle he had. His brother oomphed and almost ended up flat on his back. “Virg, god.”
Virgil had no words. His eyes squeezed shut, still wet with emotion.
He held on for quite some time. A hand returned to stroking his hair.
But reality and responsibility were always waiting. Eventually he pulled away, ever aware of the rumble of his girl, still hovering over the ocean.
Scott didn’t ask if he was okay. It was obvious he wasn’t. But his brother did help him to his feet. A trip to the head and he splashed cool water on his face and took just another moment to finally compose himself.
As his mind righted, embarrassment for his conduct began to swell.
But then Two’s engines shifted an octave and he staggered slightly as she started moving.
Hurrying back to the cockpit, he found his big brother in his pilot’s seat flying Virgil’s ‘bird while One kept pace outside.
“What are you doing?”
“Flying us home. You need rest.”
“Scott-“
“If you say you are fine, I will knock you on your ass. You need rest and home. I’m making both of them happen.” He waved at Gordon’s seat. “Strap yourself in.”
Frowning, Virgil stalked over to the co-pilot’s chair and, picking up his baldric, put it aside and sat down. It was much easier to secure his belt without all his tools in the way.
They sat in silence for a while, both just staring out over the ocean.
“Mom was beautiful, wasn’t she.” The words fell from Virgil’s lips with no thought.
Scott’s voice was quiet. “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”
Silence fell again.
Virgil broke it. “Thank you, Scott. For…trusting me.”
“I’ve always trusted you, Virgil.” Scott turned to look at him with the faintest of smiles. “Always will.”
Virgil stared back at his brother flying his ‘bird. His eyes tracked every line, all the shine and shadow, recorded everything about the man in that moment.
After all, memories were precious.
He might need this one.
-o-o-o-
FIN
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nineteenninety-six · 5 years ago
Note
Could I request some angst of the Shelby boys coming back from the war only to be told that their baby sister (Finns twin or maybe younger, whichever your prefer) is dying of the Spanish flu
I changed my mind about how this would end about midway through writing it lol
TAG LIST: @futuristicslimemongerbanana @dayna041101 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @sweetgoodangel @shadow-of-wonder
WC:2126
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It’s Too Early To Say Goodbye
When Tommy and his brothers stepped off of the train at Small Heath station, they expected to see their aunt and younger siblings, ecstatic to see them after so long but they were only greeted by Ada and Finn, who looked happy to see them but were also weighed down by something. 
They instantly knew something was wrong and they felt out of place as their fellow soldiers reunited with their family, the tears of joy and screams of happiness of the people around them turned into muffled background noise as they approached their brother and sister.
Finn ran ahead and leapt in Arthur’s arms, the eldest Shelby brother easily holding the ten-year-olds weight and Ada ran into John’s arms when they got closer. There wasn’t a dry eye between them as they reunited with each other but eventually, the elephant in the room had to be talked about.
“Ada, where’s Polly and (Y/N)?” Tommy asked
Ada seemed to shudder before she looked around at the crowd around them, “Let’s get out of here first and then I’ll tell you.”
The eldest Shelby brothers looked at each other in confusion but followed as she left the station and to a quiet place around the corner. Finn was back in Arthur’s arms and had buried his head in Arthur’s neck, hands tightly clenching his shirt.
“(Y/N) has the Spanish flu…” Ada quickly began to cry as she talked about her younger sister, “Polly’s with her now, didn’t want to leave her alone.”
Tommy stared at his sister in shock before he suddenly brushed past his siblings and rushed home, not even bothering to wait for them, his mind focused on his little sister.
(Y/N) was closer to a daughter than a sister to Tommy. She and Finn were twins, (Y/N) younger by a few hours and when their mother suddenly died a few years after their birth, Tommy had taken the role of a parent for them. Arthur, with the occasional help from Polly, looked after John and Ada and he and Tommy had to find ways to support their family. Their father was a deadbeat, so it was left to two young men, barely out of their teens to support and provide for the family.
Tommy and (Y/N) had a special bond, and it was no secret they were each other’s favourite sibling but (Y/N) was six when Tommy left and now four years later, Tommy wondered if they were still going to be each other’s favourites since so much had happened and so much time had passed-if (Y/N) survives that is. 
As soon as he opened the door to the house on Watery Lane, Tommy threw his bag to the side, not caring where it landed and thundered up the stairs. Polly met him on the landing and while her eyes watered at the sight of him, she knew it wasn’t the time for a reunion. Tommy’s thoughts were only on (Y/N).
“Don’t get too close, Tommy.” His aunt warned him and Tommy gave her a weak nod in understanding before he slipped past her and into the room.
The sight Tommy was greeted with was the first thing to make him feel sick in over three years. Tommy thought France had desensitised him, he had gotten used to the sight and smell of death, he had walked past countless of dead and dying men, there were even times where he walked over them, in the tunnels in France he no longer feared death and had even expected it but the sight in front of him struck a new fear in him. 
(Y/N) was placed in the middle of the bed, a light blanket was thrown over her so that she didn’t overheat but Tommy could see how she was soaked in sweat. 
Tommy made his way over to her, his heart racing and his mouth dry, the sight of her looking so poorly and helpless made him want to cry and he felt himself tear up as he pulled her hand out from under the blanket and tightly gripped it in his.
(Y/N) stirred from the movement and blinked warily at him, “Aunt Pol…?”
“It’s me, princess. It’s Tommy.” 
(Y/N) merely blinked some more before she drifted back off to sleep.
Tommy could hear the loud stomps from his brothers as they climbed the stairs and moments later the door quietly opened and they shuffled in. He didn’t turn around to face them, only focused on (Y/N), though he heard Arthur’s muttered ‘Jesus Christ’ and John’s whispered ‘Fuck’.  They moved to the end of the bed and looked at their baby sister with sad eyes but they didn’t dare to get any closer.
“I know you this is not what you wanted to come home to and that you probably wanted to celebrate but this has to be brief, I can’t afford anyone else getting sick” Polly told them as she slipped inside with a bowl of water and some rags, “Especially not you John, you need to care for your kids.” 
Arthur and John nodded, giving their baby sister one last pity filled stare before leaving but Tommy remained.
“Tommy-“
“I’m not leaving Polly” Tommy interrupted whatever his aunt was going to say.
Polly sighed, “Then you can help me then. Pat her down and keep her cool with the wet cloth and I’ll make her some soup. Hopefully, she eats.”
Tommy harshly swallowed and nodded, taking the bowl from his aunt and soaking the cloth before ringing it out and dabbing it on (Y/N)’s forehead.
Polly lingered by the door, not yet leaving, “She dips in and out of sleep a lot, you should talk to her. She missed you a lot and I bet your voice will comfort her.”
Tommy nodded but didn’t speak until he heard her going downstairs.
“I missed you, princess” Tommy murmured after a few moments, “I missed you so much but your parts in the letters helped me a lot. I think I can recite all of them from memory now, considering the number of times I re-read them.”  
Tommy continued to cool her down with the rag, brushing it over her arms and chest, “Don’t tell anyone but I missed you the most.”
(Y/N) shifted slightly causing Tommy to freeze in his place but once it was obvious she was still asleep he continued.
“At one point, I was more afraid to come back and have you not recognise or remember me than I was to die.” He confessed, “You were so young when I left, still basically a little kid and I didn’t want to leave you, I hope you know that.”
As Tommy got carried away talking openly and patting her down, he missed how (Y/N) slowly blinked her eyes open and how she tiredly stared at him
“Tom?” She croaked, her throat dry.
Tommy whipped his head up when she said his name and even though he knew he shouldn’t, he climbed onto the bed and pulled the ten-year-old into his arms, pulling her tightly against him. (Y/N) didn’t seem to be bothered that she had been suddenly dragged into an awkward position as she weakly wrapped her arms around Tommy.
Tommy started to cry, too much was happening at once, he was still suffering from the war, he was finally back home and his baby sister is deathly sick and he couldn’t stop the tears. 
“Hello, princess” Tommy pulled back and gently laid her back down in the bed as she wasn’t in the clear yet. 
Tommy helped her sip the water that Polly had left out before he laid down next to her on the bed not wanting to move away even for a bit. He pulled her close to him, frowning at the heat that was radiating from her body before soaking the cloth back up and patting her face with it. 
“I’ve missed you.” (Y/N) murmured.
Tommy smiled at her, “I missed you too and when you get better, we’ll go horseriding, okay?”
(Y/N) smiled back at him, excitement lighting up her eyes before she slumped back down in the bed, still clearly exhausted, “‘m hungry.”
“Polly’s making you some soup, she shouldn’t be long.” Tommy combed his fingers through her hair, something that had always calmed and comforted (Y/N).
“You here for good? Not going back to France?” 
“I’m not going back to France princess, don’t worry” Tommy pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Polly found Tommy cuddled up to (Y/N) in her bed when she returned with her dinner and she sent Tommy a scathing glare, it had been hell trying to look after (Y/N) and she hated the idea of it spreading through the house.
Tommy shrugged apologetically at his aunt before he helped (Y/N) sit up so that she could eat. The room was silent as (Y/N) ate until she finished and complained to her aunt that she was hot and sticky, so when Polly left to get a bath ready for her, Tommy and (Y/N) were left alone again. 
“If I get better…can we go to the fair?” (Y/N) asked
“There’s no if, you are going to get better and when you do, I’ll take you to fair, okay?” Tommy told her.
Polly came in to get (Y/N) for her bath and after Tommy carried her to the bathroom, he let them do what they had to do while he went downstairs to his brothers. Arthur was playing with Finn, who immediately ran over to him as soon as he spotted him and Tommy felt guilty that he had forgotten his youngest brother in favour of their sister.
“Alright, Finn? Did you hold down the fort whilst we were away?” Tommy asked as he lifted his brother up.
Finn nodded, “I’m glad you’re back...too many girls”
Both Arthur and Tommy laughed at his words, Finn had been surrounded by women for the past four years but now his brothers were back.
Tommy spent some more time with Finn until Polly told him that (Y/N) was done with her bath and was asking for him. When he reached her room, he found her tucked up and waiting for him.
“Can you tell me a story?” She asked as soon as he stepped in.
Tommy settled into the seat next to her bed and began to recite a story that he knew off by heart. It was (Y/N)’s favourite story and before the war, she demanded that he read it to her every night and after so long, he no longer needed the book because he remembered every word.
(Y/N) fell asleep quickly, the illness draining so much of her energy and Tommy sat there watching her sleep, his eyes focused on the movements of her chest, making sure she was still breathing. He would forgo sleep every night until she was better if he had to.
He didn’t notice Polly slip in until she spoke up, “She’s a Shelby girl, she’ll beat this.”
“I spent four years in France, digging tunnels day in day out and fighting men so that you were safe over here. Then I come home and I find my baby sister on death’s door.” Tommy’s voice was quiet, “It’s not fucking fair”
“It’s not but she will pull through and I know you will do anything for the little girl. You’ll make sure so that she’s never wanting and you’ll protect her from everything you can.”
“She’s not going to die. I won’t let her.” Tommy declared.
Polly felt her lips pull into a smile in the first time in a while before she left them alone.
True to Tommy’s words, (Y/N) didn’t die. Thanks to her aunt’s determined efforts, (Y/N) pushed through the worst of the flu and over the following weeks (Y/N) returned back to full health, she regained the weight she lost and was quickly becoming bored of being confined to bed which had turned her to start trying to convince her brothers to ignore Polly’s instructions but none of them was willing to face a telling off by their aunt. But soon enough, (Y/N) was out of the bed and back to causing mischief with her twin.
Tommy and Polly watched as (Y/N) ran around with Finn, both of them giggling as they chased each other.
“I told you she’ll be fine” Polly told him
“I know.” Tommy gave her a smile before he rounded up his youngest siblings so they could go to the fair as he promised. 
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