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justimajin · 4 years

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One Bad Case of the Jeon Sniffles

⇢ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

⇢ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Doctor/Surgeon AU, Sequel to the Doctor Blues Universe - read here first!

⇢ Words: 15.5k

⇢ Warnings: jungkook being a scared bunny & jimin actually needing to chill (as always)

⇢ Summary: Jeon Jungkook is a very capable individual; he’s spent years and years studying and training for his role as a doctor, noted to be one of youngest candidates to take on the job, as well as having an innate caring need inside him to see his patients well and healthy. Although there’s no underestimating his ability to work within a hospital, it goes without being said that the doctor isn’t as talented with some other area’s of his life - and it’s something that the young doctor can no longer run away from after one surprise encounter.

⇢ A/N: This story is going to feature two Y/N’s because it is a sequel, but to avoid any confusion both characters are referred to as separate people.

The dusty white hospital doors creak open once more, this time being pleasantly greeted with a different pathway. Long gone are days filled with resentment and outrage, hours consumed with electric tension between two sets of stern eyes and remains of faint bickering that once echoed through the familiar walls.

Instead, the hallway begins to gradually narrow down onto a fresh new road – one that has heavy stomps beating against the solid tiled ground, the young doctor pushing his falling bangs aside swiftly.

The knuckles of his hands are fisted, a plastic board becoming adorned with multiple markings when his signature meets every single one of the fluttering pages with a sharp swipe. He occasionally pauses his scribbling, focused eyes tracing along with the new patients being transferred into his wards.

His eyes fall onto one of them, particularly the way said patient was battling through a prickling chain of hoarse coughs.

The board is shifted underneath one of his arms, a stethoscope already being unlooped from his neck and by his side when he places a warm hand on the elderly woman’s shaking back. Although there’s a prominent crease lining between his brows and his hunched shoulders droop down, there’s a smile on his lips when he requests one of the nurses for a specific medication.

Taking a step back, he quietly observes the relief meeting the woman’s expression when the nurse hands her the medicine he has recommended, eyes already brimming with gratitude. The smile on his lips only seems to grow with every passing minute, only withering when he hears a thunderous clap behind him.

Eyes serious and shoulders tensing immediately, it dissolves away when his vision comes into contact with a familiar doctor.

“Well done, well done!” The man exclaims, walking over to him and circling an arm around his neck. Cries of hysteria begin to escape him as he clutches onto his chest, his shirt being crumpled in the process, “My Jungkookie has grown up so well!”

He shakes his head at the comment, but there’s a small smirk contained on his lips that he can’t seem to hide.

“I guess you can say it was because I was trained by the best.”

The man’s eyes instantly enlarge, practically bulging out of his eye sockets when he races over to another doctor, blonde locks falling onto his eyes when he adjusts an IV, “Yoongi! Yoongi! Did you hear that?!” His arms are outstretched, a giant ecstatic grin surfacing, “He said he was trained by the best.”

The other man chuckles, standing up straight as he watches his patient’s monitor, “By what? The best lunatic?” Offense crosses the man’s delicate features and Yoongi devilishly chuckles, “Oh right, he meant doctor. My bad.”

The black-haired doctor throws his hands up, seemingly letting out a tantrum while low chuckles escape the blonde doctor, completely ignoring him as he focuses back onto his work.

Jungkook can only softly smile at the display from afar, wondering how despite having this brand-new role assigned to him, there were some things that never changed within the hospital walls.

“Uh…e-excuse me?”

His head immediately snaps back, eyes lined with black circles on full alert until he realizes that the voice wasn’t coming near him, but actually below him.

His eyes widen and he’s instantly bending down, coming into eye level contact with the young girl that teeter tooters on her feet. A pained expression is on her features, contorted when she faintly touches her arm.

“Sit down on that chair and I’ll have a look at it.” He points over to the side and the girl gratefully nods, following his instructions.

Grabbing his clipboard, he quickly continues the rest of his reports before he’s soon striding over, examining the girl’s arm hastily when he can see her eyes knitted in discomfort.

He lets go of her arm, scribbling down on his board, “The bone is healing well but the muscle seems to be irritated as a result.” His voice changes, turning into a much more soothing tone compared to usual, “I can give you something to feel better though. Does that sound okay?”

The girl eagerly nods and Jungkook gives her a warm smile, assisting her up from the chair when he mumbles some quick instructions to another nurse.

However, the moment she leaves, Jungkook slumps down. A lengthy drawn out sigh escapes his lips and he shuts his dry eyes for a moment that have been kept wide awake for far too long. When he opens them again, they drift over to the two doctors also in the same ward as him.

He truly doesn’t know what’s worse – the fact that he was running on only two hours of sleep and still had more paperwork to file along with new patients to attend or the fact that the two doctors near him were getting the job done faster than he was and still had the energy to talk to one another.

Another sigh escapes him; this time even deeper as he rubs the sore lids of his eyes. He sinks back into the chair, almost melting into it as he savours the spare time he has for once.

In a way, he knows. He knows that this is what he wants, this is what he trained for, what he spent countless hours studying for and prepared endlessly day and night. There is no other place he rather be at and he just knows – knows that no matter how difficult, this is what his life is to become.

But why was it getting harder and harder to breathe as time went by?

He immediately retracts, as if slipping away from the whole idea itself. Head pushed back, he instead decides to drown his ears with the roaring banter coming from the corner of the room.

“Y/N and Taehyung still haven’t come back?”

“Nope! They left us all here Yoongi, I’m telling you, they jumped ship!”

“Well Daegu’s pretty far…and they needed some time off anyways…”

“Do you miss them~”

“No.”

“You miss them~ Yoongi you misssss them~”

“Yah Park Jimin! Get off of me!”

Dimples form when a small smile crosses his lips, knowing that if he had merely turned his head to the corner slightly he would get the perfect view of Jimin suffocating a protesting Yoongi into a hug.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to feel, maybe at the end of the day he knows he still has them.

Another sigh escapes him and he leans further back into his chair, the tiredness seeping into his bones when his shoulders begin to relax and his mind falls clear.

“DR. JEON!”

He jolts up as if he’s been electrocuted, blurry eyes hurriedly searching around for the source of distress only to be greeted with nothing. Suddenly two hands are on his arm, shaking him relentlessly when he scatters out of the chair.

“A patient!” Jisoo, his intern quickly says, words tumbling out of her lips as she persistently drags him over, “There’s an unconscious patient with a severe head injury!”

He blinks, his vision sluggishly descending into focus until it all snaps in and soon he’s tugging on his white coat, straightening himself up as he matches up with Jisoo’s rushed steps.

A metal stretcher greets his eyes and he takes his stethoscope out in a flash, measuring the breathing and heart rate of the collapsed man.

“I need an oxygen mask and an IV right now.” He sternly states and Jisoo nods, dashing over to grab him what he needs.

As she does so, he starts to examine the patients head, looking for any points of serious bone breakage or muscle rupture. Thankfully enough, he lets out an exhale when neither seems to have occurred and at most, his suspicions are that the injury must have just caused a minor concussion – in which the impending trauma to the brain must have knocked the man out of consciousness.

He’ll be okay and his symptoms can be managed, Jungkook mentally notes down to himself, his eyes searching around for hopefully his returning intern. Time seems to tick by at a snail’s speed when his gaze eventually falls down, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

He stares down at the man, a frown lining his lips when he takes in the shaggy brown hair and long lashes, a noticeable mole right beneath his eye. His frown only intensifies, brows creasing when the man’s features seem distinctly similar to ones he hasn’t seen for quite a while, but he shakes it off when this man is too lean and much taller for that to make any sense.

He’s seen a dozen of patients today and he’s barely gotten a decent minute of sleep, there was no way possible–

A loud groan breaks his thoughts and his shoulders instinctively flinch when the sound comes from the man currently lying down on the stretcher. Turning when he hears the sheets shuffle, he notices the man’s eyes are now wide open yet strange – as if they were stuck in a dazed, confused state.

“You’re in the hospital.” Jungkook blurts out, being too aware of a patient’s weary position after a going through a concussion, “You were brought here because of a head injury.”

The man blinks again, this time sitting up straight as Jungkook shoots out an arm, bringing it around his back so he doesn’t fall down. However, instead of trying to focus back onto his surroundings like many patients do, the man blatantly stares at him.

His eyes narrow, mouth falling agape when he whispers, “J-Jungkook?”

The young doctor freezes; eyes enlarging until they fall across on the man’s confused face, like he was beginning to connect the scattered dots.

Before Jungkook can even say anything, Jisoo comes hurriedly running along, an oxygen mask and IV in hand. “Dr. Jeon!”

“Thank you Jisoo, I don’t think we’ll need the oxygen mask anymore but I’ll take this.” He reaches out for the long IV, dragging the white monitor with it, “It’ll sting but I’ll be quick.”

Jungkook leans down, eyes focused yet his hands waver a bit when the man continues to stare at him, his surprised eyes soon sinking down into a warm tone.

“Dr. Jeon, huh?”

The words hold a layer of amusement within them and Jungkook can’t contain his smile, eyes looking up in confirmation when the IV is hooked up.

“To be honest, I’m still not used to the sound of it.”

“So it’s recent?” There’s a wide grin on the man’s face and from a distance, Jisoo watches the entire interaction with her own eyes. She can’t deny the change in the air, something that casually dips away from professionalism and into something else entirely.

“Do you two know each other?”

They both turn at the exact same time to stare at her, but the man next to Jungkook simply laughs.

“You’ve never talked about me before? I’m hurt Jungkook, really.”

“Well nothing stupid ever came up into conversation.” Jungkook mumbles and it earns him a pout from the man, to which Jungkook just chuckles at, “This is Kim Yugyeom, Jisoo. One of my old friends from college.”

“Back in our glory days.” Yugyeom raises his fist, but winces when he does.

“Don’t try to move too much.” Jungkook immediately says, gesturing to Jisoo to bring the necessary paperwork in to admit his friend. She obliges, understanding that leaving would also give the two some privacy. “What do you do to yourself this time?”

“Why do you always assume I did something?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow at him, “Okay maybe it really was me this time, but it wasn’t directly my faul–“

“What happened Yugyeom?”

“Bambam threw a ball at me and I couldn’t catch it in time.”

Jungkook doesn’t mean to, but soon his eyes are crinkling and the laughter is erupting out of him.

“Don’t laugh at that! It seriously hurt!” He rubs his head, scrunching up his features at the soreness.

Jungkook wipes away the water from his eyes, straightening himself up, “Glad to see you still suck at basketball.”

“I wouldn’t suck so much if someone wasn’t studying all the damn time and actually came out to practice with me.” Yugyeom furrows his brows, eyes latching onto the young doctor before they begin to roam around, “I can’t believe this is where you ended up…”

Jungkook hums, looking around and for a moment, he feels a sense of pride swell up deep inside him. Even though he had been only working in the hospital for a short period of time, the place already feels like a second home to him.

“It’s pretty nice.” Yugyeom smiles, “How’s it like working here?”

Jungkook pursues his lips, “Not bad, I usually work long hours so I’m here most of the time.”

“Long hours? How long?”

“If I’m lucky, not the whole day.”

Yugyeom pauses, gawking at Jungkook in disbelief, “Even through the night?”

“Even through the night.” Jungkook tiredly replies and for a split second, he can immediately recognize the look of pity his friend is shooting him. “Don’t worry, I chose this.”

“Yeah but is this all you ever do?” Yugyeom brings his arm to his head and pouts when Jungkook tugs it down, frowning as he makes sure the IV is still in place, “Geez Jungkook, you need to stop working so much all the time.”

“Well we’re currently understaffed so for now it’s an exceptio–“

“No dude.” He pushes his hands away, staring directly at the doe-eyed doctor, “It’s literally college all over again. You’re still stuck in those books and you won’t get out of them.”

“Back then it was the shit ton of studying you had to do and now it’s this.” He points to the coat resting on Jungkook’s shoulders, “You’ll keep working and never give yourself a break.”

Jungkook looks at his friend confused, feeling a tad offended, “I do give myself breaks.”

Yugyeom wasn’t having any of it though, “Really now? What have you done aside from constantly going to work?”

“Well I-…uh...”

“Any hobbies? Interests?” He gestures to himself, “Hanging out with friends? Dude, I literally haven’t seen you in decades.”

Jungkook grows quiet, mind pondering on every single thing the man was sprouting out. Yugyeom sighs, suddenly realizing that he was the one with the injury that needed to be treated, not Jungkook. Taking a pause, he attempts to recollect himself, “Listen, I’m not saying that working all the time is bad, just come out every once in a while, you know?”

“It’s a lot of work, I know, but you can’t spend all your time here and miss out on other stuff.”

Jungkook dryly laughs, although it’s obvious to Yugyeom how strained and weakened his laugh comes out as. He knows his point has probably drilled itself into the doctor’s mind at this point, so he quickly turns the conversation around to lighten the mood.

“And I bet after all this time, you still suck at talking to girls.”

It seems to work, because Jungkook snaps out of his self-loathing daze and glares at the man, “Hey I’ve gotten better!”

Yugyeom hums, a smirk on his face, “I think so too, you seem to be talking to that intern of yours a lot. Is she single?”

Jungkook’s mouth drops, scoffing, “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“And you still haven’t answered my question.” Yugyeom sighs, brushing some of his hair away, “By the way, do you have a girlfriend yet?”

“Me?” Yugyeom nods, “Definitely no.”

“Ah come on man, you were just talking to a girl! And what’s even better is that you didn’t pass out at the sight!”

The glare in Jungkook’s eyes just increases with the time being, but Yugyeom excitedly points to him, “That! That right there was the stare too! You even stared properly!”

Jungkook darts his pointing hand away from him with a scowl, “I work in a hospital full of woman Yugyeom.”

“So you notice them too! That’s great!” Yugyeom grins, “They probably notice you too if you look around every once in a while.”

“Really?” Jungkook whispers and he rolls his eyes, wondering how much more oblivious his friend could be.

He swings his arm that’s not attached to the machine around him, “You my friend, are one handsome looking dude.”

Yugyeom wishes to himself that he had a camera in his hand within that one second, because the sheer blush spreading across his friend’s cheeks is too much of a treasure to miss. He chuckles, finally being able to see his old young friend hidden away in that mature doctor’s coat.

“You were an ace in college too but you had your head stuck in those books instead.” The mention sparks something in his eyes, especially when the knowledge of what his dear friend had been up to is on clear alert to him, “Have you even stayed in contact with anyone else?”

“No.” Jungkook truthfully admits, “You’re the first person I’ve actually seen up till now.”

The knowledge falls onto Yugyeom like a brick and for a moment, he just stares, looking for any traces of humour from his friend.

He’s only greeted with a dead serious look and he just can’t take it anymore, “Not even Bambam?” Jungkook shakes his head, “Mingyu? Jaehyun?”

Jungkook keeps shaking his head and Yugyeom sighs, placing a finger on his chin, “So you really haven’t talked to any of the boys….” His eyes light up, instantly sparkling, “Oh! What about Y/N? Talked to her recently?”

Jungkook’s eyes immediately widen and Yugyeom places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “I ran into her the other day and she mentioned you Jungkook!” His friend slowly starts to step back but Yugyeom doesn’t lift his iron grip off of him and quickly rambles on, “She’s exactly the same as before, you could try asking her ou– “

“My, my, what’s going on here~”

Yugyeom pauses, wondering when where the new voice was coming from until he’s greeted to a young man wearing a white dress shirt, his black hair sleeked and parted to the side. He adorns a giant mischievous grin, inching closer and closer to the duo by the minute.

He wonders what the situation perhaps looks like, Jungkook appearing to be stuck in a frenzy as Yugyeom is practically grabbing onto him and not letting him to slip away. It’s something the man undoubtedly stares at too, “How is it that you know my precious intern?”

“Precious intern?” Yugyeom questions with an inquiring brow, releasing Jungkook who straightens himself up.

“Of course.” The man immediately latches onto Jungkook, his eyes crinkling until you can no longer see them, “I raised him with my bare hands.”

“You raised him?” Another voice scoffs, strolling along until it heard the appalling obscure fact, “I don’t think so.”

Yugyeom turns to the second man, a white coat handing off his broad shoulders when he abruptly taps the side of his clipboard against the first man’s arm, causing him to yelp and let go of Jungkook.

“Jungkook’s a doctor now Jimin, be a little professional.”

“Jin hit meee!” Jimin exclaims, clutching onto Jungkook and fake sobbing into his shirt, causing the man to awkwardly pat his back despite the annoyance spreading on his face like usual.

“Good.” A blonde doctor soon joins them, hands behind his back as he exchanges a knowing look with Jin before his eyes narrow onto Yugyeom, “Who is this guy?”

Jungkook manages to push Jimin’s hair away from his chin enough to answer, “This is Yugyeom, one of my friends from college.”

“College?!” Jimin immediately shrieks, racing over to the man with magnified eyes, “You knew my precious intern during college?”

Yugyeom nods with an endearing laugh and Jimin’s grasps onto his hands, “What was he like?”

He goes silent, leaning down to whisper in Jimin’s ear.

“He used to look like a baby.”

Jimin squeals, a high-pitched deafening sound that hurts everyone’s ears, “I need to know more! I need to know more!”

Jungkook watches the two from a distance, wondering to himself if it was such a great idea letting his former doctor counterpart become close with one of his college friends, but then he hears something tumble out of the doctor’s mouth that makes him instantly regret it all.

“You have baby pictures of my Jungkookie in college?!”

Before he can say anything though, Jimin is soon pressing a hand against his chest in awe when Yugyeom flashes a picture of the two posing.

“You look so adorable!” Jimin latches onto him again, poking his cheek, “My precious intern!”

“Past intern.” Jungkook annoyingly corrects, disbelief crossing his features when he sees Jin slowly shuffle over in curiosity.

He eyes Yugyeom in approval, “Can you send me this?”

Yugyeom nods and they begin to hurriedly exchange numbers, much to the doctor’s resentment, “Hey! Don’t send him those!”

“Send me a copy too.” Yoongi mumbles underneath his breath, causing Jungkook to glance at all of them with more disbelief, his neck straining from the extra weight currently still attached onto his torso.

“What’s going on here?” A new, authoritative voice pokes out and Jungkook turns to see Namjoon watching them with a confused look, papers in hand that he was most likely reading over.

“Jungkook’s pictures from college Namjoon! His friend has tons of them!” Jimin exclaims, but Namjoon frowns, placing his papers underneath his arm as he strides over.

He plucks the loud doctor off of his old intern, to which Jungkook is extremely grateful for. “I don’t want to ruin the moment but you should all be getting back to work, there’s new patients that need to be filed in.” He warmly smiles, “Just because we’re short two doctors, it doesn’t mean we have no work to do.”

Namjoon’s words work like a spell, all the doctors realizing that they should listen to him when they return back to their places, although Jungkook isn’t the most enthusiastic when he sees Jin eagerly eyeing down a collection of his old pictures. He sighs, returning back as well when he’s painfully aware of the sheer amount of work awaiting his arrival.

***

Night draws into the brightly lit windows of the hospital, accompanying the footsteps of a young doctor as he scribbles away on perhaps the thousandth paper he’s seen today.

With one last swipe of his signature, Jungkook looks up, eyes barely adjusting to the light when he notices that the hospital has gone silent, patients beginning to prepare to rest for the night. He sighs, stretching his arms and legs out when he trudges back over to his office, grateful that the day was finally over and that he could do the same as the patients after being awake for more than twenty-four hours.

He arrives at his office but pauses for a moment, hearing the faint sound of giggles coming nearby. Intrigued, he looks up to be greeted by his former doctor counterpart, also locking up for the day as he chatters away with one of the hospital’s old interns.

The sight almost makes Jungkook falter, a warm smile on the doctor’s face when he speaks to his girlfriend, eyes twinkling when she laughs at some bizarre joke he’s managed to come up with. Although they’re speaking to each other in public, Jungkook’s notices, the moment seems intimate at the same time, as if their eyes were only able to see no one else except for each other.

It should be described as being beautiful, even sweet, but all Jungkook can feel is his heart sinking further and further down when the voice of his friend rings loudly away inside his mind. He can only think about how much he’s done to progress his career, to move forward and climb the escalating demanding ladder when others have done the exact same, but also managed to grow other parts of themselves that Jungkook hasn’t even imagined to, despite being the youngest doctor among all of them.

When’s the last time he did something else other than work? When’s the last time he’s had some fun? Gone out with friends?

His eyes lock onto the couple again.

Actually…thought about being with someone?

The crease in between his brows increases and although the day had just ended, Jungkook’s shoulders are hitched up as if the day had just begun. It seems like his heavy gaze was noticed though, because soon the doctor is excitedly waving over at him.

“Jungkookie~” Jimin says, brightly smiling. Chaeyoung turns around too, eyes lighting up instantly when she notices Jungkook and offering him a friendly smile.

However, Jungkook can’t find it in him to do the same, not when the two seem to be practically glowing as a twisted stormy cloud brews over his mind. He simply chooses to sharply nod, opening his office door in a hurry and locking himself inside.

Jimin’s bright smile falters, eyes immediately sinking down into concern when he exchanges a silent look with Chaeyoung, who reflects the same look he holds.

***

Jungkook’s barely gotten a single second of sleep.

He’s attempted to do so many times, rolling over and flopping onto different sides of the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling relieved when he feels himself being pulled away.

Until the thoughts enter his mind.

At first, he does what he’s used to doing – ignoring them – but the thoughts continue to creep on him, not letting his pink tinged eyes get even a second of peace.

He doesn’t regret meeting his friend, if anything the encounter brought up warm memories Jungkook had long forgotten about, pieces of the past he didn’t realize he missed until he saw his friend’s face again. However, just like a recorder, his friend’s words drag him back to instances in college, instances that Jungkook wants to say he tried his hardest, actually putting in the effort instead of hiding away in his books.

Unfortunately, he can’t say any of that.

Which is why when Jungkook trudges through the hospital halls at the spike of dawn, he looks like a hollow empty shell. He wonders if he had perhaps underestimated how well he was at keeping his feelings at bay, because soon a certain someone is eyeing him down with troubled eyes.

He deeply sighs and suddenly his arm is being yanked, a loud yelp to escaping him.

“That’s the seventh one I’ve heard today.” The black-haired doctor mumbles, dragging him over to his office before shutting the door behind him. Jungkook remains bewildered when Jin plants him down onto a chair, standing in front of him with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Jungkook immediately blurts, but Jin frowns more when he takes in the heavy dark circles lining the young doctor’s eyes.

He isn’t having any of it.

“Are you being overworked? Should I talk to Namjoon?” Jungkook bring his hands up instantly, shaking his head.

“N-No, it isn’t that…” Jungkook lowers his gaze, staring at the ground as he keeps his hand clasped together. It’s a little difficult for him to look Jin directly in the eyes, for the former was watching him carefully to catch any sign of what was causing him the distress.

Jungkook clears his throat, hesitantly bringing his eyes up, “Do you regret becoming a doctor?”

Jin blinks, not expecting the question, “No, why?”

Jungkook sighs, “I mean…more like being a doctor at this age.” He looks up, “Do you regret not doing it sooner?”

Jin’s arms fall to his sides and the confusion begins to dissolve away from his expression bit by bit, “It took me a while to figure out that this was what I wanted to do, but I think I would have regretted doing it sooner.” There’s a small smile on Jin’s lips when he slides into a chair across from Jungkook, “It’s harder to figure out when you’re at a younger age.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen a bit and Jin sends him a knowing smile, “Did seeing your friend bring up this question?”

“Yeah…” Jungkook lets out a heavy exhale, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone. He unlocks it, staring at the picture of a familiar young man smiling alongside other familiar faces, before slipping the phone over to Jin across the table.

“He’s kept in touch with every one of them since college…” Jungkook says quietly, causing Jin to raise an eyebrow as he keeps swiping across the pictures. “One of them even left to work abroad a while ago, so he isn’t in the picture but Yugyeom still talks to him…”

Jin pauses at one picture, frowning, “Who’s this?”

“Oh that’s Mingyu– “ Jungkook stares at the picture, wondering how even though his friend retained his signature cheeky smile, he looked so much older in the picture as he poses next to a girl, “He got married a couple of months ago…”

“Ah.” Jin simply says, putting the phone down slowly as he watches Jungkook sinks farther into his chair with worried eyes. There’s an uncomfortable silence residing in the room and it becomes far too apparent to the older doctor that its something he needs to break.

“They’ve gotten too far ahead.” Jin says, “But you’re still here. In this hospital.”

Jungkook nods, not really wanting to confirm anything with spoken words.

“You’ve fallen really behind in comparison.”

The thought stings Jungkook, but it sounds even worse when Jin directly states it. “We’re the exact same age, but they were able to keep in contact with each other, they’ve been up to other things, they’ve even found someone–“ Jungkook weakly laughs, “While I was just worried about becoming a doctor as soon as possible.”

“Do you regret it?” Jin questions, tossing the same notion right back at Jungkook.

“No–“ He cuts himself off, wincing, “Maybe? I…I just don’t know anymore.”

“You still have time JK.“ Jin reaches over to pat Jungkook’s back, nodding understandably, “And you’ve basically knocked it out the park with becoming a doctor. That too, at the same time as me.”

A small smile surfaces on Jungkook’s lips and Jin takes the opportunity right away, “You told me you were going to become a doctor in one year and now look at you, sitting here wearing the same coat as me!”

Jungkook falters, “But I just hope this coat isn’t the only thing I’ll ever have at the end of the day.”

“It’ll all work out, trust me. You just need to give it time.” Jin says in a comforting tone before he lets out a loud sigh, “You young people are always rushing into things too soon.”

Jungkook scoffs, getting up from his chair, “At least we didn’t take a century to become doctors.”

“Yah medical school is hard okay!” Jin points an accusing finger at him.

“I know, I went to one to become a doctor.” Jungkook beams, smiling fully for the first time in Jin’s office, “Right at the same time as you.”

Jin playfully frowns at that, pushing at Jungkook’s shoulders, “Yeah, yeah, now get out of my office you show-off. I have work to do.”

Jungkook abruptly stops in his tracks, watching Jin struggle for a minute trying to push his heavy form until he grows frustrated, “Yah JK!”

Jungkook laughs loudly, walking out of the office with a huge grin.

***

It’s cold and dreary, causing Jungkook to tug his hood closer when an icy breeze passes by. The sky is completely dark, a handful of stars scattered across the horizon and a few fluctuating lamp posts being his only source of light when he threads through the gap between two of them.

Talking to Jin actually helped him more than he had expected, not realizing how much seeing his old friend affected him until he was forced to confront the feelings and put them into words. In a way he was grateful, for he was now better able to pinpoint why he felt absolutely torn since he encountered Yugyeom, but unfortunately understanding what was wrong was only the first step in completely figuring things out.

Which is why he’s here, out in the bleary inky sky and sparkling stars, dressed in a comfortable black hoodie and jeans as he walks down the empty sidewalk. It’s a little unnerving to be wearing something other than his white doctor coat, something that Jungkook thinks has completely become apart of him at this point and to be simply walking outside, eyes not latched onto impending reports or arms not quickly fluctuating around to attend to all his patients.

It’s borderline strange, Jungkook has to be admit, but its oddly similar to what he was like before he had even taken his first step within the hospital walls. He laughs, breath coming out as mist, wondering how long it had been since he had even left those walls since his first steps.

He looks up when he hears footsteps coming from near him and instantly he sidelines to the left side, letting the two individuals glued to each other pass by without him being in their way. The shared glowing smiles and sparks of warmth emitting from them despite the chilling cold makes Jungkook wince, leaving him thoughts filled with encountering his former doctor and his girlfriend.

He recalls the situation again, but then his thoughts go even more astray when he remembers a pair of doctors that used to be at the hospital when he was initially hired as an intern. Although he does certainly miss them, there was a fine layer of shock imbedded into him when they had declared the status of their relationship and Jungkook had no clue as to how two polar opposites – two people that had always been known to argue with one another, managed to end up changing that feeling into something else entirely.

He doesn’t want to call it envy, because he’s admired these two people for so long and the last thing he could ever feel was that word. But it was like his admiration along with expectations had only spiked up, continuing to increase rapidly when he had even encountered another certain blonde and orange duo that had his hopes hitting the ceiling at that point.

He lets out a loud sigh, hands burying themselves further into his pockets when he keeps walking through the icy chill.

Yugyeom was right. Jin was right.

He was too busy pursuing something no one at his age would even dare, that he’s completely forgotten everything else.

Shaking his head, his dry eyes blink against the cold when a brightly lit store greets Jungkook’s vision and his eyes perk up.

The cold is beginning to get to him, he notices, so he makes a turn, heading into the store and pleasantly meeting relief when the warmth is already beginning to thaw out his freezing hands and face.

It’s not too bad. Jungkook thinks, looking around to see shelves of food and fridges filled. He eyes down a certain aisle, one stocked with some of his favourite snacks and he grins, knowing exactly what he needed in that moment.

Pacing around, he starts inspecting the ones he likes, tossing them carelessly into his arms before he heads over to the fridge, doe eyes eagerly searching around for small cases of his favourite milk.

In an instant he finds it, a giant bunny smile emerging on his lips when he teeter-tooters on his heels, taking it out excitedly.

Even though his entire day practically sucked, he’s glad that he can at least end it off nicely as he stares down at the cartons.

“Jungkook?”

His arm freezes in place, the breezy chill still emitting out from the fridge and submerging his torso when he hears soft footsteps closing in on him. He doesn’t turn around right away though, only slightly flinching when he feels a hand lightly tap his arm.

That’s when he slowly turns, blown up eyes immediately locking onto yours, “Jungkook, right?”

He can only seem to nod in that one moment and you smile, causing Jungkook to stagger and drop all his snacks onto the ground. It snaps him back in, the door to the fridge shutting close when he kneels down, putting his banana milk to the side and attempting to hastily pick up the spilled snacks.

Two other hands assist him and it’s when they accidentally knock into his own when he looks up, the hue on his cheeks dipping into a threatening red.

You place the snacks into his arms, not quite noticing the arising colour when you point, “Do you need a basket for those?”

Again, he just nods, letting out a breath that was caught deep in his throat when you walk away. Before he even has a moment to collect himself though, you’re soon returning back, reaching out with the basket and gesturing for him to drop his snacks into.

He places the basket against his arm, occasionally glancing up at you from the ground, “Its really been a while, hasn’t it?”

He tries to formulate some words in his mind, but there’s a very brief pang of dejection dwelling in your eyes when you say the words, something that almost reminds him of the time he had spoken to Yugyeom, “I-It has…I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

The words are spoken softly and Jungkook knows it must have worked when there’s a smile tugging on your lips, “I actually started working nearby here.” Your eyes instantly light up, “I also ran into Yugyeom just the other day.”

Jungkook lightly laughs, “I did too, but probably not in the same way you did.”

You frown at that, but then a thought immediately occurs to you, “D-Did you become one…? A doctor, I mean.”

Jungkook nods, “I did.”

“That’s nice…” You smile, although it doesn’t quite meet your eyes, Jungkook notices. “Well, I leave you to your shopping then.”

You gesture to his basket and offer him a kind smile before turning to get back to your own cart. Jungkook continues to stand there, a basket overflowing with snacks and hands now cold from grasping onto cooled milk when your back completely disappears. He blinks, attempting to process what exactly happened just moments ago and why he felt so bad seeing you here, in front of him when he should have been the opposite, filled from head to toe in pure joy instead.

It was almost like…he didn’t want to see you…

The thought alone makes Jungkook grimace, because none of that has anything to do with you. You were just being yourself around him, like how you always were back in college, tender and kind, being so close to the rest of the guys and him, wanting to be closer to him even though he barely tried to talk to you, let alone get to know you more. It was something he had regretted, but it was easily tossed away to the side of his mind when he got accepted into medical school, leaving you and the rest behind so quickly that seeing you again…like this.

It’s making him remember everything all over again.

And it’s re-opened a link he had thought had been long closed off.

So why was he still standing there, staring into space when he can hear the cashier checking your items out one by one?

What was he even waiting for anymore?

A large hand slams against the glass door and you jolt back with wide, confused eyes, shifting between the sight of the shining door and Jungkook standing quite awkwardly in front of you. At the view of your terrified expression, he quickly clears his throat, knowing the last thing he wanted to accomplish was to scare you off somehow.

And that too, again.

“H-Hey…” He says, voice raising up into an unflattering tone when he’s already cursing at himself on the inside.

Real smooth there Jungkook, realll smooth.

“Uh…Hi?” You chuckle, now noticing the pink dust beginning to creep on his cheeks when he clears his throat again.

“Y-You-…” Calm down Jungkook, he warns to himself, “Y-You said you worked nearby.”

You nod, expectant eyes latching onto him and for a moment, he considers if perhaps he wasn’t the only one that actually wanted to stay in contact, “I-I was just thinking, that if y-you’d like, we could meet up some time, you know just like friends hanging out, o-or like….”

He can’t manage to even finish off that sentence, cheeks now completely red when he just bites his lip and stares down at the ground like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Before he can even mumble out a string of apologies, there’s a piece of paper being flashed between the ground and his eyes, causing his head to snap up immediately.

A warm smile lines your lips and when you gesture for him to take the paper, he automatically refreshes and grasps it, realizing there was a collection of numbers scribbled down on it.

“I have to get going but…” Your eyes trace over the paper and he instinctively blushes, but you send him another smile before turning to leave.

When the door comes to a close, Jungkook remains standing there. He stares down at the piece of paper, looking at it like he had just discovered a piece of gold.

After one long heavy silence, he suddenly sparks up, a giant grin on his features as his eyes crinkle when he fists the paper in his hands.

He’s ecstatic – so incredibly happy and bursting with joy when he rushes out of the store, not even realizing that he needs to go back in to pay for his things when the cashier shoots him a dirty glare, but all he can see in that single moment is something he‘s managed to do with his own effort, actually trying for once.

He can’t wait to tell Yugyeom that he can talk to girls properly.

***

He’s legitimately freaking out.

It’s as if someone took a bucket of water and splashed it all over his fiery determination, dousing it within seconds when he comes to realize what exactly you had told him.

A date.

You had asked him – Jeon Jungkook – out on a date.

Not to hang out as friends, not to catch up on the old reminiscent days of college, but a date.

The thing two people do if they’re interested in each other romantically.

The very thing Jungkook has avoided being asked of constantly, whether it was disappearing away from impending eyes within the hospitals walls or ducking away from any advances towards him.

He’s freaking out.

And he has no clue on how he was supposed to handle something of this sort.

But he does know someone who can.

The door rattles when his fist comes into contact with it, nervous feet walking back and forth before the apartment as he tries to steady down his breathing. When there’s no response from the other side of the door, he knocks again, this time with more force as the door swings wide open, leaving Jungkook speechless as he stares at the man before him.

“Jungkook?”

“Dr.–“

He pauses, wondering if he had gotten the correct address.

“Dr. Park?”

The use of his professional name causes the doctor’s eyes to widen, hurriedly crossing his arms over the short white bathrobe he adorns. It barely covers his chest and legs, a slimy green mixture smeared all over his face.

“What? I just showered and my skin has been super dehydrated lately, okay?” Jimin exasperatedly sighs, “But what are you doing here Jungkook?”

“I needed to talk to you but you didn’t come into work today so I thought you would be home and I–“ Jimin opens the door fully, pushing Jungkook inside.

“My mask is supposed to come off in two minutes and you’re out here babbling!” Jimin protests, closing the door with a huff. “Chaeyoung, we have company!”

A familiar head pops out when Jungkook enters the living room, his eyes widening when he sees a movie on the tv paused as the intern perks up seeing him, “Jungkook! What brings you over?”

“Well I–“

“You two chat, I have one-minute left and I am definitely not spending date night with dry skin!” Jimin quickly rambles, rushing into the bathroom as Chaeyoung laughs.

She moves to the side of the couch and pats down on it, “Have a seat Jungkook.”

He nods, shifting to sit down next to her, but his shoulders are hiked up as he interlaces his hands, gaze staring at the paused tv. In comparison, Chaeyoung is spread out on the couch, lazily leaning against the edge.

“Is everything okay?”

Snapping out of his daze, he turns to see her staring at him with concerned eyes.

“Well…I actually have a date.”

Her eyes immediately beam, “A date?”

He timidly nods, not realizing there was a speck of pink spreading across his skin. Chaeyoung notices right away, smiling until a loud voice breaks through the comfortable atmosphere, a clean Park Jimin still dressed in a bathrobe emerging.

“My skin looks beautiful and my intern has a date?! What an amazing day it is today~” He immediately pounces onto Jungkook with a huge grin.

“Wait, wait!” Jungkook hurriedly protests, trying to wrench the man off of him, “That’s why I came over today! I need help!”

Jimin freezes, looking at Jungkook as if he had just sprouted some holy words to him, “You…you need my help?”

Jungkook sighs, the doctor now clinging onto him like a child with wide, cooing eyes but Chaeyoung leans over, placing a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, “I think this is his first date Jimin.”

Jimin instantly stops with a frown, “First date?” When Jungkook exhales deeply again, Jimin latches off of him completely, eyes now filling up with concern, “Jungkookie?”

Jungkook goes silent for a moment and Chaeyoung shifts her eyes over to Jimin, who takes a couple of steps back at seeing his precious intern suddenly look so distraught.

He eventually speaks up, “I…I need help, I’ve never gone on a date before and she’s someone I do like, but I–“ Jungkook stops and Chaeyoung pats his shoulder, giving him time to speak to which he greatly appreciates, “This isn’t something I find the answer in books, or get experience through working. This is so real and I-I just don’t know how to prepare…”

Jungkook buries his head within his hands and its silent again, causing Jimin to gesture something to Chaeyoung, who quietly leaves as he steps up.

“Jungkook.” He looks up and the doctor smiles at him, “We’re going to figure this out, okay? You’ve come to the right person and I am here to educate you…my precious intern.”

Jungkook actually smiles at that and Jimin instantly beams, Chaeyoung returning back with a giant whiteboard and marker in hand.

“Alright then!” Jimin grabs the marker, perching up one bare leg onto the couch, “What do you know about dates?”

“Uh…” Jungkook looks like he’s just been asked a question on an exam he didn’t study for, “They’re romantic and stuff? Like you spend time together and do cute things?” He quickly glances at Chaeyoung who gives him an encouraging nod and a thumbs up, to which Jimin grins.

“Correct!” Jimin scribbles it down onto the board, “See Jungkook! You do know about dates!”

“Not enough though.” Jungkook whines but Jimin raises a hand.

“Fear not! We have you covered!” He gestures to Chaeyoung again who leaves onto to rush in with an assortment of suits. Jungkook helplessly watches as Jimin dashes away too, returning with a bunch of his own collection of hair supplies and accessories.

“What’s all this for?”

Jimin chuckles when he notices Jungkook’s eyes widening, colour draining completely from his skin at the new material. There’s a mysterious glint residing deep within the doctor’s eyes, a look that Jungkook truthfully is terrified of.

Jimin wraps an arm around him, “Oh Jungkookie, there is so much you have yet to learn~”

***

The room is brightly lit, a hue of warm orange splashed across the walls and a layer of vibrant pink flowers streamed along the front counter, right next to a bowl filled with round cherry candies. From a distance, there’s a violin playing, elegant music surrounding the folks that chatter behind the walls as greetings and pleasantries are exchanged.

One of the cherry candies is plucked from the bowl, a gold shine wrapped around the delicacy before its entirely ripped away and tossed carelessly to the side. The wrapper barely meets the trash can when the candy is furiously being spit out, Jungkook hurriedly wiping his sleeve when he’s left with a bitter sour taste in his mouth.

He immediately adjusts his sleeve, not wanting any sticky cherry residue clinging onto the expensive suit that he’s somehow managed to fit in. With a sigh, he rests his hand against his cheek as he leans against the counter, trying his best not to ruin his gelled hair that took hours to put together.

“Hold still!” Jimin hisses, hands covered with a musky gel that had Jungkook squirming away.

“It smells bad!” The younger man protests, but Jimin frowns when there’s barely any ounce of gel in Jungkook’s hair despite the two of them being at it for two hours.

“Jungkookie, you said you would trust me! Who is the mentor here?!”

Jungkook slumps down into the chair, pouting at Jimin, “You are…”

“Exactly!” Jimin snaps his fingers, causing some of the gel to flick onto Jungkook’s cheek as he winces, “Oh! Sorry!”

Jimin continues to coat his hair with the gel until its covered majority of Jungkook’s hair and with one rough push, his hair is slicked back to reveal his forehead. “There! Have a look for yourself Jungkook!”

He gets up and walks over to the bathroom mirror as Jimin washes his hands. To his own astonishment and disbelief, the gel serves to not only keep his hair styled, but drastically ages him into a better, more mature image.

“Wow…” He can only stand there and gape at his reflection as Jimin grins, taking the suit Chaeyoung brings him from her hands and turning to face his young intern.

“Now, try this on!”

Jungkook warily takes the suit away from Jimin’s hands, eyeing it oddly.

“Aren’t you shorter than me though?”

Jimin scoffs, “I’m not that short! Besides I usually buy suits with longer pants because its easier to tailor them afterwards!”

“Suree.” Jungkook teases, causing Jimin to pout as he chuckles, “Alright I’m putting it on!”

The suit – just as Jimin said – miraculously fits Jungkook better than he had expected. It doesn’t hang off his form nor does it render him the ability to not breathe, but fits well enough that Jimin dare say it looks better on Jungkook then it does on himself.

After a couple moments of turning and rotating, Jungkook seems satisfied but can’t help the one thought that occurs to him.

“Isn’t this a little fancy?”

Jimin smirks, “Not for where you’re going tonight.” He flips out a brochure, one that has Jungkook widening his eyes.

“A restaurant? But why?”

“It’ll be romantic! Candle lights, music, dinner!” Jimin claps his hands together, “You’ll both love it!”

“I don’t know…” Jungkook whispers, still staring at the brochure. “I don’t really go to restaurants, I don’t know how to speak or what to do, I-I…” Jimin holds up a hand, reassuring the young intern right away.

“That’s why we’re here!” Chaeyoung brings out the giant whiteboard again and Jimin smirks.

“By the time you get there, you’ll be ace gentlemen quality~”

Jungkook sighs again, eyes latching onto the image he reflects against the glass doors in the front. Although it was truly a hassle getting ready this time around, Jungkook can find it in himself to understand that Jimin was right – his gelled hair, paired with the sleek black suit and a set of silver hoops in his ears (which Jimin thankfully gave him) actually does to a lot of service to him, his features not appearing to be so boyish anymore.

He wonders if this is how he should dress for work instead.

The thought is shaken away, because today wasn’t so much about how he looked or where he was as much as it was about the two of you. Jungkook begins to contemplate if he should give you a call, but before he even has a chance to pull his cellphone out, he spots someone in a bright blue dress dashing into the restaurant.

You don’t even seem to recognize him when you get into the restaurant, too occupied with holding onto your knees as you gasp for air. When you finally do look up, Jungkook can see it in your eyes far too quickly and he silently thanks Jimin for all his troubles.

“Woah.” You blink, narrowing your eyes until you’re squinting, “J-Jungkook?”

With a timid smile, he nods, reaching out for you to hold his hand as he gestures into the hall. “Shall we?”

Your cheeks brighten up when you take his hand and Jungkook doesn’t know if the colour appearing on you is because of the fact that you had been running just so you can make it on time, or perhaps because…of him.

Both thoughts either way bring a small quip to his smile, guiding you inside when he can feel small butterflies dancing around in the pit of his stomach.

Your mouth drops wide open when you enter the hall, string of decorative pink and purple flowers in between white lights hanging from the ceiling. You don’t realize you’ve reached your table until Jungkook lets go of you, causing you immediately to be flustered when you been gaping at the place with wide eyes.

Jungkook seems to be unaffected by this however, pulling your chair out with a sweet smile, “Thank you.”

You sit down as he nods, settling down into the seat in front of you. Picking up the menu’s, your eyes begin to scan through all the dishes when Jungkook watches you from the corner of his, a relieved smile on his lips when everything seems to be falling into place and dare he even say, Jimin’s help actually did do more wonders then he would have imagined.

Part of it has to do with you as well too, Jungkook notes. He was extremely reluctant on asking to even come to a place like this, wondering to himself continuously if he was crossing the line too much, or even worse, practically jumping over that line in a rush. After listening to Jimin plead with him over and over again, he finally gave in, asking you to come to the specific restaurant and to dress formally for the occasion.

You don’t seem to have barely missed a beat just like him, adorned in a sleeveless soft blue dress that frills out at your knees, paired with your hair in an updo, light curls dropping down to the side of your cheeks. In a way, it makes Jungkook smile, being seated next to each other in such a luxurious place and dressed so lavishly, yet you still look so faintly similar to how you did in college.

“You look very nice.” Jungkook blurts it out without even realizing and his eyes immediately widen – but then you give him a kind smile in return and he recalls Jimin telling him that complimenting what you were wearing was a must for an date.

You tuck a stand of hair away, his eyes following along with the gesture, “Thanks, so do you.”

He sends you a similar smile, the atmosphere morphing into a warm and comfortable one. Truthfully, Jungkook is completely shocked at the moment. He had conjured up much more atrocious scenario’s in his mind prior to the date, things that could have gone wrong, things that could have messed things up for the far worse. It caused him to constantly pester Jimin and Chaeyoung with worries, questioning everything they did and everything he should do on the day of.

It was extremely exhaustive, but sitting with you here, seeing how you look at him, it makes him feel as if things will be alright, like there wasn’t anything he should be worried about.

You frown for a moment, enlarging your eyes as you concentrate on the menu and the act makes Jungkook smile amusedly, noticing that your expression come off as rather cute when you’re serious.

“Everything alright?”

Looking up, you nod, “I think so? Just having trouble with some of the food names.”

He slides his eyes back to the menu, suddenly realizing he had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he hadn’t taken a proper moment to look at it. “Let me see if I can help.”

As Jungkook begins to point out things Jimin had explained to him on the menu, you tentatively listen along and follow his direction. Both of you are greatly busy with the process though, failing to realize the other people present at the restaurant, namely one table that seems to be a tad bit crowded and louder in comparison.

“Look, look he’s talking to her!”

There’s a loud wail suddenly, sobbing sounds coming from the table when a collective reign of voices interject immediately. One of the waiters raises a brow at the commotion, simply thinking that the guests were getting agitated from not being served.

“Are you ready to order?” He questions, notepad in hand.

“Of course, can I have one of everything on the menu?” A man with parted pink hair speaks, eyes attentively on the waiter who seems to only blink on the request. The man picks up the menu again, pointing to it, “The price doesn’t matter, even better if it can come with a bottle of win-“

A hand knocks the menu out of his hands, long curly blonde hair tied back into a ponytail as he bursts out dramatically laughing, “You’re so funny!! HAHAHAHA~”

The blue-haired girl sitting next to him smiles to the waiter, “We’ll just take water for now.”

He nods, eyebrow still raising at the particular table, but shrugging off as he walks. The blonde man instantly leans over, glaring at the pink haired individual with a hiss.

“Are you trying to make me go broke?!”

“What?? You said you were paying tonight!”

“Yeah so order something that’s not going to make my wallet cry!”

The pink haired man frowns, staring at the menu with a sigh, “You’re no fun Park.”

“He really isn’t.”

Before Jimin can even protest, a group of three people sits down next to them, all three of them having the same long black hair. Jimin tries to stifle back a laugh when they sit down, but it comes bursting out after he restrains himself for too long.

“You can keep laughing, at least I don’t look like someone dunked a bowl of ramen on my head.” Yoongi mumbles, eyes latching onto two very specific people as he turns to Chaeyoung, “Everything going alright?”

She nods, “They seem to be comfortable with each other.”

“Good.” Yoongi sighs, smiling gratefully when Hoseok hands him a napkin. “Out of all of Jimin’s bright ideas, I’d have to say this is possibly the worst one.”

“It’s brilliant!” Jimin exclaims, protesting right away, “And he’s our baby! We have to protect him!”

“He’s an adult.” Yoongi retorts, causing Jimin to pout but Chaeyoung leans forward.

“I know it seems a little invasive but Jimin’s just been worried, that’s all.” Jimin smiles at her yet Namjoon sighs.

“I don’t know, I’m with Yoongi on this one.” Namjoon gestures over to you two, “They seem to be doing fine without us as well.”

“Then we can all just hang out today! Plus I’m paying~” Jimin giggles, although the words bring a sparkle to Jin’s eyes that he really doesn’t want to see, “But no making me broke!”

Jin mumbles something underneath his breath that sounds like “invites us all over here but doesn’t even give us the full treatment” but Jimin lets it slide, eyes constantly darting over to you and Jungkook.

You two on the other hand, have already ordered and talk as you wait, seemingly answering a list of questions Jungkook had been given prior to meeting you.

“Did you write all of this down or something?” You lightly laugh, not expecting him to compliment you so many times nor to be so curious about your job, which truthfully you find to be incredibly boring. “I just do taxes and bookkeeping, it’s really not that great.”

From the opposite side, Jungkook seems to be flustered, losing bits of his confidence when he lowers his long-sleeved wrist underneath the table, “I’m sure it’s great and that you work hard! Did I mention your hair looks great tonight?”

“Yes, many times.” You chuckle, not quite understanding what was going on but shrugging it off as simple nervousness. After all you felt the same way, being in front of him like this, after so many years had soared away at the speed of light.

You wonder if Jungkook sees the fall in your expression, because his eyes are instantly tracing all over your features before you speak, “You bumped into Yugyeom, right? At your hospital?”

Jungkook nods, “He had fainted from a concussion.”

“Oh.”

He shakes his head, “It wasn’t too serious, but I don’t think Bambam’s going to survive to tell the tale.”

Your eyes light up, “You met Bambam?”

“Ah no– Yugyeom told me about him and the others.”

“I see…” You grow silent and Jungkook shifts in his seat, his hands starting to become clammy by the minute.

He doesn’t understand; he was prepared, listening to every word that Jimin’s slipped out prior to meeting you and so far everything that doctor had told him has seemed to work, until now, especially when he notices your gaze fixated on the table.

“I-I heard Mingyu got married.” He quickly blurts out, watching your eyes sparkle for a split second, “And that Jaehyun’s moved recently for work.”

You smile, although it doesn’t quite meet your eyes, “The last time I saw Jaehyun, he stopped by my apartment to stay goodbye. I was also at Mingyu’s wedding.”

“You went?”

“Of course.” Your smile falters, “He got married to my sister.”

“O-Oh.” Now Jungkook turns quiet, mind suddenly wracking around for the memory of you telling him you had a sister. “I…I didn’t know.”

“We sent you an invitation.” Your gaze is not even on him anymore, staring at your fidgeting hands instead, “I wanted to introduce her to everyone…including you.”

Jungkook is at a loss of words, staring at you hopelessly with wide eyes. In the spur of the moment, he tries to fathom up an answer, not even taking a single glance at his sleeve when he does so, “Y/N I-“

“Your meal is here~” A voice immediately injects him and before he knows it, plates and plates of food are soon flourishing onto the table. Jungkook raises an eyebrow, being fully aware that the two of you did not order this much food, but when he turns to the waiter with questions tumbling on his lips, he go silent completely.

The waiter has long curly blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail as he smirks at Jungkook. He tugs himself closer to Jungkook, wrapping an arm around the younger individual.

“My oh my! What a dashing young man!” Jimin stares at your surprised eyes and loudly cries out, “They don’t make such men anymore, do they?!”

He begins to sob onto Jungkook’s shirt, leaving him in an uncomfortable situation when the man’s weight is beginning to crease his suit, as well as spur more confusion in your eyes. Luckily for Jungkook though, a set of four arms are plucking the pouty doctor off of him, giving the former a dirty glare before one of them taps his arm.

“I hope you are alright Sir.” Jungkook nods and Namjoon smiles at him, long black hair swishing when he turns to you. “I hope you can excuse my colleague’s outburst, he seems to be having a hard time at work today.”

You politely smile, “No, no, it’s okay. I hope he’s alright though.”

“He’ll be fine. If he isn’t, I’ll make sure he’ll pay for all the damages he’s causing by working overtime for two people’s shifts instead of one.” The second man eyes Jungkook with a smug grin, before Namjoon turns and seeks his arm.

“We’ll be leaving now, please enjoy the rest of your night.” You nod and when you look away, Namjoon and Yoongi shoot him a thumbs up, hurriedly walking away with a protesting Jimin.

Jungkook smiles, but then his thoughts re-focus and he realizes that prior to the intrusion, you had been discussing something that had his stomach churning, his heart suddenly feeling heavy. Though the thoughts die out once again when he notices you fully concentrating on the food, barely meeting his gaze with only occasional polite glances.

He loses all of his appetite suddenly, plucking at the food with his fork and sighing when the clock’s handles seem to have silenced down. In comparison to the commotion just occurring moments ago, its dead silent and he doesn’t know how much of it he can take.

You raise your head, a cluster of coughs leaving you as Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, circling around your throat for a moment, “This is really spicy.”

“Let me get you some water.” He instantly stands up, walking over to one of the waiters when you’re just about to tell him it was okay. Your hand drops, deeply exhaling as you shrink back into your seat.

From a distance away, there’s a pair of giant binoculars glued to your every move, a voice already beginning to whine, “She doesn’t like the food!” He passes them to the blue-haired girl sitting next to him, “He needs help, I’m going to go back and–“

An arm keeps him firmly in place, “You are going to sit here and do nothing. If there’s a problem, then Jungkook can take of it.”

“That’s so unfair though!!”

“Listen to Yoongi, Jimin. You’ve caused enough trouble already.” The man with the pink hair remarks, cheek stuffed with an abundance of food he’s thankfully not paying for.

Namjoon hums, crossing his arms as he sits down, “I agree, for now let’s just trust that Jungkook can handle this one on his own.”

“Um guys….” A voice peeks out from the heated conversation, all heads turning towards her, “We might have another situation here.”

“What is it?” Hoseok hurriedly asks, putting on Jimin’s giant binoculars, “Oh no…”

“What?” Jimin’s head whips back and forth, “What is it? What is it?”

“Jungkook just tripped and split a jug of water on her.”

A unison of multiple voices break out, “WHAT?!?”

“This is bad.” Jin repeats, forgetting the plate of food in front of him entirely, “This is really really bad.”

Jimin slips away before anyone even notices, dashing over to the pair swiftly. He notices a piece of cloth tucked away on your lap as your eyes dart around frantically, but to his own dismay, his young intern is no where to be found.

“The kind gentleman that was here, where is he now?” Jimin questions, quickly acting like a waiter. When you point to the men’s room, Jimin frowns, but he simply nods and sprints over, leg kicking the door open as he barges in.

“JUNGKOOK!” He doesn’t even need to look around much when his eyes land on the man’s features, currently staring down at the sink. Jimin wonders why he was even there, having split all that water on you and now making you wait by doing nothing in the bathroom.

“Jungkook, what–“ The words are immediately swallowed away when Jimin notices Jungkook’s tightened grip on the counter. He brings a hand to the man’s tense back, patting down on it, “What happened Jungkookie?”

Jimin’s voice is quiet and soft, drastically different to what he sounded like just moments ago, but Jungkook shakes his head, appearing as if he was ready to hurl at any second. “I-I can’t do this…”

“Jungkook she’s still out there waiting for you, it’s okay.”

He shakes his head harshly, “Nothing’s okay anymore and to top it all off, I had to spill water on her!”

“Go back Jungkook.” Jimin urges, Jungkook turning to him like he was merely sprouting out nonsense at this point, “I don’t know what exactly happened, but the intern I so know doesn’t give up no matter what the challenge. He’s a fighter and I’ll even admit he looks a lot better in my own suit that I ever did.”

Jungkook quips a small smile at that and Jimin grins, “Now get out there, will you?”

He takes a deep exhale and Jimin reaches out to adjust his intern’s tousled collar.

“Alright.” He takes a step back and Jimin nods satisfied.

But when Jungkook eventually does come out, he immediately turns to Jimin with frightened eyes.

“She’s gone.”

“What?!” Jimin scans around, seeing indeed you were – the table the two of you once occupied left empty and now being vacated for new customers.

Jungkook groans, fisting his hair that he doesn’t care about ruining anymore, “I’ve ruined everything!” He sinks down onto his knees, burying his head into his hands, “Tonight was supposed to be perfect, but I’ve ruined it!”

Jimin is at a loss of words, looking down at his intern with sympathetic eyes when he doesn’t know what to say anymore. He was incredibly hopeful – Jungkook appeared dashing within his suit and the evening had been going so well whenever he checked in.

He had enough faith about you too, having a good feeling of you staying despite the chaotic waterfall that had ensured, but it seems like he was unfortunately wrong this time.

Not left with many options when he sees his intern so distraught, he signals the crowd of concerned and confused eyes latching onto him to call a cab. Placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, they leave the restaurant immediately and Jimin sighs when he wishes that things could have gotten better than this.

***

The day is filled with taxing amounts of papers that need to be filed, Jungkook marking each one with patient details as he swipes his signature on other documents. Aside from the lengthy procedure he does, the doctor hasn’t stepped out of his office for a split second through the day – something the three doctors huddled quietly outside notice.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” Jimin whispers and Jin hums, sharing the same look as him.

“Should I ask him to help me with my wards? It’ll get him out of there for a while.”

Chaeyoung shakes her head at the thought, “I don’t think what he needs right now is more work.”

“Then what does he need?” Jimin says, racking a hand through his hair roughly as he darts his eyes between the two.

“Still glued to your old intern, Dr. Park?”

Jimin pauses, a new voice suddenly entering the confines of the hospital, paired with a familiar set of footsteps he swears he hasn’t heard in an eternity. The last thing he expects when he turns, is to see you standing next to Yoongi dressed in a white coat and holding a clipboard, smirking with crossed arms.

It’s only when Yoongi chuckles at his surprised expression that everything hits like a slap, and suddenly there’s three doctors flinging themselves onto you.

“Y/N!!”

The clipboard is completely knocked out of your hands by the tsunami of people, but simply retort with a light laugh.

“You guys missed me that much?”

No one responds, clinging onto you as you dart a look to Yoongi, who just smiles amusedly at your expression.

“They really did miss you,” He pats your shoulder, voice lowering, “and so did I. Welcome back Dr. L/N.”

Once everyone separates, you hand Chaeyoung a tissue when tears begin to stream down her eyes and she gratefully accepts. Jin meanwhile is in awe, having not encountered his former doctor counterpart in far too long.

You smile fondly, “So it’s the new Dr. Kim now?”

Jin, despite the sheer amount of confidence he usually radiates, nods shyly, “Nothing like the past Dr. Kim though.”

You snort at that and turn to the last doctor, who’s looking at you with such puppy like eyes that has you quirking an eyebrow. With a sigh, you open up your arms again and he’s tackling you into another hug once more.

“What took you so long?!” Jimin wails and Yoongi mumbles for him to be quiet for nearby patients.

“I was on vacation with my fiancée, it wasn’t going to just take me a day.” You mumble, but the words cause everyone’s attention to spike up.

“Fiancée?!”

“Is it true Dr. L/N?” Chaeyoung hurriedly questions, eyes bright with excitement, “You and Dr. Kim…?”

You flash her the diamond ring sitting on your third finger and she immediately squeals, clapping her hands. Jimin’s interest is peaked as well when he lets you go and examines the jewelry sitting delicately on your hand.

“Does that mean you and Taehyung made it to fourth bas-“

You glare at him, “Park Jimin, I swear if you even finish that sentence.”

Jimin pouts and you heavily sigh, eyes darting around, “Where’s Jungkook?”

Everyone goes immediately silent, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“W-Well you see…” Chaeyoung begins, recognizing the guilty expression Jimin holds right away, “Things haven’t going so great for him lately a-and…”

You raise your hand instantly for her to stop, “I know, I came early because someone informed me about what was going on.”

Jimin’s eyes widen and that’s when Namjoon steps forward, softly smiling.

“Everything is a lot more balanced when you have extra hands helping out.” He says and you share a look with him, causing Jimin to look back and forth abruptly.

“But about J-Jungkook, Y/N I-“

“Don’t worry about it,” You smile knowingly, “I’ve already sent someone over to check on him.”

***

There’s a small knock against the door of Jungkook’s office and he exhales, letting his pen roll onto his papers when he glances around.

It looks bad – mugs of banana milk scattered all over the place, something Jungkook doesn’t even drink at work if he doesn’t really need it. There are papers lying around astray and there’s barely any light seeping in, all his windows firmly shut.

He supposes it could be worse and then glances back at the door, thinking that perhaps his fellow doctors were getting concerned about him and that he should reassure them.

“Come in.” He says with a heavy sigh, eyes blinking against the strain of using such poor lighting conditions.

However his eyes blow up completely when the door quietly closes, a familiar man wearing a pair of glasses and a doctor’s coat, taking long strides into the room before he sits down on the chair in the corner, facing Jungkook. He grins, eyes taking in the man’s features after not seeing him when he acquired his new title.

“Nice to see you could make some time for me, Dr. Jeon.”

“D-Dr. Kim?” Jungkook immediately stutters, papers long forgotten when he can’t believe the sight before him, “How…?”

“Namjoon.” Taehyung states, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his legs, “Y/N and I were called back when he felt things were getting too hectic around here. Luckily the two of us were planning on coming back soon anyways.”

“Oh…I see…”

“Enough about me though.” Taehyung cuts to the chase right away, “What’s been going on with you lately?”

Jungkook’s skin instantly flushes, not realizing that the doctor had to come to his office with a whole other intent instead, “I-It’s just personal stuff, I saw one of my old college friends which lead to me running into another college friend and then I was asked out on a date…”

Jungkook doesn’t realize he’s rambling until Taehyung hums, a finger pressed to his lips as he attentively listens. It only occurs to Jungkook at the point too, that so much had happened within the time the two doctors had been gone and he really doesn’t want to rewind so far back when he knows what the accumulation of events had lead up to.

“So this girl…” Taehyung starts off, “Why do you suddenly want to reconnect with her?”

“Because I’ve been out of touch from a lot things since college…” Jungkook sighs, “Since I became this…”

“It isn’t easy. I hope you know that.”

“I do but…before I didn’t want to do anything, I just wanted to focus on becoming a doctor, but now,” Jungkook shakes his head.

“It’s all I have left…”

“You pushed yourself too hard to get here and now you regret doing it.”

Jungkook hums, “And this girl? Is there something you regret with her too?”

“A-Ah yeah…” Jungkook becomes flustered again, scratching his neck, “I regret not getting to know her more, even when I knew she wanted to get to know me.”

He sighs, like he was recalling a handful of bad memories, “I just don’t know if she’s willing to give me another chance after everything…”

“Explain it all to her.” Taehyung says, causing Jungkook to look up in surprise, “If there’s something that’s gone wrong or you regret something you’ve done in the past, then the best way to just explain to the person what happened.”

“B-But I can’t, after what happened at the d-date, I-“

“Jungkook.” Taehyung stops him, “Didn’t you just explain to me what you think went wrong? So why is it so hard to explain the same thing to her, who I can assume would really appreciate hearing the answer more compared to someone like me.”

Jungkook frowns at the words, but it seems to make sense of the catastrophic scramble of thoughts he was having. When he makes eye contact, Taehyung smiles at him, saying something Jungkook would had never expected the stern Dr. Kim to ever say to anyone.

“The past is a hard indicator to get over, but it’s something you need to confront before you can even think of a brighter future.”

Jungkook nods, appreciating that the doctor was able to help make sense of what was ensuring inside his head so calmly, something Jungkook had barely managed to do in the past at all.

“Thank you, Dr. Kim.”

Taehyung approvingly nods, straightening up his glasses as he gets up from the chair, “Anytime.”

But the simple action causes Jungkook’s brow to furrow, a particular sparkle flashing by when the doctor touches his frame.

“Is that a ring on your finger?” He blurts it out and widens his eyes, wondering if that came off as being rude or invasive, but suddenly the doctor’s gaze is glued to the ground, a tint of red beginning to emerge on his skin.

Jungkook smiles, wondering to himself if he’d ever thought he would see the day he’d catch the Dr. Kim flustered by the mere mention of a ring.

***

Just explain everything to her, just like you did with Dr. Kim.

Jungkook quickly locks up his office door, play backing the words in his mind so they don’t escape him in the moment. As he leaves, he notices the faint pitter patter of rain outside and he sighs when he doesn’t have anything but his doctor’s coat to cover himself.

The white cloth covers his head when he slips out of the hospital, rain beginning to fall down at the speed of bullets against the ground. He frowns when his coat is instantly drenched, rain making its way down to his hair before he even knows.

Bright yellow clouds his vision immediately, away from the hazardous rain now pouring down. He whips his head around in confusion, only to see you standing underneath the umbrella with him.

“Hi.” You say softly, but Jungkook can even hear even against the splintering rain. He notices you’re only wearing a thin rose cardigan, the top of it thoroughly soaked.

Following his line of sight, you quickly mumble, “I-I didn’t know when you finished work…”

As if on instinct, Jungkook reaches out and faintly touches your cheek with the back of his hand, an alarming icy temperature greeting him back. He drops his hand right away when he notices the surprise on your expression, realizing that the innate doctor reflexes kicked in too soon for him.

“S-Sorry…”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You shake your head, staring at the ground as you bite down on your lip. It’s still pouring around you at a rapid speed, but it’s the only thing being acknowledged when the two of you stay quiet.

Before you know it, the umbrella loosens from your grip, being raised up higher, “Do you want to come inside? It’s getting even colder out here.”

“Oh I–….“ You trail off immediately, words dying down.

But Jungkook wasn’t going to let you stay quiet, “What is it?”

“I was j-just thinking…we could go somewhere else? Away from the hospital?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, noticing that you hadn’t entered not only because you didn’t want to intrude, but you felt like it wasn’t even your place to do so.

“Of course.” He starts walking, hand against your back and words gentle, “Away from the hospital.”

You end up walking for quite a while and after Jungkook constantly insisting, you eventually give in and let him drape his now semi-dry coat over your shoulders. It’s incredibly warm in comparison to your skin and you’re grateful after he gives it to you, knowing that the coat held much more significance to him than it does to you.

When Jungkook finds a nearby shop to take refugee under, you quickly follow after him. Although the shop itself is closed due to the late hours, there’s heat coming out from nearby vents that you definitely indulge in.

“At the restaurant–“ Jungkook stops, pausing to correct himself, “On our date, why…why did you leave?”

He wanted to ask you directly but there’s a slip of sadness by him that he couldn’t hold back and he knows you can hear it when you look at him startled.

“I left to dry myself off.” You quickly say, “But then you didn’t come back for so long and the waiters asked me if they could clear the table so I let them. I–…”

A low sigh escapes out from you.

“I-I actually wasn’t expecting you to come back.”

You stare down at the ground as all Jungkook can do is just stare at you, wondering how it had gotten so bad to the point that you didn’t even think he would come back.

Just explain it to her.

“I shouldn’t have left like that.” He turns to you fully, staring at you with the same serious eyes he takes with his work. “And I’m not just talking about the date.”

You look up and blink, eyes widening but Jungkook continues, “I’d like to say that I didn’t know, but I did and I was just…scared.”

“Of what?” You instinctively ask and for a moment, everything disappears. You’re not in the middle of nowhere outside as it pours down like crazy, talking to a doctor after his shift at the hospital. Instead, you’re back in the large expanse of a field, a younger Jungkook staring out at one of the college buildings as you fidget around with the palms of your hands.

Jungkook sighs and you wonder if he’s thought about this before coming here with you today. It leaves you with a spark of hope, something that blossoms in you after far too long.

“I knew what my job was going to be like and what I had ended up choosing wasn’t going to leave me with any time to see you guys again. In a way, I knew I had to leave all of you…”

Jungkook leans forward, eyes more sincere than ever, “So I packed my bags and headed off to Seoul…without saying goodbye…”

Despite being covered by the shop, drops of water fall on ground in the space between the two of you. “I should have been there, at Mingyu’s wedding, when Jaehyun was leaving, when–“

He’s nearly breathless at this point, chest heaving, “When you said you liked me.”

Your breath hitches at the mere mention and for a moment you could have sworn that your heart rate dropped. Suddenly you’re being enveloped by two warm arms and the gesture only causes more water to spill out from your eyes.

“Don’t cry…”

“You can’t expect me to not cry after you say all that.” You chuckle, sniffling a bit as you swipe away some of the tears with your fingertips, “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so upfront with me.”

Jungkook smiles, relieved on the inside that he was able to tell you exactly what he wanted to, “Well you could say a wise man told me that if you’ve felt like you’ve done something wrong and regret it, then it’s best to just be upfront with the person and let them know too.”

You separate from him, “Sounds like a really wise man.”

“He is.”

You share a smile and from a distance away, the rain has finally slowly down, no longer hitting the ground viciously but instead, calmly pooling down. The bright yellow umbrella is held over your head as you walk away from the shop, but it isn’t the only thing that keeps you next to each other’s side.

His fingers are looped within your own the entire way.

***

There are faint sounds in the background, orders being taken swiftly to decrease the growing line that heads outside of the building. A delectable frozen treat sits in front of you, paired off with drizzling chocolate and sprinkles that only has your mouth watering. When you take your spoon and have a mouthful, you can only smile at how it instantly melts and isn’t too sweet or overbearing, but just the right taste.

However, as you take small bites of your treat, the man sitting across from you seems to be having his own struggles.

“Do you need some help with that?”

“Huh?” Jungkook blinks, dressed in a black shirt that’s now splattered with specks of white as he leans over the table, attempting to saw the giant sundae he ordered in half with the back of a spoon.

You laugh, small giggles continuing erupting from you as you walk over with your own spoon, “Here.”

With one huff, both of you plunge your spoons in and there’s a burst of ice cream everywhere, now coating your similar coloured shirt in the process as well.

“Why is this so hard?” Jungkook asks, repeating stabbing the ice cream that refuses to be broken down with barely a splash of liquid reappearing. He slumps down into the booth, crossing his arms as he pouts.

You smile when he looks so similar to a child, but then you slide over the half-eaten ice cream you were just having seconds ago. “Take some of mine.”

His eyes immediately widen and you realize you’ve just implied for the two of you to share ice cream together, so you quickly retract, “I-If you don’t want to, it’s okay!”

He shakes his head, taking his spoon and scooping some out right away. You laugh when you see him eagerly eat it, knowing he’s been watching you eat your own ice cream for an hour as he tossed around with his.

Glancing around, you take in the bright decorations of the shop, multiple people enjoying their ice cream as you and Jungkook sit across from each other. There’s no fancy violin playing in the background, there’s no extravagance to the food or the waiters and most importantly, there seems to be no concrete wall settled in between you.

“This was a good place to pick.” You remark, smiling when you turn to a Jungkook staring at you with a load of ice cream in his mouth, “For a ‘do over’ date.”

He quickly swallows, humming, “I wanted to go somewhere that I picked and without all the interruptions.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, taking a scoop of ice cream yourself.

“Uhh so…” Jungkook bites down on his lip, “I was so nervous for our date that I asked my mentor at my hospital for help, so he dressed me up and picked the restaurant and later in the evening disguised himself and the rest of our staff with horrible looking wigs. He also gave me a script to work around with that I wrote down on my wrist.”

You pound a hand against your chest when a chain of coughs leaves you and Jungkook instantly hands you a napkin. Blinking abruptly, Jungkook doesn’t know if he’s ever seen you look so surprised, “You– wait what?!”

You shake your head, confusion still apparent on your features until you frown, “It makes sense.”

“Really?”

Coming more to terms, you nod, “You seemed off that day, almost like you weren’t yourself. I thought it was because I didn’t see you in so long, so it does make sense.”

Jungkook looks surprised, “I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“It was.” You hum, “You’re definitely a lot more than what you were showing off to be, but I’m just glad you’re willing to try now.”

“O-Oh…”

You glance up from the ice cream to see him completely taken off guard by your words and suddenly there’s a scatter of red on his cheeks which causes you to giggle.

“You still get shy too?” You tease, laughing when he tries to hide himself underneath the table, not wanting you to see him be so flustered.

Your laughter echoes when Jungkook attempts to steal the ice cream away from you, covering his face so you don’t look at him. The camera begins to pan out and outside the shop, unknown to the two individuals sitting comfortably with each other, there’s a young man caught up in hysteria and blowing his nose.

“H-He’s all grown up!” He cries out, “My Jungkookie is all grown up!”

“He was grown up since day one.” Another low voice mumbles, sighing when the man starts to create a mess of his tears.

“Maybe it’s time his mentor grew up too.”

You stifle a laugh against the bush when the man looks completely offended, placing a hand on his chest as if he’s just been betrayed.

“Tae Tae how could say such a thing?!”

The man with the framed glasses snorts, occupying himself with blowing a dandelion instead when you smirk at him.

“Tae Tae?” You playfully whisper and he groans.

“Don’t even ask.” He gets up, stretching his legs out as he reaches for your hand and pulls you up.

“What? Not going to even help me up?” The blonde man scoffs and you roll your eyes, reaching out so that he can hold onto your hand. “Now that’s all settled, anyone want to grab lunch?”

You hum, but notice that there’s a certain someone still glued to the floor, watching eagerly with his giant binoculars.

“Jimin, come on.” You tug him up with Yoongi’s help, “Let’s give them some privacy.”

“B-But…”

“If you come with us, drinks will be on me.” Taehyung says, catching you all with surprise when the younger man instantly lights up, racing forward.

“What are we waiting for then?!”

You chuckle, glancing at Taehyung, “Nice one.”

He smiles knowingly at you and before leaving, spares a gaze at the once young intern. Before you can follow after Jimin and Yoongi, who are bantering as Jimin clings onto the blonde doctor, a hand stops you.

Taehyung tilts his head, eyes serious, “Those two, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” He nods and you watch them with him, seeing you letting out giggles as Jungkook keeps trying to hide his face, “I think they’ll be alright, they’ve put the past behind them and are starting to walk towards a brighter future.”

You smile and Taehyung reaches out for your hand, the sun’s rays causing a similar sparkle on your both of your hands. Resting your head on his shoulder, you slowly walk behind the excited black-haired doctor and his content blonde-haired friend.

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imaginexmeintheuniverse · 4 years

Text

5 times you infuriated me and 1 time you made it okay

A/N: okay so the 5 times concept is something i enjoy writing very much, however i am aware that in this piece in particular, a lot of the ideas are underdeveloped and probably especially dont make sense with the ending when you look at the relationship, but please keep in mind that this ‘5 times’ theme i chose focuses on those kinds of incidents so there are a lot of other times in between (and i dont have the time or energy to turn this into a super long fic but perhaps one day.. ) so this is what happened!

Warnings: mentions of torture (like in the 7th when Bellatrix takes to Hermione)

Tags: @expellimarvelous and for some reason my hp taglist got lost so let me know if you’d like to be added!

↠↠↠↠↠↠

I. Bad Start to the Sixth Year

Your sixth year at Hogwarts seems to be off to a good start as you laugh and snack on sweets with two of your three your best friends on Hogwarts Express. Or at least it seemed like it was off to a good start until the train arrives at the station, and Harry is nowhere to be found.

Waving off Ron and Hermione with a promise to catch up, you insist on going to look for him by yourself. Your search leads you all the way to the other side of the strain where the blinds are conveniently drawn. You can hear a voice muffled through the closed door, and you become filled with dread when you identify who it belongs to.

Sliding the door open a crack, you see a familiar head of slicked-back platinum hair. You aren’t able to make out what he says, but you do see him bring down a foot to meet Harry’s nose.

“Malfoy, what the fuck?!” you burst out, causing the Slytherin boy to jump in surprise.

“Y-Y/N- I-I—”

“I don’t know what the bloody hell you think you’re getting away with, but you better get the fuck off this train before I curse you,” you snarl, shoving him aside to get to Harry. Seeing that he’s been petrified, you take your wand out of your jacket pocket and mutter, “finite,” to which your friend thankfully wakes up, blinking a few times. He doesn’t move much, as he tries to regain control of his muscles, and you insist he takes a moment to do so.

Throughout this, Draco has gone so quiet you think he might have actually left, but when you turn your head to meet his stormy eyes, you’re filled with rage, once again.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?! Get out!”

“But Y/N, I-I'm—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you say in a lower tone as you tend to your friend, not even sparing him another glance.

Why is it that just when you think there might be a redeemable quality buried deep in Draco Malfoy, he always does something that proves otherwise?

II. Welcome to the Slugclub

“Okay, okay! I was gate-crashing! Happy?” He admits, trying to shake off Filch’s grasp on his jacket.

His eyes that used to be sharp and bright, have recently become sullen. They lock with yours for a solid moment before he’s ushered out by Snape.

Your eyes linger on his figure as he’s led away from the party— probably longer than they should have, but you can’t help noticing how thin he’s become. You’ve barely seen him all year, despite having a few classes together. He was never that hefty to begin with, but it looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in ages. Other than his usual perfectly tailored wardrobe, he now wears dark circles under his eyes, and it’s impossible not to notice how the contours of his face have become that much sharper and his already pale skin has adopted a sickly pigmentation.

You and Harry follow the pair out, but for different reasons. You know that Harry wouldn’t be happy about yours because of his suspicions, but Draco looks like he’s crumbling under stress.

Eavesdropping only proves Harry’s doubts about Malfoy, and he then decides to rejoin the party as to not get caught by Snape, but you hang back, telling him you need to go to the loo.

You wait in the shadows until you hear Snape’s steps scurry away before approaching Malfoy who stays behind, sitting on a ledge. A half-smirk appears on his face upon noticing you like he’s been gathering an arsenal of insults to shoot at you, but really, under the snide mask, he marvels at how lovely you look tonight.

“Straying from your date with Potter?” he spits out Harry’s name like it’s revolting to have on his tongue. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think Potter’s lady is ditching him in favour of a more refined pureblood—”

“He’s one of my best friends!” You roll your eyes and flail your hands up in exasperation. “And how is the nature of our relationship any of your business?!”

He snorts, leaning his back on the walk behind him and crosses his arms over his chest nonchalantly.

“You know, I came out here to check and make sure you were okay!” You shout at him hands coming up to furiously push your hair back. “I can’t believe that for a second I thought that— no- but you—”

“You thought what?” His voice has become softer, hard exterior starting to peel away in your presence. He stands from his seat, mild concern washing over his features.

You shake your head, looking anywhere but at him. “N-Nothing—”

“Tell me,” his hands place themselves on your biceps, long fingers curling around your arms gently.

You fall victim to his intense gaze, getting lost in the grey seas of his irises. His features aren’t as hard as they usually are and the grasp he has on you is delicate; like he’s afraid to hurt you and you almost feel like you can let your guard down. Almost.

“Is it true?” you ask him, diverging from the subject and he raises an eyebrow in response. “Did you hex Katie Bell?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it without a word when he realizes he has nothing to answer to that and you’re the only person he can’t lie to. That’s enough of a confirmation for you. You let out a breath of disbelief and he starts to panic, because contrary to the backwards dynamic the two of you share, part of him does care what you think. “Y/N- p-please listen—”

All emotion leaves your voice as you tell him, “Just leave me alone, Malfoy.”

You shrug him off, and spin on your heel, breaking the eye contact. Walking down the hall, you leave him there to bask in the silence and his dark thoughts.

III. Hair Like You

You’re already teeming with rage as you scour the castle for Ron, who slipped you one of Fred and George’s prank snacks that ended up changing your hair color. Running into Draco Malfoy, of all people, really puts the cherry on top of the shit sundae.

To make things worse, it looks as though he’s going out of his way to get to you when he spots you from across the courtyard. At first he squints, not fully sure if it’s you with the new physical change, and then tails you down two hallways, not giving a single damn how creepy he may look.

“What do you want, Malfoy—”

“It seems like you’re more obsessed with me than I had originally thought,” he snickers, catching up with your quickened pace.

That’s when it hits you, and you instantly halt, causing him to smack into your back. Spinning around to face him, your eyes widen in horror as you take in the familiar platinum blonde hair— the same shade you saw in the mirror earlier.

“That’s just great!” You throw your hands up dramatically. “Now I look like you!”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself—”

“Oh, sod off, Malfoy!”

“You know, it really doesn’t look that bad. Maybe you’re starting to have better taste.”

Despite knowing full well that that was Malfoy speak for a compliment, you’re in no mood for it. “Oh, well I’m so glad that the Slytherin prince thinks me, a lowly commoner, 'doesn’t look that bad’ just fu—”

“No! No! No! Y/N! I didn’t mean—”

“—ck off! Because on top of looking like the most insufferable git in the entire school what I really wanted was to receive a backhanded compliment—” And just then, you spot the familiar redhead with bad influences for older brothers from across the hall who you’re even more pissed off at than Malfoy.

“I don’t have time for this,” is all you say as you bolt down the hall towards Ron, screaming, “YOU’RE DEAD, WEASLEY!”

IV. Held Hostage

Hermione’s screams are enough to make you feel like you’re being gutted, and when Bellatrix takes her knife to your arm, you’re absolutely terrified. At least this means your best friend has a break from her torture. In the meantime, you nearly bite through your cheek to hold in your own screams whilst the saddistic woman spells out the hateful term that’s been thrown at you your whole life, carving it into your flesh.

After what feels like hours, the death eater sits back up, admiring the her work with a sickening grin on her face, and you want nothing more than to smack it off. Or at least you would if you didn’t feel like you’ve been drained. What you do feel is defiled; like your own skin is no longer yours, and the blood that runs through your veins doesn’t belong to you.

And Draco Malfoy has been standing on the other end of the room this whole time whilst his barbaric aunt tries to get information out of you.

The rest of what happens is experienced through the blur of hopeless tears your eyes are clouded with, until Harry picks you up off the floor after Bellatrix had pushed you and Hermione to save herself from the falling chandelier. A certain fire surges through you as you regain full consciousness.

You see Harry and Draco fight over his wand, and instinct kicks in as you lunge forward, efficiently tackling the latter to the ground. Snatching the wand out of his hand, you throw it to Harry. The blonde boy’s struggles are weak under your weight, almost half-assed as you feel the tension start to leave his muscles.

“Why?!” you shout in his face, grabbing him by the collar to keep him down. Tears well your eyes, but your gaze pierces through him nonetheless. The feelings of helplessness and emptiness are long gone as angry tracks burn down your cheeks. “Why—”

“Y/N!” Harry scoops you off him in one swift motion, pulling you to where your allies have regrouped. “This isn’t the time- w-we have to get out of here!”

You don’t say another word, and your infuriated eyes target the conflict and fear that resides in Draco’s. He’s left with the image of your anguish and fury engrained in his mind long after you disapparate.

V. Crossing Over

The Dark Lord himself beckoned him, and for a second you thought he might resist, but then his mother called him, extending her hand for him to come to her, and you saw him break.

“No!” You cry out as he starts to take hesitant steps towards the death eaters. “Draco, don’t do this!” His already shaky demeanor falters for a moment at the sound of his first name falling from your lips. “You have a choice.”

Steeling his nerves, he doesn’t allow himself to look back, because he would surely crumble under the weight of your gaze and the pain etched into your features. He continues forward, into the arms of a proud tyrant, and you swear your heart drops out of your chest.

Then, the whole scene with Neville’s heroic spirit ensues and you feel the fire within you flare up again when Harry tumbles out of Hagrid’s arms. Death Eaters that have been backing Voldemort start to disappear, leaving an unevenly distributed cloud of darkness.

Everyone else starts to retreat to the castle to regroup and fight as one, but you chase after the fleeing Malfoy family. It’s as though you have no control as your legs move under you on autopilot and as fast as they can go.

You’ve almost caught up to the trio on the bridge and can no longer help yourself.

“Coward!” You yell, trying your best not to let your voice crack, with no avail. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from spilling freely. Draco meets your eyes with his own that portray a boy who is terrified out of his mind, but you’re relentless. The truth isn’t always easy. “You’re a bloody coward, Malfoy!”

Avoiding your fiery gaze, he turns into his mother’s comfort. Not once do his eyes meet yours again before he disappears in a whisp of black smoke.

What you feel is rage, but with that rage comes with an added indescribable pain and disappointment.

+ Midsummer Night’s Dream

The next time you see the infamous Draco Malfoy is just over a year since he disapparated in a whisp of black smoke. Little do you know, immediately after apparating, the boy fell to his knees in the arms of his mother. He broke that day, and hasn’t been able to put himself back together since, contrary to the proud Malfoy mask he wears out in public. He hides behind crisp suits and perfectly-coiffed platinum locks. It’s enough to have anyone who reads the Daily Prophet fooled about how the heir carries onto a successful path despite everything that has happened.

But not you. He never could fool you of anything, really. So when you and your friends spot him taking a seat alone at the Three Broomsticks you know something’s up, because a refined Malfoy doesn’t just hang out amongst mere commoners like that.

“What is he doing here?” Ron spits out, red fury already starting at the tips of his ears and seething from his narrowed eyes.

As if on cue, Draco’s eyes lift from his glass to meet yours.

Hermione sends you a sympathetic smile before mumbling calming words to her boyfriend. The Malfoys and Weasleys always did get each other riled up.

Harry, who sits beside you, gives you a gentle nudge with his shoulder to get your attention and you can immediately read his expression. He can read yours just as easily and can see that you’re starting to get anxious. “Y/N…”

“Harry, it’s okay,” you simper, standing slowly from your seat. “I’ve got this.”

He casts a glance towards the blond across the room before his eyes come back meet yours, sending you a look as though to ask if you’re sure. You give him a nod and he sends you off with a comforting squeeze of your hand.

As you make your way to the table for one, you’re so focused on slowing your heart rate that you’ve arrived at your destination before you know it, seeing the shiny black dress shoes in contrast to the uneven wood panels of the pub’s floor. When you lift your gaze, it’s then that you realize he’s been staring at you the whole time.

“Malfoy.”

“Y/N.”

The sound of your first name rolling off his tongue lights something inside you— and it’s not pretty.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice is steady, but with a strong undertone of something darker. Like the calm before a storm.

“Can’t a man enjoy a butterbeer on his own?” Despite him being absolutely terrified of you, he somehow manages to exude a certain lightness. You look at his untouched pint and raise an eyebrow and he knows you aren’t in the mood for small talk.

“Cut the shit, Malfoy.”

Recognizing the beginnings of anger in your tone, he stands as smoothly as he can manage and gestures towards the door. The last thing he wants is for you to snap because he knows very well what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your fury.

He follows closely behind as you lead him out into the dim lighting of Hogsmead. The summer air doesn’t feel as heavy as it has for the last week, and the sky proudly shows off the twinkling stars. It would be a perfect night if not for your circumstances.

You stop in your tracks and spin to face him so briskly, your forehead almost hits his chin. “You have one minute to talk before I hex you where you stand.”

“You always did excel in hexes and jinxes—”

“Fifty-five seconds, Malfoy.”

“Uh- erm- o-okay—”

You have about zero patience left. The anger thats been quietly bubbling for the last year has been on the brim of overflowing the second he walked in tonight, but so has all the pain and sadness you’ve kept locked up all this time. “You’re wasting my time.” You prepare to stalk off, but a firm hand pulls you back by your elbow, and for the the first time since the war, your face with Draco Malfoy. It’s the first time tonight that you can really see him. He looks worse than ever.

The silver pools that once resided in his irises look like shells of what they once were. And he sure felt that way, until he saw you. That’s when he realizes how empty he always is until he’s around you. My, how he took that for granted all these years.

Trying your very best, you fight against the urge to give into the part of you who still cares for him and wants to know the last time he had a good night’s sleep. You also try to fight against the water accumulation behind your eyelids, but it only makes it worse.

“What?! What do you want, Draco?!”

The use of his first name is the only sign he needs to be brave for once. Without further hesitation, he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. Once over the initial shock, you give in for only a half second before you come to your senses and push him back, both hands planted firmly on his chest.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?!”

“I-I- Y/N, I-I’m so—” Right then, is one of the few times you see what he’s really feeling on the inside be expressed on the outside. “I-I just-I thought—”

“You- you thought what?! We’d ride off into the sunset on the back of a unicorn and live happily ever after?!” You don’t care how frantic you look right now. You don’t care that the midsummer night wind is whipping your hair into complete and utter chaos. And you definitely don’t give a single fuck about how the drunk people stumbling by you giggle uncontrollably. You pause for a moment as you wait for them to be out of earshot, and once they are, you let out a frustrated breath and resume. “Did you honestly believe that you could kiss me, and then everything— all of the absolute shite of a mess would just go away?!”

His gaze drops to the ground that his shiny dress shoes stand on, with a few platinum strands that fall from their place. Those are the only visible signs of something amiss with the well-dressed man. But you see something else cloud his features: shame. The last time you saw that, which was also the last time you saw him, he left. He always left you while you were angry, enraged, and never stuck around to face the truth.

Draco Malfoy decides that this time is going to be different.

He has felt as empty as his eyes appeared for months, but when his gaze rolls back up to meet yours, you see the grey storms you saw when you first met him. Sure, they were masked by an outer shell that was brimming with entitlement, but they have now what they had then. Purpose.

“Y/N,” His hands twitch as he fights the urge to reach out for yours, deciding against it in favour of using two words you’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m sorry.” You soften, releasing the tension you didn’t realize you carried in your shoulders. The angry tears that stung the backs of your eyes melt to something peaceful as they escape their ducts. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I know I don’t deserve another chance, or any of the chances you’ve given me, but if you’ll give me one more I promise I’ll be better. Everything you’ve ever said about me is true; I am a coward, but I’m not leaving this time.”

“And what if I want you to leave?” You ask, testing the waters, more than anything else.

“If you tell me to leave— if that is what you truly want, then I will. Tell me to leave, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Okay, then leave.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Y-Yes—” You stammer out a complete lie. Every cell on your body knows it’s a lie, and apparently so does he.

“I don’t believe you.”

More than anything, you want to fling yourself into his arms but you feel like your feet have been colashoo-ed to the ground. A corner of his mouth quirks up into a soft lopsided smile as his hands raise to thread fingers through the top of your hairline, smoothing wild strands away from your face. His touch is so careful and delicate than you could have ever imagined. He leans down slowly and stops just as his lips have brushed over yours, asking for permission, “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Syllables get caught in your throat, and channel themselves through you body as you move to slate your mouth over his. The sensation is so delicately mind-blowing, and it leaves you absolutely breathless when you pull away to lean your forehead against his.

All you can manage to breathe out is, “stay”.

The way your breath fans over his lips is intoxicating, and he’s certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful, no work of art finer, than the way you’re looking at him.

“I’m not leaving this time. Never again.”

His grasp tightens as he pulls you back to his lips and your fingers curl around the light fabric of his shirt. Every emotion and feeling accumulated over lost time is poured into this kiss.

This time, what you feel for him is something stronger and far different than anger.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #5 times fic #hp #hp imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp fic #hp fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #potatowrites

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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years

Text

To Serve and Protect - Chapter 6

a/n: this chapter took way longer than anticipated, but y’all have been so incredibly patient with me and my new lovely daughter, so I’m very proud to finally bring you this chapter, which -- as a surprise to us all, myself included -- is actually not the last.

SUMMARY: Detective Killian Jones has been investigating a stalker-turned-murderer for months by the time he goes home from the bar with Emma Swan. But when he thinks he sees the very man in question outside her apartment, can he separate his feelings for her and his need to keep her safe?

TRIGGERS: well, this is a fic about a serial killer. mentions of violence and death, with some physical violence/whump. as always, if you need me to discuss this further for you to be comfortable, message me. – rated teen

Prologue // Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4 // Ch. 5 // Ch. 6 on AO3

-- -- -- --

Henry is unsurprisingly quiet during their ride to the hospital. She tries to ask him about what happened, tries to get some sort of answer out of him, but he seems as nervous as she is, staying completely silent.

When they pull up to the hospital, she only has more questions, because the parking lot is filled.

With police cars.

More police cars than she thought Storybrooke had, honestly.

Because they’re not all from Storybrooke, she realizes. Some of them are only marked “Maine State Trooper,” some of them from other towns Emma recognizes from around Storybrooke. And then, she sees one from Boston.

What the hell happened here?

She walks past them all, past the officers that line the hallways, both uniformed and not. Past Graham outside Killian’s hospital room. And right up to Killian, wide awake in his hospital bed. She’s glad he’s okay, glad he’s awake, but she also really wants to hit his arm, wants to find an outlet for her anger even though she knows it should be anyone but him.

“What the hell, Killian?” she says, trying not to yell and not quite succeeding. “What the hell happened?” She closes the door behind her, stopping Graham from following her into the room. She can’t deal with Graham right now, can’t deal with anything until she can wrap her head around what happened.

If that’s even possible.

Killian sighs, desperation in his eyes begging for her to come closer. “He showed up at the hospital, we think for Felix’s body, but he got here much too quickly if he came all the way from Boston, so now we’re thinking he must have been closer anyway and may have been a part of this whole thing from the start. Apparently he didn’t expect me to have protection, though, because I think his goal was to kidnap me, though it’s also illegal to bring a firearm into a hospital, no matter who your father is.”

None of what she just learned surprises her, but it also doesn’t change the question on the tip of her tongue: “Where is he? I want to see him.”

Killian holds his hand out towards her. “Please, love, just… can it wait until tomorrow? Give everyone the night to figure out what the hell we’re going to do.”

There’s something he’s not telling her. For a moment, her anger rages. All she wants to do is question him, ask him to explain what the fuck has been happening, but between Killian’s outstretched hand and the pleading in his exhausted blue eyes, she gives in and fills the rest of the space between herself and the hospital bed, her shoulders rising and falling with a slow breath. And then another. And then she meets his eyes, the same sparkling blue she remembers so vividly from the night they met. The same eyes that she has been drawn to since the first time she met them, and the same eyes that have, somehow, been honest with her the whole time.

And this moment is no exception.

“Do you think we could both fit on this stupid hospital bed?” he mumbles, pulling Emma down for a kiss.

Finally — finally — she smiles. “I think we can at least try.”

It takes a little finagling, but they figure it out well enough. They may not be comfortable, but they’re together.

Safe.

-- -- -- --

Killian had hoped that having the night to sleep would change her mind, but it doesn’t. Though they both wake up refreshed in the small space of the hospital bed, he can tell there’s a myriad of questions sitting on the tip of her tongue just waiting to come out. She sits silently outside while he gets his bandages changed, not forcing any of her questions on Graham, says nothing as the three of them make their way down to get breakfast, but their table is as far as she makes it.

“I want to talk to him.”

There’s no need for explanation. They both know exactly what she wants, but neither of them want to tell her that they’re not comfortable with it.

“Emma,” he says softly, looking around the cafeteria before reaching across the table to cover one of her hands with his. “I don’t—”

“Oh, come on,” she says, her voice filled with anger, not even letting Killian finish. “If nothing else, I deserve this. Felix killed people, tried to kill me, almost killed you. Felix never acted on his own, so this all has some connection to Neal and all I want to do is ask him why.” Finally, she notices that he’s shaking his head, and she turns to Graham, who can’t even bring himself to look at her. “Don’t deny me this. Please.”

“Listen, Emma, you don’t understand—” Killian tries, but Emma cuts him off again.

“Believe it or not, Killian,” Emma says, not even trying to hide the anger in her voice. “It’s not up to you.” She stands up angrily, almost toppling her chair to the floor. “I don’t need your permission to do anything, so whether you’re joining me or not, I’m going to talk to Neal.”

In her storming away, she misses the glance Killian and Graham share, the screaming in Graham’s eyes, but his hand as it stops the elevator door from closing stops her rage in its tracks.

“Emma, listen,” Graham says, stepping in the elevator beside her.

But listen she doesn’t, rolling her eyes as Graham holds the doors open for Killian, moving much slower than usual with his IV attached.

“I’m not taking no for an answer. I hope you know that. I hope you both know that.”

“It’s more difficult than that. We have to—” Emma doesn’t miss the nervous way he gulps, the way his eyes never leave Killian once he comes into view, even once he steps into the elevator with them. “When we get back to Jones’ room, we have to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Killian reaches down to take her hand, which catches her off guard.

But not nearly as much as when he speaks.

“He’s dead, Emma.”

She freezes. Every muscle in her body — her heart — even the rushing of her blood through her body. Everything stops. Between Killian’s confession and the stopping of the elevator, she almost collapses.

“You had to tell her here?” Graham asks, which only makes the world spin around her a little faster, and Killian must sense her unease, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her out of the elevator.

“She wasn’t going to stop arguing with us.”

This… just makes her angry. This time, she does punch him in the arm. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve been keeping this from me? Both of you?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you, love,” Killian tries, his voice soft as he reaches for her hand again.

She doesn’t take it, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s not an excuse. You could have told me. You could have told me on the phone when you called, you could have told me when I got here, or at any point this morning, and you decided not to.”

Neither of them have anything to say, apparently, silently walking down the hospital hallway on either side of her.

Rightfully, she’s angry. That’s an understatement, really; she’s far more than angry, a whole slew of emotions that she’s so overwhelmed by that she can’t possibly articulate them all. Even she doesn’t notice the tears streaming down her cheeks until she sniffles, which catches the attention of the men flanking her who, until now, were trying to avoid turning their attention to her.

“Swan,” Killian whispers, trying to wrap his arm around her waist, but she shakes her head.

“I can’t—” she starts, pushing his advances away, and she speeds up her walk to move ahead of them. “I just need some space.”

It’s the last thing she wants, really, to be alone, but she knows that she needs space from the two of them. There’s a possibility that she’s never been more angry in her life, even with the man who sent her to jail for his own crimes — a man who is now laying on a slab in the morgue in the basement of the hospital.

A man whose death should not have been hidden from her. A man whose death she definitely should have been told about instead of lied to, treated like a child, too fragile to know the truth. She needs to talk to someone, someone she trusts, someone she can vent to knowing that she won’t be judged for being angry at Killian and Graham, because she knows they were doing what they thought was best for her, whatever kind of masculine, overprotective bullshit that is. She needs—

She raises her eyes from the ground, taking her anger out on the door at the bottom of the stairs and out into the lobby, and finds the answer standing by the exit, arms crossed over his chest as he stares out the front window.

“David?”

He turns around, eyes wide as if seeing Emma is the last thing he expected. But then he smiles, and she feels a little better already, some of the weight somehow lifted off her chest. “Hey, Em.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks, though the answer is pretty obvious.

“I decided to come down and check on you, see how everything is going.”

“And you’ve just been… standing by the window, hoping that I come downstairs?” She manages a half-smile, even with the anger that’s still surging through her veins.

David, of course, laughs at this, leaning back against the large window. “No, no, I called Graham when I got here and he said you were on your way down anyway.”

This makes her smile grow a slight but barely noticeable amount. “That… makes much more sense.”

“So, tell me, what’s going on? What happened last night?” He wraps his arm around her shoulder, but all Emma can do is shake her head.

She just needs to get out of the hospital for a bit, away from the sickening antiseptic scent and the headache-inducing phosphorescence and the thought of what happened here the night before. “Can we get out of here? Even just outside?”

David pushes no further, agreeing immediately with a vigorous nod. “Of course. I hate hospitals. Let’s go grab a coffee down the block.”

At this, Emma finally feels relieved enough — relaxed enough — to actually smile at her brother, especially once they are through the doors and out into the fresh morning air.

At first, she says nothing, not even sure where to start, or how to say the words she knows she has to say. But David doesn’t push her, just walks slowly beside her with his hands in his pockets and his eyes turned down save a patient glance at her every few steps.

Until, finally, the silence and the words racing through her mind get the best of her, and she has to let them out before she explodes.

“Neal showed up at the hospital last night,” she says, refusing to raise her eyes from the pavement. “Graham said he was probably here for Felix’s body as his next of kin, but he showed up much too fast to have been in Boston, so they think he was here already. But instead of going to the morgue, he tried to attack Killian, which didn’t go over too well considering he’s a police officer and was guarded by the entire Storybrooke force, plus a few troopers that Graham called in for back up.”

The words stop as David holds open the door to the small cafe, unsure whether she should continue now that she could be overheard by another patron. But the only other patrons are two state troopers sitting in one corner, their hushed words shared as whispers as they both lean across the table between them; and Lily, the barista, who takes out her headphones when she notices the door has opened again. Emma pauses the story as they order their drinks, waiting until they are seated together at the opposite end of the room as the troopers to continue — and to say the words that she finds lodged in her throat when she is ready to start again.

“They shot him. Killed him. Graham said he came armed, which was really a stupid decision on his part, to bring a gun into a hospital filled with cops, and normally I would be surprised that he made a mistake that stupid, though I can only imagine how off the rails he went when he learned Felix was dead. And that’s assuming he’s anywhere near as level-headed today as he was when I knew him, which I seriously doubt.”

“Oh, Em,” David says softly, reaching across the table to rest the tips of his fingers on her arm.

Surprising even herself, she manages a small laugh under her breath as she shakes her head. “But that’s — that’s not even the worst of it.” Until the words start pouring out of her mouth, she wasn’t even convinced that she was going to share this part with David, but once they start, she is both unable and unwilling to stop them, hoping that letting everything out at the same time will aid in her feeling better. “They lied to me about it, hid the truth from me until this morning. Both of them, Graham and Killian. Graham told me he was there, but it wasn’t until just a few minutes ago, really, that they decided to finally tell me the truth, the whole story, the fact that he’s dead. Killian didn’t even sound convinced that he wanted me to know in the first place, just kept refusing when I asked to talk to him.”

She hangs her head in defeat, in anger, trying to keep everything from rushing back over her all at once. Takes a sip of her hot chocolate. Waits for David to find some sort of response, to analyze and rationalize all the information she just laid on him the way he always seems able to do — she can tell by the low knit of his eyebrows, by the slow scratching of his left hand through his three-day scruff while his right index finger taps against his coffee cup.

“I know that anything I say will just be something you’ve already told yourself through your anger over all of this: that they were just trying to protect you, to keep you calm and free from worry—”

She almost feels bad, cutting him off, because he has always been the most level-headed and the calmest of them all, and this situation has already proven no different. “I would have been far less worried if they told me he was dead instead of leading me to believe he was locked in the single Storybrooke jail cell, which he certainly would have viewed as a joke after the cells and prisons he’s found his way out of his whole life.”

At first, David just nods. He knew this, too, of course. “Well, I don’t have to tell you that Killian cares about you. Graham, too, though in more of a sisterly way. And they don’t know Neal and his history the way you do, so they probably thought that it would be easier for you to learn that he was dead after you got some rest, especially after the stress of last night.”

She sighs, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. Because he’s right. Of course he’s right, it really isn’t that much of a surprise. “So, what am I supposed to do?” she whispers, her eyes turned down to her mug. “I just stormed out on them, and now I’m just supposed to go back like that never happened?”

In place of an answer, David wets his bottom lip, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Emma already knows the answer.

Now she just has to go do it.

tagging: @shireness-says @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @darkcolinodonorgasm @profdanglaisstuff @stahlop @teamhook @snowbellewells @carpedzem @pepperspotts @imlaxdris71 @gingerchangeling @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @scientificapricot @resident-of-storybrooke @ultraluckycatnd @itsfabianadocarmo @galadriel26 @jennjenn615 @therealstartraveller776 @nightskylover @xarandomdreamx @kristi555 @nikkiemms @vvbooklady1256 @withheartfulloflove – if you want to be added or removed, please let me know

#my writing #wordsbymeganmichael #cs fics #the detective fic #to serve and protect #sooo much dialogue #and some feelings #and HOPEFULLY the real penultimate chapter #but I guess we'll see.

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

Text

Blue and Yellow - Part 1 - Axel Cluney

Title: Blue and Yellow

Characters: Axel Cluney x female OC

Warning: 18+ sex/mature themes/medical themes/mentions of blood+injuries/hospitals/violence/drug and alcohol use

Description: A new nurse finds herself entangled in the complicated life of an underground boxer with a slew of problems she cannot fix.

Note: I've wanted to write Axel as a boxer for a while now and finally came up with a storyline I could put him into. I hope you enjoy it and please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging! Patreon subscribers got to read this last week as part of the early access benefit.

A nurse stood outside room 2817, reading over the tattooed man’s chart. He had come in—unconscious—and woke up in a bloody daze. She remembered seeing his swollen head and thinking there wasn’t a chance he hadn’t sustained a brain injury, but the man was alert and became responsive not long after. That was several hours ago when she began her third shift ever at Featherfall General.

The man with the black and blue face was awake and sitting up in his hospital bed. At the request of others, they pulled over the curtains to shield eyes from prodding at the swollen knot of an eyeball enclosed beneath a grotesque protrusion. His bottom lip had swelled to twice the size, and he couldn’t move any facial muscles without pain shooting up his nostrils. His nose stopped bleeding an hour ago and hadn’t sustained any injury beyond an unsightly bruise.

When she shifted the curtain aside, one squinting eye looked her over while the other remained concealed in a mountain of raw skin and broken blood vessels. She hadn’t seen anyone come in with a face like that yet. It made her stomach flip.

He couldn’t smile, but he wanted to. The nurse stood at the foot of his bed, her large brown eyes landing on every object in the room before taking a skittish scan of his face. The navy blue bubble of his closed eye ballooned to his temple and bled down to his cheekbone like an oil spill. It made the contusions on his shoulders and arms look like faded pinches. The bridge of his nose raised an inch off his face, puffy and tender.

“You turning me loose, Saberrah?” He rasped, angling a look at the badge on a clip hanging out of her scrubs pocket.

“We will keep you a few more hours, on account of your concussion. The doctor will come to go over your CT scan. Would you like another ice pack?”

“Yes, ma’am, ‘ppreciate it.”

“All right, Mr. Cluney. You hang tight and try not to move around. Lie back and rest.”

“Can’t lie down,” he muttered. “Can’t sit up either.”

“That’d be your cracked rib,” she informed him. “Looks like you took a bad beating.”

He squirmed, wincing from the pain shooting through his lung. “Is it a good time to say ‘you should’ve seen the other guy’?”

She took his humour with a small smile. “I don’t want to know what kind of trouble you found for yourself. I just hope it doesn’t happen again. A concussion is a serious thing, Mr. Cluney.”

“Axel, please. You make me feel old,” he said.

“Says here you’re twenty-nine. Not old yet. But dirty thirty is coming up. You might not heal up as quick as you used to when you were a younger trouble-maker.”

Axel grimaced through a weak chuckle. “Dirty thirty. I like that.”

“Hopefully, you live to see them.”

“And what makes you say I’m the trouble-maker? Maybe I was minding my own business.”

She acknowledged him with a nod and a muted smirk. “I’m sure you were, Mr. Cluney.”

“Axel,” he corrected her again.

The voice slipping out of swollen lips was warm, but to look at his face still made her heart twinge. By anyone’s assumption, the man with the beaten face, a broken rib and tattoos was a sucker in a deal gone wrong. Featherfall was no cottage town with walking bridges and newly paved streets. Despite the pleasant melody of its name, it was no more a city than it was a village, but something in-between. It was big enough to get lost in, yet everyone seemed to know each other. It had its fair share of drug problems, and Axel Cluney was the fourth guy she saw that raised more than an eyebrow or two.

Her trained eyes fell to his arms, seeking any inflamed injection sights along his arms or puffy purple fingers. She found nothing out of the ordinary but scraped knuckles and tattoos to make a mother mourn.

“Hello, Sabi,” a voice greeted her from behind.

She turned to a man in standard indigo scrubs. It was the doctor charged with the late evening rounds, a man named Rufus Farber. Sabi relinquished the clipboard to the young doctor and stepped back.

“We meet again, Axel,” Dr. Farber spoke through a tight smile. The shadow in his eyes told of little sleep and too many occupied beds for a Wednesday morning. Though he was fresh out of med school, he had the tired look about him of a man twice his age.

“Good to see you. Well... What I can of you,” the patient’s words flubbed out of fat lips.

Sabi left to find a cold pack and came back to them laughing like old pals. Dr. Farber was wrapping up and taking inch steps away while scribbling on a prescription pad.

“Your rib should heal up fine if you can keep still for a while. I suggest telling Eugene to take you off the night shift for a couple of weeks,” the doctor said with a wink.

“I reckon I’ll take some of that advice,” Axel replied. “I could use a little vacation.”

The injured man swung a slow gaze at Sabi, then saw the cold pack in her hand. She handed it to him, and he nodded a silent thanks.

The doctor signed the bottom of the note with a flourish of his pen. “Get yourself some painkillers, my man. Check-in at the pharmacy across the street.”

“Thanks, Doc. And thank you, Sabi.”

Sabi flinched at the sound of the patient using her nickname, but not so much that he noticed her reaction. “You take care of yourself, Mr. Cluney. We’ll come to get you in a couple more hours. Do you have somebody who can give you a ride home?”

“Sure do,” Axel replied.

“All right. You take care now.”

~*~

Featherfall General wasn’t the most state-of-the-art facility Sabi had ever worked. The rooms—often packed with patients — overflowed into the corridors. There were entire wings lined with beds, and everyone ran around like headless chickens in a crowded coop. It cut her work out for her, and a dull moment never sat right. There was always somebody screaming, children crying, women giving birth, blood to be mopped, and disruptions in the waiting rooms.

Outside of the hospital—on the sidewalk and no closer—was where Sabi found a minute of rest. She could smoke a cigarette and forget that a patient had vomited blood on her. Sabi wasn’t alone on the sidewalk—far from it. Patients permitted leaving their rooms lined the walkway, smoking as many cigarettes they could fit into a ten-minute window. Some still hooked to their IV stands. One man with cracked red skin and starch white hospital sheets plastered to his arms and legs took puffs from a rancid gold-band cigarette that his companion held up to his chattering lips.

Sabi looked across the street at the pharmacy and the adjoining pediatrician’s offices. The building was a squat, rectangular structure next to a multi-level parking lot, of which she always heard the family members of patients complaining. The most frequent complaint was the seven-dollar parking fee. People who had dying relatives shouldn’t be expected to pay such a steep price to avoid getting a ticket.

New as she was, Sabi didn’t want to get on wrong sides by taking long breaks, and she chose the perfect moment to return as an ambulance flew into the emergency bay. Strapped to a stretcher, they hauled a tiny woman out of the back and rushed her into the hospital, followed by a tall man in blue jeans and a black tank top. Sabi only saw his side profile before he was halfway down the hall, following the EMTs and the female doctor who had intercepted them.

“It’s another overdose.”

“Fourth one tonight.”

“Third time for her. Can you hear me, Mrs. Cluney?”

They disappeared around a corner and left Sabi blinking in the corridor while others tried to catch glimpses. Most of the folks waiting in the lobby had nothing better to do than gawk at the people with real problems; broken legs, failing hearts, deep gashes, bright yellow skin, and when somebody came in with a worse ailment than them, a chorus of scoffs warbled in the room. They drowned out the only television tuned to the local news and grimaced at each other.

“‘Scuse me? When can we see a doctor? My kid’s sick!”

The triage nurse glared through the glass window.

“I’ve been here for three hours!”

“Do we have to hack our limbs off to get some attention in this place?”

Sabi ducked out of the waiting room and went to where she was needed most, but she couldn’t be in half a dozen places at once. She tried her best.

It was a long, hectic night, and the sickness she saw didn’t end until the early morning. She dragged her feet and tired eyes into the hospital cafeteria and made for the coffee machine for a cup that might get her home. If she had to get into her car and drive, she would need the caffeine to keep her eyelids drawn; otherwise, she’d be another person getting rushed through the doors and into intensive care.

An old couple sat in a corner, and the same tall man that came in at the end of her first cigarette break occupied a table in the centre. She squinted at him and realized that she knew his face from somewhere. He turned, and a faded crescent moon of bruising arced from his brow to his cheekbone. It was the man with the black and blue face, more yellow and green now that the swelling disappeared. Two large hands dwarfed a paper cup of coffee as he stared off into outer space.

Before he snapped out of his deep thoughts, Sabi made her way to the table and gave her best comforting smile. Without the swollen balloon of a head, she could make out his facial features. He had sharp cheekbones and two eyes that reminded her of the foggy marshes on her grandparents’ land. He looked up at her and his placid face glimmered with a hint of welcome.

“Oh, hi,” he said, lifting the paper cup to his lips.

“Hello again, Axel. How’s the head? And the rib?” She asked.

He knocked on his temple, tossing out an amused laugh. “All’s well.”

“I saw you come in earlier. I hope everything is okay.”

Axel sighed, a hopeless air leaving his broad shoulders deflated. It was odd to see him dressed in civilian clothes with nothing but a faded bruise on his face. His knuckles still bore scrapes, and dark bags of exhaustion hung beneath his marshy eyes, but he looked healthy. Sabi’s eyes coasted up and down his tattooed arms, habitually looking for signs of drug use and found nothing but vulgar symbols.

“It’s my ma. She’s in a coma, I guess.”

“Oh, jeez. That’s terrible. I’m sorry. I hope she comes out of it soon.”

He shrugged and sipped his coffee again. “Might be the best thing for her. She did it to herself.”

“Oh?”

“I guess that’s what happens when you mix Percs and alcohol for three days straight.”

Sabi gave an understanding nod. It no longer surprised her to learn the extent of drug abuse inside the walls of Featherfall General. Axel looked off into the unknown again, absently drinking his coffee until the cup was empty.

“Are you doing okay?” Sabi asked, unsure if the stranger would take offence to her questions.

“I’ll be all right. My hopes are that she’s okay.”

“I hope so, too.”

Axel raised his empty cup, slid his chair out, and stood up. Sabi’s eyes followed his, and soon she was looking up. He seemed much taller than when he had been a crumpled thing lying in a hospital bed.

“Well, I should head out. I’m done for the night. Or morning, I guess. Sorry to hear about your mom, and I hope I won’t be seeing you in here again soon.”

“I know, I’m a sight for sore eyes.” Axel pointed at the cloudy bruising around his eye.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Sabi, shaking her head with a smile. “I mean... I hope you don’t find another reason to come back here.”

“If I don’t, how will I ever see you again, Saberrah?”

#axel cluney #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard imagine #axel cluney fanfiction

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fablesrose · 4 years

Text

Of Kings and Shadows VI

Chapter VI

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: On Wattpad –> Here

Series Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'Man, this thing is so itchy'

I wiggled a finger into the brace around my neck, trying to reach the itch in vain.

Every time my mind was drawn to the brace, or my neck, in general, I thought about Loki. Thor talked to me within the week, apologizing, and explaining what had happened.

"It's no excuse, of course..." He said

"But I guess this means that he doesn't have it out for me?" I tried to stay lighthearted, but couldn't help shifting the brace. I winced when I pulled a little hard, straining the weak flesh beneath.

Thor chuckled weakly, "something like that"

"Well I'll make sure not to participate in infiltration missions anytime soon, and if I do, change quickly"

"You shouldn't be on any missions anytime soon. You need to rest and get back to strength, Y/n"

"I appreciate it, and I will, your Highness"

"Good, but please, just Thor"

I simply smiled.

Flash forward a couple of weeks, in the infirmary for a check-up. They needed to see how my neck was healing and to get an idea when I can live without the brace. They keep saying I was lucky. No neurological damage, a moment longer, or harder and he might have broken my voice box, causing voice changes, and the miracle of not having any of the worse side effects. No bloody vomit, no personality changes, I didn't lose consciousness, it doesn't look like I'm going to have seizures. Only a minor concussion, no long-lasting effects.

They keep saying that, I'm lucky, but if I had just taken the jacket off. Left the helmet in the locker room. It wouldn't have happened in the first place. Just because I was stubborn. Some times it still seems strange to be able to take in a deep breath. Time and time again, I have to shake my head, dispel the uncomfortable feelings, flinch at the twinge at my throat.

I didn't feel so lucky.

"Y/n?"

I looked up to where a friendly woman was calling for me to come into the room. I never enjoyed doctor appointments, I mean who does? I feel like I'm complaining, and I always feel uncomfortable telling these things to a stranger. It's almost worse with someone you know... You see them again and they can judge you.

"Y/n, you need to relax. We can't asses the state of your [big word that I didn't catch... something in my neck] if you are straining your neck."

She had taken the brace off, and to be honest, I felt like a newborn. My head was too big for my body, and it was going to tip over, taking me with it. The only thing keeping my head up was the immense amount of effort I was putting into keeping it there.

"I know it seems weak, but it's stronger than you think. You need to relax"

I opened my mouth and stretched my jaw, trying to get the muscles to relax. Not just for her either, they were starting to painfully cramp. "I'm sorry, I'm trying. It's not working"

After about five minutes of me trying and failing to relax, she gave up.

"Okay, we're gonna have to try a different approach. I should be able to look at it without your cooperation"

I blanched, "wait... What"

Another woman came in with some equipment and a form.

"Sign this please"

I looked over it quickly, signing it with the pen she gave me. "What is this"

"Don't worry, it isn't dangerous. The form just says you are allowing us to do this and won't sue if things go awry. Which it won't" she continued to get it in the right position next to me. It looked like an IV bag, but there was obviously something else in it.

"That isn't comforting"

The doctor took a needle and the tourniquet to my arm. Then attached the bag. Only after did she turn to me and say, "well, this will be."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clint walked down the hall, towards the infirmary. Y/n was supposed to have her follow up around this time and thought he would check-in and see what the doc said when she got out since he had a break. He walked into the waiting room to see Y/n looking puzzled at the ground. She waved a hand in front of her as if she was trying to grab something she couldn't quite see.

"Y/n!"

She looked up and smiled before doing a more forceful slap in the air. "Hi Clint"

"Are you okay? Have you gone in already?"

"Yes and yes, I have just seemed to have lost my desk"

Clint looked around just to make sure that he was in the infirmary, questioning himself first before the girl in front of him.

"Um, Y/n, you aren't at your desk "

She glared at him, which caused him to step back, "Well obviously Clint!" She gestured at the space in front of her, "Because I lost it!"

He sighed and walked up to what one could call a receptionist, "Hey, can I take her?" Clint threw a thumb back at the confused girl sitting behind him.

The guy at the desk looked around Clint to Y/n. "Hey, miss L/n?"

She peaked her head up at the sound of her name, "Yes, sir?"

He smiled with a patience that can only be blessed with one who has dealt with way more whacked up patients, "Do you know this guy?"

"Yeah, that's Clint. Barton. Agent Barton"

"Is it okay if you go with him?"

"Yeah, as long as he helps me find my desk"

The receptionist straightened himself in his seat and fixed his gaze on Clint, "So, she seems okay with it, so I'm gonna have to get your ID and fill this release form."

Clint handed him his SHIELD ID to be scanned and started filling out the form. Once he was done he took his ID and walked back over to where Y/n was sitting... Only to find she wasn't sitting there anymore.

Clint snapped around to the guy at the desk. He just shrugged his shoulders with wide eyes, organizing the papers he got handed.

Snapping back around he said the only thing that fit the occasion, "well, shit"

Y/n wandered the hall, her lost desk long forgotten. She was hungry, and could not for the life of her remember where the kitchen was. It didn't help that the hallways kept changing like the labyrinth. She kept a hand reaching for a wall, occasionally steadying her. She followed the walls, hoping to find somewhere that had food. Soon she started to lose time and stopped paying attention to where she was going.

That was until she bumped into someone, to which she stopped and looked up at him. He seemed familiar.

"Oh, Y/n" He paused and looked at the brace around her neck, "I will just apologize for--"

"What's your name again?"

He looked down at her, baffled, "Loki"

Her eyes widened, eyebrows raised, and her mouth formed a perfect little "o" in realization, "That's right, sir. Now if you'll excuse me, Your Highness." She continued down the hall, now actively looking for the kitchen once she was startled awake per se.

Loki just watched after her confused. That was not how he expected their first conversation to go after... Not that he was planning it, but he had some ideas, and that was not one of them. After a moment he continued down the hall but was stopped again by someone else bumping into him. Loki scowled, why couldn't anyone watch where they were going?

Clint had a hand on the wall and was bent over panting as if he had been sprinting for a while. "Loki! Have you seen Y/n?"

He looked at him with ruffled eyebrows and dragged out his answer, "yes?"

Clint instantly straightened, "Where'd she go? I have liability over her at the moment and she disappeared on me."

Loki pointed down the hall to where he had spoken to her, still very much confused.

Clint dashed along the wall leaving Loki without another word. Loki had a debate in his head, and by the end of it he sighed and took off after him. It didn't take long for Loki to catch up and pass Clint with his fresh and very long legs. He eventually skidded to a stop when he found the target, still wandering with no idea where she was going.

"Y/n! There you are."

She turned at the call of her name, right as Clint caught up. "Oh hi, your highness."

Clint gasped and turned to Loki in betrayal, "what'd you do to her"

"I didn't do anything! Why's she like this in the first place?"

"Hi Agent Barton"

Clint turned his attention back to his charge, "Oh, she's just doing that thing she does." He walked up to her and looped an arm around her shoulders, making sure she didn't go anywhere, "Hey, let's get you to the common room, then we can figure out what to do with you."

"Is there food in the common room?"

"If you want there to be"

She perked up even more, "Lead the way to the food"

The three of them walked around the building to the common room, an amazing feat of navigation from Y/n's point of view. They sat her down on the couch, Loki making sure she didn't go anywhere while Clint went into the kitchen. He came back with a bag of potato chips and handed it to Y/n.

"Why is she like this? She isn't even scared of me"

"They did something to her during her check-up... I wouldn't feel too bad, she was sitting in a chair in the infirmary thinking she had lost her desk"

"Hmm"

They just stood there and watched as she ate her chips, trying to figure out what to do with her.

"What's she doing?"

"Hey Tasha, " Clint turned to the newcomer, "she's fresh from her follow up in the infirmary. I'm thinking they doped her up, so she's pretty out of whack."

"I'm on drugs?!"

Clint approached her slowly, "No! What I mean is--"

"No! I can't! Have you seen how many commercials there are??" She sobbed and looked up at Natasha, "I can't be a warning Agent Romanoff!!"

Natasha sat down next to her, "Its Natasha sweetie, you're not going to be a warning"

Y/n didn't listen, "I failed *crunch* the *crunch* D.A.R.E. program... *more crunching from chewing potato chips*"

"Oh dear" Loki, Natasha, and Clint all looked at each other, it's gonna be a long day.

Over the next hour, all the Avengers gathered in the common room to try and calm Y/n down, but nothing seemed to be working.

"I promised my parents..." That caused her to cry even more, and Bruce handed her a glass of water. "Thank you, Dr. Banner." As she drank the water she began to calm down like a miracle. She finished the glass and let out a small sniff, "I'm gonna get fired..."

They all sighed, here we go again.

"If I'm fired I won't ever get to see you guys again..."

They all paused, touched that even in her clouded brain she would think of all of them.

Tony was the first to speak, "Don't worry kid, you can't get rid of us that easily"

Everyone either nodded or voiced their agreeance, except Loki. He simply shrugged, he had no attachment to her.

Y/n reached up to scratch her neck, but just scratched the brace. She put both hands around it and felt the stiff fabric, "why is my neck so big?" She tried to take it off, but Clint stopped her.

"nonononono, leave that on. It's better than it was before. The brace is less thick this time."

"My neck was thicker?!"

"Okay!" Tony stood up from his chair, "I'm gonna ask what the crap is going on with her when it'll wear off"

Loki stood after Tony had left and started towards his room.

"Brother! Where are you going?"

"To my room to be alone"

A chorus sounded behind him, "Nope! You get to deal with her with us!"

"May I ask why?"

"Cuz you're the one who got her in this situation"

He sighed and flopped back down into his chair, summoning a book to read.

"OH! I like books. What is that one"

Loki looked at the childlike wonder in the drugged woman on the couch, "One you wouldn't understand"

There was a moment of silence, "Probably true sir" She looked down at her lap, "I want a blanket"

Loki turned back to his book while someone got up to grab Y/n a blanket.

"Why don't you tell me what the crap is going on with Y/n!?"

The doctor who treated Y/n calmly replied to Tony, "what do you mean?"

"Why did you give her so much morphine?"

"We haven't given her morphine in over two weeks"

"Then what did you give her?"

"We brought in the anesthesiologist and put her under in order for her to relax"

"Why didn't you give her something like laughing gas or something that wears off faster?"

She looked him dead in the eyes, not wavering, "Because Mr. Stark, it was my call, and we don't have that equipment here. The injuries we usually tend to are large enough for them to be put under to deal with. I suggest you don't question the medical doctor in the room"

Tony sighed and took a step back.

The doctor turned and whispered to the nurse next to her, "and the author thought it would be funny"

"What was that about an author?"

She smiled, "I was simply talking to her about my favorite book and author that I follow. It was a continuation of before you arrived."

"So how long... when will the effects wear off?"

"She should be ready to drive home by the end of the day"

He closed his eyes and huffed out a breath, "Thank Thor"

Tony reentered the common room ready to relay the news. It was almost picturesque, the whole team there, supporting a mutual friend. She was wrapped up in a blanket, carefully eating a cheese stick. Everyone seemed tired, just enough energy to make sure she didn't runoff.

Tony smiled and took the last available spot next to Steve. "She should be ready to go by the end of the day."

"That's good news. It seems like the effects are starting to wear off already."

Everyone relaxed, a quiet afternoon ahead of them. Surrounded by the people they worked with and cared about, it didn't turn out to be a rotten day. Everyone was ready for a nap though, dealing with Y/n's behaviors. So they started to doze.

Quiet

Peaceful

Comforting

"Wait! Where's my desk!?"

Tags: @nightrose64

#loki odinson #loki x reader #loki fanfic #avengersfanfiction #avengers x reader #avengers x you #tony stark #natasharomanoff #bruce banner #clint barton #thor #Steve Rogers #marvel #Of Kings and Shadows

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orthogonals · 5 years

Note

Hey, I saw that you are taking prompts. I very much enjoyed your Achilles/Patroclus story so I'd be thrilled if you wrote more in that universe. Maybe a take on their relationship from another person's POV (eg Briseis, Thetis, Chiron...) Or a crossover with Merthur? :)

Thanks for the ask! Achilles/Patroclus always sends me in an emotional spiral. I wrote this for “their relationship from another POV,” hope you enjoy!

~A note on prompts: I won’t have much time to answer the in the coming months, but still feel free to send them in, and I’ll get to them when/if I can!~

through their eyes

rating: T

words: 1509

summary: Aristos Achaion, they called him. Plucked from the spilled blood between Thetis’ thighs and granted a prophecy by the Gods. He flashed past the other boys, quick as an intake of breath, and Peleus’ face shone. Menotides turned to Patroclus.

“That is what a son should be.”

–

Five times Achilles and Patroclus were the subject of observation during their lives, + one time they weren’t.

read on ao3!

The games beat a broken path through Opus, a thousand calloused feet rubbing the dry dirt raw. Menoitides directed the affair with customary severity, ordering servants out to break rock and clear track until even the seething sun had taken rest. He held a hard nub of determination that his games would hail as the best of the generation, would bear glory upon his shoulders. Glory to rival the glow of Apollo himself; glory enough to erase the festering blight of his weak son, his simple wife.

The youngest boys formed their line, eyes glinting with excitement and the thrill of victory. Peleus’ son stood half a head shorter amongst them, impossible to miss. He reflected light like a piece of glass in the sand. Beside him, Patroclus fiddled dumbly with the wreath. Menoitides clenched his teeth until his jaw clicked.

Aristos Achaion, they called him. Plucked from the spilled blood between Thetis’ thighs and granted a prophecy by the Gods. He flashed past the other boys, quick as an intake of breath, and Peleus’ face shone. Menotides turned to Patroclus.“That is what a son should be.”

And when Menotides exiled Patroclus to Phthia, shame and anger warping inside him, he spared the stupid boy only one parting wish— that he might learn something from Achilles’ shadow.

ii.

The fire cast Peleus’ chambers in a mute glow. Dim crackling filled the spaces between his words, a second voice mingling to tell the tale.Peleus sat deep in his chair, arms dangling like grapevines. Day by day, age seeped further under his skin, to his bones. He hardly felt like the man who had served Heracles and rode with Jason.

Achilles shuffled in the shadows, his eyes a glint of green from the dark. Peleus traced Achilles gaze to Patroclus, who had tilted his mouth in a sweet grin. Achilles’ teeth flashed white in return, and the smile was almost unnatural to see on his son.He remembered youth, of quick heartbeats and rushing hot blood. Of furtive glances at the sweat-coated curve of muscle that stretched across the back of his general. But Achilles, great as he might become, was not yet a man, had not experience nor understanding.

A hand shot out and circled around Patroclus’ ankle. Achilles’ snicker, half-covered, rolled into the air from his corner. Peleus did not miss the light brush of Achilles’ thumb against Patroclus’ heel, the softening of Patroclus’ face.

He called for an end to the night, carefully slipping mention of a servant girl who wished to bed Achilles. The sudden shutter of Achilles’ face confirmed all that remained unspoken.

iii.

The wind stirred the trees and sent air unfurling, crisp and clean, through the leaves. Chiron shifted his tail at the breeze, nosing the scent in the atmosphere. Rain was due by nightfall. He inclined his head towards the boys, a lecture on weather-reading in mind.Achilles and Patroclus were crouched in the grass beyond him, huddled so close that their hair brushed. Chiron heard their soft murmurs of conversation as they probed the ground for herbs. Their fingers touched and lingered among the green blades.

It was unusual for a hero to have remained so long in the crags and caves of Mount Pelion, more unusual still to have done so with a companion. Chiron never asked his heroes to go, yet the day always came when they donned armor and rode to battle.Young Achilles was birthed with greatness sighed above him, sticking on lips like honey. He would take whatever measures necessary to make the words true. Chiron knew Achilles, saw his unerring limbs and swift feet. Saw his blank eyes, the mark of all heroes.

Blank for all but Patroclus, who melted Achilles like brown sugar over fire, shifted his balance from half-god to half-human. Such a thing was as rare as juniper in spring, and Chiron could do little but to protect Achilles’ link to humanity.

Chiron called for them, amused as they leaped back from each other with pink cheeks.

iv.

Briseis lingered by the tent, the flap of the entrance thick and coarse beneath her fingers. The flat bottom of the plate pressed, heavy and cool, on her hand. She glanced at the berries rolling about on its surface, ripe and fat with juice. Their thick skins, washed clean, gleamed in the fading light like pearls. Her pulse thrummed in her neck. She would ask Patroclus today. The berries bumped off each other as she reached to open the tent.

A soft moan stopped her hand in midair, the ties still loose in her palm. She redid the ties with practiced ease, hissing quietly, and quickly backed away. Another sound joined the first, followed by an unmistakable sigh: “Achilles.”

Briseis stopped, eyes wide as the emerging moon, filled with a horrendous wonder.

A response. “Patroclus,” each syllable drawn out and rounded, the word infused with sweetness. More moans carried away by the evening air, stretched sighs that faded even as they reached Briseis’ ears. She willed her legs to move and carry her away, but they were frozen, stuck to the ground.

Finally, after the sun had slipped from the sky, came the sounds that peaked and tapered away slowly, leaving only breath behind.

“Patroclus.” Achilles’ clear voice, somehow warmed. “Therapon, philtatos.”

“Dikos mou,” Patroclus replied, the words sounding muffled by skin. She listened to his gentle kisses, her Greek proficient enough to understand what he had said.

Dikos mou. Mine.

Briseis left, haunted by the sounds of Patroclus’ love.

The ground hummed as Patroclus spoke, the throat of a melody. Thetis felt his pain course through the earth, making the grass shiver. He spoke of her son with words soft like cotton, as yielding as a freshly plowed field.

Humans were weak, rarely logical and far too easy victim to their emotions. Thetis expected Patroclus to rage of his anger, speak seething of the gods. To lament Achilles and curse his hubris. To give bitter insult to Neoptolemus, his refusal to give Patroclus proper rest.

Instead, all she felt from him was love, strong and coursing.

Below, Achilles’ sorrow speared through her in waves. Hades did not welcome those of Olympus, and her son ached like a limb, a part of her own body. Patroclus’ words washed over the grief that laced her skin, hers and Achilles’ together, soothing as a balm of yarrow.

As always, the salty spray of the sea sang to her, crowded the edge of her senses. But for the first time, she closed her mind to the waters and let herself listen. The hill vibrated beneath her feet.

She scooped away the stone like jam, carving the name with one dark fingernail. PATROCLUS. Together, with her son. In writing as in life, as forever in Elysium.

She smiled as she told him.

~vi.~

Agamemnon whirled towards Diomedes, face white and contorted.

“They have no sense of propriety.” He spit out the words through gnashing teeth, fury tightening his lips.

Achilles and Patroclus giggled at Agamemnon from behind an oak tree, fingers laced together. Patroclus gave him a hard eye roll, and Achilles blew a raspberry before quickly ducking back behind the trunk. Their laughter carried over, tinkling like windchimes.

Agamemnon clenched his fists until his veins popped. “This needs to stop. I will go to Hades himself if I must.”

Diomedes gnawed eagerly at his leg of lamb, letting out a chorus of appreciative moans.

“DIOMEDES!” Agamemnon stamped his feet. “Useless slob!”

Diomedes finally extracted his mouth from the half-eaten roast, lips slippery with oil and bits of herb plastered around his face.

“Give it a rest, Mem.”

“I will not—”

“Just because you got in a spat with your old lady—”

“DO NOT MENTION CLYTEMNESTRA!” Agamemnon toppled dangerously at the intensity of his yell, face coloring from white to purple.

“Look.” Diomedes sighed dramatically and placed a greasy hand on Agamemnon’s shoulder. Agamemnon immediately ducked away, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“You’ve been on about this for, like, three thousand years of their time.” He pointed a finger upwards with emphasis. “When you first started ranting, we were still pissing in holes. In Elysium. Now, we have state-of-the-art toilets with bidets. Bidets, man.”

Agamemnon blanched, eying Diomedes like a particularly stubborn piece of mud on his shoe. “You talk about toilets. While eating.

“Just. Why don’t you go bother Odysseus and Penelope for now? They’re also looking pretty sickeningly happy.”

Odysseus and Penelope waved at them from the distance, and Agamemnon threw up his middle finger.

“Or, go to the sauna or something. You’re always less stressed after a spa trip.”

“Ugh.” Agamemnon grumbled, throwing another stink eye at Achilles and Patroclus, who were now sitting on the ground and giving each other butterfly kisses. “Fine. But I will get them. Mark my words.” He backed away slowly, keeping a menacing stare trained at Achilles. A rock caught his heel, and he stumbled over himself, tripping and falling with a thump.

Elysium echoed with laughter.

#tsoa #the song of achilles #patroclus #achilles #patrochilles #song of achilles #homer #the iliad #greek #mythology #greek mythology #*tsoa #*wtsoa #*goswrites

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penaltybox14 · 5 years

Text

@dying-redshirt-noises @its-skadi I made this for you.

You get a call, they say. You get a call sometimes, there's not a damn thing you can do and you know it already.

And sure, is the response. Sure, we know that. We've been to blazes eating up a house to its black ribs, we've drawn back, we've stumbled out the door sweating to the unspoiled lawn gasping, at the twenty-minute limit, at the very limit, not sure if the siding sliding down is the heat or the hallucination.

No, they say. No, you don't, not yet.

It's Bob's tech, technically speaking, because Craig drove them back (home) just gone midnight and they flopped into (respective) beds not speaking: the report written in Craig's clear precise concise hand with not a mark missed, a routine call, as routine a call as ever, as routine a call as Craig could make it, because that's just what he does. Bob skirts around chaos like finding your way through a fire: he slides between the panic and the pain like you feel a door in the dark: the heat, the smoke, the rope, the staircase. Craig imposes order: Craig cages the monster and tames its shining eyes.

The other paramedics are maddened: they work so well together. They work together, they drive together, they eat together, they sleep side-by-side together, quick light sleep like a flock of birds changing direction in the sky.

It's Bob's tech and the call says unknown medical and that catches your brain and turns a switch, the key in the ignition, alright, let the bay door rattle, let the lights swing and shine, let's shake a leg and roll, babe, we got no time. Unknown medical might be a sprained ankle on the staircase or it might be a body in the street, it might be the wrong place wrong time, it might be the last place you wanna be, it might be the end of the world or the beginning.

Even Bob's awake. Craig wakes up like he's already got a second track running with a locomotive warm and thrumming, flagman says time to go. (we got no time, though, but to go). Both him and Craig know their district like the backs of their hands or the palms of their gloves or the smell of the sheets they snap on their beds every morning of every shift. Bob likes to spend the drive waking up as if he's swimming up from the bottom of a deep blue pool into the waning sun, like driving down a road watching attractions slip past, opportunities waiting.

Unknown medical, man down, man up, we got this.

Craig's very-awake voice is running through the possibilities like the computers at HQ crunch the numbers and send them flying.

Bob is nodding, Bob is making time, Bob is stretching out the time between the call and the place and the night and the day like cotton candy on the tongue.

On the lawn just outside the streetlamp's halo a haggard man stands as if he doesn't deserve the light. He points to the house, where a woman is screaming, a woman screaming and screaming, and the words coalesce between the boards of the board, in the tumblers of the lock, my baby, my baby, my baby.

But baby, we ain't got no time.

But the baby is blue and cool and her blood is in the backs of her legs and the backs of her arms and her softness is pale and keenly beautiful and she isn't breathing, she hasn't breathed in hours, in too long, in far too long.

One time, Thibeault, a medic at 8's, got mad at Craig's essential honesty and said, you don't care about the people, do you, and said, I bet you'd leave a dead kid on scene, wouldn't you?

Craig had said, simply, he had not yet had such a call. Thibeault found his proof in Craig's flat expression, in his pushing up of his glasses, in his soft and mild voice. In Craig's head a thought rattled: a child, a mother, too much time, and not enough, and never.

What would he do?

Well, babe, now's your chance to show the world: the baby in her duckling pajamas with the fuzzy feet is blue as the moon on the tidal flat, and she is cool as cardiac monitor in his sweating hands, and the baby, she isn't, anymore. And the mother screams and screams: my baby, my baby, save my baby.

It's Bob's tech. It's their call. Send an ambulance, right here, right now, do it fast, do it quick, sweep the mother off her feet and swing low and sweep this baby in your arms, send the night supervisor, we need both medics on this call.

There are words you say that mean: we're bringing you no hope, we're bringing you no life, we're bringing you this body so her mother doesn't have to weep over her until the coroner arrives and by then it will be morning and it will be clear that nothing could be done or will be again.

Doc doesn't say, start an IV. Doc says, keep her on the monitor, Doc says, bring her in.

Fifteen-two, count and breathe and breathe, and count, nevermind the stretcher, never mind the litter bearers only carry her, Bob carries her, compressions with his two fingers, to the ambulance to the rending wail of the mother sending her sorrow to the stars in the smoggy sky, and the father stands smoking a cigarette beyond the light and weeping in an ugly way as men do.

Craig keeps up the compressions while Bob arrays the tools of their trade until a broad hand on his arm and a broad face stays him.

Oh.

But.

" - Bob."

"When we get there," Bob says, softly, his voice sliding the way a boot does on coals.

Rampart's ER is bright as if it hates secrets and fifteen-two is the name of the game, breathe for her, breathe baby, cause baby won't ever breathe again.

Doc calls it, calls the death, calls the time, and it's Early on the overnight, thank god, Early who stays the hand of the pale, pale nursing student who brings the sheet up over the child's face and brings it down to fold it softly down around her neck, to tuck it in sweetly, like she's sleeping. Like she's only sleeping.

They said, back in training: you're gonna get a call and there isn't a goddamn thing you can do, and you know it.

And a dozen fireman snorted back we know.

And they said: no, you don't. Not yet, you don't.

Rampart's ER is too bright to live with the baby's soft cheeks and slowly sinking eyes. Like the sun inside a box, that's the ER, like daylight trapped eternally, infernally.

Craig checks the box because that is what he does.

Bob falters over the run report because that -

- is what he does?

Craig checks the box slowly. Says nothing. The overnight nurse in the ER casts them gentle eyes. Some of the nurses are starting to trust that Brice has a few compassionate neurons firing in his brilliant, brilliant brain, and the cast them gentle eyes. Not the pitying look: not, god, Bellingham's gotta work with him? Not the dry gaze: how long is Brice gonna last with him?

Bob takes a long time filling out the demographics. Craig has checked the box twice.

Thibeault and Jackson came in with a drunk with a head lac, took one look at the two of them, and thought twice.

Bob sighs a long, long, long sigh, as long the tide itself.

"Fuck it," he says, the weight of the words striking the silence like a brick, "fuck 'em, HQ can live with a late report."

Craig snaps the box closed. They didn't use anything. He snaps the box closed and fixes the latch and says: "I'll drive, Bob."

They are well late. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes transport, twenty minutes clear that's very clear, that's in the rules, and the walking rulebook ought to know that but he hesitates to pick up the mic, hesitates on the key, starts driving, that isn't what he does and he knows it and Bob knows it and they know the way home but Craig doesn't take it.

Not the late-night way, not the wrong-way streets way that Bob would've gone, not the let's-get-back-and-crash way.

The scenic route, as Bob would say. The inefficient way, as Craig would note.

Craig would like to say something sympathetic. He would like to say something weighty, something remarkable.

Thibeault said to him once: you'd leave a dead kid with his mama crying on scene, you son of a bitch.

She looked like she was sleeping.

Jackson would've said she's gone to Jesus.

Gage would've hit something, he is sure of it.

He tries to think of what DeSoto would say. Then, he tries to imagine what Bob would say.

He has drawn the squad up along a roadside above the rail terminal. In the distance, stands of smokestacks wheeze out pale breaths, and blink their aircraft warning lights like animal eyes, red and white and indifferent. A locomotive hoots softly in the yard, and boxcars and tankers clank, clank, clank over poorly welded rails. It smells like Los Angeles always does: like smog and asphalt, like low tide and coal.

He takes a breath as jagged as a drunken fool's lacerated face.

And Bob lays a hand on his arm as soft as a baby's cool cheek.

He shuts his eyes.

Bob touches his hand. He puts his arm - his strange, slender, detached arm - around Bob's wide shoulders, and pulls him close, to feel his head rest, his fraying hair, his stubbled cheek, his gentle hand, his thick bicep that muscles Barrett off the chicken and the chili when Parson cooks. Bob's body, Bob's imperfect warm and breathing body, and he shuts his eyes and the time passes.

"You gonna tell me it's alright?" Bob says, after a while.

"No, Bob."

"Thanks, babe."

"Anytime."

When Craig opens his eyes the world is still there: it hasn't stopped turning, for the undeserving, for the wicked, for the weary, hasn't put its spin on pause for the wailing mother and the bestilled baby, for the father swallowing his sobs on the lawn while the sprinklers chuff, chuff, chuff and hiss.

A streetlight on the boulevard sputters and dies.

They drive back (home) in silence, remind dispatch that they, too, still exist, and fall to bed without words, with Craig's turnouts folded down neatly and Bob's askew, and Bob will snore heavily into the mattress and Craig will end up with one leg outside the covers and one arm asleep under his pillow. Because that is what they do and what they know, because it's not alright, because the world keeps spinning, and all that holds it together isn't the light or the smog or the damp lawn or the hot and reeking asphalt, but just that: just each other, what they do, and what they know.

#brice/bellingham #emergency!#fic!#i have no title for this yet #child death cw #child death tw

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royalbirthchamber · 5 years

Text

A Debt of Vengeance Part XIV

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI Part XII Part XIII

**Well...I never thought this tale would go on as long as it did...but here we are! I want to thank everyone for all their support, love, feedback, and questions. I hope you have enjoyed this tale as much as I have enjoyed writing it. And thank you for being so patient in between chapters: would you believe it’s been a year and a half since Malchior and Sybil first met? Anyhow: I hope the ending is everything you all could want and more. Thank you - L. Wyvernic**

The now-empress reclined against the mountain of silken pillows and rubbed the grand swell of her stomach. There were so many questions swirling in Sybil's mind, so many things that didn't make sense. She watched at Malchior turned away from the door as the two other women left and silently walk back to the large pallet where she lay. Kneeling beside her he placed his hand on hers and for the moment they both felt the baby ready to be born, neither saying a word.

"Malchior," Sybil softly whispered. She intertwined her fingers with his and looked into the demigod's face. His eyes were glistening with a torrent of feelings: love, sorrow, guilt, joy...Sybil felt her throat tighten as her own tide of emotion began to rise. Neither knew how to give voice to the weight in their hearts, the sins they carried beginning for redemption.

Malchior lowered his eyes, fighting to find the words. "All this time I've been nothing but...a monster."

" It's over now," she murmured, squeezing his hand, "It's all over."

He shook his head and looked into Sybil's eyes. "No, you don't understand: I always knew, the moment I first saw you waiting for me in your father's castle, I knew at that second. I just refused to believe it..."

" Knew what?" she asked, puzzled by his words.

The emperor shuddered with sorrow, regret. He forced himself to go on; she had to know.

"When I entered your father's castle, I was ready to destroy you," he whispered, "But then...seeing you seated there, it was as if every single moment of my life was compressed into this tiny point focused into one single second. My past and future all happening at once and in my heart, I felt my destiny calling to me. My prydia..."

"Malchior, I'm not your prydia," Sybil turned her face away as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Please...stop saying foolish things!"

"They're not foolish things, Sybil!" he cried. "I speak the truth."

"Would anyone else treat their 'prydia' as you have treated me?" she asked, facing him again. "Yes, I have been cruel in the past but it was onl-ahhh!" Sybil gasped: her womb contracted, the pain rolling down over her stomach and spreading into her back and hips. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing instead. The pains were getting stronger and closer together now. She felt Malchior release her hand and massage the underside of her belly where the pressure seemed to focus.

"That was a strong one," the emperor said. Sybil nodded in agreement as the pain finally abated. He grabbed a damp, cool cloth from a near-by crystal bowl and placed it against her forehead. She softly moaned, welcoming the refreshing feel of the wet cloth against her skin.

"Before...I took the throne, I went to see an oracle," Malchior quietly began. "It's customary for the heir to see her visions and prophesy before they are crowned. I was young, then, and did not give her words much thought. But...now I cannot forget her words. Of all the things she saw there was one part, one... prophecy which still haunts me: 'And two empresses will thou have, But only one a prydia be. One will fall, thy soul departed, The Second, sealed, will return it to thee.'"

"But...it doesn't say which one," Sybil replied, "Only that you would have two empresses but only one would be your prydia. That doesn't prove anything."

"'The Second, sealed, will return it to thee'. My sigil...the one I placed to protect you and our child: it can only be sealed to a prydia," he replied. "I placed it upon Thyra as well, even though I feared that prophecy. I would defy Fate, I would prove the old crone oracle wrong, but..."

"You...knew she wasn't your prydia?" Sybil softly asked, "Even when you married her and made her empress?"

"I loved her so much, Sybil." Malchior shook his head. "I loved her and swore that she would be my Fated One, that I would control my own destiny. When I laid my seal upon her, I felt so...confident that I had won over Fate." He then held his head in his hands. "Obviously...we both know..."

Sybil sighed and stared at the vaulted ceiling high above her as her mind tried to process everything. Ever since her father ordered Thyra's death her life had been nothing but chaos. Had Thyra actually been Malchior's prydia his sigil would have protected her and her child from the dark magic poisoning her assassin's blade. Instead both Thyra and the baby perished and proved that Malchior's sigil was powerless. It had, however, protected her own baby...

"You...really hurt me, Malchior," she finally said. "You, my father, Dysarq: all men who have seen me as something to be used." She rolled onto her side, facing away from the emperor. The position eased the pressure from her lower back from the large baby slowly making its way into the world. "If I'm your prydia...why would you treat me so...cruelly?"

"Oh, Sybil, forgive me," Malchior pled. He gently laid beside her on the pallet and pulled her body close to his own. Even now she felt warm and safe in his arms. Sybil guided his arm around her belly so he could cradle it as well and Malchior nuzzled her neck in response. "Please, beloved...forgive me."

"I just want to know why?" She asked.

"I refused to believe that Thyra wasn't my prydia, even after I failed to prevent her death...even though the oracle had spoken such. During the war, when your father's armies surrendered, I decided that I would make his daughter my consort: that it would prove the prophecy wrong. By marrying the daughter of my hated enemy, a princess I had never met and who would despise me, I would thwart the gods...but I was wrong, Sybil. Fate had outwitted me once more by making you my prydia. When I entered you chambers and realized it the moment I laid eyes on you...I was so terrified. I just wanted to make you...hate me."

"That way...there would be no love," Sybil mused.

"And if there is no love...then I wouldn't be hurt again."

"Only...I would be the one hurt instead."

Malchior gently rolled Sybil onto her back and cupped her face, his own a mask of sorrow and remorse. " I have proven myself unworthy to have the love of my prydia. I accept this. I have drawn up documents giving you reign over Roliam once more. You...and our daughter...can go and live there. When I am gone, she will inherit my throne. I will not interfere: you two can live in peace."

Sybil looked into his eyes and knew he was speaking the truth. He would give her everything: her freedom, her kingdom, even his own child just to atone for his sins. He had hurt her, there was no denying the fact. He had been heartless, cruel, cold...and in turn, she had given him the same but then there were times...he had been tender, loving even. He adored their child from the moment she became pregnant and the fact that it would be a girl did nothing to diminish his love, something her own father never done.

And Sybil, despite everything - everything!- knew in her heart he would be the only man she would ever love. Was theirs a perfect love? No: it was one born from loss, grief, and a desire for vengeance. Both had entered the union wounded and instead of helping each other to heal they lashed out in pain, desiring to make the other suffer just as much. She remembered when her mother lay dying her father refused to see his wife one last time. Sybil was furious and bitterly wept as she held the woman's hand and cursed the king. The queen, whose heart never turned bitter in spite of her sufferings, comforted her daughter with an old proverb:

"If all could be understood then all would be forgiven."

The baby kicked as if waiting for her to make a choice before it entered the world. She reached up and caressed Malchior's face. For the first time in her life, she was free to choose her destiny.

"I shall tell you what I want," she began, "I will stay in this chamber and give birth to our daughter. I will sit beside you on the throne as your empress and advisor, and I will bear you a family of strong sons and proud daughters. All I ask...is that we learn to understand and forgive each other."

"Sybil," Malchior's eyes brimmed with tears as her forgiveness washed over him and finally began to lift the oppressive weight of grief from his soul. He leaned down and kissed his empress, their lips touching for the first time. Sybil softly moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, her body beginning to yield to his as their tongues intertwined. Warmth flooded her body; not just the heat of lustful passions that she had known but a deeper warmth, more intense than when he had called her 'beloved'. They would both heal.

Her thoughts were interrupted by another contraction. Her body slightly bucked as her hard stomach surged. A long, low moan escaped from her throat, her mouth pulling away from his as the pain grew along with her voice.

Malchior's hand slid under her gown and caressed her laboring belly, feeling the muscles of her womb tighten around their baby. Sybil arched her back, panting, as the pain peaked and then slowly faded once more. The pressure behind her cervix and in her hips was slowly building as each contraction gradually forced the large, Artemian child into the world. Sybil began to seriously fear that her body would not be able to accommodate such a large baby no matter what Malchior of the midwife said.

" How...far apart are my pains now?" Sybil murmured, "They feel stronger than when you brought me here."

"About fifteen minutes or so," Malchior replied. He pulled back her tight gown and began to kiss her stomach. "You're doing wonderful, Sybil." He rose from the bed and walked to the wooden table where various supplies awaited and grabbed a small glass vial. He returned and gently opened her thighs, allowing him to kneel between her bent knees. He opened the vial and carefully poured the sweet-scented oil onto his hands, rubbing them together as the smell reached Sybil's nose. It was similar to the same heady oil Mavis had poured into her bath. Sybil sighed and she inhaled the perfumed air while Malchior began to knead the sore flesh of her swollen midsection.

"Ahhh," she moaned, "That...feels wonderful, my lord."

Malchior did not spoke but relished watching his laboring empress sigh and moan in pleasure as his hands worked and caressed the tight, translucent skin. Her body was ripe, swollen with life, ready to erupt with his child and seeing her writhe upon the silken sheets was a delicious sight to behold. The baby's movements made ripples across the surface of her belly as it squirmed, impatient with the slow labor. He traced his fingers over the shifting mound as his other hand continued to firmly massage the underside of her stomach.

"Let me see if you've progressed, my empress." He carefully slid his oiled fingers into her sex. Sybil moaned, enjoying the feeling of him inside her despite her current ordeal. "About two, two-and-a-half fingers open." He slowly withdrew from her cunt and began to run his fingers over her sensitive clit. Her gentle signs became lustful moans of pleasure and her hands gripped the sheets as he teased her. After a moment of delicious torment, he rubbed more oil on his hands and began to rub her belly.

Sybil opened her eyes and saw the hungry look on the god-emperor. She slowly raised herself up into a sitting position and held out a hand.

"Please, I think I need to kneel while I labor. My back..."

Malchior helped her up until she knelt upon the bedding and supported her heavily pregnant figure from behind. Her belly hung between her bent knees, resting on the bedding, and the large baby pressed down against her gradually opening cervix. Malchior continued to cradle and rub her stomach. He pulled her in close, his erect cock pressing into her back through his trousers, and began to kiss the nape of her neck. Sybil released a series of moans and sighs as he continued to kiss her until another pain seized her once more, tightening around her like a fist. Her voice raised from a whimper into a painful cry, her hands pressing into the sides of her solid midriff. Malchior placed his hands atop her and whispered encouragements into her ear.

"Breathe, Sybil. Like this," and he led her through the pain, both breathing as the contraction gripped her body. As it passed she sagged against with a soft cry. The demi-god continued to caress her belly and kiss the side of her tired face. "You're so beautiful right now, my love. So strong and beautiful."

"You wanted to see me suffer, remember?" she replied with a wry smile. He softly groaned as he clutched her belly.

"I think you've suffered enough, my empress," he gently replied. "I could still delay this, let you rest for a day, and then make sure your labor is easy...painless..."

"No!" she fiercely shook her head. "I...I want my baby and I want...I want to suffer, Malchior. I want you to watch me in agony as I birth this child. Just...promise me she'll be okay." Sybil ran a hand over her swell. "Promise me...if something goes wrong, you'll make sure she-"

"Sybil stop," Malchior interrupted her, "You will be able to bear this child. Those things Dysarq said were just horrible lies: I will never allow you or our children to perish in childbed."

The two remained kneeling on the pallet as Malchior hungrily kissed his prydia, cradling her belly through each contraction while Sybil moaned, cried, and panted through the cruel pain. It seemed her labor had stalled: after two hours the contractions were still about fifteen minutes apart. Sybil sat against the pillows once more, her knees bent, as the emperor gently checked to see her progress.

"Still the same," he calmly replied as he withdrew his fingers from her soaking sex. Sybil groaned in dismay. She had hoped for some progress after two hours of laboring in her beloved's arms. Her waters still remained intact and her womb no more open than before: two hours spent in vain! Malchior laid beside her and kissed her greedily, distracting her from the disappointment. She felt a familiar ache between her thighs as fire flushed through her body. She looked up into her husband's face as the lustful blaze burned in her eyes.

"Fuck me," she whispered, "I demand it, Malchior!"

Malchior's eyes widened, ignited with the same carnal flames that now burned in her. " You demand it, royal whore?" he teased. His hand moved from her cheek and slowly trailed down her body. Sybil shivered in delight and kissed him again.

"You promised to break my waters, to ravage me without mercy as I struggled to bear your child." she whispered, "Do it, Malchior! I need you!"

" I did promise, my little whore," he growled into her ear as he slowly slid his trousers off. "I did promise to fuck this child out of you."

"Please..." she whimpered, rolling onto her side to allow him better access. She felt him slide next to her on the pallet and lift her leg up, crying as her cunt ached to be impaled. "Oh Malchior, please..."

"Is this what you want, Sybil?" he teased her soaking folds with the tip of his massive rod. She nodded and moaned with each brush against her sex. Malchior buried his face into her neck, kissing her clavicle. " You do not know how long I've waited for this moment: fucking my whore prydia as she labors with my child, breaking her waters, and then finally watching as the royal baby mercilessly plows through her. Oh Sybil...thank you."

Sybil did not have time to reply as the emperor penetrated her hard. She screamed in a mix of surprise and pleasure as his cock stretched her open and began to thrust mercilessly into her.

"Oh gods, yes!" she screamed, "Harder!"

Malchior roughly gripped her belly, pulling Sybil into him and allowing him to plunge into her sex. Sybil felt him slam into her cervix repeatedly, his thick member filling her and hitting every pleasurable spot. She released a series of moans and screams in rhythm to his thrusts. The emperor groaned: the sounds of her cries only goaded him on and he had missed the feel of her cunt tightly enveloping his rod, missed feeling the baby kick inside his beloved as she begged for his cock.

"The Five Realms may think of you as their empress," he hissed, "but I'll always know you're my royal whore, Sybil. Wicked, wicked whore: begging to be fucked even in the throes on labor!"

"Yes!" she screamed. "And you're just as wicked, Malchior! So wicked! Oh gods!" She gripped his hand, the one holding her belly, as she felt another contraction begin to build. The pain and pleasure began to wrap around her, each building off the other into a mix of glorious torment. She moaned, her voice rich with agony, and her eyes began to flutter.

Malchior knew what was happening as he felt her stomach muscles begin to tighten. "Suffer for me, Sybil," he demanded. Sybil moaned in reply. The sensation of her stomach being seized by such pain only made him thrust faster and harder into his laboring beloved, his own orgasm building. He watched her face shift from ecstasy to a visage of torment. Her stomach surged, rock hard. Sybil bucked violently against his body: she began to shake as the combination of her orgasm and the contraction melted into one. She threw her head back as a raw scream tore from her throat: the pain and pleasure peaked at once and held her body prisoner. Malchior roared as he finally came with one last, deep thrust. His own body quaked with a forceful release, hot and thick. Sybil's cries continued as the tightening band of pain remained around her midsection. She gripped the sheets, gasping for air between her moans. The afterglow still cascaded through her even while she was tortured by the cruel contraction: it was both heaven and hell.

Something gave inside her, forcing a low groan from her lips. Malchior felt it as well and withdrew from her sore sex: a torrent of water burst from between her open, shivering thighs and spilled across the red, silken sheets. The contraction finally faded, leaving the empress trembling and drenched in sweat and birth fluid.

Malchior rose, quickly slipping back into his trousers, and grabbed some towels. He placed some on the soaked bed and used others to clean Sybil's legs and thighs. He gently kissed her stomach as he dried her with the soft towels. She weakly opened her eyes and gazed at her emperor. The chamber was now filled with the burning light of sunset, igniting his long hair into bursts of scarlet, crimson, and ruby. She watched as he placed his hand on her swell and felt the baby's position.

"Is she...okay?" an exhausted Sybil asked. "That wasn't too..."

"She is fine, my love," Malchior replied much to Sybil's relief. She gave a tired smile and stroked her belly. Malchior kissed her stomach once more. "Your labor should begin to hasten, now."

*****

Night fell and the birthing chamber was illuminated by the ethereal glow of candles and the small fire burning in the hearth. Sybil stood before the long wooden table, gripping its edge, moaning as another contraction held her. Behind her, Malchior rubbed her back as his empress groaned in pain. After her waters broke her labor did pick up again and the royal couple had spent the past hours pacing the chamber floors or kneeling on the pallet as Sybil panted and wailed with each fresh contraction. It was nearing midnight and now her pains were less than five minutes apart and lasting what seemed like an eternity. Her frame was soaked in sweat and every joint ached. As the contraction ended her body sagged against the table, her knees weak, and Malchior laced his arms through hers for support.

"I can't do this," she mewed, "I thought I was strong, but I'm too-"

"You are strong, Sybil!" Malchior lovingly whispered into her ear, "You are the strongest woman in all the Five Realms."

"I doubt that," she muttered. She looked over to the soft rug spread before the hearth. Malchior followed her gaze.

"Kneel?" he asked. Sybil nodded.

"...kneel, please."

He carefully led her over to the fireplace and helped her down until she was kneeling on all fours, her belly pressing into the red fibers of the rub. She closed her eyes and panted: the baby was so low now, the pressure almost unbearable. Malchior returned to her side and knelt. He placed a goblet of cold water to her lips, which she gulped down in seconds, and then resumed rubbing her sore back and stroking the side of her stomach.

"You're both going to be fine, " he softly reassured, "Do you think my magick will fail you now after all this time?"

"I'm just...scared," Sybil replied, "So scared..."

"But I'm here with you, beloved. Nothing and no one will hurt you or our daughter. Remember my sigil?"

Sybil slightly raised her head. Something had bothered her but only now did she remember what it was. "Malchior?"

"Hmm?"

"I thought...you said it had only been a dream when you sealed me. Remember?"

Malchior sighed. "I lied."

"But...you were gone. How did you return and then leave again? It doesn't...make sense."

The emperor caressed her face: it seemed the birthing chamber was a place where the truth would come to light as well as see their child born. " I did leave, with some men, that evening. We...that is, I, needed to see the oracle again. I needed to know if Dysarq would succeed and I needed to know...if you were my prydia after all. As we camped for the first night I heard you...calling for me. I knew you were in danger."

"The nightmare," Sybil answered. Malchior nodded.

"Yes. I had...to get to you, so I quickly set a portal back to the bedchamber and found you in bed, crying, but I could also feel his presence. I shouldn't...have left you alone: I knew then that unless I did something he would rob me of the both of you. So..."

Sybil closed her eyes. "You placed your seal-Aahhhh! Malchior!"

Her head pressed against the floor as her womb squeezed and hardened around the babe. Her voice filled the chambers; she felt her hips creak as the pressure behind the giant baby forced it into her pelvis. She gasped frantically for air as the pain overrode all other though.

"Breathe, Sybil! Breathe!" Malchior urged. He moved before her and lifted her panicked face up to meet his own. "You need to breathe!"

She slowly found control over her body and began to breathe deeply, exhaling each time with a long moan, tormented moan. Malchior pressed a cold cloth to her face as she worked through the contraction, knowing that the icy water would feel good against her hot face.

"Ahh...ahhh...ahh...too big," she cried, "The baby...too big."

"You can do this, my prydia," he replied, "All these months you've said you can handle anything this wicked emperor gives you."

"...I guess you're not...the only liar...here."

Malchior could not help but laugh. He leaned down and kissed her mouth. "I do not believe you were lying, Sybil."

" Tell me...what did the oracle say?"

"What do you expect? When I arrived she laughed, wanting to know why I was there if I already had my answer? There was no use in asking if you were my prydia: my seal lay upon you and our child. When I asked about Dysarq she said the seal would protect you from him...but not from me. The oracle warned me that I was on dangerously close to making myself unworthy of a prydia; it happens sometimes if one partner does not honor the other. 'the choice' she said, 'would lie in the Empress' hands'."

"...and I have made my choice, Malchior."

"I know."

*****

As the hours passed the pains became even more intense, almost on top of one another until Sybil felt as if she were suffering an endless contraction. She returned to the pallet, exhausted, and writhed upon the pillows as her body was tormented by wave after wave of excruciating pain. The contractions were frighteningly strong; Malchior barely could see the faint outline of their baby as the muscles of her womb mercilessly tightened into a clenched fist of pain. His hands tirelessly kneaded the sore flesh and his mouth sprinkled kisses on the taut surface of her surging belly, her heaving chest, her pale neck...

A new pain welled up inside Sybil's worn body: an urge she could not deny. She threw her head back against the pillows as her body followed its instinct and bore down. Her thighs opened as the baby finally made its first move towards the world, a journey that would not be quick. She wailed with effort as the felt the massive head sluggishly began to force its way through her hips - her bones creaked at the sheer girth and Sybil feared she would be split apart by the royal babe.

Malchior quickly slid his fingers inside and felt the top of the baby's head just begin to press against his fingertips.

My precious child...

"Let's get you to the birthing stool," he spoke with quiet urgency, not watching to scare his wife but also feeling a mix of excitement and anxiousness. Sybil said nothing, only moaned as he lifted her to her feet. Each step brought a whimper from her lips: the baby entering her canal made walking difficult and awkward. She gripped his arm and the other cradled her low-hanging belly. She could see the stool waiting for her by the fire, the sturdy rope hanging near-by: it seemed so far but somehow she found the strength to make it. She gripped the rope and slowly slid down until she was squatting on the stool. The position opened her hips more and gravity helped bring the baby's head down lower into her canal.

"Ahhh Malchior, she's so big!" Sybil moaned.

"Our beautiful, Artemian princess," he whispered as he sat behind her and supported her tired, heavy body. "She's coming, Sybil. You just need to stay strong."

She gripped the rope, just as she had done all those times before with Ansela except now her labor was real. Sybil felt the next contraction build and prepared herself to push again - she was strong! She would bear their child, and many more; she was the Empress of the Five Realms and would give her beloved many, many heirs.

Her knuckles went white with the sheer force of her grip upon the rope while she bore down on the baby. Her voice roared with determination and pain, echoing up into the rafters, and she opened her thighs as wide as possible.

"Yes, Sybil!" Malchior urged, "Push! Just like that!" He pulled her in close, his hands lovingly caressing her contracting belly, and began to kiss her face and neck. As she pushed he would murmur encouragements and then mention how her laboring cries were driving him insane with desire. She could feel him becoming hard and she could not help but enjoy knowing her agony was filling him with lust.

"I'm surprised you don't force her back inside and fuck me again!" she panted, "You're such a vile, horrible emperor. So wicked..."

"Do not tempt me, little empress!" he growled into her ear. "Your ordeal is still not over." The fantasies helped distract Sybil from the excruciating pressure as the large head continued to brutally force her open.

"Tell me...more, Malchior! What else will you do to me?"

The emperor spun tales of delicious torment: she would give birth before all his guards like a common whore, or perhaps he would force her to carry out her imperial duties while laboring before the court. There would be a special undergarment that would not allow her progress beyond the babe only partially crowning - she would spend the whole day as their baby's head bulged between her thighs, a damp mound behind the silk and leather of the garment. She moaned and begged through all the stories and felt his painfully hard cock throb as it pressed into her. Her fear was replaced by hungry desire: she almost wanted Malchior to force her on all fours and violently ravage her sore sex. Instead, it drove her as she continued to bear down and moan, feeling his heir painfully fill and stretch her. She must have pushed for a solid hour before she finally felt the enormous head barely press against her folds.

"Malchior! Oh god, she's coming!"

Malchior moved from his place behind Sybil and knelt before her so he could see her progress. He watched as she pushed, the lips of her cunt slightly bulged out and he saw the baby's head barely peek out from behind her folds before retreating back inside. Another push forced her sex to swell out a little more, fluid dribbling from her lips, and a second glimpse of the head from the almond-sized opening.

"I see her, Sybil!" his eyes sparkled with excitement and wonder. "She has your lovely, dark hair!"

Sybil reached down to the growing mound between her thighs and slipped a finger inside where she immediately felt the soft surface of her baby's head.

"...baby!" she gasped. "My baby!" Her emotions overwhelmed her and she began to weep with joy as she carefully caressed her child with the tip of her finger. Malchior took her face in his hands and begin to kiss his empress as his tears mingled with her own. She kept her palm placed against her labia and she bore down again, groaning and yelling with effort as her child slowly came. Her lips refused to part beyond a shy, modest opening forcing her sex to swell out with each push until it jutted out to painful proportions. Malchior gazed at the massive bulge and softly ran his fingers over the stubborn lips.

"You need to stop pushing, Sybil," he commanded, " and let your body stretch for the head."

"I can't" she cried, " Malchior I need to-"

"You need to stretch!" he firmly replied. "I'm taking you back over to the bed where you can rest and I can help your lips open."

Sybil didn't even have a moment to protest; Malchior picked her body up in one swoop and carried her across the chambers back to the bed once more. She leaned against the pillows and gripped the backs of her bent knees, pulling them as close to her body as possible. Malchior grabbed the bottle of oil and poured a few drops on her bulging labia before gently rubbing and massaging the tight, red tissues with his fingers. Sybil gently moaned as his fingertips would brush against her clit as he rubbed her glistening mound. He dripped a small cloth into a nearby bowl of hot water, enchanted no doubt to hold its temperature for hours, and then placed the hot compress into her swollen sex.

"Breathe," Malchior coached, "When the next pain comes, don't push: you need to stretch around the baby's head."

Sybil nodded as she felt a pain already on its way. Her moans started and the uncontrollable urge to push began to take hold. Before she was even aware of it Sybil was bearing down hard. Malchior's palm remained firmly pressed against the cloth-draped bulge, applying counter-pressure to his prydia's pushing.

"Sybil, you need to breathe! Don't push!"

"I can't!" she wailed, "I need to push!"

"Look at me!" Malchior leaned over and gently cupped her tired face. "You can do this Sybil! If not for me then for our daughter. If you keep pushing you will tire yourself and possibly tear which could...cause complications. I can't have anything happen to either of you. So breathe, pant - scream if you must!"

"I'm sorry, Malchior," she whispered. He sighed and kissed her face.

"There is nothing to forgive. You are so strong, my love, and the baby is almost here." He looked up at the lancet windows and noticed the first soft blushes of sunrise. "Look, Sybil: the sun is coming!"

She wearily followed his pointing finger and saw the soft pre-dawn light. "This labor will never end, Malchior."

"No, my empress: this will be the first morning out precious baby sees. Her first morning in all the Five Realms." He gently removed the hot compress and used his finger to gently stretch her stubborn lips once more. They had parted slightly, grudging giving the Artemian baby's head passage as it struggled to crown. As the next contraction came Sybil fought the urge to push and instead white-knuckled the sheets as her moans and cries filled the birthing chamber. She closed her eyes and wondered if she could honestly survive such an ordeal, but she had faith in her emperor's magick: he wouldn't let either perish.

The light outside slowly grew as Sybil fought her natural instinct to push. Malchrior continued to rub the burning, sore lips with oil and apply the hot compresses to the stretching swell between her thighs. With each contraction her lips slowly began to peel back around the enormous head, much larger than a mortal child's, until finally, the baby had nearly crowned. Sybil was exhausted, her throat raw from all her cries. She panted, her eyes half opened, as her stretched sex burned from the sheer girth of the child. Malchior placed another goblet of water to her lips and a cold cloth to her face, reviving her momentarily.

"Sybil, look."

Kneeling between her bent thighs he held a small mirror in which she finally caught the first glimpse of her baby. Malchior was right, the child had her dark curls which she reached down and gently caressed.

"Hello," she softly whispered, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks, "Hello my little sweetheart."

"I need you to push now, okay?" Malchior gently spoke, overcome with his own emotions. "Small pushes, Sybil."

Seeing and feeling her daughter, after all the months of sorrow and heartbreak, filled Sybil with a renewed vigor and determination. She pulled her thighs back once more and pushed , groaning as she felt the burning become more intense. Malchior placed both his hands on either side of the crown, pushing the flesh and tissues back around the massive head. Dawn began to fill the room and the first rays spilled through the windows and touched the damp, crowning head of her baby. Malchior gasped; this was a fortunate omen. A new era for his empire dawned with the birth of his firstborn. He gently bent over and gently kissed the exposed head of his soon-to-be-born princess.

Sybil's heart swelled: this dawn marked not only the birth of her daughter but also the beginning of her life, her new life as empress and wife to the man she loved. The old Malchior and Sybil were gone and now, in this new day, they were reborn. They would heal, they would love, they would build a family.

"She's coming!" Malchior excitedly spoke. He grabbed more towels and placed them around Sybil as the head finally crowned. He was amazed at the size of the baby's head jutting out of his mortal wife's sex. He looked back at his wife, his eyes filled with love and admiration. "Oh my prydia, my beautiful, empress. You look absolutely sublime."

"This will not be the last time either, Malchior," Sybil vowed before bearing down, driven to give Malchior their long-desired daughter.

He continued to press her burning lips down around the baby's skull as the empress whimpered with each push. Slowly the head emerged, the brow popping out as he supported her thin perineum. The nose, ears, mouth...all the little features slowly appeared as the head finally erupted in a spray of fluids.

Sybil collapsed against the cushions with a tortured cry, gasping for breath. Malchior cradled the baby's head, checking the neck for a cord and smiling when he found none. He took his wife's hand and placed it on their child's face. Sybil's fingers ran over the damp, chubby cheeks of her newborn with love and tenderness.

"...Avalee," she whispered, "My little Avalee."

"That...is a beautiful name, my love," Malchior replied.

"Malchior," Sybil looked at her husband, a serious expression crossing her weary face, "I want to name her Avalee Thyra...I think...that is best."

The demigod was dumbstruck. For a second he said nothing and Sybil feared she had misspoken, reopening old wounds in the emperor's heart.

"Sybil...," he finally spoke, his voice choked, "...I am not worthy of you."

Before Sybil could reply she was gripped by another contraction and she realized she still had to birth the shoulders. The head gently turned until the babe faced her inner thigh, the shoulders nestled against her pelvis. The two now focused on delivering the child: the journey was almost through. She jerked her legs back as far as possible and pushed with all her strength as the shoulders pressed against her pelvic bone. Malchior held the baby's head and worked to maneuver the wide shoulders free.

"Push!" he urged, "As hard as you can, Sybil!"

Sybil screamed, all her energy focused on pushing out the large baby lodged in her hips. The child did not budge, remaining firmly stuck at the shoulders. She began to panic after the second push: this was taking too long and her daughter needed out!

"She's not coming!" Sybil wept, "Oh god, she's going to die!"

"She's not going to die, Sybil!" Malchior reassured his terrified empress, "but I need you to get on your hands and knees." He helped her carefully turn until she knelt on all fours. Seeing the head of his child, so large compared to the mortal frame of his beloved, left the demigod in awe. He gently took hold and commanded his wife to push. Sybil strained with every ounce of effort left in her body. She forced herself to focus as the massive child stretched her every so slightly, tried not thinking about her daughter remaining trapped in her canal...Even now, so close to birth, she could feel the final few kicks: the child was struggling just as hard as she.

"Yes! Good!" Malchior smiled. "Keep pushing just like that!" A shoulder began to stubbornly slip through her stretched and burning sex. Sybil roared in agony as she pushed once more. Malchior was finally able to get a grip on the emerging shoulder and coax it out. The second quickly followed, allowing the emperor to pulled the rest of his daughter free as the remaining waters gushed out onto the towels. Sybil collapsed face down on the pillows: her body shook and shivered from the shock of delivering such a large child. Her consciousness reeled somewhere between the light and the dark. Malchior cradled the slippery, red newborn princess in his hands. He rubbed and gently patted her back and chest until finally the silent baby jerked and gasped for air, releasing a strong, reedy wail. Malchior sobbed.

The sound of her baby pierced the darkness clouding Sybil's mind and slowly reawakened.

Her baby.

It was alive.

"Avalee..." she softly murmured. Malchior turned his empress over and placed the squalling babying in her arms, weeping with joy. Sybil looked down at the baby: the same dark hair as her own, curls and all, yet her father's nose and eyes. She was so large and heavy in Sybil arms and yet she still found everything about her tiny and perfect. Sybil began to cry as well and kissed her newborn daughter. The three were now together.

****

The Five Realms rejoiced.

Everyone who saw the princess could not help but fawn and coo over the newborn. Sybil recovered in her chambers, the child never out of her sight. She was besotted with the little girl, singing to her as she nursed the Artemian princess or nuzzling her precious face. The other noblewomen who came to see the princess also came to pay respect to their new empress. They were happy for Sybil, who had suffered so and who convinced Malchior To allow them to bear children of their own. A few of the ladies were now pregnant themselves and they kissed Sybil's hand in thanks.

To say that Malchior was a proud father was an understatement. Seeing the mighty and fearsome demigod cradle and hold his newborn, his eyes aglow with love and tenderness...Sybil could not help but smile.

"Look, Avalee," he whispered, cradling his daughter before the windows, "One day you will reign over all of this!"

"Oh Malchior," Sybil sighed, "She's only two days old. She'll worry about that soon enough!" Malchior gave his wife an apologetic smile.

"You're right, my love. I just...I can't believe she is real."

*****

Sybil was crowned empress the same day as Princess Avalee was christened. They royal family rode through the capital as the people cheered. Sybil realized that she had never really left the palace and had no idea that she was so well loved. Stories of her ordeal as consort and of her wise advice had won her over: not only was she Malchior's prydia she was also a worthy successor to Thyra as empress.

Malchior looked at his wife, garbed in her coronation robes and wearing the Imperial diadem, and his beloved daughter cradled in her arms. The christening gown, first sewn by the princesses namesake, glittered and sparkled in the glorious light as the baby calmly watched the scene from her mother's arms. Nothing in the realms or the mortal worlds would tear them from him. Sybil turned, looked into her husband's eyes. She was thinking the same: nothing and no one would come between them. Their love was strong now and grew stronger as each day passed and they learned to heal. Malchior leaned in and they kissed.

The kingdom rejoiced.

#a debt of vengeance #birth #birth stories #pregnancy #pregnant #Pregnant Fantasy #fantasy #childbirth #Birthing

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ldelreyna · 5 years

Text

CHAPTER IV

“And it's peaceful in the deep 'Cause either way you cannot breathe No need to pray, no need to speak Now I am under all And it's breaking over me A thousand miles onto the sea bed I found the place to rest my head Never let me go, never let me go.”

- Never Let Me Go, Florence and the Machine

When Jon walked back home, he immediately remembered about the meeting Sansa told him about and that the Lords wanting him there. She was impatiently waiting for him at the doors of the Great Hall.

"What took you so long?" She asked when she saw him walking slowly to him.

Something was at his hands, she tried to see what it was but the sound of his voice distracted her.

"I went to see the farmers." He answered.

She was so beautiful.

"What farmers?"

"You told me a great amount of lands was in need of a master. I was trying to fix this problem." Jon smiled when she blinked in silence, glad he was helping her, and he took her hands with his and left a long kiss at Sansa's forehead.

"Thank you." She said when his lips were at her skin, warming that part of her face.

"You look really good today. Did you cut your hair?"

Jon didn't know from where this was coming from, he just had to say it to her.

"Yeah... but not so much."

"I see."

Sansa was overwhelmed by the feeling that that small conversation was making with her… Jon touching her hands and kissing her forehead... She knew it was innocent from him, but the shivers it cause her body was far from innocent.

She wanted to get closer to him. Closer and closer.

"Shall we go?"

Jon nodded and followed her through the doors. The Lords greeted both of them as they stood up, in respect.

"It's really good to have you with us, Your Grace." Lord Cerwyn said to Jon with a warm smile.

"I am not Your King anymore, my Lord."

Sansa put her hand at Jon's and responded in high tone:

"You'll always be our King.” She paused and then continued. “Can we start?"

Tons of problems were discussed there, Jon shared that the issue with the farmers was fixed for now and he was going to give personal help for them all. The gold was in a great amount and they agreed that a place to give medical support for the Northerners was in need and money should be invested in it. And after all of that, the real reason why Jon was there came from the mouth of Lord Manderley:

"Your Grace, The North is concerned about the future of our lands. We are more than happy and satisfied with the reign of Queen Sansa, but we are not so sure about the future."

"Say your point for once, Lord Manderly." Bran said it. Sansa insisted that he should be there, and nobody was seeing this as a problem, he was a Stark after all.

“We believe your sister should marry and produce heirs. Women or men, we don’t mind, as long as the North remains with the Starks. And independent.” Lord Tallhart words were more honest and direct.

“And your suggestions are?”

"We have great bachelors, Your Grace. But we do not want someone from south." Lord Reed answered Jon.

"My sister is the one who is going to share a life with this man, if she chooses to marry. She will have a say as to who she wants or not." Jon was harsh on his words because everything was really pissing him off.

"I will marry and I will produce heirs." Sansa clarifies after a long silence.

"I know your sister…" Lord Cerwyn said to Jon and Bran "…is the one who should choose but your name was the one we were most comfortable with. Since she's not your sister but your cousin."

"I beg your pardon?!" Jon couldn’t believe what he was hearing .

"You're the only half-stark who remains a loyal friend to the North. You're a great warrior. You're a good man, Your Grace, and the North have you in a high respect."

Jon was in shock. He could not believe in anything he was hearing. He looked at Sansa, remembering when she said she couldn’t tell him what this meeting was about. At his side, she was quiet, embarrassed, she couldn't even look at him.

"If Jon is Sansa's choice, they have my blessing." Bran said so everybody could hear very clearly.

Jon was trying to process everything in his mind, the things that this come with, all the implications of his union with Sansa. And everybody seems to see this as something really normal, even Bran.

…

"Sansa, I'm sorry, I should not have walked into your room like this ..."

Jon was petrified with the scene he was seeing right in front of him, he was utterly sloppy and inconsequential when he simply opened the door of Sansa's chambers and entered without any ceremony. Her sister was in her bath, immersed in a large bathtub with herbs and perfume, her hair caught in a loose mill above her head, eyes closed and neck lying on the copper curve of the tub.

Sansa, on the other hand, was not frightened. She did not tell him to go away at once, much less was discontent at having him there. Jon was intrigued by her sister's reaction and something inside him was producing tons of adrenaline for that moment. And he repressed it more than anything.

"You want things, Jon, that are already yours. There is nowhere to run. Part of you feels you do not deserve it and the other thinks you are wrong. But there’s nothing wrong in your feelings. "

These were Bran's last words before he left the Great Hall yesterday, after the most awkward moment he ever had in his life.

"Stay." Jon had to redo that scene a few times in his mind after hearing Sansa's words. Did he heard right?

"Excuse me?" He asked, not believing what she had asked him to do.

"Rub my back," she continued, but this time she had a yellow sponge in her hand. "I was waiting for the maid, but I do not think she's coming back. I suspect she's having an affair with one of the castle's guards.” She whispered amusingly, naturally, as if Jon was not there in front of her while she was naked.

His rational side was turned off and for a moment he was pure emotion, he saw himself where he should not be - where his mind said he should not be -, passing the sponge down Sansa's back and gently rub her delicate white skin. Her well-drawn neck was adorned with coppery strands of hair that fell from her messy bun, skin full of freckles ... Sansa's back was beautiful.

He grimaced at the strange thought in his mind.

"Are you going back to the Wall?" Sansa was avoiding that question a lot, but she could not anymore. There was no way, it was stuck in her throat. After the dinner, Bran left in Jon’s hands his pardon letter, signed by King Bran and Queen Sansa. He could stay, Sansa wanted to scream this out.

"No."

She contained the smile it was forming on her lips. His hands had already dropped the sponge on the water, but Jon was still touching her wet skin with his hands, unable to break that moment.

"Forever?"

He laughed. He seldom laughed with her, they were almost always fighting over some silly reason.

"At least hide your contentment."

She shook her head and turned to look him in the eye. Both still hadn’t discussed what Sansa's council thought was the right thing for both of them: a union. It seemed an absurd word among them two, vulgar even. But instincts pointed their cravings for a different place that night.

"Why would I?"

"Well, I came here for this. To tell you this. I've sent a raven to Castle Black, writing about my decision to stay in Winterfell. With you."

Sansa didn’t think that after so much suffering things would really work for her. Her family reunited, she had her revenge, Jon killed the mad queen, she was crowned queen and today, right now, she heard Jon saying he would be with her at home for the rest of their lives. She couldn’t know what was going on in his mind about the subject of marriage. To her it all sounded half crazy, half absurd, but she could not help a tiny feeling growing in her thoughts ...

Curiosity.

"Get the oil on the table."

"Sansa." His word was an alert. Alerting them both. An alert for to the scenarios that formed in his head. An alert for what Sansa was planning in her head.

All the issue about Jon and Sansa’s union, the two rulers of the North, the perfect match for the desires and needs of the North, had created strange feelings within the two.

Jon was feeling something gradual, almost imperceptible changes. Sansa started to laugh in a different way for him, her lips had a new rhythm as it moved to speak, her eyes blinked slower and beautifully. But inside of her, it was like a flash of truth coming to the surface, when you realize something that has always been right in front of you.

Sansa was blind but now she sees.

Jon is Jon.

But another Jon. Her Jon. Not Jon, the bastard, son of her father, that her mother made her grow up hating a bit. Jon was the protective man, the warrior who overcame enemies unimaginable by the man. The hero – that somehow - defeated her greatest trauma, beat him almost to death, and allowed her to take her revenge in the way her abuser deserved to have. Jon was the first man who loved her free of obscure intentions or obligation, loved her for being who she was.

His Sansa.

"The shoulders." She guided him when she saw he was already pouring the liquid through his hands at her request.

The rough skin of his palm hand massaging her muscles was heaven, she felt every nerve in her body activate in a strange way, which made her almost jump out of the tub.

"Is everything okay?" Jon asked, watching the water fiddle with her sudden movement, he searched her face to make sure Sansa was really there with him, and it was a mistake.

For a few seconds he judged it as a mistake.

He looked into her eyes, the woman with the hair kissed by the fire was no longer his sister. There was a strange aura around Sansa there, alive inside of her. That didn’t stop him from touching her, even when he saw she was taking her hand from the water and running her fingers over his face.

"I like your beard," she whispered.

Jon didn’t have time to think, Sansa was already hanging her face out of the tub and dragging her lips through his beard. The brutality and delicacy. "It’s so rough in my mouth," she commented through her mouth without detaching herself from his face.

"Sansa ... I don’t think ..." Jon tried to gather words with sense that would lead him to a coherent argument.

He failed.

And as she danced her voluminous lips over his skin, he ran his fragrant oil-soaked hands over her soft white shoulders.

"I'm not scared anymore" she whispered in his ear and for seconds he didn’t understand.

He turned his face away from her and looked her in the eye. Brilliant sapphires, jewels. They had a brighter glow that night. Until he understood Sansa's words.

And then Jon made the second mistake.

A single drop fell from Sansa’s eyes, a tear of happiness mixed with Sansa's smile. It made its way from her eyes, down her cheek, neck, slid into the space between her breasts, and joined the large amount of water in the tub. Her nipples, yes, were rosy with the small, reddish halo. Perfect. They were already out of the water, visible and tempting.

"Aren’t you curious?" She asked when she saw he was using the last bit of control inside of him.

Jon knew that at some point he could no longer control himself, he was already on the edge of an endless chasm. And she knew very well where his thoughts lay, judging by the shiver of his skin. His hand answered her question, descended curiously by the shoulders and stroked her hard nipple. Sansa bit her lip and met his eyes.

"It would be foolish."

"What's necessary is never foolish." She replied.

Jon wanted to ask where she got so many methods of trying a man, how she was so good at it. Or if he was only held hostage to the effects she had on his libido. He felt his hard cock straining against his pants in an uncomfortable way and it all got worse when Sansa came back with her lips to his ear, her tongue counting promiscuous secrets in the form of improper thoughts dancing through his mind, he got in there, then a bite at his ear and then she licked right after. Jon's hand now covered her entire breast, squeezing her deliciously and torturously.

Jon could not bear it, as if you were pushing a bag full of grains beyond its capacity and tried to close it, but the pressure exerted there would blow it up. And it exploded. He took Sansa by the waist and laid her back against the bathtub as he knelt in the middle of her legs - in the water - and gnawed her breast with hunger. Sansa bit her wrist so that the cry coming out of her throat did not catch anyone's attention, especially when his free hand found the valley hidden by her coppery hairs and caressed her intimacy. His fingers were huge - and thick – and they were doing a fantastic job. And his lips and tongue playing and sucking her nipples were more than she could ever imagine asking the gods one day.

Until Sansa found herself falling from the abyss without end. His skin was hot, it was trembling, it was on fire. His joints tingled, his head fried. In her throat the moan was muffled by Jon's mouth and he sucked her tongue as the moment pleasure found her. She would not know if she would survive it, but she didn’t care, she would die happy if that was paradise.

And when her breathing calmed and Jon's lips left simple kisses down her neck, she grabbed his shirt, still with eyes closed, gasping for air. A strange aura hovered there, as if the magnitude of her actions had ugly and irreparable consequences.

It was just irreparable.

Jon got up. He looked at a Sansa, fallen and exhausted, naked in the bath, for one last time and went out the door, leaving her more confused and full of questions than ever.

What had just happened there?

NOTES:

1. The chapter has been revised by the most incredible D. And I love it! And the gif belongs to my bf littlegirlinvisible.

2. I am very happy with all the reach me and littlegirlinvisible is having after the first three chapters. It may not be much for some but for me it’s a lot.

3. Reblog, like and comment if you’re enjoying.

4. You’re all free to give me prompts and ideas. I am also open to request for another works.

My fanfictions have a lot of smuts, really a lot. If you are not comfortable with this, you are warned.

Follow the tag # swan song jonsa fanfic to see the posts and the gifsets whenever you want.

I sincerely hope that everyone is enjoying it.

CHAPTER INDEX:

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fic #jonsa fam #jonsa is endgame #swan song jonsa fanfic #swan-song-jonsa-fanfic #got fanfiction #sansa queen in the north #sansa x jon #sansa stark #jon snow x sansa stark #jon snow #jon x sansa

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aliceslantern · 5 years

Text

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 16--Unlucky

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Unlucky.” A routine case with a vengeful patient leaves Demyx with more than he bargained for.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It had been kind of a long day. Drizzly, but in a vague sort of way, as though the sky couldn’t make up its mind. Demyx only had one call left before shift change, and a last-minute one; a woman had badly cut her hand by the marketplace and needed help. It would be a quick fix, at least, before he could go home and collapse into bed.

The population around here was getting to be more dense, though it still paled in comparison to many of the cities he’d visited. A few people he’d healed greeted him. He still struggled to remember all their names.

The woman was waiting by her front door, her face ashen and drawn. She had a towel wrapped tightly around her hand, and it was soaked through in places. “Good, you’re here,” she said.

“Ouch, what’d you do?”

“Trying to do some slice and dice on some vegetables… and, well…” she shrugged. She was youngish, maybe thirty or so. Her apron had splotches of blood on it.

“It happens more than you think.” He smiled. “I can fix it. Why don’t you sit down?”

She sat on her stoop. He could barely see the inside of the small home, the onions and tomatoes sitting on a now-dirty cutting board. A bloody knife. A kettle had been put up, but was not yet boiling.

Demyx sat next to her. “How’s the pain?”

“It stings more than anything. The peppers, you know.” She bit her lip.

Before unwrapping it, he gave a quick scan of the wound, and cast a spell to coagulate the blood. He set the bloody towel aside. It was a clean cut, but one that probably would’ve had trouble healing on its own. He cleaned it quickly. She hadn’t even lost much blood, and it was shallow enough that it wouldn’t scar with a spell. He had it fixed in five minutes. The woman flexed her hand.

“You’re all set,” he said. “Just try to be careful next time, okay?”

“Oh, before you go. I was about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

Demyx hesitated. “That’s really nice of you, but I should let you get back to your dinner--”

“I insist.” She smiled widely, revealing straight, even teeth. “It’s the perfect kind of day for it.”

“Uh… sure. Thanks.”

She went back inside and came back a moment later with two mugs. “It’s a special blend. I made it myself.”

“Oh, are you a botanist?”

She laughed superficially. “You could say that.”

Demyx sipped at the tea. It was incredibly bitter, and he tried not to flinch. “The taste really is… unique.”

“Thanks. I thought so too.” She didn’t sip at her tea immediately.

“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I guess, in a sense. I just moved back in a few weeks ago. This was my sister’s house, but she… well.” The woman sighed. “She fell to darkness some years ago.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m getting along just fine on my own.”

He drank the tea probably too quickly, eager to get rid of the sour taste. “That’s good. I’ve noticed the people here are really friendly. You’re in good company.”

“I’m sure I am.” He wondered if he was imagining the dark undertone of her voice. She had been talking about her dead sister, after all. “We seem to be pretty welcoming to just about everyone.”

“Yeah… I really like it.” He tried to smile. “Thanks again for the refreshment. I’ll see you around.” Demyx realized he hadn’t even asked her name, but when he turned back to fix this, she had gone inside and shut the door. He brushed off the weirdness as a lack of social skills and started the long walk back.

It did seem much longer than usual. His calf muscles were getting tighter as he climbed the shallow incline, even though he usually took it a few times a day. Demyx attributed it to exhaustion, the weather. Once he was on the flat surface of the postern it didn’t fade, however, and in face the ache seemed to be creeping steadily upwards. He tried to think about what it might be. Potassium deficiency? Dehydration? He’d probably feel better with water and rest.

He kept making his way upstairs. The cramping was getting worse, more uncomfortable, almost painful now. Had he burnt out again? That had felt kind of similar. It would figure. Broken bones and pneumonia were high-cost heals, and he’d had a couple. He started to dig in his kit for an ether, found half of one, and had just brought the bottle to his mouth when a sharp pang in his chest made him double in two. The bottle fell to the ground and shattered, spilling the shiny green liquid all over the floor. “Shit.” He rubbed at the pain, trying to get it to ease enough to stand. A hot burning sensation replaced the pain, and his vision seemed to shimmer.

It wasn’t--no--

Demyx dug out his gummiphone and dialed Even.

His voice was sharp and snippy. “Boy, I’m in the middle of something. What do you want?”

“I think I’ve been poisoned.”

---

Demyx couldn’t make it as far as the lab. His muscles were too tight, and painful, and he sat propped against a wall waiting for help. He dug through his bag with shaking, achy fingers to see if he had any antidote, but he’d used his last on a kid who’d accidentally swallowed cleaning products. He had to wait and hope he could make it until help came.

At least it was fairly quick. “What on earth did you do to yourself?” Dilan asked sourly.

“Not me,” he hissed through his teeth. He could feel sweat coursing down his face.

“Can you walk at all?”

“Hurts too much.”

Dilan hefted him up like a baby. Being moved hurt worse than the stillness, and for a moment he thought he might faint. “You’re much lighter than you look.”

He tried to keep breathing. His head was swimming too much to try and figure out what had been done to him, and why. Even was smart. Even could handle it.

“So what is this? An accident? A cruel prank?”

“Don’t know.”

“We’re almost there.”

Time seemed to stretch, elongate…

“Demyx, try to stay awake.”

“Sorry.”

There were so many damn hallways in this place.

“Here. Set him over here.” Even’s voice, high and stressed.

“He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness.”

A sharp stab of cool fluid into his arm. Demyx’s eyes fluttered open. He could just barely feel the canvas of a cot under all the pain.

“There you are,” Even said. Another pinprick, this one in his hand. “How do you feel?”

“Hurts.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“I’m sorry, I’m hesitant to give you anything while we’re trying to get you to metabolize this nasty business. I’m going to take some blood, alright? Let’s see if I can’t figure out what this is. In the meantime, I'm just going to keep a steady antidote drip.”

“Okay.” The words would’ve meant more to him if he could focus. His muscles were stiff, tight, and burning. Demyx wasn’t sure to be glad or not he was conscious. He shivered, hard enough that Even had trouble getting blood. Even tucked a scratchy wool blanket around him.

"I should tell Ienzo."

"No," he hissed. "No, I'll do it after."

"You're very ill. You'll probably be very ill for the next few days."

The generic antidote was making him more lucid, but it also made him more aware of the pain, insidious and awful. "That bad?"

"I'm still doing research. But you're lucky you recognized it and got to me when you did."

Through a sort of haze Demyx watched Even at work at the nearby table, watching him pipette blood and examine it under a microscope.

Time was moving weirdly. It could've been ten minutes or two hours. The pain eased in the slightest. He was desperately tired, and desperately thirsty, despite the fluids he was taking. "Even?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"Will I die if I go to sleep?"

He smiled sadly. "No, you're rebounding enough. Get some rest. You'll need it."

Demyx slipped in and out, never quite getting all the way asleep…

"It was quite alarming to see. I haven't yet gotten the story. I think you may be right, Dilan. Someone clearly has ire for us."

Demyx blinked. Something cold wormed under the skin of his hand. "What…"

Even patted his wrist. "A more specific antidote. Go back to sleep."

"What was it?"

Even frowned. He sat on an upturned crate next to the cot. "A type of neurotoxin that causes your cells to stop accepting water. Essentially, it would've been a very quick, very painful death from dehydration. Not to worry, I've made a serum which seems to be combatting it. Your vitals are already stabilizing."

Demyx considered the irony of this. "She must've known."

Even's eyebrows furrowed. "Who?'

"The person who did this." He tried to sit up, or at least prop himself up, but his muscles were horrifically sore. “About my old powers—”

"Don't move," Even said gently. "I figured you, of all people, would understand this part of palliative care."

The joke didn't phase him. "Why else would she use a poison to dry me out?"

"Who?"

"The woman, the one who--" Hot nausea brought tears to his eyes. "I'm going to throw up."

Dutifully, Even handed him a pail to be sick into. This dealt with, he tried to focus.

"She gave me tea. After I healed her. I thought the cut was too clean, that she acted weird--"

Even sighed. "You gave her the benefit of the doubt. As any competent physician would." He paused. "Do you remember where she lived? We should let the committee know. The last thing we need is another maniac on the loose."

Demyx swallowed the taste of bile. He told Even what he remembered, but this exhausted him into a stupor. Even gave him another dose of the real antidote. He drifted off and woke suddenly, disoriented, is his own bed. There was still an IV in his hand. His head was pounding in time with his heart, an insistent thud like a metronome, and his stomach was sour. The blackout curtains of the room had been drawn, leaving it blessedly dark and cool.

In the semidarkness, he did not quite realize that there were other people in the apartment with him. The lamp by the couch was on, and it was here Even and Ienzo sat, mumbling to one another too softly for him to make out. Demyx felt horrifically thirsty, and despite all the time that had passed and all the fluids he’d taken he still didn’t feel the need to use the bathroom. He wondered if the poison had done more damage to him than he’d thought, that it had fucked with his kidneys, and if he should say something.

One thing at a time. Worry about sitting up first.

A sharp, splitting pain in his ab muscles nearly made him gasp out loud, but he managed it at last, treading dizziness. His skin was tacky with dried sweat.

The muffled conversation abruptly stopped. Ienzo stood and all but ran over to him. “You scared a few years off my life. Easily,” he said. He pulled Demyx into a gentle embrace, and if he hadn’t been so dehydrated he probably would’ve cried. Demyx couldn’t help but lean into the comfort. Too soon, Ienzo broke away and touched his face. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, wonderful,” he said hoarsely. “I could run a marathon.”

A twitchy, anxious smile broke the tension in his brows. “Are you still symptomatic?”

“Well I feel like roadkill. Like a hangover times one thousand. But the worst of the pain seems to have stopped.”

“Good.”

Even gently steered Ienzo out of the way and took Demyx’s pulse. “Aerith appraised you when you were unconscious,” he told him. “You should be alright, more or less, so long as we keep your electrolytes up to snuff. The antidote seems to have worked before the poison caused lasting damage. I’ve made more, in case our little friend decides to strike again.”

“I’m still so thirsty.”

“I’m sure it must feel that way. You’re getting more than enough fluids.”

Ienzo turned towards the window, peeking through the curtain at the moonlit night. His arms were crossed and he clutched his elbow so tightly Demyx could see the knuckles were white. He wanted to console him, but considering his brain felt like it had been microwaved all he could focus on was how shitty he felt. “Can I change clothes?” Demyx asked Even. “Maybe take a bath? I feel gross.”

Even raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel up to it?” he asked. “You should really rest first.”

“I’ll feel better. There could still be vestiges of the poison in my sweat. Which I’m kind of covered in.”

“That’s a fair point. Ienzo?”

He jerked, as though startled.

Even squinted at him. “Could you help him? I’m sure he’d prefer you over me.”

“Yes. Of course,” he said stiffly.

Standing was treacherous, and he had to lean heavily against Ienzo. In the privacy of the bathroom he let Demyx undress, his back turned as if they didn’t see one another naked on a regular basis. Demyx hung the IV fluid on a rack normally devoted to towels and settled in the warm water. “Well, this is humiliating,” he said slowly.

Ienzo sat on the covered toilet. “I’m sure.”

“I feel like an invalid.”

“You’re very, very weak.” He sighed. “While you were resting, I studied that compound. Things could’ve been so much worse, Demyx.” His voice trembled in the slightest. “It could’ve caused irreparable, irreversible damage to your brain. You could’ve had memory loss, or been paralyzed-- why are you laughing?”

The deadly anger of his tone sobered what little humor Demyx had found. “I can deal with memory loss.”

Ienzo paled, his anger dissolving. “Yes… that was… tactless of me.” A pause. “You could’ve lost so much, aside from your life. Motor skills… the ability to speak…”

“Motor skills?” He looked at his wet palms, which trembled faintly. He hoped it was from anxiety and nothing deeper. Aerith would’ve said something, right? “You mean I couldn’t play Arpeggio?”

“Amongst other things.”

He’d been too sick to realize it. He could handle the thought of death, even being disabled, because there was nothing wrong with not being able to walk or talk. Whatever would have happened, he could handle and adjust. But losing Arpeggio? Again? He felt wetness in his eyes and tried to blink it back.

“This is probably traumatizing,” Ienzo said softly. He took Demyx’s hand.

“Probably? You think?”

“I hope this is an anomaly, a lone act of cruelty. The committee is opening an investigation. Once you’re well, they want to question you.” He slumped a bit, as though his body weighed too much. “I am… furious. Even if this is revenge against the apprentices, there was no reason for you to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Unless she knew about me being in the Organization.”

“That is… possible, yes. Even so. It would’ve made far more sense for her to target one of us.”

“I interact with people more. Maybe she was trying to send a message.” His stomach was feeling a little worse, and he settled more deeply into the tub.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I had hoped Dilan was wrong, about the townspeople harboring grudges against us. I was naive.”

“You were hopeful.”

Ienzo looked up. There were tears in his eyes.

“Maybe it’s got nothing to do with our pasts. Maybe she’s just crazy and wanted to hurt someone.”

“Maybe,” he said, though Demyx could tell he didn’t believe it. “Is it helping? The bath?”

“It feels good. I’m so sore.”

“You probably shouldn’t stay in too long. I’d feel much better if you were back in bed. I should probably change the sheets, in case you were right about it being in your sweat.” He stood. “I’ll do that now. If you need me, shout.”

Taking a bath wore him out. Once he had actually brushed his teeth and gotten dressed again, he fell asleep for an indeterminable length of time. When he woke up, he was still achy, still thirsty, but a little bit less so. He kept down tea and a bowl of rice, was able to get to the bathroom on his own. It was a small victory.

Aeleus visited him. After all this time they weren’t very close, but Demyx appreciated the gesture regardless. “I’ve made you some bone broth soup. It’ll help get your strength back.”

“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

He sat in the chair at the bedside. Ansem had taken Ienzo out for lunch, though he didn’t know that Demyx asked him to do this. Ienzo needed air, some time to decompress. “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” Demyx admitted. “I’m getting there. Slowly. I can’t wait to get this thing out of my hand.”

“You gave Ienzo quite a fright.”

“I think it hit him harder than it hit me, to be honest.” Demyx bit his lip. “To a degree I think he thinks it’s his fault. That the woman was really after one of you, that this was some sort of revenge. It’s probably triggering him. That’s why I wanted him to talk to Ansem.”

Aeleus nodded sagely. “You know him well.”

Demyx laughed a little. “Well--I hope so. He’s hard to figure out, but I’m getting better at it.”

“You’ve become very considerate. Compared to then.”

He scratched the back of his neck with his untethered hand. His hair was a mess, but he saw no point in making it look good today. “I’ve worked really hard on that. The way I… used to talk to the others, makes me… ugh, cringe.” He bit his lip. “You want to know something really horrible? When Demyx heard about you guys at CO getting killed, he was happy. As much as a Nobody could feel, anyway.”

Aeleus’s expression barely changed. “You had to develop a sense of empathy from scratch. I, too, hardened my heart. So to speak. It was the only way to get through.”

“I already asked Even and Dilan. But how did you end up with Ansem?”

Aeleus thought about this for a few minutes. “We can say it was… progress for progress’s sake,” he said slowly. “I was young, I was idealistic. I’d heard that Ansem was pushing the boundaries of what could be, and I… feeling somewhat stuck in a rut… craved that change.”

“Did you feel trapped in Radiant Garden?”

“I believe I did. To hear him speak of other worlds, of other cultures was… intoxicating. It changed absolutely everything. Now I try my best to not be jaded. This place… I hope to nurture it.”

Demyx understood. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job.”

---

He slept again, deeply, and woke up disoriented a little after noon. He felt weird, and it took him a minute to process that he only felt that way because he wasn’t thirsty. Demyx waited for Even’s confirmation, but getting rid of the IV made him feel a million times better. He was able to at least rest on the couch now instead of in bed.

Aerith came by with Leon. She confirmed that the poison was gone from his system, but that he should still rest for another few days, at least until the fatigue dissipated. She made them tea and, exam and pleasantries over, they set to business.

Demyx told Leon everything he remembered, every detail to how she looked and acted, to how the tea tasted, where she lived. He’d told Even all this in a sort of fugue state. Giving the report made him feel vaguely nauseous.

“We’ve investigated the leads,” Leon said. “It’s so weird. When Yuffie went to that home, there was nobody there. There was no sign it was even inhabited. We’ve asked around, and nobody’s seen this person in days. We’re thinking she came over with one of the last Traverse Town flights. Without a name, and without records… she’ll be hard to catch.”

Demyx bit his lip. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Leon sighed. “Yeah, us too. And we’ve let everyone know--not that it was you, but that someone had been poisoned, and not to accept anything from strangers or what seems or tastes suspicious. The restaurant owners are all pissed at me, but I don’t do this to be liked.”

“Even has samples of my blood and the poison. If that helps.”

Aerith’s eyes brightened. “You know, it might,” she said. “Maybe if I can figure out where it came from, we can find out more about the person who did this.”

“I’d say you guys in particular need to be extra careful,” Leon said. “In case this was targeting you specifically.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Do you think it is? Has anyone ever, like, mentioned anything about us?”

Leon tapped his fingers against his notepad. “Not that I can recall. I sent Yuffie out to do some recon. She’s good with people. If there’s anything to be found, she’ll find it.”

“And at least we have and can make more of the antidote, should someone need it,” Aerith said. “It’s good you were able to recognize it for what it was.”

“I kind of have you to thank for that. That, and years of getting bitten by asshole Heartless.”

Leon smiled. “We’ll call you if we need more information. Though this brings up an important point. We need to know who lives here. What they’re doing here. Town is growing so fast. We’ve been so focused on the literal infrastructure that I nearly forgot there needs to be other infrastructure too.”

“Oh, bureaucracy.” He tried not to flinch.

“Sort of. We should start a basic census, at least.” He thought about this for a moment, tapping a pen against his chin. “Well, I hope you have a quick recovery.”

Aerith gave him a hug. “Be well.”

---

It took him about ten days before he was feeling normal. It definitely felt like he’d been really sick for a long time. He’d lost weight, and ended up having to buy a belt because nothing fit right anymore. He hoped to gain a few kilos and get back into shape. Demyx was sure if he tried to do magic right now it would wipe him out, or worse.

One of these days he and Ienzo took a walk into town to get some groceries. At first, a flutter of anxiety crept under his skin, because even though Leon said they kept his identity hidden in terms of the poisoning, he feared everyone would know. But they were treated more or less normally.

“I figured I’d use this time as an excuse to bake more,” Ienzo said. “If you need to gain weight, that’s a good way to do it.”

“I won’t say no.”

“I know you won’t. I do enjoy it.” He stood to Demyx’s left, so he has trouble reading Ienzo’s expression. He swore he heard some artificiality in it.

“Can you make macarons? The last time you did I swear I met god.”

“To be fair. We’d just smoked marijuana. That does affect taste. ...And any supposed divine revelation.”

“Even so.”

“That was a good night. We should do it again when you’re well.”

A blush crept into his cheeks. “Yes.” They hadn’t had sex in nearly two weeks; maybe if he wasn’t exhausted when they got home Ienzo might want to.

“Do you feel up to taking the long way home?”

“I think so. I’m not that tired yet.” The early morning air was fresh and cool, and he drank it in gratefully. Even with open windows, the air inside could only feel so clean. “I’ve missed being outside.”

“You’ve dealt with all this beautifully.”

“No point being weak and also miserable.”

“I suppose.”

Demyx looked back towards him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why is it you ask?”

“I wanted to make sure.”

He sighed. “Admittedly, it did dredge up some negative memories,” he said. “You and I… have a complicated history of collapsing on one another.”

“We have the combined constitution of a wet tissue.”

He chuckled. “As well as luck that is both terrible and great.” A pause. Demyx let him take his time. “I know it’s not my fault, but I do feel… guilty. If this is a targeted attack, who knows what else might happen should someone with a grudge seek revenge?”

“I really hope it isn’t that.”

“I do too--” Ienzo’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I swear I saw someone--maybe I’m paranoid.”

“Might be a Heartless.”

“Are you strong enough to fight one?”

“Maybe a Shadow--probably not much more. Maybe we should turn back towards where there are more claymores.” A seed of dread started to grow in his stomach.

“Yes. I agree.”

They walked back along the blue stone that bordered the edge of town. Ienzo kept looking over his shoulder; Demyx couldn’t help but do the same. They heard rock scrabbling. “We’re definitely being followed by something,” Demyx said, as softly as he could.

“What should we do?”

“Try and act natural until we get somewhere safer.”

Ienzo squeezed his hand more tightly than he normally did. “I’ve got a pocket knife. But I don’t think that will be much use. And my magic is still very limited.”

“Well, we’ll see. Might want to dust off that strategizing part of your brain.”

There was a quiet thud behind them. Demyx turned, tense, ready to draw the Keyblade.

The figure wore a cloak. Not an Organization cloak, a regular, run-of-the-mill cloak. It was brown.

But Demyx, after years of recon, didn’t need to see a person’s face to recognize them. The height, shoulders, and general bearing were enough. He exhaled and put a hand on his hip. “What are you doing here?”

The figure, craving anonymity, said nothing.

Ienzo squinted, confused.

“You trying to finish the job, or what?” Demyx asked.

The figure flicked back their hood and scowled.

“For the record, poisoning a healer isn’t the best way to go. We tend to be pretty resilient. You should’ve just stabbed me.”

The woman’s face was flushed red with anger. “You weren’t supposed to survive.”

“Yeah, that’s how assassination works.”

Demyx turned back to Ienzo. He was frozen; he looked like he’d been struck. Demyx wondered briefly if he’d been hit by a Stop spell, but he was still blinking, and his hands were shaking. More obvious than anything, though, was the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

“Little Ienzo,” she said coolly. “Though--not so small now, are you?”

Demyx tried to think. “Who--” he began, but the woman cut him off.

“Go on, tell him,” she said.

He shuddered, then said, “One of the test subjects. One of the victims. She and her sister.”

“But she’s human,” Demyx said. The conversation he’d had with her previously clicked. “Or--”

“Not all of the people who were exploited fell to darkness. In the--the early days.” He steeled himself. “Regardless of how you feel. Take out your anger on me, not on those around me.”

“I think you were the most disturbing one,” the woman continued. “Of all the scientists. What did they do to you, to get you to act the way they did? And why are you reopening old wounds?”

“I want to help people heal from what I did. The darkness hurt me too.”

She took a step forward. Demyx tried to shove Ienzo behind him instinctively. “Not everybody wants to forgive and forget,” she said.

“More people do than don’t,” Demyx cut in. “And how is trying to kill us solving anything?”

To his surprise, he felt Ienzo taking shelter behind him; he was confused for just a second before he felt Ienzo pressing the gummiphone into his back.

The woman scowled. “He’s got you under his spell too, I see.”

Demyx rolled his eyes. “Honestly, if you want to manipulate me, you’re going to have to be a lot more clever than that.”

Ienzo pressed his palm once again against Demyx’s back. The message was clear; stall.

“What did you think any of this would achieve?” Demyx asked. His heart was hammering, but he tried to maintain a sculpted look of boredom. “So you kill me. What would your next move have been? Infiltrating the castle? Trying to off us one by one? And then what? Regardless, you’d get caught. We work with the committee. They’d notice if we were gone.”

She seemed thrown by this. Behind the bravado, he noticed something like pain.

He sighed. “Look. I get it. I do. I know how it feels to be violated, and then to be so angry, so desperate, so hurt you’ll do anything to make it better. But you don’t have to do it this way. If you want, we can… I can help you.”

She clenched her fists. “You’d help the person who tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Honor code, right?” he held up his hand, and then wondered if this was overkill.

For a moment she said and did nothing, her expression blank. Her hands opened, relaxed. He breathed a small sigh of relief. Someone would be here soon.

With a flash, almost faster than he could really perceive, he saw the knife, but before he could duck or draw the Keyblade Ienzo threw him down and caught the knife right against his shoulder. In the space of about two seconds, Demyx smashed the hilt of the Keyblade against her temple, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious. He turned back to Ienzo. “Why the fuck would you do that?” Demyx hissed. “Lay down.”

He was breathing heavily, a fine film of sweat all along his face. “Feels mostly like she hit bone,” Ienzo said through his teeth.

“That’s for me to decide.” He ripped off his sweatshirt and packed it around the wound.

“Don’t do magic. Help is coming.”

“Let me at least check to see if it hit an artery.” The bleeding wasn’t visibly too much, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. It could all be internal.

“You’ll hurt yourself--”

“Shut up. You just got fucking stabbed.” He tried to find the energy for a spell. It didn’t seem to want to come. He pulled hard, pulled deep within himself, and immediately felt his body start to protest. He gagged.

“Demyx--”

“No. I’ve got this.”

“Demyx, I’m fine. Really.”

He applied pressure to Ienzo’s wound. He texted Aerith, in case she wasn’t already on the way. “You still with me?”

“I don’t even feel dizzy.”

“Don’t lie.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “If you die I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I’m not going to die.” The way he was breathing seemed to betray that. “I’m not finished with you yet.” His eyes rolled a little bit.

“Ienzo.”

“Still here.”

“Don’t shut your eyes.” He had to try again. Demyx pulled harder, tried to find the magic. Blackness swam over him for a minute.

He heard their footsteps before things could get bleaker. He wasn’t sure if it was from trying to use power, or from panic, but things seemed off, his ears ringing. Aerith crouched to heal the wound, Leon crouched to accost the woman. A small, dusty smelling hand patted his cheek. “Come on, kiddo,” said the voice. Yuffie’s face barely slid into focus.

“I’m five years older than you,” he mumbled, and fainted.

He came to about fifteen seconds later when she tipped an ether into his mouth. He drank it all down, flinching at the oily taste. He turned to Ienzo and Aerith--he was pale, his eyes closed--and a strangled sound caught in his throat.

“He’s alive,” Aerith assured him quickly. “He’s alive. He’s asleep. He’s going to be fine.”

“Oh fuck,” he said to the ground. “Fucking--”

“What a day, huh,” Yuffie said dryly.

---

“I do believe Aerith’s instructions were that both of us were to rest. I also believe I don’t need any more pillows. Nor do I need them fluffed.”

Demyx took a step back. Other than being a little pale, Ienzo seemed completely back to himself.

“You’re doing it again,” he said drolly, and took another drink of the blood replacement potion.

“Doing what?”

“Taking care of me instead of yourself. Come to bed. Lie with me.”

Demyx did so.

Ienzo slid his shirt down his shoulder. “See? I don’t even have a scar. So before you exert yourself wittering over me--”

“You took a fucking knife for me.”

He put a finger over his lips. “Which was a calculated risk I knew probably wouldn’t kill me. In the moment, I admit, I was more concerned about your wellbeing than mine--”

“Probably?”

“Demyx. Breathe.”

He tried to listen.

“I’ve seen too many people die this way.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Ienzo pulled him close.

He cried for a long time.

“I know you want to protect me,” Ienzo continued. “I think it would be easier, and more productive, if we agreed to protect each other instead. Can you agree to that?” He brushed a tear from Demyx’s eye.

“Yes.”

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #even #aerith #beyond this existence: new life #idk how this chapter turned out to be 5000 words

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