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theladyismyshepard · 3 years

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Oh wow you guys, almost 600 followers? I am confusion, but I appreciate all of you more than you’ll ever know! You guys are what keeps me inspired and going and to show my gratitude, I’m here to (hopefully) give you everything you’ve all been asking for

Well This is Still Awkward

Part 1

You were still frozen to your seat, unable to comprehend, much less control your legs. Denial was a son of a bitch and surely if you sat completely still and stared blankly into nothing, your girlfriends would come walking through and embrace you as if nothing happened... right?

You couldn’t hide away in denial forever, not when you could hear Daniela wailing from behind the thick door of Alcina’s office. Not when you could hear Cassandra’s voice raising, only to be silenced by an even louder one. Not when you could hear Bela pleading with her mother not to do this... they were losing the argument. You couldn’t help but to start trembling in your chair at the prospect of being stolen.

Lady Dimitrescu had said that she would return to fill you in on what was to happen now and that almost sounded like a threat to you despite her assurances that no harm would befall you. If this woman could hurt her daughters like this... How could she possibly care what you had thought or felt about the issue? You swallowed, unsure if you were up to every demand the Lady might have for you, and you had the distinct feeling that any objections from you would only make your life harder.

The door to her study opened with a groan, and you stiffened when the Lady herself ducked through the doorway, already finished with dealing with her daughters. You practically felt like a deer caught in the headlights when she straightened and her gaze settled on you, and the fond smile did nothing to calm your racing heartbeat. Her eyes dropped to look at your chest as a result, and you gulped as you watched them darken.

“I am terribly sorry if I kept you waiting for too long, my dear.” said the Lady, and if you looked closer, you could see the exhaustion that showed just how truly tiresome her daughters’ arguments had been.

You opened your mouth, ready to argue yet again, but something flickered across her eyes that had common sense screaming at you to snap it closed and ignore the way your teeth clacked together. The satisfied smile on her face showed she approved of your quick learning, and you couldn’t help but to frown, already understanding the difference in your relationship with the Lady and the relationship you had with Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela. She didn’t bother returning to her desk, instead choosing to tower over your seated form.

“Are you hungry, dear?” asked the Lady, her eyes surprisingly kind as she looked down on you, and that was worse... it had you diverting your gaze.

“Cassandra fed me,” You replied almost petulantly, and if she caught your attitude, she chose to ignore it.

“Oh that is even better, that means we can get straight to it,” said the Lady, unaffected by your tone. “Follow me, please.”

“Yes, my Lady,” You said monotonously, denial and bargaining giving way to just straight numbness.

You moved to stand, your head already ducked down, but a hand was quick to grab your shoulder. It wasn’t a violent grip, but the firmness of it told you to hold still and give your attention, and when you did, you could see the pinch between her brow as she frowned at you.

“Please, call me Alcina,” she insisted rather earnestly, and it had some sort of tension resolving inside of you. “You may call me so anytime you choose.”

“Thank you, Alcina,” You said, her name drawling off your tongue for the second time as you were quick to remember your manners.

“Now,” said Alcina, clapping her hands in what you could call a “chop chop” fashion. “Shall we continue with the day?”

“Yes, Alcina,” You nodded, and her smile brightened and it had your rigid shoulders marginally relaxing.

“Right this way then, dear,” guided Alcina, her hand returning to your shoulder, but gentler this time as she ushered you forward and out of the office.

As you passed through the threshold, the paralyzing thought struck you that you would run into Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela at some point, and you honestly couldn’t decide if you wanted it to happen sooner or later. Everything had happened so fast it was hard to believe that just that morning, you were waking up with Daniela pressed against your body. Less than an hour ago, you were eating and throwing playful banter at Cassandra before she was going to take you into town! Why did this feel like goodbye?

You felt your breath hitch as apprehension gnawed in between your rib cage, leaving you breathless and unable to focus on reality around you let alone formulate words. Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you were having a heart attack. But the way your stomach felt too large to be contained in your small frame and the way dots littered your vision, and the way you needed to get the hell out of here, you knew you were possibly headed towards a full blown panic attack.

“Where are we going?” You could barely hear yourself you were diving so far into your own head.

There must have been a tremble in your voice, or maybe it was the way it sounded so disconnected from you, but Alcina turned her concerned gaze on you and the hand on your shoulder cupped your cheek. You two had come to a stop right in the middle of the hallway, and you still felt too exposed. While you ached for your girlfriends, you couldn’t possibly look at them as you gave into their mother’s whim.

“I am just taking you to my quarters, do you think you can make it there?” pressed Alcina, watching you like a hawk, and you swallowed and nodded quickly, determined to shake off the panic that was intricately weaving itself inside of your chest, captivating every inch.

“Lead the way,” You said, giving a nervous laugh to mask the fact that your organs were so seized with anxiety that it had you nauseous.

“Are you alright?” Alcina couldn’t help but to question, and you nodded (her hand slipping from your cheek) giving her a rather halfhearted smile.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, just ready to hear my duties,” You insisted almost desperately, unwilling to speak lest tears fill your eyes at the mere mention of the root of your problem.

And yet again her brows furrowed as concern shone in her eyes as well as a little exasperation. If you didn’t know any better, you could swear that she was on the verge of pouting, but she refrained as she brought her hand to your shoulder. You refused to acknowledge the way your muscles relaxed underneath the small, deliberate circles she began drawing there. Instead, you focused on the crick that was about to form in your neck if you were to continue staring up.

“I would hope that with time, you don’t see this as a duty.” implored Alcina, and all you could do was finally turn away to look at your feet, but you gave a single nod. “I meant it when I said I see something special in you.”

There it was again, an insinuation of something special... It was beyond you what she had meant by it, but you found whatever “it” was to be a nuisance seeing as it got you into this mess. You weren’t even sure what your new relationship with the Lady was exactly, so you supposed it would be in your favor to just smile and nod along rather than argue. It certainly didn’t do her own daughters any good. But there was just one question that refused to be held back behind your teeth. So you craned your neck one more time and let it free.

“What exactly is it that you want from me?”

Rather than look offended or angered by your question, Alcina adopted a thoughtful expression as she dove deep into her own head to pick the right answer. She gnawed on her bottom lip nervously and you couldn’t help but to be thrown by how human it had made her look. Her eyes met yours and you found that you couldn’t take the intensity behind them.

“I want you to love me,” Alcina whispered oh so courageously, and you squeezed your eyes shut tightly and let your head hang.

I already love three Dimitrescus.

You were smart enough to keep that to yourself, and you turned towards the direction of her room, showing your willingness to comply still, and while it wasn’t quite a display of affection or approval of her words, it wasn’t the outright rejection that swelled and expanded in your chest, ready to burst forth, but too afraid to take shape. So you decided to continue on day by day, step by step, minute by minute. Who knew how things were to play out.

You took a single step forward before turning back over your shoulder to give Alcina a look as if to say “Are you coming?”, and you felt warm when she wore a fond smile in return, directed solely at you. She straightened her posture, determined to put the moment behind you as she continued on as if she didn’t just say what she said, and you were all too willing to let her.

Her hand was glued to your shoulder the entire rest of the way to her bedroom, and only dropped it to open up the door and guide you through before ducking low to allow herself entrance. It was warm, the hearth in full blaze as you stepped deeper into her room. The door closed behind Alcina with a small click, and it had the knots of anxiety returning to your gut. You knew she claimed to have wanted your heart, but that also entailed your body, and it had your frame wracked with tremors.

“Please, you may take a seat,” insisted Alcina, and you automatically plopped down into the large chair with your back facing the fireplace.

“Yes, my-”

Alcina clicked her tongue, and you quickly bit yours, catching your reflexive mistake. Your face burned.

“I did not mean it as a demand, and from this moment forward, nothing is meant as such unless I say otherwise.” said Alcina, taking a seat in the chair opposite of you.

“Then what are my duties?” You questioned, your brow furrowing at having it that easy. “Surely there is more that I am meant to do for you around here.”

“There is nothing that I necessarily need from you as far as house duties are concerned seeing as I have maids for that purpose.” said Alcina, pursing her lips, and a streak of boldness had you daring.

“Then what makes me yours?”

The way her eyes flashed dangerously had you paralyzed in your seat, and it didn’t help when she slowly raised herself up from her own chair, and without even taking a step forward, she bent over, both of her hands landing on either side of you, gripping tightly at the arms of the chair. She was so close that you could smell the overwhelming scent of smoke coupled with the hint of perfume that attempted to make itself known. At that proximity, you could see every line on her face, from the ones surrounding her smirk, to the ones crinkling at the edges of her eyes... and that didn’t even include the stretch marks that threatened to disappear below the plunging neckline of her dress.

“That would be this, darling.” drawled Alcina, and before you could protest, her face was buried into the crook of your neck.

And then she bit down hard. It was so piercing that it drew enough blood to dribble down your throat, but it was obvious that you didn’t have to concern yourself with the cleanup, not when there was a wet tongue that went hand in hand with the teeth buried into your flesh. Your eyes hurt from how wide they had grown, and your mouth was open in a silent scream. One of her hands had come up to grasp the whole opposite side of your neck, locking in you and any sound you thought to make. Your hands flew up to push at Alcina’s shoulders, yet she didn’t budge, too focused on her mission... of what? Marking you? Showing how interested she was in power play? Was this possibly even for her daughters?

You eventually gave up on your weak attempts at deflecting her, and your hands fell limply into your lap, and she hummed her approval into your neck before she withdrew enough to flatten her tongue against your neck and giving a single long, slow lick, and she granted you the sight of her leaning back and savoring the taste of your blood on her mouth. You felt dizzy.

“My, my,” whispered Alcina, going as far as to lick her lips clean. “You are the delicacy that I always imagined you to be.”

How long have you thought about this?

You didn’t have to look into a mirror to know that your throat was bruised. From the dull throbbing, you practically felt marked. And there was Alcina’s endgame it seemed, and it left you with a sickness in your stomach as you thought of the looks that would surely cross Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela’s eyes when they caught sight of the claim. You were betraying them, and right before their faces with their own mother no less! How could you possibly get yourself out of this family affair?

“Did you have any more questions?” drawled Alcina, finally sitting back into her own chair, and her smirk was setting you on edge. “I am always happy to answer appropriately.”

I don’t have the time, and you don’t have the patience.

You simply smiled albeit tightly, and asked, “What happens now?”

She was leaned all the way back into her chair, her elbows resting on the arms before she was hooking her fingers together, her index fingers gently tapping almost thoughtfully. Her eyes remained on you, they always did, and they almost always seemed predatory, like she was several steps ahead of you and you didn’t even realize it. What possibly had you so different that you were capable of captivating an entire family of cannibalistic women? Finally, her mouth opened to speak.

“You are by all means, mine, and the only demand that I have for you is that you know this fact.” said Alcina, and you knew to take her very seriously.

“I can assure you, that is something I can’t forget.” You promised almost sarcastically, but you knew to tame the sharpness of your tongue, lest it get you into trouble. “But what do you want me to physically do for you?”

The sudden touch of wickedness to her grin had you blanching at the way her mind went with it, and it was you who threw it out there no less. The ache was returning to your stomach, and you sincerely hoped that your face wasn’t expressing everything your mouth was wanting to. If she was picking up on your hesitance, then she made no indication of it other than smoothing out her smirk and lifting her chin.

“There will be time for physicality later, my dear,” she swore, and you shivered beneath her gaze. “But for now, I want to know everything about you.”

“You want to... talk? About me?” You were suddenly full to the brim and bubbling over with questions it seemed.

Alcina’s eyes softened as she detected the incredulity in your tone at the mere thought of having a full blown discussion surrounding you of all things. If she picked it apart any deeper, she’d sense the insecurity underlining your voice as well, but that was for a different time you supposed. You weren’t even sure if you could string together a conversation long enough to last more than a couple minutes if it consisted of nothing but yourself. The Dimitrescus were the ones with insinuations of something “special” or something “more”, not you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think so.

“Yes,” started Alcina softly, her lips barely moving. “I want you to share what makes you... well, you,”

“What if there’s nothing to say?” You finally choked out, your brow pinching with worry. “What if you all find out that I’m not really as interesting as you think.”

With how quick you hung your head to hide your eyes, you missed her frown in response. But you did manage to catch her hand reaching to curl around your own, and you decided to relish in the surprising comfort it gave you rather than fight it. But once a hint of the thought flickered across your mind, it wasn’t long before you were comparing the way her hand enveloped yours rather than linking and fitting like a puzzle piece that was meant to be connected.

Like Bela’s.

Like Cassandra’s.

Like Daniela’s.

Your eyes squeezed tightly shut, but just as a single tear betrayed you by spilling from your eyelid and dripping down your cheek, the hand not holding yours cupped your chin and tilted your head up until all of your emotion was on display for her.

“You could never bore me, if that is what you are afraid of,” assured Alcina, looking you squarely in the eye to convey as much meaning as she could, and you couldn’t help the warmth flooding your chest.

“Well, this place has been such a big part of me that I can hardly remember who I used to be before.” You said rather meekly, ashamed that you couldn’t separate yourself from anything Dimitrescu anymore.

“Oh, my love, we have all the time in the world to help you remember.” Alcina cooed, now cupping both of your cheeks and you could’ve sworn you saw a glint of affection swirling in her eyes.

If your lower lip trembled, she made no comment of it as her eyes flickered to your mouth before glancing to the side and pulling away altogether. Her back was straightened once again and her hands were in her lap as she regarded you with a look you couldn’t decipher. Your only option was to sit and wait until she gave you some insight into what was playing through her mind. Fortunately, it didn’t take all evening.

“You miss my daughters.” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement of fact that she couldn’t ignore any longer.

“Very much so,” you pressed almost desperately, and you couldn’t understand the ache surrounding your heart when her shoulders slumped. “I was very happy with the three of them.”

“They are endearing girls, I love them equally for all of their charming behaviors.” Alcina agreed, and the smile that curled the corners of her mouth so easily had you knowing that her admittance wasn’t even begrudging. “I can see why you fell for the three of them.”

You could hear the drawl on the one word and knew exactly for what she was getting at, and you blushed a deep scarlet. Maybe it did seem weird from the outside looking in, but the relationship you had with her daughters gave you a relief that was astronomical. You had never known peace nor acceptance as you did basking in their light, and you were afraid it was flickering out.

“I love them,” You forced out, voice tight enough to get stuck in your throat. The mark pulsed when you swallowed.

You knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was what you needed to say, and you couldn’t afford to pick apart and figure out the way your heart seized once hurt clouded her expression because of you. Instead, you chose to focus on how hurt her daughters had been, weeping in the hall for your relationship. You needed to see them.

“As they love you, I have been informed,” muttered Alcina, almost petulantly as she recalled her previous argument with her daughters. “They were capable of seeing something more to you than the other livestock that supports our winery as well.”

Everything about the Dimitrescus puzzled you, and it always left you scratching your head when you attempted to figure out what was so captivating about you, when it was clearly every single one of them that were so special. The power hidden beneath their skin and coursing through their veins was something to behold, and when they transformed into hoards of insects before you, you couldn’t resist catching onto the few not quick enough to get away, and the exceptional part was that you could distinguish who the insect was a part of.

You knew everything about Bela and how weighed down her shoulders were from taking on the world for her family. You understood Cassandra and her unwillingness to admit that she required a special kind of attention that she secretly felt neglected of. You basked in and guarded the comfort that came with Daniela’s almost childlike naivety. Your love for every one of them was obvious.

“In the end, someone is going to get hurt,” You deduced, pointing out the obvious. No matter how the story ended, love was going to hurt one, if not all of the Dimitrescus.

“If you are to take just one thing from this, do know that life is always here to test us if nothing else.” Alcina noted dryly as she reached for something on her side table before she hoisted herself from her chair.

She was putting some distance between the two of you and it was something you were grateful for. The clicking of her heels indicated where she was headed to, and you were aware of her presence with sense of sound alone. You didn’t have to glance over to know that she was hovering in front of the fireplace, her glassy eyes barely absorbing the dancing flames. The sharp, distinct clink of her lighter flicking open caught your attention before it snapped close with a clunk, and you sat rigidly in your seat, hands clasped tightly in your lap as Alcina audibly exhaled a puff of smoke. You waited patiently, but her following silence pushed you to wrack your brain for what you thought she might be waiting to hear.

“Does heartbreak feel worse when you have forever to hurt?” You whispered, wanting insight into Alcina, but also extremely timid to take the one step that was too far.

You finally craned your neck to glance over your shoulder and towards the hearth where she stood. The muscles in her back were so rigid they were stuck in knots that you could practically see from where you sat. Smoke billowed in the air before Alcina with every exhale, and that was the only sign that she was breathing at all, and you couldn’t help the guilt that began gnawing on the bones in your chest. You came into the castle and wrecked the family from within, and all you had to do was be yourself. You were getting so wrapped up in your own mind that you had to quickly zero back in on Alcina’s response before it missed you entirely.

“Forever is a long time to dwell, and contrary to belief, time hardly heals when the mind keeps it fresh.” sighed Alcina, her shoulders finally slumping forward beneath the weight she was carrying. “No matter how hard you push heartache to the back of your mind...”

“You have all the time in the world to circle back to it,” You finished for her, your eyes falling to the floor as you felt too unworthy to even glance in her direction. “I’m so-”

“There is nothing that your consolation nor your pity can do for me.” Alcina spat, and your teeth snapped shut with an audible clack as you bit back anything else that you thought to say. “Actions have always spoke louder than words, my dear, now what have you got to show me.”

You know what she’s wanting from you, she’s already said it, but matters of the heart couldn’t be forced, no matter if death was the only other option. As Alcina had basically just said, you could play the part of her lovesick puppy with words of false promise all day, but when the night fell along with your reservations, it wouldn’t be love that laced your touch. However, that didn’t stop your heart from yearning for this woman’s happiness. She deserved to feel the wholehearted acceptance of pure love, but was that really your job to take care of?

“I don’t want to hurt you,” You promised, your brows creasing with concern as you tried to convey how earnest you were with your eyes alone.

And how funny the situation was now, how the tables have turned... Now, here you sat with the ability to destroy the nearly invincible woman before you, and you could do it with mere words alone in a way that a sword, gun, or dagger never could. You felt sick at the power, and what were you to do? Alcina had made it perfectly clear to you as well as her daughters where she stood on stealing you away — your hand subconsciously rubbed the mark on your throat — but here you were to watch the aftermath as time helped realization to dawn on her. The extent of her feelings were true and legitimate, but she also showed a callousness that cut her daughters deep, and you think she was questioning if it was all worth it. Your mind drifted back to something she had said.

Time hardly heals when the mind keeps it fresh.

It would hurt Alcina to live the rest of your lifetime watching you spend it happily with her daughters, just as much as it would hurt Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela to lose you to their mother. It was hard to wrap your mind around; it was nearly laughable it was that ridiculous, but it was your life now, and it didn’t exactly feel like it was in your hands.

“Then don’t,” said Alcina, and you honestly couldn’t tell if it was an order or if it was a plea, but it added the pressure all the same.

“Will you ever let me see them again?” You asked, almost legitimately afraid that she would hide you away from her daughters forever.

“You would still be in the castle, would you not?” countered Alcina, arching a brow as she gracefully returned to her seat, placing her tobacco pipe back onto the side table.

“What do I do?”

When Bela cries to me... When Cassandra persuades me... When Daniela begs me... When I want to give in...

“You listen to me,” said Alcina simply, emphasizing her nonchalance with a shrug. “When you feel like it’s all becoming too much, just listen to me when I say I love you.”

But does love give you possession?

Alcina was walking the fine line between love and obsession, and it was all you could do to keep her swayed from the “obsession” side of the scale. You found that you only liked it when Daniela showed her obsession over you, and you didn’t have the mental capacity to juggle two sanity-impaired Dimitrescus. Daniela.

You cleared your throat in a futile attempt to dislodge the lump that formed there, and you briefly wondered if it was your entire argument that was stuck, choking you and itself down. Alcina had an answer for every one of your questions, and while it was a bit irksome, you also felt the fight leaving your body and leaving you slumped. Reality was finally sinking in that you weren't going to be able to talk your way out of the situation now, and you cursed the false hope that had bloomed in your chest. Now it was just prickling your lungs like thorns and it was difficult to breathe past.

"I wish you were happy... with me." Alcina faltered, sighing heavily, and the sound alone was like a punch to the gut. "And I think you could be with time."

But I want to be happy now. And I was.

"Where are your daughters?" You croaked, emotion finally getting the best of you, and if you were cracked anymore, you were surely to break into pieces.

"Wherever they want to be," Alcina answered rather aloofly, and while your brain was aware enough to detect the icy tone underlying, you also found that you were shutting down and not caring about actions and consequences.

"I need to see them, right now," You pleaded, and something told you to protest against her already opening mouth. "Please!"

The desperation came off of you in waves, and maybe it did smell kind of pathetic, but sometimes happiness comes from saying, "fuck it", and from the widening of Alcina's eyes, you could deduce that no mere mortal has had the courage to say it before you. And you almost wished to take it right back, to eat up the words and keep them as your burden when the hurt was so evident and clear in the Lady's eyes at your urgent demeanor. What cut you even deeper was when you caught the exact moment the pain masked itself with anger, and you suddenly understood her that much more.

Alcina was a woman who knew how to give, you've seen as much when she interacted with her daughters. She would give the moon and wouldn't hesitate to give the stars as well if that wasn't enough. She gave her time and her patience to the Dimitrescu winery that supported the castle and their status, and you knew it wasn't for her benefit alone. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela had become Alcina's drive, and it was possible that she had grown exhausted of giving up everything she had to them once it came to giving up her heart.

Alcina was a woman who knew how to take as well. She took opportunities for what they were, and she was crafty at taking what she wanted, but she also unfortunately took a lot of shit. She accepted it with a tight smile from Mother Miranda and every time, the smile felt too wrong to be marring her face. She took the "family" dynamic between the four houses with a grain of salt, though that wasn't to say she was above petulance when she was hidden alone in her bedroom with her notebook. All in all, she was a woman of give and take, and somehow, you had wiggled your way like a parasite through her hard exterior, and she was now a woman allowing herself to put her own happiness first. You could respect that in itself. But now you’re ruining it.

“They really are very special girls,” repeated Alcina, her fingers tapping orderly on the arm of her chair as her eyes narrowed. “I understand how hard it must be to stop loving them.”

“And I won’t!” You clapped back without too much thought to the volume of your voice. “We had plans today! And tomorrow! And after that! This hurts me!”

Alcina’s face was stoic as she refused to emotionally acknowledge your words. She was eyeing you like she was questioning what her next approach should be, and she wasn’t willing to share until she had the upper hand. But you also suspected that she needed time to compose herself once more before she could try to reply. Alcina was more complex than some could fathom or even handle, and you almost wished she had gotten to you first, but you couldn’t deny that your heart was pulling in three different directions already and you loved it. But you also couldn’t deny the impulsive urge to hold and comfort the woman before you who was breaking silently inside.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone!” You exclaimed louder than you’ve ever been, all energy gone, released into a single sob.

Your shoulders slumped and your head hung as tears filled your eyes before spilling over down your cheeks. The weight was finally overwhelming, and you were crumbling beneath the pressure pushing you down. There was no thought to anything aside from Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, and Alcina crying for you and lost love, and it left your chest so achey that it scared you. Was there really a gaping hole there or did it just feel that way? You were drowning in your own sorrows so much that you didn’t notice three different insects squeezing beneath the crack under the door, nor did you notice Alcina place a comforting hand on your knee. Only when you felt small legs crawling in your palm, up your neck (over Alcina’s mark) and into your hair did you reflexively jerk.

You knew not to swat at them however from experience with their insects, and you were able to discern that Bela was sending you comfort in your palm as she did when she held your hand. The insect on your neck was Cassandra and you knew that because she always buried her face into your neck when either of you needed comfort. Daniela was nestled in your hair seeing as she always loved running her fingers through it. Each offered their love in their own ways, and that’s what you loved about your relationship with all of them.

“Their care and protective instincts over you is astounding,” mused Alcina, watching the three insects latching onto you. “They have never... loved anyone this way.”

You smiled warmly down at Bela sitting still in your hand before you allowed yourself to hear the melancholy in Alcina’s voice and glance into her eyes. She looked absolutely pained, and your heart broke that you put that expression there. The walls she surrounded herself with only allowed her to grow attached to her daughters, and you want to throw up at the thought that she fell for you and you threw it right back in her face. You were so unworthy to even be in her castle let alone her presence.

“Neither have you,” you whispered, too drained to speak any louder now, but also afraid that if you did, the statement would be even more loaded than it was.

“And what to do about that, hm?” countered Alcina, putting the ball back into your court, and finding enjoyment in the way you squirmed.

Cassandra’s insect bit into your neck, just over the bite mark that was already there. She would always enjoy showing her dominance over you, and you were sure she had something to prove to her mother at the moment. Of all the sisters, Cassandra would be the most stubborn one to crack, so you didn’t know why you expected her to grant you to her mother so easily. Your fingers twitched as you held back the urge to scratch the little insect away from your flesh.

And Bela was there, circling your fingers in an attempt at possible affection. She was the sister you went to when you needed comfort and good old fashioned sympathy. She seemed like she always understood your pain, and she was good with words of love and consolation. The way her hand squeezes yours to convey her support had you missing it when it was gone.

And naturally Daniela refused to be pushed to the side and she was back to running through your hair, tickling your scalp, and while it was less enjoyable in her insect form, it was Daniela, and you would never refuse anything she asked of you. And most of the time, all she wanted was to be enveloped in all things you. So really, who were you to deny the both of you the comfort she was trying to give with making her presence known to you.

You couldn’t imagine your life without the dynamic you and the sisters had gotten comfortable with. There was plenty of trial and error to get to the security of where you were, but you wouldn’t have changed anything about it... just like you were having trouble letting it change now. So what were you doing entertaining Alcina? Better yet, what were you going to do now that you had her hooked?

“You deserve someone who loves you fully and completely... You don’t deserve to always be paranoid about your lover pining over your daughters.” You said gently, your eyes thoroughly sorry and pleading. “I don’t think I can love you the way that I want to see you be loved, not with Bela, Cass, and Dani always being there to think about.”

Something in Alcina’s eyes flickered when you spoke, and while you were deathly afraid of what her response would be, it didn’t prepare you for when she suddenly moved, quick as a flash, and one of her hands were on your shoulder and the other was tangling in your hair. You were too startled to recognize that her fingers brushed Daniela’s insect from your hair. A gasp barely had time to escape your lips before Alcina was capturing it with her own. Your eyes widened as you felt the force behind the kiss, the desperation, the love, but you also felt the fear locked within that she refused to let out, lest she come across as weak, but here it was, everything presented to you, and you had to close your eyes from your mind in a whirlwind. From the mixture of hard pressure and soft lips, it had you frozen with her hands on you, not accepting but not pushing away; entirely unsure.

Alcina’s door slammed open and while your nerves screamed at you to jump away from sensory overload, her grip tightened around you to keep you in place long enough for the new occupants of the room to get a clear view. And the familiar growl, gasp, and cry had you ill as you were finally released far enough to turn away and look into Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela’s eyes. Cassandra looked angry, but you could see the pain she was trying to mask. Bela looked betrayed and a little sick, and was unwilling to look at her mother, her eyes unswayed from you. Daniela had tears in her eyes as she looked between you and her mother, her eyes darting to your mouth, and then her chin wobbled when she saw her mother’s lipstick smeared across your lips. You opened your mouth, and after a moment of opening and closing it like a floundering fish and still failing to come up with anything appropriate to say to ease the tension, you sighed, eyes shut tightly as you refused to even look at the problems happening before you.

“Well... this is awkward,”

——

I’ll decide to end it there because I love to torture. I think I might be inspired to slowly add more to this over time

#bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu’s daughters x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

Things You Said When You Were Scared- Prompt Fill

Bit of an au after the worm attack. Jon is having a rough time.

CWs injury (canon typical worm related), paranoia, exhaustion. nausea, vomiting (it's not gross, I promise), pain, dizziness, fainting, medication mention, canon typical quarantine mention, food mention.

@janekfan @sukurarose92

Jon can’t remember the last time he felt this terrible. There probably had been other times. A few terrible flus over the years, and getting almost eaten by a spider once upon a time…. but time has a tendency to dull the particularly bad stuff, aside from say, flashbacks and nightmares. But it’s the brain protecting itself. You don’t remember the pain. You don’t remember the fear. You remember the memory of the pain, wrapped in spun-sugar-strands of time, growing dusty on a shelf. You remember the taste of fear, the gripping anxiety of it. You remember surges of it in the depths of the night and you panic… but you can’t remember it all the time. That just isn’t how the brain works.

Which is irrelevant. All irrelevant, because the pain medication he’s been given is wearing off. He thinks Sasha and Tim went off to do something….? Probably panic together about the fresh worm trauma. Martin? Jon hasn’t the foggiest clue.

Possibly because he’s hazy with pain and the last of the drugs that have been keeping him going this long. Staggering into the walls as he tries to exit the institute. Eyes closing involuntarily against the pain and the exhaustion. Limbs feeling so alien between the bandages and the aching, weeping holes they hide beneath them. Pounding dizziness down to his core.

He aches.

Phantom itching-crawling-squirming on his skin, through his muscles, down to the bone. The actual holes chewed into him.

He isn’t sure how he’s going to get to his flat. He can’t stay in the Archives, not with the police in the tunnels and the ECDC still doing whatever it is they are doing. But the thought of taking a cab or the tube make him want to tear his remaining skin off. Makes him want to just lie down on the sidewalk.

He even thinks making it to the front doors will end him.

He’s dizzy and sick and his limbs won’t carry him.

He has to sit down on the first step outside the door, sticking his head between his knees. He can’t do this. He can’t. He’s just going to sit here all night, or risk passing out or throwing up or risking any other horror of the late twilight consuming him before he can collapse into unconsciousness in the comfort of his own bed.

He waits for the world to stop spinning, and tries not to cry.

Because he can’t have more pain medication until he eats something. He can’t eat anything because it won’t stay in him, and even if it would, he can’t go anywhere. He’s stuck. Less than a five minute walk from his office where Gertrude DIED, from where he was attacked where he thought he’d be Safe, where he thought Martin would be safe. A few paces from where the dead worms were pulled out of him and he was scoured raw and sterile in a hastily assembled quarantine on the sidewalk.

He tries not to spiral into a panic attack right here.

Trying to pull his breathing under control, because it isn’t helping his tenuous grasp on the directions of up and down.

Where is the next danger going to come from?

Is this when Mr. Spider will strike? Letting him go until he’s weak and exposed and alone?

Or is this where some unknown (or known) hostile comes in with a grand betrayal and a gun. Leaving him to be another mystery, or a willfully ignored casualty of something he can’t begin to understand?

“Jon?”

Jon jumps. And very, very much regrets it. Heart racing, head spinning, a fresh hurt. A fresh reminder of every opening in his flesh that doesn’t belong there. “Ma… Martin?” He asks around gasping and shuddering breaths. “What …are you doing here?”

His voice is a little distant, a little hallow. “Don’t really have anywhere to do, do I? You packed up my flat. All in boxes at some storage unit. Now, my bedroom is tangentially part of a crime scene.”

“…Right.” It’s all his fault.

He needs to sleep. He needs some painkillers. He might need to throw up, but that is an issue he plans to avoid, if at all possible. Ditto to fainting. Although that seems a little more inevitable.

Martin makes no move to continue speaking. “So… your plan was to just camp out on this bench?”

Martin shrugs. “Dunno. Figured I might call Tim? At some point? Or try to sneak back into the Archives once the police leave? Can’t really afford a hotel. Maybe just sleep on this bench. Try to decompress or something. Jon. Why are you still here? Said you’d go home hours ago.”

Well he can’t exactly tell Martin he’d passed out in the break room for some indeterminate measure of time, then spent another eternity getting sick in the toilets. And then possibly passed out again. That’s not just something you tell Martin and expect him not to fuss over you. And Jon tries to tell himself that that would be suffocating and not kind of welcome right now. He tells himself that the thought of spending more time with Martin brings discomfort, and irritation, and fear. It’s not like he can prove that Martin won’t kill him. But he’s too tired to think about that. He just wants to sleep.

“....Um?”

Martin looks at him, probably for the first time. “Jesus, Jon. You look terrible.”

Jon hmmms in agreement. Not like he can argue. Martin’s too nice to comment on the bandages. A little too tactful. Right? Martin’s bumbling and stupid, but he’s tactful. He’s Nice. As irritating as he can be, he’s just so Nice.

But, it’s not like he can argue. He’s covered in bandages and a clammy sweat and he’s halfway into a panic attack and he can’t really walk and he just wants to lay down right here until the world stops moving. Both in the sense that he’s dizzy and in the sense that things beyond his comprehension are happening at a pace he can’t begin to catch up with.

“Can I... call you a cab? Or... or something?”

Jon shakes his head as much as he dares, which isn’t much. No cabs. He gets carsick. He doesn’t stand a chance.

“Well you can’t just sit there all night.”

“Right, like you plan to?”

Martin looks away.

And Jon goes back to trying not to pass out.

“Tim lives close by, doesn’t he, I walk you there? Or… um… carry you?” Martin’s trying to be tactful. Jon is pretty sure that is supposed to be a pointed look at his legs.

Jon scowls. (Not that Martin is wrong. There is something very wrong with his knee.)

“Can’t just …intrude like that. I’m sure he doesn’t want me around. Not professional…”

“Jon, you saw him in his pants today. You were put in quarantine together. I think you’re past all normal working relationship boundaries, even if he wasn’t your friend. I can’t just leave you here, and you clearly aren’t planning to get yourself home. Besides… maybe if he takes you in… maybe he’ll take me in, too.”

Jon stares down at the sidewalk, drifting in lazy, nauseous, out of focus movements before his eyes. “He doesn’t want me around. Not after taking Sasha’s job. Not after making him stay to get his statement.” Jon whispers at the pavement.

“Yeah like he’s still jealous for Sash, after that creepy worm lady went specifically for the “Archivist.” Whatever the fuck that means. And you know Tim was only pissed because he was in pain and tired, like you are now!”

“I should just go home…”

“Yeah, but you won’t.”

Christ Martin’s stubborn.

“Now. Can you walk, or do I need to cary you?”

Jon tries pull himself up to prove a point, but he comes to in Martin’s arms a few moments later, Martin loudly cursing at him. He’s in too much pain to really hear what Martin is trying to say to him. And he’s feeling even more sick. And he wonders where his prescriptions and paramedic provided cane have gotten to, but he really doesn’t really care, because Martin is solid and warm and he’s so tired.

He wakes up again on Tim’s couch. Sick to his stomach from the oppressive oder of takeout.

“Woah, boss. Not on the couch. I’ve got you.”

Throwing up nothing into the bin that’s been hastily shoved in front of him even though he’s got nothing in him anymore. He sobs around dry heaves until it’s just the silence juddering sobs. He Hurts.

He wants to hide. From Martin who is making tea, from Sasha running a bandaged hand through his hair. From Tim supporting the bin, and Jon himself.

He curls in on himself. Wills himself into unconsciousness, but the injuries pulse with each uneven breath, stomach still roiling painfully. He needs more medicine, but he can’t think about hoping to keep it down.

He sobs against Tim, as the bin is pried away.

“‘Hurts. Tim ‘m scared.”

Scooped up. Held, gently.

“Why didn’t you head home? Why not go right away so you could get toast and water into you, and sleep until you could take some more meds?” Tim holding him. Martin awkwardly sat by his side with ginger tea. Which Jon doesn’t care for, but Tim hasn’t kept mint tea since Jon stopped visiting. Still… it should help. Sasha clearing away the food smells, bless her. “Why did you have to take our statements? I would have invited you back here, if you didn’t?”

That last question doesn’t help.

He doesn’t know he’s tearing at the bandages until Tim’s tugging his hands away, and Martin is bemoaning the splotches of blood now decorating the bandages that are quickly becoming sweaty and grimy. Couldn’t even stay clean after he was scrubbed sterile. Martin and Sasha and Tim are spotless and scoured.

“I… I don’t want to disappear. I… do-don’t want to be found in the tunnels. I don’t want to vanish without a trace, I…“ He doesn’t even know. He can’t breathe. He’s lightheaded. He Hurts.

“Hey… hey hey. It’s.. it’s okay to be scared. Why don’t we get you cleaned up, okay? Then see if we can get some saltines and tea into you so you can get some meds, eh? Then we’re gonna all get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to lose you…” Jon’s voice swallowed by Tim scooping him up. Martin hovering with the bin and Jon’s bag of medical supplies.

Sasha’s back by then, brushing back Jon’s curls. “And you won’t. Sooner you leave, the sooner we can all get some sleep, alright?”

Jon closes his eyes, and nods, letting Tim carry him to the washroom.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #timothy stoker #sahsa james #magnus pod #tma fic #cw injury #cw nausea #cw vomit #cw fainting #cw dizziness #cw medication #cw quarantine #my fic #my words #my art

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ddaehyeon · 3 years

Text

。✧ hyacinth; park serim + reader

— pairing: fashion designer!park serim + photographer!reader

— genre: angst, slight fluff, exes au, post-breakup, slightly suggestive (one scene only!)

— word count: 7.1k

— warning: arguments, heartbreak, mentions of anxiety and emptiness

— summary: years had passed since you broke up with serim; life had been continuously patching up ever since. his name had marked several clothing lines, while your studio was well-known in the small city you lived in. who would’ve known that a sight of him on a bus stop would be enough to bring back wounds you thought had long ago healed?

— navi: playlist | video teaser | cravity masterlist

— a/n: my wips suffered from a major slump and this is quite an overdue fic (i also have another overdue fic help) but i hope someone would still at least read this though >< the first ver of this didn't satisfy me and though this ver didn't satisfy me that much, i feel like after rewriting almost half of the fic, this one's better. i'll do my best to pull something better soon!

autumn must be the most magical part of the year. the leaves experiencing a color alteration, scarlets and golds carpeting the ground— a yearly harvest of the earth where everything was gradually being taken away. long gone was the heat of the summer; the chilly evening breeze sure was much friendlier than of winter. the season served as a comforting quilt. it was such a great time for warm drinks that could lift up the mood even for the wariest.

you let go of a breath as you stared at the window, the sun was setting. the color fleshed out in the sky golden, jiving well with the surrounding that was already of the same palette. with an indoor shoot for a seasonal issue of a magazine, it sure was a tiring day. the sound of camera clicks still ringing in your head, along with the hushed talks and chitchats coming from the staff members and the models.

at first, you were hesitant to accept the project. afraid that you’d bump by one of the renowned fashion designers in your region, park serim. but then, you couldn’t just chicken out when a hefty sum was to be paid. the relief you had when you saw that his name wasn’t on the list of designers was almost the same kind of relief you'd have after preventing big trouble from occurring.

“i finished placing back the props in the room.” hyeongjun’s voice was still as bright as it was this morning as if not touched by any fatigue. he was one of the photographers you hired in your studio, offering only fine shots. “i’ll be going home early, just send me a message about what time tomorrow’s shoot will be!”

“thank you, junie.” a smile was on your brim as you nodded on his words, watching him pack his camera and leave afterward.

silence melted in the room as soon as hyeongjun stepped out. alone in your photography studio, you sat on a stool used earlier by one of the models. the room was dimly lit with only one of the umbrella lights open. it was only by then that you realized your thighs were already stiff from the nonstop work earlier. you wanted to go home and just be in the comforts of your bed.

pulling out your phone, you dialed your brother’s number, frowning when it took him quite a while to pick up. was he busy or did he just forget that he was supposed to pick you up tonight?

jungmo would always fetch you by your studio after his working hours concluded. with the two of you living together in the same house, your brother just found it ideal— bringing you to your work every morning and giving you a drive home every evening. it might seem like he was babying you, but it was a gesture you grew fond of.

“y/n?” jungmo gasped on the other line. it seemed like he was outside, music playing in the background which mingled well with the peals of laughter. “shit, i forgot to tell you.”

you raised a brow, questioning his words. “what’s the matter?”

“can’t fetch you today.” you can already envision the pout he had on his lips. “i’m at a party with allen and woobin, catching up with my colleagues. i’ll make it up to you tomorrow, i promise!”

“alright. i’ll just ride the bus then.” it was your turn to purse your lips. you can’t bring yourself to complain about it though. “have fun! just stay in woobin’s apartment tonight, don’t drive!”

“i will, i will,” jungmo replied, a call of his name following. his friends might’ve been looking for him already. “text me alright? get home safely, y/nie.”

at the end of the phone call came another sigh from you. a tightlipped smile braced your lips as you stood to turn off the remaining lights. you retrieved your camera and placed it back in one of the drawers. making sure everything was back to its place, secured; you gave the place one final look. something you’d do every single day before going home. a reminder of the thing you loved the most. a reminder of what could have been.

the sidewalk wasn’t as empty as you imagined it to be, maybe you weren’t used to walking to the bus stop anymore. strangers of different day occurrences exchanged various looks that shared one same element, tiredness.

when the wind blew, fallen leaves danced along with it. the slight coldness making you tuck your hands inside the pocket of the cardigan you were wearing. you loved the cool breeze, but not when you knew you had to stay out on an open shed with it as your companion. cold weather could be your friend, a company for a better evening sleep. but rather a harsh fellow when you had to be alone, when loneliness can easily be injected to your senses.

tracing the path, a memory went to play in your head. way back in college, this was the same sidewalk you’d walk in with your ex-lover. a camera on your hand while he had a roll of satin in his arms. it was such a usual view for the two of you as you talked about how the day went, ranting about the monotonous lectures, gushing over how you missed each other’s company and how you wished that the two of you could get back to your shared apartment as soon just so you can snuggle on the couch.

you glanced at the sky, the cloud hiding the few scattered twinkling stars. a faint smile spread upon your lips, only to disappear when your gaze went back to the bus stop. the male that passed by in a form of fleeting memory earlier was standing right in front of you as if fleshed out from your mind. a lavender-colored paper bag was hanging on his arm, the logo of his product line delicately stamped on the middle. his phone was resting on his other hand, if he was scrolling through sns or texting someone, you weren’t sure.

the magical feeling he used to offer long gone, your stomach twisting into several knots. a cold sensation went down in your spine as a familiar tug came to pull your heartstring. he’s back? what is he doing here? he lives here again?

your thoughts were loud in your head, but none of it was pulled out loud. each word ending up as a lump in your throat. the air was thickening, your heart beating fast, not out of excitement, but out of the clashing thoughts that left you so nervous and confused. it had been years, how come a single sight of him made you feel like all your resolutions are gone? how did a single sight of him become enough to shatter the glass that protected you from the ache that night had caused you?

it was cold. but no, it was no longer because of the autumn breeze.

“serim?” the name was uttered in the same way you would before everything came crashing, yet it held a much weaker tone. you can’t even remember the last time your voice came to wrap around the syllables of his name.

the male turned his head to look at you, a brow raised as he stared at you. no obvious emotion, his eyes held no recognition.

and his reply? it sent a shiver down your spine, your stomach flipping in a horrendous manner.

“who are you?”

for a moment, the air caused such a nauseous feeling— thin and hard to inhale. it was only three words, yet it was powerful enough to serve as a punch in the gut.

how can he forget?

how can he forget how the two of you first met?

not that it was a very momentous event, just a regular struggle faced by two college students that needed someone else to accomplish a project for a major subject. there were no butterflies involved, nor did sparks fly the moment you met. regardless, up until now, that day burned fresh in your mind.

“i know someone from that department,” woobin said without even looking at you, his eyes focused on his book. though you weren’t sure if he was really paying attention to the words written there as he kept on diving in the conversation every now and then.

“and who might that be?” the dreadful task of having to pair up with the design department had been inhabiting your mind ever since it was given to you. pressure rising as you saw your other blockmates having no hard time getting themselves out there and communicating with the department they weren’t really accustomed to. you still have a month and a half, you were sure you can still make it. it was just a photoshoot anyway, featuring your partner’s designs.

“park serim,” woobin finally answered as if he had to think hard of the person’s name. “i think no one had asked him to become their partner, he’d be available to do it.”

desperate to get over with the task, later that day, you found yourself by the catwalk the design students would take. it was a path that connected their building to the main gate directly. your building wasn’t exactly far away from theirs, but still of a different building. with their building equipped with supplies and machineries for final products, yours were of computers, lightings, and screens.

you stared at your phone, his instagram profile opened. earlier, you already took the pleasure of checking his works out and without much filtering, him as well. he sure does love taking pictures of himself; something that could work perfectly with him being your subject. once satisfied, you left him a dm that was probably one of the most awkward sentences you had ever typed in the entirety of your life.

a notification popped out as you look at your screen, which was shortly followed by another. it was only of common courtesy to follow him before asking him for a favor right? you did that before messaging him and now he followed you back and replied to your dm. unlike you, he didn’t spend much time wandering in your profile. well, as if he had so much to look unto aside from the sceneries and some stories posted.

‘you were the person woobin was talking about? i’ll be out in two minutes. see you in the catwalk.’

it wasn’t too long of a duration, you allowed yourself to simply jump from a social media to another, mindlessly scrolling and liking some post every now and then. only lifting your head up when a wave of students began getting out of the establishment. most were holding mannequins with unfinished clothing attached to them, some were holding rolls of fabrics you weren’t sure what to call.

with squinted eyes, you tried to look for him among the crowds. woobin said that serim was a fashion design major, so he’d probably be holding the same thing as the other students that came out.

and he was.

leaning on his shoulder was a mannequin, asymmetrically dressed in silk. it wasn’t sewn yet, only supported by sewing pins. an arm wrapped around a roll of what seemed to be linen of pastel blue color. there was also a paper bag hanging on his arm which seemed to have some extra fabric and maybe some other supplies.

you walked towards him with a wave to which he gave you a confused look at first, the frown melting away when he realized that you were the one who messaged him not even an hour ago.

“you’re y/n?” he asked, merely to confirm.

you nodded your head and offered a hand in carrying the paper bag. something he didn’t refuse to. “so…” unsure of how to bring up the means of meeting with him after his class, your voice trailed.

“what do you need anyway?” he supported your words as he traced the path of the sidewalk. “take pictures of me or take pictures of the clothes i make?”

“both.” a chuckle left your lips, laced with nothing but sheer abashment, at the same time mentally cursing this project. you were okay with taking pictures, but the negotiation that comes with it wasn’t a task you were so used to doing.

serim hummed, saying an almost inaudible ‘i see’ before taking a big step and stopping in front of you to do a curt observation. his gaze trailing from toes up to your shoulder. “i’ll agree to do it, if you’ll model for me for a project.”

blinking your eyes multiple times, a baffled frown came to mask your countenance. “what?”

“i need a model that will wear the dress i’m doing by the end of the semester,” serim uttered nonchalantly, proceeding to turn his back to you and resume walking. “that would be quits.”

“i’ll do it,” you said, despite still being hesitant. having close to zero knowledge about how such a presentation would work, you were so close to disagreeing. but then again, it would only be a good way to repay him, right? and perhaps the other fashion design students would ask you of the same thing if you try to team up with them.

turning to look at you, there was a curve that formed on his brim. “that’s a deal then.”

how can he forget how the two of you confessed to each other?

two months. it took two months of random meet ups, daily conversations, and occasional hanging out to get to know each other. the awkward messages of checking up on each other’s side of the project turned to asking about each other’s day, sharing rants about academic life or life in general. the occasional hanging out turning to planned dates and spontaneous ones when the two of you both have the time to spare.

you’d usually stay in his unit as he worked on the dress for his project, a clothing that perfectly suits your figure. late night talks induced by the slightest energy given by coffee the two of you had clung into in hopes of being able to finish what was due.

it seemed like time flew by and before you knew it, you were in the backstage. serim was pacing back and forth, more nervous than you were. he wasn’t the one that was going to the stage, but sure his body was restless.

“are you alright?” you asked him once the two of you were left alone in the dressing room.

this was enough for serim’s movement to come to a halt. even when his eyes landed on you, it was obvious that his mind was floating. in fact, it even took him hot seconds before he was able to commit to a verbal response. “i am.”

“you are?” a smile broke out of your countenance which was eventually followed by a chuckle. “are you sure with that?”

your laughter was adequate to ease his nerves a little, a curve appearing on his lips. “i am.”

one of his classmates who was in charge of the flow came knocking to the door, signalling that you should be on standby.

“i’ll do my best,” you said, walking toward the door. it would be a definite lie to say that you were not at all nervous. a deep breath taken before twisting the knob, stopping when serim called you. it was covered with a bit, yet noticeable hesitation that it made you cock a brow for a moment.

“good luck.” it was all that he uttered, along with a gesticulation of him raising both fists. though serim’s mind spoke of different words, words he had little courage to let go of. at least not yet at that moment.

you gave him a smile, nodding your head afterward. “thank you.”

and off you go.

roaring crowds and camera clicks; the auditorium set up for the use of the fashion design students as they exhibit their works through their chosen models. formerly, you’d find yourself among the crowds, snapping pictures and admiring the clothes done by the other students. but this time, you found yourself clothed in a floral print silk-blend asymmetrical dress designed by serim himself.

the lights were blinding, being always part of the photographers, you were quite accustomed with how you were part of the persons behind the camera lense. serim was in the dressing room, watching the runway from the screen that displayed the live broadcast. some of your friends were among the crowds, your older brother even telling you before the show started that he’d be sure to take pictures of you.

fortunately, the few days of practice didn’t go to waste, no major mistakes happened when you modeled serim’s design. perhaps the only problem was you were a little stiff, something too trivial for some audience to notice.

as soon as you stepped by the backstage, serim’s proud smile welcomed you. unable to rest in the dressing room once he saw you getting out of the stage, he practically ran to meet you behind the curtains.

his eyes were filled with adoration, not just for the dress he finished making, but for the overall beauty you radiated. without much thought, he walked closer to you, soon wrapping you in an embrace. tight, yet gentle.

“you did well, y/n,” serim whispered, not letting go.

a soft chuckle was heard from you, your cheeks burning. “you did well,” you corrected. “please, it’s your design.”

“thank you.” releasing you, a smile lingered on his visage. “i’ll make you a better dress in the future.”

“you don’t have to, but thanks,” you replied before the two of you sunk into silence. regardless of how the surrounding was of heavy music and cheers, peace had found its way to emanate in the dimmed part of the area.

no words spoken, yet feelings poured when serim leaned closer. his lips easily capturing yours enough to make your heart pound in your chest, louder than it did while you were in the catwalk.

serim broke the kiss, his lips still close with yours. his eyes were of another glow when he uttered a set of words, familiar yet foreign. “i love you.”

once again, you were under his spell. soft kiss turning into a sloppy one once he guided you to a more secluded area. it would be such a waste to rip the dress off given that it was an original design, yet as the person who sewn each part of the clothing you were wearing, serim had his way to resolve the small dilemma.

the surrounding was silenced, your body frail under each of his touch, breath taken away, chest heaving. sure, it was a night you won’t be able to forget.

how can he forget about how the two of you practically lived with each other for years?

the exuberance exuded while the two of you carried several boxes into an empty unit you called home. maybe it wasn’t really about the place, but it was who you were with. his arms served as a shelter. his hand caught tears of both happiness and sadness. his lips pressed affection that no one else could offer. everywhere with serim was of comfort, of tranquility— a home.

living with another person, being under a single roof wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to adjust to. throughout the first few months of living together, your head was filled with memories of sheer trial and error as the two of you tried to learn the curves. this included adjusting for each other or at least compromising for what the other likes that the other doesn’t. silly mistakes became such a fond memory.

the smell of burnt food that wafted in the air when the two of you decided to stay on the balcony while cooking dinner. astonished by the stars and the almost endless stories that passed on both lips the meal you were preparing was left neglected. that night, the two of you shared bitter food of dark exterior, quite hard to swallow. but the laughter that filled the house after the incident lifted up each other’s mood. despite the bad-tasting meal, it was probably one of the best dinners you had in that apartment.

it didn’t end there. who would forget about the laundry disaster that rendered one of serim’s white long sleeves saturated with colors you weren’t sure what to call. the mixture of forget-me-not blue and azalea pink stood as the most distinguishable pigment along with the other colors. serim only let out of a chuckle at what occurred, even joking that maybe the two of you could start a business of dying white clothing in such a way.

the best memory thus far was a late-night run by the convenience store when the two of you were chasing a morning deadline. a grumbling stomach that broke the mutual silence the two of you exchanged, along with a suspecting look that ended up with laughter.

“let’s buy some food,” serim suggested, removing the tape measure from his shoulder and settling it to the mannequin.

you hit save on your laptop, the editing could wait for a few minutes.

pulling yourself off the chair, you gazed at him with a smile. it wasn’t a surprise that he had the same beam, as bright as the morning, regardless of how the evening was already crawling onto the whole city. sometimes, you wondered how a simple smile could give you so much energy. what kind of magic does a beam flashed by the person you love hold?

a few snacks picked up by the convenience store; a bag in his hand, your hand on the other as the two of you walked back to your unit. the evening sky and the soft gush of wind amplifying the peacefulness provided by the city. no words were exchanged, yet the silence was enough of a word.

deadlines momentarily escaping the mind as you allowed yourself to be engulfed by his presence. his soft voice breaking the silence, the phrase that left his lips drew a curve on your lips. “i love you, y/n.” you weren’t looking at him, but you could perceive the smile he had. “so much.”

“i know,” you replied.

serim’s steps became slower as he looked at you, waiting for the actual response. with a tilted head and shining eyes that reflected your figure and the street lights, his gaze didn’t waver.

a chuckle left your lips, finding yourself lost in his eyes for a moment. “i love you too, serim.” you squeezed his hand, cueing him to continue walking. “so much.”

sighing out of content, a radiant smile decorated his lips.

at that moment, the two of you wished nothing more but just to be next to each other for as long as life would grant you.

how can he forget about your first anniversary?

it wasn’t grand, just the two of you sitting by the balcony. the bouquet he bought abandoned on the dinner table as the two of you gushed over plans you were sure were realistic enough to be achieved. your eyes twinkling with mirth, a lifetime with him sure was the ideal one you’d want to spend.

“y/n,” despite being just beside you, serim called.

you looked at him with a brow raised, catching his eyes on yours. “mhm?”

a smile simply spread onto his lips before he broke the gaze. his hand seeking for an item inside the pocket of his hoodie, a small box retrieved afterward. there, a necklace sat. the pendant was of a ring that was not entirely decorated with fancy stones, rather a lone blue sapphire stone was on it.

“the pendant is a promise ring,” serim explained before scooting closer to you. his hand reached for the back of your head while the necklace rested on your skin. he locked the jewelry on your neck, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead after.

you were silent the whole time, not because you didn’t like the gesture. but because you were sure words wouldn’t be enough to express the satisfaction and light feeling that was blanketing your heart.

serim had a faint smile as he admired the necklace for a moment. just like you, his heart was in an ocean of peaceful joy. lifting his head to look at you directly, he gave your lips a light peck. “i’ll buy you a better one once we’re ready for it.”

“thank you.” your countenance mirrored the same expression serim had— of joy and serenity. “i love you so much.”

“i love you too.” serim leaned in for another quick kiss, swift yet lingering. “i can’t wait to spend a lifetime with you.”

the evening droned on and on with the two of you staying by the balcony, exchanging conversations about the future. two hearts in one home, seemingly able to find the path where both can hold each other’s hand. minds filled with dreams where the other can also be spotted. a considerably spacious studio apartment became the foundation of your plans and dreams.

aspirations that soon became the neglected cause of why your relationship with him gradually crumbled down.

how can he forget about your very first fight?

gazes that held no definite emotion, silence that cut through the air— it was all an unfamiliar experience, hard to swallow. something that you weren’t able to forget easily as it was the first time you’ve ever seen serim with such a cold expression.

the coaster of shows on the television had long passed, a few recaps played. something that wasn’t really able to get a hold of your attention. your mind drifting elsewhere and the few notifications appearing on your phone were the only ones that managed to pull you out of your daze momentarily.

“where’s serim?” for the nth time that day, you asked. the room was quiet with only a few chatters from the screen in front of you. the evening was growing older and older, but you haven’t received any message about serim's whereabouts. neither had he sent you a message the whole afternoon.

worried, you opted to stay up and wait for him. even prepared a meal that can be easily heated so he can have something to eat once he arrives in case he hasn’t eaten anything yet.

with the door clicking, you were quick to get off the couch. the faint footsteps signaling you right away.

“you’re finally home,” you said, a smile easily located on your brim. only for it to melt away at the sight of serim’s stern look. his gaze piercing through, enough for chills to trace your spine.

he walked past you, not even offering you the regular hugs and kisses he would do every time he’d arrive. all that was left were cold stares. something you attempted to break. and heck did you regret doing so.

“why haven’t you been answering your phone? have you already eaten?” the worry you had accumulated coming through in waves of questions.

a sigh was emitted out of his mouth as he went to get himself a drink. it seemed like a verbal response was not an option for him since he continued to ignore your questions. at this point, it was as if there was no one else in the room. it was like you weren’t there.

“did something happen, serim?”

a minute. it was all it took for the entirety of your relationship to come to an unknown turn. the curve strange, it crawled to the skin with such a frigid touch enough for your stomach to flip horribly.

“can you give me a break?” serim hissed, a glare shoot in your direction. his voice growing power word after word. your breath was taken away, how can words suffice to make you feel so small? he placed his glass on the sink, the item almost meeting its demise. he turned to look at you once again. “can’t you see, i’m tired?”

“i waited for you.” the words spilled out of your lips, disappointment hugging your tone.

“who told you to wait for me?” serim snarled and before you knew it, you were already standing on the same page. similar expression, different cause. yours were anchored in concern, while his were of fatigue from the whole day of heavy workload. those seemed to have lulled both of your senses, blinding each other.

“oh well, i was just worried about you because you didn’t send me a message the whole afternoon up to this point.”

“do i really need to report my actions to you?”

“no, but you have to at least tell me if you’re going home late.” your voice gradually softened, a tear held back.

no, you can’t cry. no, not in front of him. no.

“i was worried,” you broke out. but it wasn’t enough for his fumes to dissolve. like gasoline poured into flames, each of your replies only intensified the exasperation boiling in his stomach.

“i’m going to rest.” serim sigh was audible as he stormed off to your room, leaving you with tears in your eyes.

a minute.

it only took half a minute for everything to fall out of its order. that fight wasn’t the last one and each passing day, the unit you once called home was stuck with unfamiliarity.

it was no longer a home.

how can he forget about that night?

cold meals by the table had your eyes fixated on them. the date encircled in red, a supposedly special day that turned bitter. different from how you used to spend it before—of laughter and warm touches— serim wasn’t there. he was far too involved with projects that your shared unit only became a short shelter. words were barely exchanged, yet alone gazes. you still sleep on the same bed as him, but no warmth was offered.

you weren’t sure which was better, to continue living with him even if it felt like you weren’t living with him or to have him gone in your life for real. regardless of the turns that occurred, the continuous erosion of your relationship, you couldn’t find it to yourself to let go. still tied by your attachment to the former serim.

a sigh left your lips, desolated gaze trailing on the table. you tried. but it seemed like those attempts were futile. it takes two people’s efforts. you can’t revive a relationship alone.

switching place, you went to the living room and sat by the couch. the place dimly lit by a lone lampshade. the city lights filtering through the window. the air gradually thickened around you, it held your throat in a vice grip. the photographs displayed by the shelves were foreign to you, despite how it was simply you and serim. it was like you were staring at completely different people. smiles had long been taken away, touches had melted, flutters subsided— all that was left was a terrible feeling of helplessness. something that seemed to guide you to nowhere. you were lost.

before, you were sure of how the story was to be written. how the chapters were to unfold. but right now, you weren’t even certain what would be on the next page. it was like the next ones were torn from the spine, gone. oh hell, you weren’t even sure what page you were on right now or if the story was bound to be written in the first place.

serim’s arrival went unnoticed at first. only until you heard the clink of the glass meeting the sink did you turn in his direction. an empty gaze was earned and for some reason you found yourself offering him a faint smile. a small gesture packed in pain that was quick to course through your senses.

sighing had become his way of greeting. dark circles under his eyes and the disheveled look emanated how his work had been weighing him. but your mouth was closed regardless of how you wanted to speak of reassurance and praise. it was strange, the inability to speak of warm words around him. why were you so held by fear?

“serim,” you called, breaking the floating silence.

he looked at you, eyes deep like he was examining a piece of fabric. it was enough for your stomach to churn. the stillness continued after your call. you weren’t sure how to continue it; it was as if his name was unnatural in your tongue. not only was your breath sucked, but also all the possible words had dissipated.

yet again another sigh as he tore his gaze away, stepping towards the bedroom. “i’m so tired, y/n,” he uttered, setting a line for you to not cross onto. “very tired.”

resurfacing on your brim was a smile. your eyes weren’t exactly skillful of lying though as tears soon gathered on it. heart hollowed in emptiness as if a scream would echo on its wall. likewise, your voice decided to betray you— shaking. “serim, i’m getting tired too.”

for a swift moment, serim tried to come up with an answer. but just like you, comforting words seemed to be an unfamiliar language. even aware of how a look would be inadequate, he only stared at you. his eyes don’t speak of words nor radiated comfort— it was vacant. lowering his head, he carded his fingers on his hair before letting go of a breath.

serim finally stepped inside the bedroom.

and that was how the two of you parted ways.

how can he forget about you?

it went on and on in your head, the question continuously striking.

a gush of autumn breeze pulled you out of your daze. serim was still looking at you, his eyes slowly lightening with recognition. a few blinks and he spoke. “oh, wait.” he tilted his head to the side. “y/n?”

you weren’t exactly sure what kind of answer to give, but you gave it your best to offer a faint smile. “yes.”

still— despite how other people were walking on the sidewalk and how vehicles passed by the road, the surrounding seemed to come to a stillness you didn’t ask for. denying and pushing away the feelings you’ve long ago tried to bury and made yourself believe that you’ve healed from only brought a new wave of pain. as if you were its child, sadness came to hug you.

just in time, the bus arrived as if to save you from further drowning in emotions you didn’t wish to engulf you in. to your surprise, serim also boarded in. while you chose to sit somewhere just nearby the driver, he went to the last row.

usually, your rides on the way home were the most relaxing ones. a time to just stare at the window and watch the night spread into the city. it will always be accustomed by jungmo asking you on and on about how your day went and also sharing about how his day went. but your brother wasn’t around for that kind of support right now. and you can’t blame him for it. you can’t blame anyone for this unexpected meeting with the person you never knew you’d ever meet again.

the ride was sickeningly slow, all you wished was to get home and allow your voice to echo in your room. to release the emptiness if it was even possible to empty something that was already vacant. the sky held no comfort. its color dissipated and all that was left was an empty canvas that like a broken record, played memories. it was silly how despite those quick memories popping in and out of your mind, questions still managed to penetrate.

serim was living in another city, why did he ride the same bus? was he to meet his new lover? maybe to meet an old friend?

or did he perhaps mean to meet you? this was a guess you despised. the hope it brought that maybe an answer for all the questions formed that night were to be given tasted bitter in your mouth and offered restlessness in the heart.

an urge to talk to him surfaced, but then you asked yourself why. why would you want to talk to him? for what?

despite being curious about the reason why he left that night, a certain fear crawled onto your senses. the fear of knowing.

what could knowing his reasons possibly bring you?

the time when the two of you loved each other wasn’t of the best timing. two newly graduates seeking career growth, wanting nothing but to achieve various goals. those were dreams drawn with the other person placed as a part of it. however, during the process of achieving those, that same person where the aspiration was rooted gradually disappeared from the mind. the path the two of you promised to take together came at crossroads and you ended up taking something different from what he preferred to go to.

at first, there was a powerful yearning that made the two of you grow more fond of each other. but it was slowly replaced by numbness towards it, making love such a foreign word.

you understood. but it wasn’t something you had fully accepted.

a familiar shed came to flash on the window, your stop nearing. and when the vehicle finally came to a halt, you gave serim a final glance. he was looking at you, not moving from his seat. dismissing the contact, you walked down the bus and began tracing the sidewalk with heavy steps.

disappointment curled into your stomach when you arrived near your house, realizing that the recurring questions will not be answered. however, fate played its game. anxiousness arose when once again you heard your name wrapped around serim’s voice.

you turned to look at him, his lips hesitant to let go of a word.

serim was also in deep thoughts, mind all over the place despite how he already had the resolution to talk to you, not to explain and justify himself, but to apologize for the damage done.

“i’m sorry for that night,” serim began, the initial words already clinging into his chest, weighing down. “i should’ve been more honest with you and trusted you more with my struggles.”

there was nothing serim wanted but to prove himself worthy of you. achieve things that could make you be proud of him and deem him as someone who deserves you. working up to late hours, diving into designs in order to perfect his craft. the thing was, he forgot that you already loved him even when he was simply that serim. that you loved him as park serim.

blinded by the goal, the mean diminished. as he was too caught up with it, he was no longer striding towards it for you, but for himself.

“it was selfish of me to decide for something we both should be deciding for. i left that night thinking it was better that way without even considering how you will feel,” serim continued, his voice weakening. he lifted his hand as if to hold you, but stopped midway. it fell to his side as he breathed in. “i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.”

“i was hurt, but you were probably hurt as well.” the way those words left your lips ever so calmly surprised you. “it wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but i hope we both learned from it.” a smile became evident on your visage. “promise me one thing serim, do not make the same mistake with your future lover.”

“i will not,” serim replied.

both of you never really imagined the end of your relationship and as the page of it was torn years ago, an ending was deemed impossible to earn. closing a book would never be that easy, but some stories were meant to end— yours included.

“also, this is for you.” serim handed you the paper bag he was holding. “i told you years ago that i’ll make you a better dress, and here it is. i figured that i wouldn’t be able to keep the promise laced on the ring i gave you before but i at least want to have one of my promises kept.”

you looked at the item for a moment before turning to serim once again. “thank you.”

“i also want you to know that i truly loved you.”

never at once did you doubt serim’s love for you. the thing about it is that people will grow and know love from a better perspective. know how to best keep it. know how to best show it. but it will not change the fact that back then, you felt that it was love.

serim had a single flaw and that was to hold everything to himself to the point that those created a wide gap between the two of you. the distance far enough that reaching his hand became impossible despite how you wanted to hold him.

and maybe during that time, parting was the best solution. and up to this point, it was too.

“it’s nice seeing you again, serim.”

“likewise, y/n.” a genuine smile crossed his lips. “goodbye?”

“goodbye.”

tonight, you gave him a piece of your heart. it was his, to begin with. whatever he was to do with it— keep it, throw it, crush it— it was a decision for him to make. keeping something that shouldn’t be there would only bring further destruction, it’s way better to have an empty spot in your heart rather than keep a damaged one.

the breeze embraced you. the goodbyes uttered were to serve as a beginning. there were new questions that formed and you knew there were tears that were yet to be spilled. but it was a start. opening a buried wound would never be pleasant, but it was way better to open it yourself than have it bare you.

staring at the newly planted hyacinth in the neighboring flower bed, you let go of a sigh. they will bloom in the spring. and you hoped that you would experience the same.

#cravitywriters #cravity imagines #cravity oneshots #cravity scenarios #cravity x reader #cravity angst #cravity fluff #serim x reader #serim #this has been in my drafts for quite a while...#finally got that push to post it u_u #cravity

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scoopsgf · 4 years

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can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it!

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it...

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps.

#marvel #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my writing #friendly neighborhood fic exchange #may parker #pepper potts #michelle jones #spideychelle #pepperony #nugget the dog #insomnia

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rosemaidenvixen · 3 years

Text

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 17: Jim

Ao3

Content warning: Things get pretty intense in this chapter in a lot of ways. I can't be detailed without spoiling the events of the chapter, so I'll put more the general warnings in the tags. If you want more specific warnings you can click the link above and go to the Ao3 page where I’ve posted the spoiler filled warnings in the bottom notes. And if anyone feels like I didn’t tag/warn about something that I should have please let me know. This is your warning, here be dragons, proceed with caution.

There was a stain in the carpet, from coffee if he had to guess. A dark brown spot glaringly obvious against the beige. It looked just big enough for his hand to cover.

“Jim, are you listening?”

He jerked his eyes up from the floor towards the desk in front of him.

“Sorry what was that?”

Her lips turned downwards into a tiny frown “We were discussing your goals Jim,”

“Oh, right….” he drummed his fingers against his knees.

A goal. Jim had still been trying to think of one when he zoned out looking at the carpet.

Couldn’t do any kind of job or college, those weren’t happening for him. She’d said their goals could be as long term or short term as they wanted, so maybe--

“My goal is to buy my own Vespa,” Jim said, giving himself a mental pat on the back as he did.

Owning his own Vespa. Nice, realistic, normal. A good, solid goal that no one should look twice at.

The frown melted away into a wide smile “That’s great, do you have anywhere you want to go in your Vespa?”

His face blanked, stomach dropping no less than two inches.

Stupid.

People wanted cars and Vespas and stuff because they wanted to go places in them. Unlike Jim who was never going to leave his hometown.

“Ummm…..not sure, all the places I normally go I guess,” he forced his voice to stay even despite the squirming in his belly.

Her porcelain smile remained fixed in place “I think that sounds like an excellent goal, but how about you try to think of a more long term goal before the end of the school year?”

Jim nodded along, digging his fingers into his jeans to distract himself from the hot, fluttery feeling sweeping over his entire body.

Was she suspicious? Did she pick up on how he wasn’t actually planning on going anywhere? Was she going to call Dorrie the second he left her office?

“Ok, long term goal next time, I can do that,”

Beaming at him, she pulled a packet of papers off the top of the pile sitting on her desk “You don’t have to use the guide to pick a goal, but if you have trouble thinking of one these should give you some ideas, now do you mind sending in the next student on your way out?”

Jim forced himself to stand up slowly and not just bolt out the door “Ok, no problem,”

“Thanks, have a good spring break,”

He managed to smile and give a half hearted ‘You to’ as he accepted the papers and stepped out of the office. Heading down the hallway back to the main waiting room, the jittery feeling crawling through his muscles diminishing but not completely going away.

It never did.

Glancing around the waiting room, he spotted the next person in line.

“Eli, you’re up,”

Eli fumbled with the magazine in his hands before popping up out of his seat “Oh, thanks Jim,” he grabbed the magazine along with a stack of others from the floor before rushing down the hall. Jim craned his head to try and read the cover before Eli vanished around the corner.

Keep So-Cal Weird.

Jim rolled his eyes as he exited the main office. At least his goals wouldn’t be as weird as Eli’s. Although quite frankly he’d rather live in a world where they didn’t make freshmen discuss their goals with the guidance counselors.

It wasn’t like Jim didn’t have enough on his plate already.

He had no idea if guidance counselors and social workers talked to each other on a regular basis, but he had to play it safe and act like they did.

Especially since he was like 99% sure that all the teachers knew. He knew that Strickler knew, and he was pretty sure that Strickler had told all the other teachers. So it was more like he was 99.999% sure they all knew, and the 0.001% was just him kidding himself.

So now he couldn’t even come up with some kind of goals to give the guidance counselor without his anxiety going through the roof.

Jim all but threw his bag into the locker and slammed it closed with much more force than was needed, unable to stop himself from getting worked up.

This past month had been the absolute worst of his entire life.

It had started when he’d walked in on Dorrie and Charles going through their house and it hadn’t really improved since.

When he and his mom had gone over their game plan that night after the initial panic it hadn’t seemed all that bad. Be extra vigilant about making sure that no one saw anything weird and otherwise pretend that everything was normal. If they kept on top of it the investigation should fizzle out to nothing.

Simple enough.

And the first week hadn’t been all that bad, tense but not bad. Week two had been nerve wracking but doable. Week three was when he really started having trouble sleeping, and it wasn’t like he got tons of sleep to begin with. That snowballed to him starting to forget late night meals and nod off during the day, having to work even harder at keeping up the act during school.

Although if Jim was honest with himself he forgot most of those night time meals on purpose.

On top of that, week four was when he developed a stomach ache that wouldn’t go away, not to mention learned that his hair was falling out. Now it was the end of week five and Jim couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t stressed out, dead tired, and constantly felt like rats were chewing on his insides.

Grimacing, Jim pressed a hand to his stomach as he turned and headed to the cafeteria. Feeling sick and exhausted all the time sucked, but that was nothing compared to the everpresent, unrelenting, blood curdling dread.

The fear that he’d somehow let something slip. That right at this moment someone was coming to arrest his mom and take him away. All because of something Jim said or did.

Forget walking on eggshells, this was more like crawling through a minefield.

Every second that Jim was outside his house he had to be on guard; keeping himself under complete control at all times. Making sure that anyone watching, teachers, nurses, other classmates, wouldn’t see anything worth reporting. No outbursts no meltdowns no nothing.

As far as anyone else knew the Lakes were a normal, happy family. And Jim had to act like it.

But after five weeks he knew that was a hell of a lot easier said than done.

Jim couldn’t be sad or scared or angry any more, even about regular things. With so many people watching he couldn’t afford to let them get the wrong idea. So regardless of what he was actually feeling at any given time, he forced himself to stay calm, plastered on a happy face, and continued along like everything was fine.

But he wasn’t fine. Underneath his plastic smile Jim was coming apart at the seams.

He felt like a nerve with all the skin and muscle ripped away. Exposed to the cold air and completely vulnerable, ready to go off at the slightest touch.

Constantly keeping himself under control in front of all the teachers and every other adult in school was was bad enough, even without--

Jim stopped short as he stepped into the cafeteria, instantly spotting them sitting at a corner table. Five weeks ago the sight would have been somewhat soothing, now it was enough to make his heartbeat triple and intestines knot up.

Pulling in a shaky breath, Jim forced down the sudden bout of nerves.

He was in the middle of school in the middle of the cafeteria surrounded by other people. Now was not the time to lose it.

Five in. Hold for five. Five out.

Repeat

After a minute of deep breathing the full body shivers finally diminished to a much more manageable fluttering in his chest. Confident that he’d successfully gotten his emotions under control, Jim raised a foot and slowly resumed his approach.

Jim had been going back and forth about doing this for weeks, but this morning cinched it.

He was doing this. Today. Right here right now. Even if the idea of doing it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.

Because the worst part of the past month hadn’t been constantly being on guard or always being tired and nauseous. It was not knowing who’d he had to be on guard from.

A month ago, when he’d walked in on CPS in his house, Jim instantly knew one of his friends had blabbed.

While his immediate response had been to call Toby and demand answers, it didn’t take very long for Jim to shift gears to shoving the thought into the back of his mind and keeping it there. Couldn’t do anything to change it so there was no point to shoving his foot into that hornets nest. A with the way things had blown up when their problems with his mom first came out, forcing the issue might put him on the odds with all of them, and cost Jim the one part of his life that didn’t actively suck right now. The only thing to do was let it go.

So Jim let it go.

But as the weeks went by, despite how much he actively tried not to think about it, small doubts kept sprouting up in the back of his mind like weeds.

Did Mary really mean it when she asked how he was doing or was she fishing?

Was Toby trying to be helpful by offering to help carry groceries in or was he looking for a chance to spy inside the house?

His heart shot up into his throat, pounding as he closed in on the table.

And while Jim knew it had to be one of the four of them that called, he still had no idea who it was. That meant he didn’t know who it wasn’t either.

So as much as he tried, as much as he wanted to, Jim could never completely relax around any of his friends.

It was bad enough being on edge with every single adult in his life, but not knowing which one of his friends had stabbed him in the back, and worse not knowing if they were waiting to do it again…..

Jim stopped in his tracks, table just inches away. The four of them chatting away, his presence still unnoticed. Heartbeat hammering in his ears.

This was going to be ugly but Jim just couldn’t take not knowing any more. One way or another the truth was coming out today.

“I know one of you called the cops on my mom, so who was it?”

The four of them practically jumped in their seats before whirling around to face him. Claire was the first to find her tongue.

“What?”

Her eyebrows were knitted together in confusion. An expression shared by all the others sitting around her.

Somehow that made the lump of coal sitting in his ribcage smolder hotter even as his heart was threatening to beat out of it.

One of them knew exactly what he was talking about. One of them was only pretending to be confused.

“A month ago someone called CPS on my mom and I know it was one of you,” he made a show of narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms “So don’t try to deny it,”

They all turned and looked at each other, shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Jim stood his ground, mouth set into a firm line and prickling doubts shoved down into the bottoms of his feet. There it was, the accusation out in the open. Whoever it was might try to deny it, but Jim knew it had to be one of the four of them, and he wasn’t going to let them weasel their way out of--

“Jim….” Toby spoke slowly, briefly meeting his eyes before looking away “We….all did,”

His heart stopped.

For a moment Jim wasn’t sure how to respond, wondering if he’d actually heard Toby correctly, then the world slowly started to turn again and the words sank in.

“.....you what?”

“It’s true,” he snapped his gaze over to Darci, she flinched but didn’t look away “After we tried...talking to you, the three of us went to my dad and showed him the photos,” she glanced over to Toby at her side “It was only after that we learned Toby also talked to someone about--”

Jim whirled on Mary “I thought you said you deleted those?!”

“I-- uh-- umm…” she squirmed in her seat “I....made…...copies,”

Jim’s jaw fell open, unable to form words.

Out of all the possibilities, all the theories and ideas he’d had on who might have called, he’d never even dreamed that they’d all been in on it together.

His head was spinning, insides frozen and a roaring sound in his ears. Both hands rising up and fisiting through his hair, in a distant part of his mind he knew he shouldn’t be doing that since it was still falling out.

Just when he’d thought there couldn’t be anything else. That life couldn’t possibly throw anything worse at him--

Things became worse than he ever could have imagined.

He was faintly aware that the four of them were glancing around at each other from across the cafeteria table “Ok,” Claire laid both hands flat in front of her palms down “You have every right to be mad at us, but…”

Jim tuned her out, he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to whatever Claire was saying when his world was going to pieces right now.

He thought that when he figured out who had been the one to call CPS he could call them out for lying and get the rest of the group to back him up. That he’d figure out who he could actually feel safe with and finally be able to fix at least one part of his completely messed up life.

But it hadn’t been one of them, it had been all of them. They’d torn his life apart and kept it a secret. They lied to him. Every day. For over a month.

Heat shot through him, flooding through his whole body until it felt like every ounce of blood in his veins was boiling.

It was his friends all along. All of them. They threw him and his mom under the bus and then they lied about it.

All the fear, all the worry. His inability to sleep or keep food down, the fact that his hair was falling out.

It was all because of them.

For the first time in weeks Jim wasn’t scared, he was pissed as hell.

“I can’t believe you guys!”

They all jerked back, eyes wide, shocked at the volume of his outburst.

“All of you knew about this,” Jim felt nails stabbing into his palms from the force he was clenching his hands “And you lied to me about it for over a month!? How could you!?”

He was spitefully glad to see them all flinch and look deeply ashamed at that.

“Look Jim,” Toby started to speak “I know you must be angry, but--”

He shriveled into silence under the glare Jim gave him.

How dare he. How dare he try and pretend like any of this was ok. The girls he could sort of see, but Toby was practically family. His mom had done more for Toby than anyone else would have in the same situation.

And Toby had still sold them out, with Claire, Darci, and Mary giving a helping hand.

Jim slowly turned to glare at each of them, the heat rushing over him blazing even hotter as he saw their pained faces and slumped shoulders.

Had they had secret meetings talking about this without him, had they laughed, snickering about being able to keep him fooled for so long.

Somehow a cold dribble of guilt managed to seep in past the white hot fire in his belly.

Even as blindingly furious as he was, for both himself and his mom, deep down Jim knew that wasn’t true. The reason they made the call was because they felt they had no choice.

They hadn’t done this as a joke, they were worried, they’d done this because they were scared for him. They’d done this because they wanted to help.

But despite knowing that, despite knowing that he was taking this too far and was going to regret everything he was saying as soon as he cooled off, Jim was too angry to care.

“I told you guys. My mom. Doesn’t. Hurt me.” he got louder and louder with every word, until he was practically shouting, the raging inferno inside him demanding to be set free “Don’t you get it? She could get arrested because of this, I could get taken away. Did you even think about that at all!?”

Toby shot up out of his seat with a bang, cutting off Jim’s tirade. Glancing up at him out of sheer reflex, he saw that Toby had the edge of the table in a whiteknuclekd grip, every muscle in his body taut and trembling, eyes sharp as knives.

“No Jim. You don’t get to do that.” his voice was cold and harder than steel, harder than anything he’d ever heard coming out of Toby’s mouth “You don’t get to drop bombs like your mom locking you in the basement and expect us to pretend like everything’s ok. And you don’t get to act like we’re the bad guys for trying to help you,”

Jim found himself taking an involuntary step back. He’d never heard Toby this angry. Ever.

Prying his hands free, Toby stomped around the table towards him, Jim pinned in place under his molten gaze “You don’t get to talk about lying when you were the one who’s been lying all along. When you’ve been lying to me for years!”

“Tobes I--”

One look from Toby shut him up.

“But now you want to play honesty hour? Fine, we’ll play honesty hour. How did you really get those scars on your ankle?”

The bottom fell out of Jim’s stomach, taking every remaining drop of anger with it.

“.........what?”

“Well?” Toby stopped two feet away, green eyes boring holes into him “Go on, tell me, where did those scars come from?”

Jim couldn’t do anything but gape at him. The rehearsed answer, they came from a fox bite, sat in the back of his throat withering.

He couldn’t know. It was impossible. Only two people in the world knew the truth. The act done in the dim of the early dawn in the middle of a remote forest.

Don’t worry sweetie, it's a sterile blade. A few quick cuts and a bandage on top should get you all the shots you need, no questions asked.

There was no way for Toby to know, but the look in his eyes told Jim that he did.

“How-- how--” he struggled to get the words out “How do you--”

Darci gingerly slid out of her seat to come stand next to Toby “Ok let’s all just take a deep breath and relax for a second,” she glanced over, her expression cool and professional, no longer holding any trace of guilt “Jim, I’m sorry we lied about what we did but I’m not sorry for doing it,”

“Darci’s right,” Mary stood and approached, Claire at her side “And we all agreed, what’s going on with your mom….that’s not ok, and we couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. I know your mom was probably really messed up when your dad walked out, but that doesn’t mean--”

The words hit him like a fist to the gut “How do you know about that!?”

Mary shut her mouth, cheeks pink.

By now everyone in the cafeteria was turning and looking at them. And who could blame them with all the yelling. Jim knew that this was exactly the type of scene he needed to avoid, but all the emotions boiling up in his chest were too enormous and tangled and turbulent for him to make space to care about their audience.

Claire took half a step forward “Look Jim, I’m sorry we lied to you about reporting your mom, that was messed up and we shouldn’t have done it, but...” she inhaled, drawing herself up to full, regal height “But we wouldn’t have had to report her behind your back if you had just let us help you in the first place,”

“Yeah, you don’t get to talk to us about lying,” he spun back towards Mary. Hands on her hips, eyes narrowed into diamond hard points “If you had been honest with us from the beginning we wouldn’t have had to lie about anything,”

Toby stepped to the front of the group, arms folded in front of him “To more tricks or lies. We need the truth Jim. The whole truth, about everything. The scars, the basement, your curfew,” his expression was granite, voice flint “Right here, right now.”

Jim staggered back, furiously glancing at each of their faces. Claire and Darci were stern and unmoving as statues, while Toby and Mary were full on glaring daggers into him.

How was this possible? How did they know all this?

He couldn’t get enough air, chest tight as he shrunk under the weight of the four sets of eyes on him.

What else did they know? If they knew about the scars and his dad and the basement, what else did they know? And how close were they to learning….the rest?

The one tiny, microscopic flicker of hope Jim had was that he knew that they still didn’t know about….his real secret.

If they did they sure as hell wouldn’t be quiet about it.

But how close were they to figuring it out? They’d figured so much out already, it was probably only a matter of time.

And if this was how they responded to everything else, how would they react to learning that Jim was really a--

Icy daggers twisted in his gut.

He couldn’t do this anymore.

He needed out now.

Jim turned and bolted, running out of the cafeteria as fast as his legs could carry him. Barely aware of his friends’ shouts from behind him. But he couldn’t outrun the panicked screaming in his skull.

They knew about his mom locking him up, they knew about how his dad left, they knew how he really got the scars on his ankle. Sooner or later they would figure out that Jim was the monster all along and when they did--

Throughout the years ideas of what would happen if people learned about his transformation had always flickered at the edge of his thoughts. Jim had done his best to force them out of his head and keep them from taking full shape, but now every horrible, twisted thought he’d had over the years surged to the front of his mind and refused to be buried.

If anyone learned his secret it was only a matter of time until the government found out, and when they did they wouldn’t just let him run free. Jim’s blue form was an unknown; wild, dangerous. At the very least they’d lock him in a cell and throw away the key. Or maybe they would send him off to some secret lab to get dissected and analyzed piece by piece.

His breath became choppy and ragged as he raced down the hall.

Or maybe Jim was too dangerous to leave alive at all, maybe they’d drag him away for a long drive into the desert that ended with a bullet to the back of his skull.

And his mom--

A jagged lump spouted in his throat.

Would they lock her up to? For keeping his secret as long as she did. But she hadn’t broken any laws, maybe they’d just leave her alone? But then would they even tell her what they did with him? Or would she be left sitting alone in their house not knowing what happened to him while Jim sat in a prison cell, or got chopped to pieces in a lab, or rotted in an unmarked grave.

He could barely see the lockers rushing by him as heat built up behind his eyes. He was trembling all over now, blood rushing in his ears and scream building in the back of his throat.

Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together.

Jim was going to break down, he knew that. But he couldn’t let it happen in the middle of school. Not now, not again. Had to get out, go home, get somewhere safe.

Right now his secret was still under wraps, and the only way for Jim to keep those horrific ideas from becoming reality was to keep it that way.

And that meant not having another public meltdown.

Ignoring the sound of the bell, signalling other kids to start streaming into the hall, Jim scrambled up to his locker and started fumbling with the lock.

Despite his badly trembling hands he managed to get the locker open and pull his bag free, but in his haste to grab it the bag started slipping from his grip. Jim just barely caught the side in time to keep it from falling, but in doing so accidentally pulled the bag open, causing everything inside to spill out.

Jim could only watch in horror as textbooks clunked to the ground, papers scattering all over the floor, pens and pencils rolling in every direction. Insides curdling as he stared at the mess.

Why now? Why today of all days? On top of everything else--

His eyes stung.

Why couldn’t he just get a break?

Trying and failing to force himself through his breathing exercises, Jim got down on his knees and struggled to gather the contents of his bag.

Somehow his efforts to gather the papers just spread them even more, the task made impossible by how badly he was shaking all over, breath coming in quick, quivering pants, teeth digging into his lip until he tasted copper, a storm roiling just beneath his skin.

He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing a textbook and clenching his fingers around it so tight they hurt.

Get it together. Get it together. Get it together.

“Oh my god are you crying again?”

Jim froze, inside and out, eyes shooting open to stare down at two of his pencils and the textbook he’d just grabbed off the floor. Familiar snide, smarmy voice coming from behind him.

“Dude he totally is!” Seamus said with a laugh “This is too good,”

Jim couldn’t move, nerves paralyzed. Every drop of emotion he’d had to deal with today, shock, anger, fear, and guilt, surging through him.

“Awww what’s the matter baby?” Steve jeered “Do you want a bottle?”

Seamus and Logan’s laughter echoed in his ears. From the corner of his eye he saw the traffic around them slowing as other people stopped and stared. He couldn’t feel his fingers any more, curled into rigid claws around the edges of the book.

And just like that Jim was done.

He threw his textbook against the lockers as hard as he could, unleashing a thunderous boom into the hall.

“Fuck off Steve!”

Steve, along with Logan, Seamus, and everyone else milling around in the hallway behind him, froze “What did you just say Lake?”

“You heard me Steve,” Jim growled, stomping to his feet “Fuck. Off.”

Normally he would never lose his cool with Steve, the guy just wasn’t worth it, but after everything that had happened today, everything that had happened over the last month, he just couldn’t take it any more.

And Steve thought he was such a hot shot; popular, spot on the basketball team, grades good enough to keep it but not so good to be considered a nerd. But Jim knew a lot more than Steve thought he did.

Recovering from his surprise at Jim’s outburst, Steve gave him his best sneer “Alright Crybaby you got about ten seconds to get down on your knees and apologize before I break your--”

“Oh can it Steve, like you have any business calling me crybaby when you were the one bawling in the locker room about how your daddy couldn’t come watch your big game!” Jim practically spat the words.

The smug look on Steve’s face vanished, eyes going wide and the color leeching from his skin “Wha-- how-- how did--”

“Since you can’t seem to figure it out I’ll spell it out for you, your dad doesn’t give a shit about you or your basketball games! And if you really want to make him happy go play in traffic so he doesn’t have to pay child support!”

A hush went through the crowded hall. Semus’s eyes were bugging out and Logan looked absolutely petrified; Steve himself was wearing the most hang-jawed expression Jim had ever seen.

More and more people were gathering around now, drawn by all the commotion. Jim knew it was bad to be drawing this kind of attention, especially after the stunt he just pulled on the cafeteria, but the dam inside him had burst and it felt so so good to finally let it all out.

Let someone else have the rug pulled out from under them. Let someone else feel exposed and vulnerable. Let someone else have their deepest darkest secrets thrown back in their face.

Let someone else be afraid for once. Someone who actually deserved it.

“Face it Steve you’re not special,” Jim’s voice practically dripped venom “You’re just some moron who thinks that if they dribble a basketball good enough they can get an even bigger moron to give two shits about them. It’d actually be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic,”

Even as he said the words, felt the thrill of finally being able to take Steve down a peg, a tiny trickle of guilt managed to creep in. For saying something so horrible, so wrong. That no one deserved to hear, not even Steve. But what little guilt he had was easily drowned out by the massive ocean of vindictive glee he felt now that Psycho Steve was getting to experience a tiny piece of what it was like to be Jim Lake.

The crowd around them was deathly quiet now, everyone stunned into silence by Jim’s words. Shocked that he actually went there. With one exception.

Steve’s face had gone from ghost white to purple, the veins in his neck bulging, hands balled into fists as his sides “You’d better shut your mouth Lake,” his voice was soft but dangerous. Everyone, even Logan and Seamus, nervously edging away from him.

Unfortunately for him Jim just didn’t care anymore.

“Or what?”

He stepped forward, unable to resist poking the bear “You gonna punch me in the face or something? Well go on, do it! You’re only mad because I’m right!”

Another rush of spiteful satisfaction coursed through him when Jim saw the purple flush on Steve’s face darken even further at his words, so much that he didn’t even care that some of the onlookers had started to pull out their phones.

“Well what are you waiting for? Hit me, punch me, it’s not gonna make a difference. It’s not going to change the fact that you’re a loser who’s life has fucking peaked!” he jabbed a finger into Steve’s chest, getting right up into his face “That the only thing you have going for you is a spot on the basketball team. And after that all you have to look forward to is a dead end job at the gas station and at least two divorces!”

Steve was practically quivering with anger now, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched so hard he was surprised they hadn’t cracked, but Jim could still see the flash of genuine hurt in his eyes “I’m warning you Lake--”

“Because that’s all you’ll ever be, a loser! Maybe the real reason your dad left was because he finally figured out how much of a loser you really--”

The blow took him by surprise, more than it probably should have. A dazzling flash of pain in his temple that snapped his head back into the lockers with a deafening bang as more pain flared in the back of his skull. Hot stars danced in his vision, the world around him spinning,.

Jim vaguely registered that he wasn’t on his feet anymore, felt the linoleum under his back, the cool metal behind his shoulders and neck. Dimly heard the panicked shouts coming up from around him, even though he couldn’t make out the words.

Blinking past the throbbing pain in his skull, and the warm trickle of something in his eye, Jim’s sight cleared just long enough for him to see Steve’s face, twisted into a mask of primal rage, and another fist rapidly approaching.

#tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #A Secret's Worth #fanfic #rmvwrites #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #darci scott #toby domzalski #mary wang #language #violence #death mention #dissection mention

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willadisastercry · 3 years

Text

Appendicitis in space...

tw: emetophobia, appendicitis symptoms described, surgery, anesthesia, anxiety.

Coran is secretly shitting himself when the scanner lets him know that this particular human condition requires actual surgery. Most serious injuries they sustained did, but most also could be mended in a pod. This one was an exception, though. Because nothing needed to be fixed, something needed to be removed.

Lance tumbled forward awkwardly as the simulator sputtered and powered down.

“What gives, Shiro? I had that round!”

“Oh yeah? Then that wasn’t me just watching you getting your ass handed to you? Right,” Shiro laughed and he began packing up the equipment that had been pulled out.

“That’s enough for today anyway. Good work, everyone.”

Lance couldn’t even find it in him to continue his protests as he leaned over on his knees to catch his breath while he waited for the cramping in his side to dissolve.

Training that morning had been rough for everyone. Shiro wanted to ensure that the lull in active missions did not leave his team thinking they could kick back. So they worked on hand to hand combat and trained on as hard of a level they could tolerate until they became proficient in whichever skill they were focusing on.

Everyone did pretty well. They all made varying degrees of progress, but progress nonetheless.

Well, everyone except for Lance.

And he was pissed.

So he determined not to quit until he improved from his navice standing with a short sword, running the simulation countless times but barely making a dent.

He fought sloppily, all desperation and no strategy. Actually he did have sort of a strategy if you counted fighting simply to survive and that was not how you were supposed to train, but Shiro gave up on driving that point home early on.

Because Lance was visibly off.

Shiro had chided him earlier for picking at his breakfast, that he would regret it once they began training, but he just shrugged.

Lance barely spoke the entire morning of which Shiro was very wary of given that he was usually the most energetic of the bunch in the mornings.

But he assured the older boy he was fine.

Shiro knew that he had been feeling crappy the last few days so at first he attributed the weird behavior to him probably still feeling gross.

So when he fought sloppily he knew it was because he was fatiguing much quicker than his teammates. That when he got hit by an obvious blow it was because his brain quite literally couldn’t keep up with the battle.

He’d start off okay only to spend the rest of the simulation narrowly feigning off every strike after the first few parries and getting properly clobbered by way too many.

Shiro was glad he was able to recognize his shoddy performance for what it was before he exacerbated the issue, making a mental note to check in on him later that day as he finished cleaning up.

The paladins stalked off to the showers, Hunk and Pidge engaging in a riveting conversation explaining to Keith how the castle’s ‘waste’ was plumbed and disposed of.

He was horrified to say the least.

Lance lagged behind, the exhaustion from the session making his limbs feel so very heavy. Not to mention the knot in his side had never gone away and the trek was only increasing his discomfort as the adrenaline high wore off.

But he resigned that he was just overly tired and that a hot shower would likely help.

And it did, for his aching muscles. But his abdomen was still taut, the steady pulse of discomfort making him a little queasy.

He detached the removeable shower head and held it on his side for a moment. The water was boiling and so the heat seemed to numb the spot, but the pain was still there.

He gingerly began probing the area as he tried to work out what exactly was hurting, thinking maybe he’d pulled a muscle.

His stomach had been feeling weird for the last couple of days, but it had never been a concentrated pain like this.

And as he pressed around he was able to pinpoint the exact spot that was smarting the most so he could rub out whatever the issue was.

But as soon as he put pressure on it he knew he’d messed up.

It wasn’t even the pressure so much as the lack of it because when he removed his fingers to work out the soreness he grunted loudly as pain erupted at the site.

He was so caught off guard by the sudden sharpness that took over the dull ache that he dropped the shower head and it clanged on the tile, just narrowly missing his foot when he hadn’t even made an effort to avoid it.

His vision went white for a second and he stumbled into the wall, mostly due to the intense fear that was now upon him, and it took a second for the blood rush to settle before he could hear his friends knocking on the door of the shower stall.

“—ance? Lance!”

“The fuck is going on in there...”

He took a shuddering breath and called out that he was fine, he was just tired.

“Are you like weak in the knees tired or what? Because if you pass out in there and we have to help you while you’re butt ass naked, I swear—“

“I’m not going to pass out,” he groaned as he leaned his head back against the wall with a hand hovering carefully on his side.

“Okay, you’ve just been in there forever.”

“And Shiro said to keep an eye on you for suspicious behavior.”

“He’s not a suspect, Pidge, he’s just stubborn.”

“Well I am very much okay, so you can tell Shiro that and leave me alone.”

“Jeez—“

“Damn, well if you take a header you’ve gotten your wish, you’re on your own.”

Hunk and Pidge started off and Lance sighed, about to apologize when his side twinged, stealing a more pained sound from his throat.

He leaned his head back and tried to breathe through it, the worst muscle cramp of his life, once again not really being able to pay attention to what else was happening.

The pain wasn’t spreading, it was intensifying. Twisting and burning under each harsh pant, like someone was holding a fire poker to him and moving it around.

It was making his head swim and his stomach churn. He had been nauseous all morning and hadn’t eaten, so he was very confused as to how he could possibly need to throw up now, but there was no questioning it when he almost choked on the saliva rushing to fill his mouth.

He didn’t know when he’d grabbed the towel thrown over the door and tied it around his waist or when he’d made a break for the toilets across the room, he just knew he was moving and that he wouldn’t make it there.

And then he was hunching over one of the many sinks heaving, his side in a fiery protest with each contraction in his stomach.

The blood rush was back in his ears, so he didn’t know that Keith was talking to him or that he was even there until he was hitting his back when he couldn’t breathe in between gags and almost choked on his own sick. The shock of the hit allowed his stomach to break its cycle of relentless clenching.

He spit up the last of the bile that made its way up his throat and ducked his head further between his shoulders as he leaned on the sink while he caught his breath.

His lungs ached and he was dizzy. Everything seemed to hurt from that, all temporarily dulling the bite of the worsening throb in his side.

“Ok, what the fuck was that?” he could hear Keith asking after a minute.

He started to speak, to give an explanation, but he didn’t even know what to say, he wasn’t sure what was wrong. But when he went to talk his side pulsed rather aggressively and he was instantly gagging again.

Not much came up this time though as his stomach had already divulged itself of all its contents.

After he calmed back down, he looked up at himself through the mirror.

He was really pale except for a splash of red across his cheeks, his muscles tight and straining as he suffered through his discomfort and the pain, skin glistening in a mix of sweat and water.

And then he found Keith’s pointed gaze in it.

“Should I get Coran? You look like shit.”

“Ah—uhyh huh...” he struggled to formulate his words through his ragged breaths but got there eventually.

“Ye-yeah, please...”

“Okay, you good here or do you need to sit?”

“I-I’m gonna put... something on,” he stated before pushing himself up from the sink uneasily. Once he was up straight he wobbled a little and Keith grabbed his arm, but he shook him off saying he just needed a second and waited for the swirling black dotting his vision to disappear before heading for his pile of clothes on the bench.

Keith stayed next to him the entire way, making sure he got there without splitting his head open, more worried now then he was when Lance was choking on his own puke.

But he hid it well for the most part, except when he was actually being really nice. That was his tell.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t try and get to the toilet if you need to yak again, wouldn’t want anything to happen to that amazing brain of yours—“

“Hey...”

“Kidding, i’ll be really quick though. And seriously just stay there.”

“Yup, not going anywhere...” he assured, returning his hand to hover over the fire that felt like it was burning a hole in his side, the other waving Keith off.

Lance pulled his hoodie from the pile first. His skin was covered in goose bumps from how cold he was and he didn’t have the energy to put his entire post workout sweat suit on so it would have to do for now.

He shrugged it on carefully, it took a while because lifting his right arm up aggravated his side, but once it was on he felt better. He was still really cold and his hair was still wet so that wasn’t helping.

Pants next. Well underwear first. He found his boxer briefs in the pile and got to his feet wearily. He was still really dizzy and so he decided to proceed with caution and moved over to lean against the wall for this.

He took a deep breath and leaned over to put his feet through. It hurt. The orientation made his head pound dangerously and he straightened up only to feel a twinge from his side.

Fuck, he remembered thinking as he leaned heavily on the wall. But he very much needed to have underwear on when Coran came back, so he tried again.

This time he just dropped his arms down in front of him, keeping his torso straight as he raised one leg at a time through each leg hole.

Success. He breathed a sigh of relief and released his towel then started for the sweat shorts but his body did not like that.

He was none too kindly reminded of how lightheaded and dizzy he still was in that moment and he staggered forward, his foot catching a wet spot on the floor and the momentum of the error took him to the ground hard.

He landed very much on his ass but the fall jolted through his side like he’d gotten shot. If he thought it was on fire before, he was very wrong. This heat was excruciating and nauseating and blinding and gosh it was hard to breathe.

He hadn’t known when he’d laid down but he was suddenly very aware he was writhing on his side, feet kicking and searching for purchase on the tile as he arched through the pain piercing his abdomen.

And then there was a shadow over him. It sounded like robots were talking over him, their cold hands gripping his shoulders and face and turning him to lie on his back.

He had just been so cold but their hands felt so much colder because he was not aware he had started sweating. That wasn’t the only thing coming back to him, so was the nausea rippling through his stomach just as intensely as the fire raged.

He tried to focus his eyes, tried to see the faces over him. It was hard with how everything seemed to be spinning but eventually he could make them out.

“C-Coran, please... p-please”

“I will my boy, but you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong. What’s hurting?”

His hand moved from scratching at the tile to tug on his sweatshirt pocket.

“Where on your stomach? Show me,” Coran ordered as he lifted Lance’s sweatshirt up to his chest.

From the outside everything looked perfectly fine, aside from his abnormal parlor.

So Coran was dubious when he watched the sick boy move his hand cautiously over his side right beside and a little lower down than his belly button, his fingertips barely brushing the warm skin but producing a stiff breath anyway.

“Hm,” Coran mused, muttering a quick ‘forgive me boy’ before he pressed down on and around the spot.

Lance’s scream was drowned by his gag and then Keith was beside Coran, his hands tilting Lance’s face to the side and then pulling his torso that way as well. He thrashed and tried to wriggle out of their grips as he struggled, the pressure of being on the side that was on fire too much as his gut wrenched up nothing but yellow.

“Calm down Lance, you’re okay!”

“Breathe boy, you’re working yourself up and it’ll only make it worse. I think your appendix has ruptured, we’ll need to get you to the infirmary immediately...”

He wasn’t sure what was said after he that, his memory of getting to the infirmary was hazy because of how much it fucking hurt.

He was vaguely aware of curling up in a wheelchair, one hand clutching his stomach and another barely holding open a vomit bag up to his mouth. Nothing was coming up then except for saliva.

He didn’t even remember being lifted into a bed in the infirmary because the movement had unsettled his stomach once more, stealing his breath while he struggled against the vice wrapping around his empty stomach.

They had to put a cannula around his nose to get him extra air while he dry heaved, but he only calmed down after he quite literally almost stopped breathing and Keith ignored Coran’s protest to hit him on the back like before.

He was also sort of aware he had started crying at some point and was reminded of that when Coran was pressing onto his side once more.

At this point he didn’t even have the energy to struggle, he just continued to tremble violently under the touch as fresh tears spilled down his face.

“Hey, shh you’ll feel much better soon,” a new voice assured as they ran their hands through his damp hair. He leaned into the touch and saw that both belonged to Shiro.

“Shit, if I had known you had freaking appendicitis I would never have made you train today,” he laughed sadly.

He shut his eyes closed at that and tried to breathe through the waves of nausea against his pounding headache all topped off by the fire poker in his side.

“Coran what’s the estimated time in the pod for this, you think?” Keith asked as the others were just arriving.

“I’m afraid he cannot go into a pod just yet,” Coran said gravely, not once lifting his face from his tablet.

“Lance!”

“Woah, what the quiznak happened?!”

“He’s so freaking pale, oh my god.”

“It’s his appendix,” Keith offered.

“The scans show that the organ has completely ruptured and is leaking into his abdomen. It is something that can only be remedied with—with surgery.”

“Oh, Coran... is that—something we can even do here?”

“It’s going to have to be.”

The time between when Shiro explained what was going to be happening to Lance and when they were about to put him under went impossibly slow and too fast all at once.

He would gag occasionally but nothing came up with it. They had since attached a bunch of wires all over him and put an IV in his arm that was giving him pain medicine and antibiotics.

It seemed to help a lot with his discomfort and he eased into the bed after they finally kicked in, his body relaxing for the first time in a while.

“I’m n’gonna feel an’thing right?” He asked Coran, his words sloshing together from the mix of utter exhaustion and drugs.

“Of course not my boy, this will take care of that as will the pain medicine,” he assured as he held a weird altean breathing mask in his hands.

“I’m going to put it over your nose and mouth now, just breathe normally and we’ll do a little count down while you fall asleep.”

Coran motioned to place the mask on him, but he turned away from it.

Lance looked around wildly as if he couldn’t see the multiple friendly faces looking at him and the machines recording his heart rate began to pick up, and then was reaching for someone, anyone.

“We’re here! We’re all right here,” Keith said taking up his hand with a wire attached to his finger, Shiro was grabbing the other.

“I-I don-I don’t”

“You’ve got to buddy, you’re really sick,” Shiro soothed as he ran his hands through his hair once more. The touch calmed him only somewhat, his breath hitching once more as he continued to worry.

“I k-know, but I-I’m scared I w-won’t...”

He was crying again.

“Won’t what buddy?” Hunk asked tenderly as his hand fell to Lance’s leg.

“What if I d-don’t wake up,” he managed before his breathing took a turn and Coran rushed to go find a remedy for it, not quite understanding it was mostly him just being anxious.

Pidge was pushing past all the bodies looming over the bed and sufficiently blocking her from being able to help Lance, but once she shoved Shiro forward she was scrambling onto the bed and nuzzling herself against Lance’s good side.

He gasped at her presence but seemed to melt into it soon after he realized what she was doing. She pulled at the hand clutching Shiro’s and placed it on her back so he could feel her calm breaths and ground himself.

“Slow and deep, you’re okay,” she urged and leaned her head against his chest, his sweatshirt was still on but folded up under itself to expose his stomach, a circle had been drawn around the location of his appendix.

He leaned his head against hers and breathed slow shaking breaths.

“Coran it’s alright, he’s calming down on his own,” Keith urged just as Coran turned up with some strange altean herb that was purple and emitting some sort of low cooing sound.

“You’re going to be just fine, Lance. Coran would never let anything bad happen to you.”

“Yeah, and if you feel like taking an extra long snooze we’ll be here to rudely wake you up like we always do,” Pidge added and she could feel Lance relax under her weight.

“I’m s-sorry for being so mean earlier, guys—“

“Shh, no more saying ‘i’m sorry’. Just accept the cuddle and zip it.”

Lance could almost summon a laugh but the pain in his side prevented it.

“Let’s try again with the sleepy time mask, yeah?”

“Yeah...”

He reached for Shiro’s hand again and all of the other hands on him tried to soothe him as best they could as he tensed when the mask descended on his face.

“We’ve gotcha bud.”

“You’ll be just fine Lance.”

“Nothing bad can happen to when you’re being cuddled so viscuously.”

“Okay, let’s start counting back from 10.”

“10, 9—“

“Easy, count slower. You’re alright.”

A second hand was on his head, pushing his hair back and trailing behind his ear. He closed his eyes at the sensation, it was something his mamá would do.

“9... 8... 7...”

“That’s it number three, easy...”

Around 5 he stopped counting. He felt his body becoming heavier and heavier as he breathed through the strange mask, he could feel the gentle but firm touches of his teammates, the only constant as he breathed deeper and deeper, a pleasant haze falling over him.

He could feel the level in Pidge’s breath, and tried to match it, his eyelids feeling so heavy they were hard to keep open.

And then he felt light.

The last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered shut was Allura and Hunk smiling while they said something that was lost on him.

He didn’t care though, he didn’t need to hear it to know what they meant.

He remembered feeling really safe in that moment.

He wasn’t scared anymore.

#vld #whump scenario #lance angst #vld lance #voltron fic #voltron whump #lance mcclain #sick boy #voltron sick fic #voltron fandom #lance whump #lance anxiety #keith helps #concerned keith

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minionsockinthepark · 2 years

Text

I've had a terrible day and I'm going to tell you all about it. To spread awareness about the shit disabled people go through every day, and just to vent.

Tw: Mentions of ableism, physical pain, anxiety, nausea.

I got a cane 2 days ago, it was on a Saturday. I've had issues with my legs and feet for at least 12 years and it causes me physical pain almost every day. I got a cane in the hopes that it would take some of the weight of my legs and help me not hurt anymore, or at least not as much. I had tested it out in the store, it seemed to help. My mom got me it because she knows how much I hurt.

I have anxiety and I get extremely nauseous sometimes when I have an anxiety attack, along with sobbing and hyperventilating. I was scared to use my cane in public. I'm not what most abled people think of when they hear "disabled", lest of all a cane user. I'm a teenager, my legs look "normal" to the average person. I can walk without a limp, although any walking for more than 5 minutes hurts. I knew people would look, would judge, would assume I just wanted attention. But I had to try it for at least a day.

I my mom drove me to the bus stop because I was running late. I was standing there for about a minute, and as cars drove by I tried my best to ignore them, I saw a couple drivers look at me for longer than you would expect. I started feeling the anxiety and dread build up in my stomach as the bus pulled up. I got on the bus and the other passengers looked at me. They stared at me as if I was an animal at a zoo, as if I couldn't see them too. I got more and more anxious as the bus ride went on and we finally got to the transit center. I rode the escalator to the pedway and walked across. There were more people staring now. I walked towards the elevator and a girl, looked to be about 13, looked me up and down like a cartoon bully about to hurl and insult.

I made it to the train and got on, instantly there were people either looking or purposefully looking as far away as possible.

I started having a full anxiety attack now, crying and hyperventilating.It was so warm in the train, it didn't help the nausea that came next. I texted my mom as I tried not to puke, telling her about how I was being watched and I wanted to disappear. We eventually got to my stop, right by my school. I saw some old friends and asked to walk with them to school because I was having an anxiety attack, and they said sure. I walked with them, but we ended up splitting up at an intersection so I was left to walk on my own. I started to sob as I got closer to school. People stared as I walked through the halls. I had a spare second block so I sat with an old classmate, he was skipping class because he fractured his wrist before school. We talked and laughed and everything was fine.

Then he looked at my cane, looked at me, and called me a cripple. I didn't know what to say.

I went to eat lunch with my friends and they all comforted me because I was pretty upset by being called that, because fucking obviously.

The rest of the day was pretty average, I got permission to use the school elevator, so that was nice. Stairs are particularly hard for me. I got stared at on the way home, but it wasn't as bad because I was with some friends. I got home and my legs were just tired, not in pain like they usually are at that point. I was so relieved to be home and out of my "enclosure", just Max instead of "cripple".

Two hours ago, as I laid in my bed, it started again. The pain. Deep cramps in my calves, ankles aching. My thighs hurt too, which is rare for me. I broke down in tears because this was supposed to be fixed. I was supposed to be better. I wasn't supposed to hurt anymore. I had gone through one of the most emotionally difficult days of my life and it didn't even work. I'm still in pain as I write this. It hurts so bad. I just want to be better.

#disabled #cane user #disability #ableism #physical disability #actually disabled

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danger-xylophones · 4 years

Text

Family Reunion Part 7. The Child

{Masterlist}

Notes: I screwed up the timeline of Star Wars because I didn’t think about it so, sorry.

Ps. I stan big-brother Therapist Opress

Warnings: Swearing, reader is a panicky mess for a little bit, some suggestive language

Words: 3246

Taglist: @and-claudia // @tararuthven // @ravenclawlegacy // @noiralei // @pinkiemme // @darthsmol

<- Previous

………………………………….

Forever

Forever indeed. It felt like Maul had been gone for forever. You hadn’t seen him in two months and they were some of the most excruciating months you’d ever lived through. What made it worse were the few and far between calls late at night that only made your aching for your unofficial husband grow. You were legitimately becoming concerned for as the time stretched on without contact, you began to feel sicker. Was it possible to get sick from missing someone? Is that what people meant when they described someone as ‘lovesick’?

“Y/n, are you sure you are alright?” Ki-Adi’s voice shook you to the core as you were forced to refocus on the fact that you were currently in the middle of a duel with him. Your master had lowered his saber, one hand held up to stop you from pressing your advantage while he questioned you.

“I’m fine, Master.” The reply was immediate and spoken without thought. You knew you were just being dramatic and that your life had to go on when Maul wasn’t around. You were to become a Jedi. He was a Sith Lord. Divergence from each other was what founded your relationship and when that manifested in not seeing each other for months, you had to learn to deal with it. The whole ‘feeling sick because my husband isn’t here to hold me’ thing was getting old fast.

Your husband....gods, those words didn’t seem real. Legally binding or not, the fact of the matter was that you had married Maul in total secrecy two months ago. You could remember the moment he claimed you as his wife so clearly that on the most lonely nights it seemed to become the only thing that was real and untainted by hypocrisy, hubris, and politics. The knowledge that you were the only one who would ever know the feel of Maul’s hands on your hips, or the gentle nudge of his nose against your own as he pressed his lips to yours, or even how solid he felt when buried in-

You internally shook your head. Yes, the knowledge that you were the only one that would ever know how any of that felt was...intoxicating. And you were selfish. Maul’s love was a drug and you were the only one that had access to it.

“Are you sure? You seem very distracted.” Ki-Adi continued, blocking the strike you levied at his side.

“I’m. Fine.” You seethed, frustrated at your mind for wandering and at your body for how poorly you were fighting.

Ki-Adi sheathed his saber and raised an eyebrow at you, hands finding a place clasped behind his back. He was disappointed. You sighed and sheathed your green saber as well, already preparing for the inevitable lecture. “I do not believe you, Y/n. You haven’t been acting like yourself since we returned from negotiations on Toydaria.” Ki-Adi stepped forward to grasp your shoulder, communicating his concern more clearly than his perpetually calm voice would allow. “Did something happen?”

You shifted on your feet, knowing you would have to lie. There was no way you could tell him that you were lovesick but you could explain the physical symptoms your predicament had manifested. “No, master, nothing happened. Just...I don’t know how to explain it.” You carded a hand through your hair briefly. “For the past few weeks, I haven’t felt...like myself?” You tried, looking into your master’s calm face.

Ki-Adi’s brows furrowed. There was no condemnation in his eyes, only curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...I can’t remember the last time I got a good night’s worth of rest. For some reason, certain smells have been bothering me lately, I’m so tired all the time-yesterday I passed out in the library and Madame Jocasta had to walk me to my room because I couldn’t walk more than a few steps without feeling nauseous.” You let out an angry huff directed at the strange reactions your body was having to the absence of Maul. “But, every time I’ve considered going to the healers to see what is going on, the symptoms vanish.”

Ki-Adi was quiet for a moment as he digested the revelation. “Do you know what might be causing these reactions?” He eventually asked, taking a seat in the middle of the mat you had been fighting on. You followed his lead, sticking your chin in one hand and propping your elbow on your bended knee while your free hand toyed with a rogue string on your robe. You shook your head, eyes boring into the ground. “Are you, perhaps, nervous for the Trials?”

You shook your head again, straightening up. “No, I mean...I am just a bit nervous but I know that these reactions aren’t originating from that. I was more nervous about making my second lightsaber and this never happened.” Your stomach gave an almighty lurch all of a sudden which caused you to clasp your hand over your mouth, the other shooting to your stomach. But, just as quickly as it had come upon you, the sensation vanished leaving you and your perplexed master. You groaned in frustration, almost wishing you would just vomit so that whatever was going on would cease. Ki-Adi sent you a sympathetic frown, helping you to your feet. “If I may forgo discretion, master?” He hummed to tell you it was alright. “I spoke with Luminara Unduli and she posited that it could just be an intense bout of pms. Which would make sense…” Because I’m late…Like,...two months late. And with that realization, a whole new plethora of issues became very likely possibilities. No, no...we...Maul and I aren’t even the same species. That can’t happen...or can it? Zabraks are classified as Near-human. In theory, we could...no, no.

“Hmm, this is troubling. May I suggest that you go to the healers, Padawan? Even if Master Unduli is correct, I think it would be wise to receive confirmation.” Ki-Adi, ever tranquil in his approach, thankfully rescued you from the spiraling panic now coiling in your chest. “Come, I will escort you there.”

…………………………………….

“Y/n?” Savage’s rumbling baritone voice pulled you back to reality and you suddenly realized that you had been zoned out for a very long time. When had you started deep cleaning the ship? Looking away from the floor of the cockpit you had started diligently scrubbing, you met the towering zabrak’s questioning gaze as he leaned against the doorway. “Are you alright? You’ve been cleaning incessantly since you woke up.”

Briefly letting your eyes flicker over the various cleaning supplies strewn around you, you shrugged, mouth feeling dry. “I...I guess.” With a little more focus, you returned to scrubbing, eager for some distraction. “I’ve just...been lost in thought, I guess.”

“I noticed.” Savage stated bluntly whilst crossing his arms. “I’m worried about you, sister.” You paused at his words, momentarily closing your eyes as you collected yourself. You could hear him approaching, long strides echoing around the small area as he neared until he crouched next to you and gently worked the rag out of your hands. “You have not been yourself for the past few days.” Your eyes snapped open and slid to the side to meet Savage’s gaze. His brow was worked into a frown and one of his large hands was hesitantly reaching out, as though he was unsure if he was allowed to console through touch.

Opting to let him in, you reached out and grabbed his hand. “I’m afraid seeing Maul in this state has...drained me. I just needed a reprieve and I guess shutting down was the way I went about achieving that.” As you spoke, you let your thumbs dig into his palm while you used him as an anchor. “And,” glancing around Savage to see into the makeshift sleeping area the three of you had set up, you took note of how Wild was still completely passed out which made it safe to make your confession, “and it isn’t helped by the lying on my end. I want to tell Wild the truth, but I’m terrified of how he’ll react. He’s lived his whole life believing his father to be dead. What will he do when he finds out that he’s not and that he was, in fact, a Sith Lord? I don’t want him to go into shock over it but how the hell am I supposed to adjust him to the idea organically?” You muttered more to yourself than to Savage who was still patiently crouched next to you, happily lending an ear.

Savage’s breathing was the only thing you could hear, low and steady like the breath of a mythical beast. It was soothing to hear something other than your own panicked thoughts. “I wish I knew how to help you, Y/n. I care for Wild and I care for you too. The three of you are the only kin I have left.” He sighed and finally took a seat beside you, still allowing you to toy with his hand.

“I hadn’t thought about that...how are you holding up?” You tried carefully, releasing Savage’s hand when he gently tugged it away from you.

“Not well, if I am to be completely honest. Though-I have the benefit of not remembering what Maul used to be like.” Savage’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

Not entirely sure where to go from here, you opted to voice the most pressing anxiety that plagued you without ceasing. “Do you really think Mother Talzin will be able to help him?”

“Help him? No. Bring back Darth Maul? Yes.”

……………………………………..

“Padawan L/n, these results are...most concerning.” The words falling from the Mirialan healer are...disconcerting which causes you to sit up, propping yourself on your elbows as you rise from the bed to watch her movements.

“Why?” You ask, sitting up a little further as your panic makes a resurgence. “What’s wrong? What do they say?” She didn’t reply nor did she turn to look at you as she raised a hand and flicked her fingers in unison to beckon you over. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and walked over to the screen that was displaying the results of the full-body scan she had run to pinpoint the epicenter of your troubles. The particular area of interest was a position that was decidedly not your stomach like you thought it would be. Oh no. “W-...what does that mean?” You asked, trembling. Your throat was swiftly closing up as you continued to stare at the red circle that blinked placidly above your uterus.

“Y/n, you know what it means. Coupling the scan with your other symptoms, I think the issue is impossible to deny or misinterpret.” The Mirialan was bristling as she spoke, the sympathy draining from her voice with every word till it was sucked dry of any humanity. “I must inform the council immediately.”

Inform the...shit. Whirling around faster than you thought humanly possible and leaping over the bed, you practically tackled the healer to keep her from leaving the room. “Dariada, listen to me. I don’t know how this happened.” You attempted to explain, hands grasping her left forearm in a vice.

She made a noise of utter indignation that echoed in your head. “You don’t-how could you not know?! You slept with a man, Padawan L/n, that’s how this happened. You broke the code! They’ll expel you from the order for this!” She was livid.

“They could if I had broken the code! But I didn’t! I didn’t sleep with anyone!” Liar. Liar. This baby’s mother is a liar. Maul, fuck, where are you? One hand shot to your front, gently laying over where your womb was. “There was no one. I swear.”

“That doesn’t happen, Y/n. You had to have slept with someone.” Dariada shot back, hood dangerously close to flying off. Her vibrant green skin was a shade darker from the blood rushing to it in her anger. You had never liked Dariada, she was always far too self-righteous, but you liked her even less now. With what could only be described as a snarl, she wrenched her arm free and grabbed both of your wrists in an iron grip, already marching her way out of the hall and dragging you along with her. She held true to her word and informed the council of the...situation.

Soon you were standing in the middle of the council members, begging for them to believe you that there had been no one. The lie felt like poison on your tongue, it seeped into your own system just as it flew at the council members. Plo Koon was the first to believe you. “I can sense much fear in you, padawan. Why?” The Kel Dor had asked amidst your muffled sobs. There was no hint of condemnation in his modulated voice, but, instead, compassion and empathy.

“With all due respect, Master Plo, I just found out that I’m pregnant and I can’t even explain how it happened. I am not ashamed to admit I am terrified of what is to become of my baby.” You turned towards him, hiccuping and blubbering throughout your confession.

“Only your baby?” Plo Koon asked, raising the ridge where his eyebrow would be. You were painfully aware of the gazes of each individual master on you. Ki-Adi’s was the heaviest of them all.

With a swallow, you attempted to calm your nerves. Maul could help you. Maul would help you. You just had to get in touch with him. But what would his master do to him, to your baby? The tears began anew. “Only my baby. I can be expelled from the order and find a way to survive but what of them?” No answer was needed for your question. The implications were clear.

“Padawan, approach.” Master Yoda’s voice called to you as he beckoned you closer with his three-fingered hand. His expression was unreadable. You did as he commanded and the old master closed his eyes and held his hand out in front of him when you were little more than a foot away from him. “A child of the Force, the babe is. Clouded is their future.” The grandmaster sighed heavily, letting his head and hand fall in time. “Expel her, we cannot. Powerful will the child be. We must not let either of them fall to the dark side.” Murmurs fell from the masters, sneaking past you as they slipped from loose lips.

“But is she telling the truth, Master Yoda?” Master Tinn was the one to voice the question on all of their minds.

“She has to be, Master Tinn.” It was Ki-Adi who spoke in your defense. “Dariada said that she was approaching nine weeks, in that time, the only instances where Y/n has left my sight was when she was in the temple. Y/n is predisposed to the light side and has never broken the code before, to assume that she would to this extent is unwise and unfair to my padawan.” You sent Ki-Adi a grateful smile as he rose from his chair and approached to stand beside you in front of his fellow masters.

“What are you suggesting we do then, Master Mundi?” Mace Windu asked from your right.

“Put Y/n’s training on hold and postpone the trials. We will keep her in the temple to watch over her and when the baby comes, I think it would be wise to look into training them.” Ki-Adi offered swiftly to muttered agreements.

With a tap of his staff, Yoda called the room to him. “A wise decision that is, Master Mundi. Watch her closely, you must. Now,” He focused on you, eyes penetrating your defenses till his gaze seared into you, “fetch Master Qui-Gon Jinn, young padawan, know something of this occurrence, he might.” You dipped your head to bid the council farewell before skirting away from them. As you fled the meeting area, one thought remained. Where are you, Maul?

…………………………………………………

Maul was being a nuisance. You had gone into the cargo hold in search of more ration bars and thought that he had still been asleep. You were correct, he was still in the same place you had left him last night. Or he had been until Savage came stomping in after you and woke him up. Now, he was acting like a feral tooka; hissing and spitting at Savage while you, once again, trapped behind him. Savage had backed off with his hands up to show surrender but Maul hadn’t relented and you were rather fed up with it. “Savage, go get me a damp cloth, I’ll try to calm him down.” You ordered whilst nodding your head to Maul. Savage was eager to help calm his brother and so, swiftly backed out.

Meanwhile, you worked to soothe Maul once more, delicately coaxing him to lay down with his torso across your lap. Gentle purrs rumbled in his chest while you worked your hand into the perpetually tense muscles in his back. Savage entered once more, quietly this time, and handed the cloth he had gotten to you. You used the rag to dab at the junctures of Maul’s body. You hoped the motion would be soothing. His fever had broken sometime during the night but you were still trying to ensure he was kept comfortable for the remainder of the journey.

Before the silence could persist for much longer, Savage broke it as he leaned on some stacked crates across from you. “Did Wild mention the tattoos to you?”

Looking away from Maul and to the door to the hold, you made sure the three of you were alone. “Yes, he told me he had been talking to you about Dathomir and the Nightbrothers.” You brought your gaze back to Savage who seemed a little hesitant to continue talking.

“Did...did he tell you why?” You shook your head. Savage sighed heavily and slid down to be seated. “I’m afraid Wild suspects we are hiding something from him.”

“I knew he’d start to.” You muttered under your breath, subconsciously gripping the cloth tighter. “Did he say anything?”

Savage shook his head, “No, but he was asking a lot of questions regarding Maul. I answered as many as I could.”

“Wild’s always been perceptive, I knew we couldn’t hide this forever. But, did he tell you why he wanted more? He told me you had offered to help him.”

The yellow zabrak groaned, pulling one knee up to use as an armrest as he averted his gaze to Maul who had taken to playing with your free hand. “All he said was that he could feel something coming, something monumental.”

Your brows furrowed. That was...news. Why hadn’t he talked to you about this? Probably because you’ve been keeping secrets from him, you lying piece of-

The door suddenly slid open to reveal the boy of the hour. His...cold saffron eyes zeroed in on Maul before flicking away to Savage and then yourself. His face was stiff. “We’re approaching Dathomir, I took the liberty of starting landing procedures.” His voice was clipped and serious, more than it normally was. With one last glare at Maul, he turned and stalked towards the cockpit.

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#darth maul #clone wars #tcw #star wars

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.19

Us Redefined

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2) x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4320

Summary: 3, 2, 1... ;)

Warnings: mentions of amnesia and death, swearing, light angst, tons of confusion because of communication issues

Story masterlist ༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

I'm holding out till we're out of time Would you pierce the veil Would you cross the line I can feel you here, souls redefined I can't let go of our design Would you pierce the veil Would you cross the line Come back to me (Les Friction – Come Back to Me)

Soft, but frantic hands cradling your head, caressing your face.

Your body too heavy to move a muscle.

Weak ringing in your ears.

The world spinning.

An angel speaking, his whispered pleas squeezing your heart like a cold fist.

“…Oh, oh doll, sweetheart, please, look at me. Say something. Tell me you’re okay, please, please… don’t do this to me, not again, please, you’re gonna be okay…”

You knew that voice, that much you were aware of. You knew that touch too, careful and carrying gentleness despite the callouses on his fingers. Your mind was buzzing with blurry images and a building headache. You were sure the pain would get worse if you opened your eyes, but hearing the growing anxiety in the voice, you knew leaving them closed was not an option.

Dark spots were dancing in your field of vision, but you got glimpses of a worried angelic face, making you smile automatically, even when you were barely controlling your mimics or any muscles really. You were aware of meeting a real-life angel before, but Steve was simply something else.

You blinked heavily, hoping for the dark patches to disappear and reveal Steve fully. He was frowning, his lips moving rapidly and his eyes were glassy, the blue and green brought to life.

Was he… was he crying?

You squeezed your eyes shut, convinced the image would resolve when looking at him after that. It didn’t change.

“Doll? Oh, thank god… can you hear me?”

One of his hands shifted, sliding under your shoulder blades to lift your torso from the hard floor, bringing you closer to him, while he was still cradling your head. He was so gentle in his motions, manipulating your body as if it was made of glass. It was nothing new to you, he had done it before; he would sometimes start making love to you that way, his demeanour gradually shifting as he got lost in his own pleasure after he took care of you.

You managed to sit upright on your own, Steve’s thumb running over your cheek.

“Doll?” he questioned lowly, his eyes widening as he finally realized this was probably not the appropriate way to address you. “I mean-“

“I’m fine,” you croaked, your throat dry. You couldn’t say more. The tide wave of emotions flooded your brain, sea of images, words, sensations, overwhelming.

And god, couldn’t you tear your eyes away from him. He was as beautiful as ever, even more so, even with dark bruise-like circles under his eyes, smeared with tears.

“I’m okay,” you repeated, hesitantly reaching to caress his cheek with your fingertips, wanting to assure yourself he wouldn’t dissolve.

You knew for a fact this was very real, but still… gotta make sure, right? Everything felt so surreal lately…

Steve blinked in surprise, few salty drops escaping from behind his eyelids as he was watching you with wonder. You felt the same burn in your eyes – you wanted to cry, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to- to-

His hand caught yours on his face, his fingers tenderly wrapping around your wrist, bringing it down. You pretended it didn’t hurt you, that you didn’t feel the pang near your heart; it grew rapidly when you realized just how much that gesture of yours could have hurt him. This was probably too much.

Steve didn’t know yet. He didn’t know what you knew.

“How do you feel?” he asked slowly, the pad of his thumb stroking the back of your hand.

You could tell he was holding something back, but hey, so were you. Your body was itching with the need to throw your arms around his neck and snuggle him. Your lips burned with the desire to get familiar with his again, craving to find out if they still tasted the same.

“I’m-ugh…“ my head hurts. Seeing the fear in his eyes, you didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. This was too much already. “-okay.”

“I heard you screaming, Jarvis went on about an unauthorised entry. What happened? Do you remember?”

Oh, you did remember. There was a lot of things happening in your head, so many pictures, blending together and then falling into place only for another to appear. It was hard to make sense of it all and give him an acceptable answer. Your heart was ahead of your brain. Feelings were clearer than actual memories.

“There was a woman. Rather tall, long dark hair, dark gown. I’ve never seen her before, I’m sorry,” you babbled, too fascinated by more important matters.

Steve was here. Right here in your reach, touching you and you were… you were.

“I know. I saw her when I ran in. She just… disappeared. It’s okay, we’ll have Jarvis to show us the footage. We’ll track her, the others will get on it. You’re more important. Bruce is on his way to the medical. I’ll get you there, okay? Just hold onto me,” he coaxed and the next thing you knew, you did exactly as he asked. Mainly because he lifted you from the ground as if you weighted nothing and you really didn’t want to fall.

It brought a smile to your face and butterflies to your stomach. How many times he had done that and it still affected you so with such intensity, your fingertips tingling?

You stared at his face, so up close, wishing for nothing but to kiss him. There was a worried wrinkle on his forehead and you wanted to smoothen it with your fingertips. You recalled how he had reacted the last time you touched him though.

You needed to tell him.

“Steve, I-“ you started, only to be interrupted, much to your frustration.

“What is it? Are you uncomfortable like this? Tell me what hurts.”

You shook your head lightly, the movement actually making you dizzy. Alright, maybe a trip to the medical wasn’t that unjustified, but… but!

“No, Steve… I mean, yeah, my head hurts a bit-“

“Bruce will take a look at it and work it out,” he assured you with a sad smile and you just gaped, wanting to throw your hands in the air.

There was a sheer determination written all over his expression and you… understood. There was no way you two could talk until you were checked up. You had been hurt. Injury was a threat to you. Steve had seen you die before. It probably physically ached him to be left unsure and have something, anything to threaten your life again.

Not that you blamed him.

“I trust him that he will,” you said then, adjusting to Steve’s play, earning a faint smile and a nod. “And I trust you too.”

The lift of the corners of his lips still seemed pained, but more genuine now.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I wasn’t around when… when it happened.”

Yeah, that was probably the goal. To have you left alone so the woman – if she was a woman, because there was no way she was an ordinary human – could do whatever she had done with the bright light and bring your memories back.

“That’s not your fault, Steve. You can’t exactly watch me 24/7,” you whispered, his gaze flickering to you, the shadow in his eyes attempting to prove you wrong. You knew for certain that he was haunted by a different memory now. One that wasn’t entirely his fault either.

Oh, how much you wanted to tell him… instead, you allowed yourself to get lost in his beautiful eyes, so much that you barely noticed you reached the infirmary.

“So, what do we have here?” Bruce asked calmly, already observant of how quickly you reacted, if you were moving your head correctly. Steve lowered you to the bed, clearly paying special attention to being as gentle as possible. “Can’t walk?”

There was a slight hint of amusement in Bruce’s voice as if he knew Steve was being simply overprotective. The corners of your lips twitched when Steve shot him a mean look.

“Well, I had a very chivalrous fella at my disposal. I couldn’t refuse,” you announced, well-aware of the fact that using big words showed Bruce you weren’t that bad and your brain was working – and hell, was it working, finally. The ‘chivalrous fella’ part was for Steve’s benefit. He might get a hint… eventually. Better to ease him into it. “But my head does hurt a bit and I guess my balance might be a little off.”

“Okay. I’ll check your head for any bumps and bleeding, okay? Then I’ll shine a flashlight to your eyes and we go from here, hm?” he explained, pulling gloves on. You just nodded in understanding, watching Steve with a corner of your eye; he let Bruce work, but was still nearby.

“Do you want me to leave?” Steve asked when he noticed your line of sight and you only smiled at him and shook your head, much to Bruce’s discontent. “Okay.”

You did have quite a bump at the back of your head; the spot was definitely tender to say at least. Good news was that there was no external bleeding, your pupils were equally responsive, Bruce seemed happy that you remembered the incident – not that there was much to remember – and you didn’t feel nauseous. Your balance truly was a bit off, but nothing terrible. As long as you had something to lean on in a moment of weakness, you were fine. CT shots showed no swelling either, at least for now – mostly, you were good to go.

“It’s up to you – either you can stay here, someone checking up on you regularly, or you can be in the room Tony had set for you with the very same treatment,” Bruce offered with a reassuring smile and you instantly knew which you wanted.

“My room, please,” you pleaded (mentally chanting ‘Steve’s room! Steve’s room!’) and Bruce nodded.

“Alright. If anything changes, have Jarvis to let me know. Otherwise I’ll leave you to the hands of your chivalrous fella.”

Steve glared murder at him, but walked to your side.

Jarvis chose that moment to speak up.

“There are no signs of the woman, Steve,” the AI reported regretfully, causing Steve to clench his jaw.

“Goddammit!”

Your hand found his, squeezing reassuringly as you could feel his anger and helplessness.

“That’s… I think that’s okay.”

Steve spun to face you in a lightning speed, too distracted to evade the contact you initiated.

“Okay?! What if-- maybe she… maybe she’ll be back and we didn’t even know she got in until she- she-” he stuttered exasperatedly, but obviously holding back a lot.

It was time now.

“I don’t think she will be back. Uhm, would you mind…” You spun to the scientist slash doctor only to find him already making his way out. You stood face to face with the love of your life then, your soulmate and you couldn’t but take his other hand into yours as well, desperate to touch him. “Steve, what she did to me… she has no reason to come back. She’s finished.”

“What… what are you talking about?” he asked hesitantly, his gaze flickering to your joined hands; he didn’t free himself of your hold though. Had he caught the hint earlier then?

Your hand shook as it ran up his arm, over the crook of his shoulder, the side of his neck, ending up cradling his face.

Steve’s body went rigid, all muscles tense, but you could tell he was… he wanted to lean into your palm. He wanted it so bad, for things to be as they had been, to bask in your affection, but he knew it was wrong.

He was too much of a good man. He was your miracle and being with him again… that was a work of wonder.

“Can I kiss you?” you breathed, slowly rising to your toes, anticipation building up in your core.

You could probably pull out a water gun from behind your back now and shoot him and he would look less shocked. Also, he would look less pleased. And torn.

“I— y-yes? But-“

You couldn’t handle waiting until he finished whatever sentence he had in mind; you had waited too long already.

Your mouth caught his, warm soft lips and hot surprised exhale. He seemed frozen for a split second before he cautiously returned the kiss, slowly moving his lips against yours as if he was ready to stop the second you shoved him away.

At that thought, you grabbed a handful of his shirt to show that such thing was not fucking happening any time soon.

You parted your lips, delighted Steve actually tilted his head, giving you both better access to what you wanted and deepening the kiss. You could hear the crumbling of the walls he had tried built to stop himself from doing anything that could make you uncomfortable, anything he thought might be too much. The metaphorical noise was like music to your ears and you sighed into his mouth, revelling in the taste you didn’t realize you missed desperately.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, flush against his chest, his other hand cradling your face, taking control.

It was like a supernova bursting in your cells, the sensation your body knew and welcomed with arms open. It was everything. It was like coming home. Tears sprang from your eyes as his tongue teased your lower lip and-

-and that was it. Steve gasped, tasting your tears and backed away, dropping you so fast you nearly tipped over.

Your eyes snapped open, watching him dreadfully as you both panted.

Just don’t say-

“I’m sorry!”

-that.

You shook your head, grabbing his forearm before he could flee. You could still taste him on your lips and you craved more, more and more… but he seemed to be utterly panicking.

“Steve! I was the one to kiss you,” you blurted out with same urgency, trying your best to meet his eyes while he was skilfully avoiding it exactly that. You bit your lip and brought your hand to his face to make him look at you. “Because I wanted to.”

“I pushed it-”

“I wasn’t complaining,” you emphasized and he winced at the sharp tone. Goddammit! Be nice! “And I’m not sorry in the slightest.”

You took a deep breath and very, oh so slowly framed his face with your palms, ready to retreat if he hated it. He didn’t, except his confusion grew. His beautiful irises were nearly hidden with how blown his pupils were, but you only saw shame now, no excitement left.

“I missed it, Steve. I missed you,” you admitted, attempting a smile.

You didn’t think his eyes could have gone wider. You were wrong.

“I’m not— I don’t understand,” he stuttered weakly, utterly confused and sounding on the verge of breaking. Ouch, weren’t you an idiot to make him feel like this. “You don’t have to act like-“

“Like what?” you echoed and he looked away, tears he bravely kept at bay welling up in his eyes again.

Oh no, no…what kind of a person made their soulmate cry? Again?!

“Like you think I want you to. I understand you need time, that you- it’s not the same for you. You don’t remember-“

“That’s the thing,” you couldn’t but laugh in incredulous euphoria, feeling blessed, which you might actually be, considering an angel brought your soul back from Heaven and all the other stuff. “I do, actually.“

You could tell his brain froze. It was impossible for it not to. There even might be a tiny ‘loading’ line above his head as his gaze grew absent, wheels turning in his head with too much effort and too little outcome.

“What,” he breathed, the one word barely leaving his lips.

“I have no clue who the woman was, what she did or how she managed to do that, but I remember now, Steve.”

Steve observed you in silence, his eyes roaming your face, most likely seeking any trace of a lie. You were a bit insulted that he thought you would lie to him about such an important thing. On the other hand, you were pleased at him thinking you might go so far only to make him happy.

He didn’t say a thing, still searching. You wondered what you could tell him to convince him before you spoke again.

“Everything, Steve,” you repeated, your mind racing. “My family, Ryan…. Our meeting, your birthday…“ you continued, but he had told you all of those things, dammit. What hadn’t he told you? Was there-? Oh… oh. “Clint shooting a la paintball at you when fighting with Natasha-“

That last bit got him snap from his strange haze.

“I… I didn’t tell you about that,” he said slowly, sounding as guilty as hopeful.

Oh, you were a bit mad about it, okay. Telling you all the nice things and leaving out the bumps on the road to your happiness? Not fair. Except the not-funny joke was on him.

“No, you didn’t. Hate to break it to you, but if you wanted to protect me from the whole ‘my job is dangerous’ thing, think again, because even without my memories, I saw the video and you ran into the frame towards the bomb knowing it was right before everything would blow up.”

Including me.

Your not-so-gentle reminder must have been sharper than you had intended, because Steve casted his gaze down, his face paling. Seeing him like that, you waited a moment for him to digest your words before doing anything else.

You tipped his chin then with the smallest pressure only, letting him to look up on his own. When he did, you were met with a sight that not for the first time reminded you of a puppy. His eyes were so freaking huge and genuine.

“You… you really remember?” he whispered, shy and hopeful, his hands finding your hip and cheek with the lightest of touches. You couldn’t but smile, for some reason tearing up.

Damn, this was sappy. And heavy.

“Yes, Steve, I remember everything, including that one time we made out in the kitchen and you told me you couldn’t cross that line yet. I remember that before I died-“

A choked noise escaped him, his fingers clenching on you and you continued before he could apologize again. That was so not the point you were making.

“-I didn’t blame you for making that choice,” you soothed him, vainly.

“I-“

You had to actually physically stop him from talking, putting a finger over his lips. He had the decency to shut up at that, his eyes glued to you in mixture of exasperation, regret and adoration.

“As I didn’t when I woke up and was showed the footage that was broadcasted all over the US. It wasn’t your fault; that was an impossible choice to make. How would have we been able to live with the knowledge of thousands of people dying so we could be happy? You… you did the right thing, Steve.”

He grunted, his hand wrapping around yours to release his mouth and let him speak, but you shook your head and looked at him pointedly.

“I remember all of those things rushing through my mind. But most importantly, I remember what an incredible person you are. I remember every single reason why I love you.”

“Doll…” he breathed out, a crack in his voice even in that one word. A shiver ran down your spine at the addressing, so full of emotions. A tear escaped his eye and you couldn’t help but catch it with your finger. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, I can’t even-“

You frowned. You wanted to move on, to move so hard all of sudden. This was the moment you should be joyful, not full of angst and guilt.

“Hush, don’t cry and please stop apologizing.”

Steve bit his lip hard, waited for few seconds, but nodded. “Okay.”

“Really?” you blurted out, surprised. That easily…? Of course not. You could still see it was weighting him down – it would for a long, long time, you were sure of it and there probably wasn’t much you could do about it. But you could try. “Hey, if you still feel guilty about it, it doesn’t count. Just let it go, Steve. For me?”

You charmed your best pleading eyes he could never resist, bit your lip and placed your palms on his collarbones instead, deliberately reminding him of two soulmarks he carried, both for you. What other explanation was needed?

“This is how it was supposed to happen,” you whispered seriously, your gaze boring into his and yeah, the adoration in his eyes was definitely winning over the other emotions now, much to your delight. You could melt under that loving gaze. “Exactly like this.”

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose in your cheek, dropping the lightest of kisses there then.

The tenderness had your eyes flutter shut, basking in his soft affection. His lips brushed your skin as they moved towards your mouth and then they finally reached their destination.

You sighed into his mouth contentedly, your hand shifting to curl around his nape, brining yourself closer to him. God, how you loved this man. Especially when his hands moved to your shoulders, squeezing with a little too much force, desperately clinging to you so you wouldn’t dissolve into thin air.

Steve met your lips several times, always briefly, stealing little kisses, spiced with few more tears. You couldn’t tell which were yours and which were his anymore. Were you crying? Was he? You sunk into his lips before he could retreat again, earning a chuckle tickling your mouth.

Steve rested his forehead against yours, opening his eyes for you to drown in.

“You came back to me,” he whispered, voice thick with overwhelming emotions.

“I was given back,” you corrected him with a smile. He returned the gesture shortly before growing serious.

“I’m not giving you up, ever,” he declared, causing you to freeze.

You loved this. You adored this fairy-tale-like reunion and miracles, but this was reality. Steve had lost you once. There was no telling how he would react if something threatened your life again; hell, you could see it today when he carried you to the infirmary, so insistent on getting you checked up.

You didn’t want to ruin this, you honestly didn’t. But you needed to bring it up and hear him say it anyway.

“Not even when I might be in danger?”

You could see the corner of his lips twitch nervously, knowing you hit the nail on the head with deadly precision.

His voice came out raspy as he spoke up. “I- I… oh my god, I’m so sorry. I don’t- I’m not- you- I-”

“Say you won’t leave me, Steve. Please. Tell me you won’t give me up,” you pleaded, fear twisting your gut.

What if he dreaded the history repeating itself so much it would come between you? What if he spun of his heels right now, leaving you, because of some ridiculous idea of protecting you? The thought grew like a lump in your throat, suffocating.

He shook his head and you couldn’t breathe until his fingers caressed you face tenderly, soft smile on his lips. “I can’t imagine losing you again, in any way.”

“Then don’t. Promise you won’t get any silly ideas about leaving me to supposedly keep me safe.”

Honesty was burning in his eyes, interlacing with each word that left his lips and you finally sucked in some air. “I won’t. I swear I won’t. I won’t leave unless you tell me to and it will break my heart even then. God, doll, I love you so much.”

This time, you were breathless for a different reason. Your lips parted, your heart racing like two hundred per minute. He meant it. He actually meant it, there was no doubt of the sincerity in his eyes, the severity of his vow.

Relieved smile spread on your face and you smacked your mouth to his, effectively taking him aback. He was quick to get on with the program though, his lips sinking into yours, breathing you in as if you were the air he needed to survive. You wanted to literally jump on him, wrapping your legs around his waist, but you realized where you were.

Your room. You needed to get to your room – no, his room, his room which you had claimed yours as much as his – to have some privacy.

You withdrew swiftly, catching him off guard once more and pulling at his hand almost harshly.

It was a great plan to drag him out of the medical. Except you faltered in your steps with the fast movement causing you to sway.

Of course, Steve was there to catch you, firm hands steadying you by your hips.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay?” he coaxed.

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy. It will pass,” you assured him, throwing a perfect smile over your shoulder. You might have missed his face when aiming due to the vertigo, but that was beside the point. You tugged on his hand that had settled on your hip, only not to be able to move an inch forward, Steve’s voice fussing over you once more.

“Maybe we should ask Bruce to check you over again-”

“I’m fine, I’m… almost okay. Maybe we could ask Sam and Dean later?” you vented your sudden brilliant idea. “They are more of experts on mysterious powerful people showing up and hitting people with strange light, I guess.”

“The what now?” he honest to God squeaked, making you jump and spin on your heels at the sudden high-pitched noise. “You were hit-?”

“Later, please? Can we go somewhere private and just… be?”

He did not seem very comfortable with that idea, shifting and clenching his fists for a short moment, but then his shoulders slumped and you knew you won, rewarding him with what you were hoping to be a blinding smile.

You probably succeeded, because his fingers traced your cheeks, a smile full of wonder attacking his own lips.

“As you wish, doll.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 20

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

So... that happened.

Thank you for reading! If you read this soulmate AU from the beginning, know that you read slightly above 100k words. Thank you so much for sticking with me ♥

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onceuponaloonatic · 4 years

Note

1) au au: newly presented and newly mated to Haeun and Nico, Hina starts having stomach pains. Jihyo thinks she is just making excuses to stay home to sneak over to see Nico when her and momo are out (because she knows Hina is due for a rut and 👑 3 want their 1st time)...but when Jihyo and Momo come home they find Hina still in bed, very sick. They call Mina to take a look at her and Mina winds up calling an ambulance and riding along. Hina's appendix likely has burst from appencitis. 🦄

“Hina-chan, we’re going now.” Momo peeked into her youngest daughter’s bedroom. Hina was laying in bed in a fetal position, looking at something on her phone.

“Oh, you're leaving?” Hina looked away from her phone, not moving from her position.

“Yes we are.” Jihyo, who was beside her wife, came into Hina’s bedroom. The walls were painted a light yellow, it hadn’t changed from when Hina was little. Even at eighteen, yellow was her favorite color.

“Does your stomach still hurt Hina-chan?” Momo asked, following her wife. Hina was dressed in a simple monochrome outfit, a clear look of pain on her face.

“Yeah.” Hina sighed. Hina had been getting stomach aches for the past week on and off. Momo and Jihyo had just written off as her upcoming rut. Hina was due any day now, so they figured her stomach aches were just more intense than usual because she was older. Hina had been going over to Nico and Haeun’s more, it had gotten rare to see the three alone. Now that Haeun and HIna were eighteen and Nico was approaching that age, they knew it was only a matter of time before the kids had their first time. Hina had asked Jihyo about sex more and more lately, and Momo had caught her talking with Haeun about some r rated things. Momo and Jihyo had both been pretty understanding with Ai and Eunji’s first times, accepting that your first time was a part of growing up. But they had issues with the idea of Hina having sex. Hina was their baby, she always had been. The thought of her having sex was just so beyond them.

“You aren’t just saying it hurts so we leave you here alone and you go over to see Hauen or Nico again, right?” Jihyo narrowed her eyes at Hina. She had done that when she had first started dating Haeun and Nico. Jihyo had grounded her because of her grades and Hina argued with her but she pretended to be sick when Momo and Jihyo had tried to take her out to dinner with them. They ended up finding out when Sana had asked them if Hina needed a ride home, and needless to say Jihyo was furious.

“I promise.” Hina nodded. “Okay. Do your homework before we get home okay?” Momo kissed Hina’s cheek, Hina’s face scrunching up in response.

“Mom… I’m an adult.” Hina whined.

“Barely.” Momo giggled at her.

“You better not leave this house okay?” Jihyo sighed, looking at how Momo hugged their youngest.

“Okay.” Hina rolled her eyes. “See you later sweetie.” Momo smiled and waved as she took Jihyo’s arm and practically dragged her out of Hina’s room. She knew her wife was just looking out for their youngest, and Hina had betrayed their trust before, but she trusted Hina. She was clearly in pain. Plus they really needed to go on their date. It had been too long, and Momo was just so excited to finally go on a date with her wife.

XX “Thank you for dinner.” Momo smiled at her wife as they walked back inside their house. They had just gotten home from dinner, and Momo could tell Jihyo was anxious to get home and check on Hina. Jihyo wasn’t fully convinced Hina was still at home like she said, she had brought it up multiple times at dinner.

“Of course.” Jihyo kissed her wife’s cheek. “Her shoes are still here, that’s a good sign.” Jihyo sighed in relief when she saw Hina’s favorite tennis shoes still sitting in the same spot near the entryway. After taking both of their shoes off, they went to check on Hina.

“Hina? We’re home!” Momo called. Hina wasn’t in the living room watching tv, so they guessed she was still in her room. “Hina?” “Check her room.” Jihyo nodded, going off towards her own bedroom. “Hina?” Momo knocked on Hina’s door. “Can I come in?” “Yes…” Hina’s voice sounded strained. Momo immediately became concerned, opening Hina’s door. She found her daughter still in a ball on her bed, but she looked much worse than before. Her skin was pale, and she was sweating.

“Hina-chan? What’s wrong?” Momo came over to Hina, putting her hand on Hina’s forehead.

“Mom…” Hina whined. “It hurts so bad…” “What sweetie?” Momo put her hand on Hina’s forehead, frowning at how warm it is. “You have a fever…” “My stomach…” Hina trailed off

“I’m sorry. Your fever is pretty bad, you took some medicine earlier today right?” Momo asked. Hina nodded, holding her stomach tightly.

“Yeah…” Hina nodded.

“Jihyo! Can you come in here?” Momo asked. She was really worried about Hina. She had heard about Nico and Sae both having appendicitis, and how bad it was for both. They had both had terrible stomach aches, fever, and thrown up a few times. Ever since Nico had gotten it, Momo had gotten worried for every single stomach ache or fever her kids had. Of course as the years went by she had mellowed out, but there was always the anxiety eating at the back of her brain. “Yes? What is it- oh.” Jihyo sighed as she saw her daughter’s condition. “I’m going to call Mina.” “Mama I don’t need-”

“Hina we’re just worried about you, okay?” Jihyo interrupted. “I’ll be right back.” “I’ll go grab the thermometer. I know you have a fever but I want to make sure it’s not as high as I think.” Momo nodded, standing up off of Hina’s bed and walking to the medicine cabinet. When Momo got back, Jihyo was by her side, stroking their daughter’s hair while Hina laid halfway in Jihyo’s lap. “Mina is on her way.” Jihyo informed as she looked at Momo.

“Good.” Momo sighed. “Did she say what it might be?” “She said she can’t be sure, but I told her about how Hina has said her stomach has been hurting for the past week and now she has a fever and feels nauseous. She said it may be appendicitis but she can’t be sure.” Jihyo nodded. “Okay.” Momo sat by Jihyo’s side, holding her hand while she looked at Hina. She was beyond worried about her. Hina was half asleep in Jihyo’s lap, holding her mama’s other hand. She looked sicker than Momo ever remembered her being. Hina had thankfully never been through a hard sickness, but Eunji had gotten bronchitis once in high school. Thankfully she didn’t pass it onto Saki, but Eunji had gotten it pretty bad. Momo just remembers spending days at Eunji’s side, taking care of her daughter. Her and Jihyo would trade off shifts, both of them just helping Eunji in anyway they could. Hina was still a baby then, so they had to rotate who took care of Eunji and Hina.

By the time Mina got there, Hina was beyond miserable. Mina did some examinations on her, Hina holding onto Momo the whole time. It broke Momo and Jihyo’s heart to see Hina like this. She looked so sick. When Mina was done, she stepped out to make a call. Jihyo and Momo were both surprised when she told them what was really going on with Hina.

“I can’t be one hundred precent sure, but I have a feeling it’s appendicitis. I just want to be safe, I’ve been through this twice with Nico and Sae, so I know to be safe rather than sorry.” Mina explained. “I called an ambulance for her, her fever is too high. I would take her myself but considering how much she changed in a few hours I’m guessing her appendix could burst at any moment, again, we want to be safe rather than sorry.”

“Thank you Mina.” Jihyo sighed, worry clearly all over her face.

“She’s going to be okay right?” Momo asked, glancing at Hina.

“She’ll be fine.” Mina nodded. “We noticed it early, her appendix hasn’t burst yet.” “Thanks Mitang.” Momo sighed. “Of course.” Mina nodded, hugging Momo with one arm. She had known how messed up Sana had been when they went through this with Nico and Sae, she had been the same. It was a really scary situation for a parent. Mina just wanted to help out in any way she could. Because that was her job, both as Hina’s aunt and as a doctor.

#twice #park jihyo #hirai momo #mohyo #hina #myoui mina #misatzu #au au #🦄 anon

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary- Chapter 27

Warnings: mention of depression, anxiety, brain issues

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thorsbathroomchicken

The dream is always the same. He's clad in his tactical gear, full armed, cautiously creeping down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. Debris snapping and popping under the soles of his boots. All of his senses on high alert. The near deafening pounding of his own heart, a maddening, agonizing pulsating in his brain, sweat beading across his forehead, trickling down his temples, gathering at the back of his neck. He can hear her; crying, speaking through sobs, calling out to him. Begging for him to help her. To find her.

“I'm right here, Tyler. Why can't you see me? What can't you find me?”

With each door he kicks in, he finds an empty room behind it. Her voice growing faint; further away when though he knows he should be getting closer. Panic sets in. Time is running out. The clock is ticking: an excruciating sound, like an amplified, continuous drip of a leaky faucet. And with each step he takes, the hallway becomes even longer. Darker.

She continues to call for him; begging for help. And her tone becomes more urgent. Desperate. Full of terror. The pleading is unbearable. Heartbreaking. Yet despite his best efforts...the doors he busts down...the rooms searched...he still can't find her. The closer he gets, the further she becomes out of reach. Until she lets out out a single blood curdling scream.

And then silence.

He jerks awake, bolting into a sit. The dream always ends the same. He never finds her despite his best efforts. Just that one scream and then nothing. Just darkness. The feeling of immense loss and guilt.

His chest is painfully tight and he struggles to catch his breath. His entire body covered in sweat. He's nauseous. Dizzy. The all too common signs of a panic attack. In the past two years they've been few and far between, but within the last week they'd shown signs of returning. The moment that he'd had the dream again -the first in several months- he'd known the attacks were inevitable. And he curses himself being weak.

For being damaged.

In the top drawer of the nightstand is a wide array of prescription meds; drugs he needs just to make it through the day. Anti-inflammatories for the arthritis, hard core pain relievers, Ativan for the anxiety. The latter is the one that he reaches for, struggling to open the bottle with trembling hand; resorting to using his teeth to twist open the lid and then dumping half a dozen of the pills into his mouth. Waiting for them to fully dissolve under his tongue before dropping the bottle back into the drawer.

It takes several minutes to even begin to feel any effects, and he sits on the edge of the bed, bare feet planted firmly on the floor. Desperately needing to feel ground. An attachment to the here and now. The reminder that it had all in fact just been big, horrible dream. His eyes are closed as he listens to her soft, rhythmic breathing behind him. It's comforting; being able to hear her, being able to confirm...with all certainty...that she is right here with him, safe and sound. In the same position he always finds her when he wakes up in the middle of the night: flat on her stomach with all the blankets pulled over her head and only her toes poking out at the bottom.

His knees audibly cracks as he stands. A grimace on his face as he fetches a bottle of water from the mini bar across the door, downing half as he stands in front of the sliding glass door. The sun is just starting to appear on the horizon; hues of pink and gold painting the sky. In several hours he will be meeting Michael McMann. Under the guise of updating him on where they stand on actually getting the information they need to even attempt an extraction. He'll try to break him. Coerce him or threaten him into coughing up that information that Tyler knows for certain the man is holding back. There's so much he isn't telling him; secrets that he isn't ready to share, confessions he isn't ready to give. Time is running out. It's been two weeks since those kids were taken. Fourteen days since they were snatched from the warm and security of their own beds. Hours of agonizing torture, fear, and pain that they'd had to endure. The longer time drags on, the less likely they will be found alive. He knows that. He knows how the game is played. The more time that passes where the captors don't get what they want, the less time those kids have on earth.

He journeys into the bathroom; splashing cold water on his face, dragging wet hands through his hair as he heads back out into the sleeping quarters, once more perching himself upon the edge of the bed. The ache is in chest is starting to subside. He can breathe normally again. The nausea and the dizziness finally dissipating.

“Tyler?” her voice is soft and groggy behind him, and her hears the rustle of the sheets as she rolls over onto her side. Feels her hand as she presses it against the small of his back. “What's wrong? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” he assures her.

“Pain?” she inquires, and he nods.

“Just my shoulder,” he lies. “Must have fallen asleep on it the wrong way.”

The mattress dips slightly as she moves again; and through the reflection in the window, he watches as she pushes her messy hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ears, yawning loudly as she waddles on her knees towards him. Her lips pressing against the nape of his neck, her fingers and thumbs digging into his shoulders. She knows all of the spots on his body; five and a half years is more than enough time to commit them all to memory. Those places that hurt the most and find the most relief when she manipulates and massages them. And the ones that drive him absolutely insane with want and need.

“You should be asleep,” he says, eyes closing one more, head falling forward as she digs her thumbs into his trap muscles.

“So should you,” she counters. “Just your shoulder?”

He nods.

“I guess that can be considering a good night,” she says, as those hands work at getting out all the knots and tension. His muscles painfully tight under her fingers. The side effect of always carrying the weight of others' burdens.

“I guess,” he agrees, and groans...a mixture of both relief and pain...when she hits a particularly tender spot. It's agonizing but soothing at the same time; the way the knots come undone and warmth spreads through the muscles as they slowly relax.

“This has to end,” she says, as her hands now travel across his shoulders. Movements slow, thumbs doing all the work. “You have to stop doing this to yourself, Tyler. You have to stop worrying about complete strangers and their problems. You have to stop taking on so much. There are other people, you know. Other mercenaries. You don't have to be the one that Nik relies on all the time.”

“This wasn't really Nik's call. He came to me, remember. He asked for my help.”

“You should have told him to fuck himself. To find someone else. You'd just gotten home. You should have just said no.”

“What's the saying? Hindsight is twenty-twenty? It's too late to worry about now. I'm here. I took the job on. There's nothing I can do about it now.”

“We can go home. We can get on the first available flight and just get the hell out of here. We can go home to our kids and have a normal life. Or whatever kind of normal we can come up with. Wouldn't that be nice? To have some semblance of normal? Where we can just enjoy being married and raising kids together? Where we're actually together instead of spending so much time apart?”

“This isn't about not wanting that. About not wanting to be with you or my kids. You know that. He asked for my help. I said I would do this.”

“That was before you knew how screwed up it actually is. When you thought it was just going to be as simple as getting the wife and getting the hell out of there. That was before all this other bullshit. It's gone way beyond anything like that now, Tyler. So far beyond it. It was bad enough when it was just the IRA. Now all of this stuff has come to light...”

“We're too far into this now. We're too deep. We can't back out now. And you know it.”

“We can. We can just say fuck it and leave. Is it really worth it, Tyler? Is it really worth risking everything? I know it's kids. And I know that makes you want to do this even more. You think you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you just leave them there.”

“I wouldn't be able to. Because every time I look at my own kids, I'd think about the ones I left behind to die.”

“You don't know if that's going to happen,” she gently argues, concentrating now on his surgically repaired shoulder. “This could all be just a bunch of bullshit. Revenge. Wife versus husband. You don't know if she's really going to escalate this. There's no way she's that evil. That any mother...whether they carried those babies inside of them or not...would be that big of a monster. Why not just send someone else in? Just to get her. Make her talk. Make her tell them where the kids are.”

“You've seen the pictures. You've seen what she's told other people to do. To her kids. So she is a monster. Do you really think she would have gone this far if she didn't intend on taking it the entire way? After what you've seen, what you know about her family, do you honestly think she won't kill those kids? Or have them killed?”

Esme sighs.

“There's no turning back. There's no getting out of this. I know it. You know it.”

“I'm just...” her voice shakes. “...I'm just so fucking sick of this. I'm sick of seeing you do this. Seeing you walk out the door and having no guarantee you're going to walk back in.”

“That can happen any time. I can walk out the door and get hit by a truck crossing the street.”

“That would be a freak accident. Not you putting yourself at risk. Not you willingly sacrificing yourself for other people. People who don't even give a shit if you live or die. I need this to end, Tyler. I need this life to end. I am just so sick of it. I'm sick of worrying about you constantly. I'm sick of trying to hold everything together when it feels like it is all falling apart. Of trying to explain to your kids where you are and if you're coming back.”

“You knew what you were getting into,” he reminds her.

“No. I didn't. You put this on me, remember? You went back to the job all on your own. You made the decision for the both of us. You didn't even talk to me about it. I was pregnant. With your sons. I was six months pregnant and having issues with them and you took it upon yourself to get back into the game. And don't...” she presses extra hard into the painful spot at the bottom of his shoulder blade. “...don't you dare even throw 'we needed the money' into this. You took it for granted that I'd be okay with it.”

“Esme...” he sighs. “...I do not want to fight.”

“I'm not fighting”! She snaps, then bites down on her bottom lip in an attempt to control her temper. “I am not fighting. You had your chance to talk. About the things that you're worried about. About the things that are scaring you. Well now I need the chance. I need you to listen to me. I don't need excuses. I don't need you arguing with me. I don't need you trying to invalidate how I feel just because it makes you feel uncomfortable to hear it.”

“I don't do that. I don't...”

“You do,” she insists. “And I know you don't mean it. I know you don't even realize what you're saying it and how it makes me feel. But I need you to listen, Tyler,” her hands rest on his shoulders as she presses her face into the back of his head. “...please...I just need you to hear me.”

The pain in her voice is heartbreaking. Eating away to his very soul. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me. Talk to me. Let me hear you. Help me hear you.”

“I am so angry at you,” she admits. “And I don't want to be angry at you. That's the last thing I want. Because I don't want you walking out the door and the last thing you remember is me being pissed off. I don't want the last thing I ever say to you being something I said while I was angry. I don't want that on my mind for the rest of my life. That I let you walk out the door thinking I hated you.”

He simply nods, watching her reflection in the glass. The tears that pool in her eyes, the way her lower lip quivers. And he can hear her shaky breaths and the way her hands tremble as they rest on his shoulders. She needs this. This moment. A chance to finally unload everything that's been weighing her down for the past five and a half years. And she deserves it. After everything she'd given up for him. After having her life so drastically altered. After everything she'd seen that day on the Sultana Kamal Bridge.

Love is beautiful. But it's also painful as hell.

“You never should have done what you did,” she continues. “When you decided to go back to the job without at least telling me about it. I should have been able to at least try and reason with you. I wouldn't have been able to talk you out of it, but you should have at least given me the chance to try. And you know made it worse? It was when you did it. When I'm pregnant with your twin boys and I'm going through hell trying to keep them alive inside of me. When I needed you to stay home. I needed you there. I needed you with me. I didn't just have babies inside of me. I had Millie to worry about too. And she was still practically a baby! You left, Tyler. You made a huge decision that impacted all of us and you left two days later! Like what the fuck?! Of all the times I needed you...well and truly needed you...you took off and you were thousands of miles away. And I was terrified you were never coming back and I'd be stuck raising three kids on my own. That I'd have to have those babies all by myself and you'd never seen even get to meet them or see Millie again. She would never have remembered you. She was too young.”

He remains silent, but brings his hands up to rest on hers.

“And I hated myself for feeling all of that. For being so angry with you. For still holding onto it. But this....all of this bullshit...it's just digging it all up and it's going to kill me if I keep it inside. And I'm not doing this to hurt you. I'm not saying these things to hurt you, Tyler.”

“I know,” he assures her, his fingers brushing against hers.

“And I hate that I'm so self conscious all the time. About you and Nik.”

“I already told you...”

“I know it's in the past. I know it wasn't serious. At least on your end of things. But at the same time, you're around her all the time. Sometimes you spend more time with her than you do with me. And I worry that maybe...I don't know...that maybe you'll feel something for her and you'll be thousands of miles away and lonely and you won't be able to stop. Or you won't want to stop.”

“Esme...” he laces their fingers together, brings them to his mouth and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “...listen to me. That is never going to happen. I feel nothing for her. She's my friend. My boss. That's all. I don't want her. I only want you. For the rest of my life.”

“How can you know that? How can you know for sure?”

“Do you know for sure that you don't want to be with anyone else? What about your ex? He's coming around now. How do you know for sure that you won't turn around one day and want to be with him?”

“Because I don't want anyone else. I only want you. That's never going to change.”

“Exactly. In the same way it's never going to change for me. This is it for me. You're it for me. And you need to trust when I say that. Okay? Just trust me. Can you do that?”

She nods.

“What else?” he asks. “You were on a roll there.”

“Don't make me feel bad,” she pleads, as she rests her chin on his shoulder. “It's hard enough saying all of this without you making me feel bad about it.”

“I'm not trying to make you feel bad. There's things you need to say and they're the things I need to hear. Whether I like hearing them or not.”

“I want you take that job. The one Nik offered you. I know I'll never convince you to get out of the job all together. It's a lost cause. But if you take this offer, you're home more. There's way less danger. You heard what Nik said. That you'd only have to go out in the field if you were desperately needed. And I feel so much better if that was the case. If you just went to work and came home all in the same day. And so would the kids. They love having you home. I love having you home. Being able to sleep in the same bed with you every night. And if we're going to have another baby, I need you home. Four is hard enough. But five? What if it turns into six? I mean, we weren't expecting twins the first time either.”

“Yeah...” he chuckles. “...that was a little...unexpected.”

“I thought you were going to pass out,” she recalls. “Your face went so white. I was worried someone would have to pick you up off the floor.”

“We went in there expecting one. We ended up seeing two. Of everything. I was a little...”

“Spooked?”

“Yeah...” he grins. “....spooked.”

“And then you got over it and you spent eight months with that goofy ass grin on your face. So proud of yourself for what you'd done. Like it was some huge feat and not just five minutes you had to spare,” she's grinning as she presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Would you piss off with this five minutes? When has it ever lasted only five minutes?”

“Okay. So maybe it was ten minutes,” she teases.

He snorts.

“There's been times you've been drunk and it's only been ten. Fifteen at the most. I don't know what the big deal is. That's about thirteen minutes more than my ex on his best night.”

“Jesus Christ...” he shakes his head. “...there's some things I don't need to know.”

“I thought that would make you happy. Knowing he's a two pump chump and you can go all night if I'd let you.”

“You know what would make me happy? If he'd fuck off and go back to the states and I never have to see him again.”

“I'm sorry,” she frowns. “That just blew up in my face. That is not what he agreed to. He was supposed to send someone. Not show up himself. I'll find a way to keep him away from you. More for his own good than yours. Just so you don't snap and beat the shit out of him. Which....I agree...he deserves,” she presses a kiss to the side of his neck, lips against that thick scar left behind from Dhaka. It's not as hard for her anymore; seeing it. The reminder no longer as harsh. Not bringing back the same level of terror that it once did.

Her hand is on his shoulder as she moves to his side, curling an arm around his waist, resting her chin against his upper arm. “I don't want you going alone. To see McMann.”

“I don't have a choice. Who would I take with me? Yaz? He was made too. Someone will recognize him. And you can't tag along because if someone sees us together....”

She sighs heavily, and he drop a kiss on the top of her head and wraps his around her shoulders, drawing her tight against him.

“It'll be okay,” he assures her.

“How do you know that he isn't on this? That this is really isn't some big game to get you alone? That this isn't tied to you in some way? That he isn't out for revenge?”

“I have zero ties to him. Or his wife. Or the IRA. Not even remote ties. I had no idea who the hell he was until now. And I'd remember that. If I ever crossed paths with him on the job.”

“Well if it happened before Dhaka and there's other things you forgot....”

“I forgot how to hold a fork and how to brush my own teeth. I forgot what happened in the last ten minutes on bridge. I don't forget other things. I'm not brain damaged.”

There'd been a fear of that. That the loss of blood and lack of oxygen during the times he had flat line d in the operating room could lead to issues. Problems with fine motor skills. Short term memory. A regression with cognitive skills. And for a few months afterwards he'd struggled to even do the simple things. Near constant tremors in his hands, weakness on the left side. Frustrated with that he considered a lack of progress. Wanting desperately to even half the man that he was before. Even a fraction of that man. The one that Esme had started to fall in love with in that dirty hotel room in Dhaka.

“I know that. And I'm not saying you are. Just maybe some things aren't as clear as they used to be. Maybe you did cross paths with him somewhere. Even briefly. Or maybe he knows you from someone else you pissed off. But Tyler...” she sighs, kisses his shoulder. “...I don't trust him. And I don't think you do either.”

“I don't. But I don't have much of a choice on how to handle this, do I. I can't take you along because if we're seen together, that totally fucks everything up. I can't take Yaz because he'll be recognized. I have to do this alone. And I know you don't think I can't handle this...”

“I never said that, Tyler. I never even insinuated that. But if this is a trap...if he has five or ten or even more guys waiting...you won't stand much of a chance. There has to be someone that can help. That can just keep an eye on things.”

“I'll be fine,” he insists, and turns his face into hers, lips against her cheek. “I promise you. I'll be fine.”

“I need you to come back to me, Tyler Rake. I need you. I need my husband. My kids need their father.”

“I know,” he says, placing a hand alongside the side of her face and turning her head towards him. “It's going to be okay,” he assures her, covering her lips with his in long, soft kiss. Then rests his forehead against hers. “You need to trust me. I know what I'm doing.”

“It's not you I don't trust. It's him. Just be careful, okay? Don't let your guard down. Not for one second. Don't even start to trust him because the second you start to trust him...”

He silences her with a kiss. Even longer this time. More passion to it. His fingers pressing into her cheek. “I know what I'm doing,” he insists. “Not a rookie, remember?”

“No. You're not,” she agrees. “But you are my husband. You are the love of my life. The father of my kids. And believe it or not, I don't want anything happening to you. Remember that whole 'until death do us part' stuff? I meant when we were old and gray and we've had a long life together and we got to have grand-kids and maybe even great grand-kids. Because five and a half years is not enough. Not even close to it.”

****

“Hello?” that tiny voice answers the phone on the third ring. In the background he can hear the familiar signs of early morning life in the Rake house: the twins bickering, the baby shrieking and babbling, the dog barking. It's hectic and chaotic, but it's his hectic and chaotic.

And despite the numerous times he'd often bitch and moan about the level of noise and the inability to even get one day to sleep in, he misses it. He misses those little things that come with having a family to take care of and provide for. The sound of the kids' feet pounding up the stairs as they raced to see who would beat getting to wake him up first. The way those little bodies would all jump on the bed and he'd be showered with hugs and kisses before the kids would insist on the morning ritual of rough housing and tickle fights. The breakfasts he would make, the lunches and snacks he'd prepare, the backpacks he'd put together for the day, those drives into town when all three of the older ones would want the music as loud as they could stand it, windows down so they could stick their arms out and feel the wind against their palms. The weekends when the entire family would pile into one bed and they'd all enjoy some quiet, lazy times together. When he would lie back and marvel about how far he's actually come; the roads he'd had to travel, the battles he'd fought, all the blood, sweat and tears he'd shed just to get where he is.

“Hey,” he greets. “How goes it?”

“Daddy”! Millie shrieks, and soon the twins are gathered around the phone and all three are trying to talk at the same time. Excited tales about everything they've been up to in the twelve hours that have passed since the last time he called home to check on things. Sparing no detail as they talk about going on a hike and picnic with Ovi and Chloe, going into the town for ice cream and pizza with Auntie Nik, grandma letting them sleep in a tent in the backyard (with her supervising, of course).

Tears prick his eyes and emotion chokes at him. The sounds of their voices -so thrilled to be hearing from him-, the expressions he imagines on their little faces, how pure and innocent they are. They don't question why Nik is there. Why there's armed guards walking the perimeters and sleeping in the living room. None of that matters to them. All they want is to talk to him, to hear his voice, to make sure that he's okay.

“I love you guys,” he says, clearing his throat noisily, taking a sip of coffee from the carry out cup sitting in the SUV's drink holder. “I love you guys so much.” He never thought he could love that much. That unconditional love that is so overwhelming and so all consuming that sometimes it's physically painful.

“I love you, daddy!” the twins call back in unison, and then are spirited away from the phone by a grandma anxious to keep them on a routine.

“I miss you daddy,” Millie says. “I miss you lots.”

He grins. “How much is lots?”

“Lots and lots. Lots and lots times one billion.”

“That's a lot. I miss you lots and lots too. Lots and lots times two billion.”

She giggles at that. “I'm sorry, daddy. I didn't mean what I said. I didn't mean to be a bad girl. When I said that I hate you.”

“You weren't being a bad girl. You were just angry. You were mad at me because I broke my promise. It's okay, Millie.”

“You're not mad at me?”

“I was never mad at you.”

“You don't hate me?”

“I could never hate you. Ever. You were just angry at me. People say things when they're angry. I say a lot of things I don't mean when I'm upset. But it doesn't mean I mean to say them.”

“I didn't mean what I said,” she sounds close to tears. “When I said never to come home. Because I miss you and I wish you were coming home right now. I wish you were already home. So you could tuck me in and read me bed time stories and make me pancakes with bananas on them and do my hair for me.”

Sniffling noisily, he reaches under his sunglasses to clear away the tears that now nestle on his cheeks. “I wish I was home right now too. So we could do all those things together. And we could camp out in the backyard and look for turtles and frogs in the creek. And go for ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.”

“Bubblegum ice cream?”

“You're going to get tired of that one day.”

“Never,” she declares. “Did you find the kids yet? The little girl and the little boy?”

“Not yet, baby girl. But I'm close.”

“Are you going to catch the bad guys? Are you going to hurt them?”

“Only if I have to. I have to get the kids out. That's all that matters.”

“So you can get them home to their mommy and their daddy?”

“Yup. That's exactly it.”

“You'd come and look for me right, daddy? If someone took me?”

“In a heartbeat. Nothing would stop me from looking for you. And I'd find you. You know that, yeah?”

“I know you would.”

“That's never going to happen though,” he assures her. “No one is ever going to take you. You don't have to worry about that. No bad guys are going to get to you. Or your brothers. Okay? I promise you. Nothing like that is ever going to happen.”

“To mommy either? I don't want mommy going missing either.”

“Your mommy is safe, I promise. She's safe here with me. And we'll both be home soon.”

“How soon?”

“As soon as I find those kids and take them home. As soon as I do that, mommy and I will be home. And then we can do all the things that I promised we'd do the last time I got home. And even more stuff.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. I know you can't see it, but you put up your baby finger on the phone and I'll put mine on my phone and we'll do a pinky promise. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” she agrees. “Now? Do it now?”

“Do it now,” he says, and presses his baby finger against the phone screen.

“Pinky promise!” Millie exclaims, and then giggles. “I love you, daddy. I love you bunches. Tons of bunches.”

“I love you too. You be good, okay? No more beating up your brother. On any of your brothers.”

“He deserved it.”

Tyler grins. “Did he? Because from what I heard, you just went off on him for no reason and kicked the shit out of him.”

“That's a bad word,” she whispers. “Do you want me to put a quarter in the swear jar?”

“Put your whole allowance in. I've been saying a lot of bad words lately.”

“That's not good, daddy. You shouldn't say bad words either! But he did deserve it. Tyler deserves to get his ass beat.”

“Amelia...”

“His butt beat, I mean. He was looking at me funny.”

“That's not a reason to beat up your brother. To beat up anyone. I don't want to get any phone calls about fights, okay? If he looks at you funny...”

“I'll tell him he's ugly and smells funny.”

“You and him look almost exactly alike, so...”

“He does smell funny though. All boys smell funny. Even you daddy. When you get upstairs from the gym.”

“One day you'll meet a boy that won't smell,” he promises.

“As if! I'm staying single. Forever.”

“I thought you wanted a husband and eight kids?”

“Not anymore. I'm becoming a feminish.”

He can't help but laugh. “It's feminist.”

“However you say it, that's what I'm becoming. I don't need no man. Auntie Nik says there's a lot of really strong and beautiful women that don't have men and don't need them. Mommy is definitely not a feminist.”

“Well not by those standards she's not.” Through the rear view mirror he watches as a dark gray sedan pulls up behind him. The driver giving him a small nod in greeting before killing the ignition and climbing out from behind the wheel. “I have to go, Millie. I've got to start looking for those kids. I'll call later okay?”

“Okay, daddy. I hope you find them.”

“I hope so too. I love you. Tell your brothers I love them. That mommy does too.”

“I will,” she promises, and then disconnects the call.

The passenger door pops open just as Tyler slips his cell phone into the side pocket of his pants, not speaking as the other man climbs in and does up his seat belt.

“You're the last person I expected to hear from,” Mark smirks. “We didn't exactly leave things on good terms. What's going on?”

It's time, Tyler thinks. Time to swallow your pride.

“I need your help.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #sanctuary #chris hemsworth character

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wingsofkpop · 5 years

Text

Finding SKZ - 5: ML98

pairing(s): Hybrid!Bang Chan x Reader, Hybrid!SKZ x Reader

genre: Hybrid!AU, Dystopian!AU, Angst, Fluff, eventual Smut

warning(s): Mature language, mentions of abuse, mentions of abandonment, mentions of death

word count: 4,6k

synopsis: After rescuing an abandoned hybrid from his fate of death, he has one other favor to ask of you. Not only do you have to find his eight other hybrid brothers, but you have to keep them safe from the deadly dangers of your city: Miroh

chapter directory

“Wh-what?”

The stranger doesn’t blink, almost annoyed by your obvious confusion. He exhales a deep sigh before repeating, “My name is Lee Minho. Are you deaf?”

“But-but,” You shake your head frantically and lift your hands to grasp roughly at the roots of your hair. Too many things were running through your mind, you could barely hear the shake of your voice over the roar of your thoughts, “...How?”

“You ask way too many questions.” Minho rolls his eyes before glancing into the pitch black. “As much as I’d love to sit here and wait for you to get over whatever mind fuckery is going on inside that slow brain of yours, we’ve got to go. Unless you really do want to get arrested?”

As much as you wanted to argue, Minho was right. You got really lucky that he was even here in the first place. And even though you were dying to know exactly why he was here, you bite your tongue and follow his advice.

“Good choice,” Minho nods and gestures over his shoulder, “Follow me and stay quiet. They’re still inside the building.”

“How are we going to get out-?”

“-What did I just say?” You snap your mouth shut at Minho’s bark. The male deposits you one final glare before taking off into the darkness. Luckily, your eyes had somewhat adjusted so you could just barely spot his silhouette. You do as he said and trail right behind him. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a couple police officers investigating the fight ring in the center of the garage. Your stomach twists at the reminder of Chan, Hyunjin and Woojin. You really hope they made it out okay.

Not paying attention, you accidentally bump into Minho when he stops. He shoots you a laser-like glance, then grabs your wrist and yanks your body forward. You stumble but catch yourself, now face to face with a hole embedded with the brick wall. It was barely big enough for you to crawl through and seemed to be attached to some sort of pipe or tube that led to the outside. It must have been a garbage chute or something along those lines.

“Ladies first.”

You gape toward the male, “You really expect me to slide down that?”

“Not unless you have any other ideas.”

You curse him for his sarcastic logic and with a face of disgust, begin to maneuver your limbs inside the gap. Luckily after you fit your legs and hips inside, it showed to be a lot more spacious than you thought. You tried not to think of what was waiting for you on the other side before pushing off and inhaling one last breath.

You plunge into pitch black and you hope there were no critters living inside the pipe. The stench of garbage fills your nostrils, the smell making you both dizzy and nauseous. You had slid for maybe a minute when you land into a mass of trash bags and other garbage. Something slimy melds onto your palm and you try to not think of what it could be.

Right behind you, Minho joins you in the dumpster. He doesn’t linger, grabs the edge of the bin and hauls himself out. You expect him to offer you a hand, but of course, he doesn’t. He sends you a strange look and tilts his head, “You planning to stay in there all night?”

With an unimpressed glare, you climb out of the trash and throw yourself out of the container. Rather ungracefully, you tumble out and land painfully on your hip and shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Minho stifle a laugh. Your annoyance grows, somewhat distracting you from the ache in your bones.

You huff, “Fine.”

Minho raises an eyebrow and points to his hair, “You’ve got a little something there.”

Gulping, you reach up to pull something out of your strands. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to know, but it was sticky and gross. Minho seems to take pleasure in your discomfort judging by the smirk that invades his lips. He shakes his head and chuckles, “Humans. You guys are so repulsed by anything.”

“Ha ha. Funny.” You groan, wiping your hand on your jeans before sinking it into your pocket to pull out your phone. You find it empty, the realization that you had given your phone to Woojin just before Chan went in the ring hits you like a sack of bricks. With a deep groan, you pinch your nose and drag your hand down your face.

If Woojin followed your guys’ original plan, he should have called them a cab and be back at your apartment by now. The only issue with that is you yourself have no means of communication nor transportation back to your home. Buses or trains don’t run in this part of Miroh. And you had no way of knowing that the boys did in fact get home safe.

What the hell are you supposed to do now?

“Hello… Earth to weirdo?” Your snapped from your thoughts as a hand waves in front of your face. Minho was staring at you with furrowed brows and a frown. He hums, “Still dealing with mind fuckery or something?”

“I’m thinking about the others.”

“Okay?”

“Aren’t you the least bit concerned about your brothers?” You hiss, exasperated at his nonchalant tone. “They could be on their way to a euthanization hospital for all we know right now.”

The male shakes his head, “No way. Woojin-hyung and Channie-hyung are way too smart to get caught. Plus, I don’t smell their scents anymore.”

At his assurance, the heaviness of your chest somewhat lifts. There was still a shred of doubt pointed straight at your heart, but you needed to take what you could get. If Minho says the boys are safe, you have no other choice but to trust him. Let’s hope it doesn’t go wrong in your favor.

“Okay…but what about me?”

“What about you?

“I have no way of contacting anyone or getting back home.”

Minho shrugs, “And? How is that my problem?”

“God, don’t you have some sense of empathy?” A groan escapes your lips as your fingers fly to tug once again at your own hair. “I’m asking for your help.”

“I already helped you. My job is done.”

“But your brothers-”

“-Just because you’re helping them doesn’t mean I have to associate with you.” Minho glares in your direction. You’ve never seen someone look so hateful and loathing. He continues in a hiss, “You probably have some underlying plan anyway that ends with you selling all nine of us somewhere and making bank off bank.”

Your expression becomes horrified, “What? I would never do that.”

Minho sarcastically chuckles, “Uh huh. That’s what they all say.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“The ‘nice’ humans.” Out of instinct, you back up as Minho stalks closer. His features threatening and irises as black as night. “The ‘nice’ humans that offer you food, clothing, and a warm place to sleep. They speak to you in that honey, sweet voice and tell you all you have ever wanted to hear after all the fucking shit you’ve been through.”

“The humans that treat you like you’re human only to turn around and leave you on the side of the road with nothing but the clothes on your back and the damn question about what you did wrong.

“That is ‘they’.”

Minho steps away, allowing your lungs to function again. When you’re caught up on your air supply, you turn back to the hybrid and shake your head, “That’s not me.”

“Like I said, that’s what they all say.”

Your anxiety grows as Minho starts to make his way down the alley, his form disappearing further into the darkness. You take off after him, “Wait! Where are you going!?”

“I’m going to find my brothers, all of them, and get somewhere faraway where fucking monsters like you can’t find us.”

“So you’re just going to leave me here!?”

“Pretty much.”

You watch as Minho’s silhouette fades further into the darkness. And whether it was out of desperation or quick-thinking, you call for him one last time:

“You’re just like them, you know.”

Minho stops cold at your comment. At his sides, you can see his hands balling into fists. He whirls his head around and rasps through his teeth, “What the hell did you say to me?”

“You heard me.” You tilt your head, “You’re just like the humans who abandon their hybrids and leave them for dead.”

“Don’t you fucking compare me to your species!” You barely have the chance to blink before Minho is in front of you again, fingers digging into the skin of your arms. His breath blows hot against your cheeks as he hisses, “Humans treat us like we’re shit. You have no idea what it’s like to be mistreated and abandoned like you’re nothing.”

Your expression softens and before you can stop your tongue, you whisper, “Yes, I do.”

Minho is silenced at your confession. The contempt within his eyes fades and he lowers his grasp from your arms. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before Minho breaks the silence, “...I’ll help you.”

“Thank y-”

“-But don’t think for a second I’m doing it for you.” Minho’s cold exterior returns in a flash. He turns back toward the end of the alley, waits for you to come next to him and starts to walk, “Channie-hyung seemed to really like you. So I’m doing it for him.”

You shake your head, “How long were you watching us?”

“Ever since you got out of the taxi.” Minho sends you a pointed glance before returning his gaze forward, “Seungmin-ah’s okay too?”

“Yeah. He’s a good kid.”

He nods, “Yeah. He always was.”

You can’t help but feel this weight pressing down on your shoulders. And it only grows worse as both you and the hybrid continue to make your way through the darkness.

~~*~~**~~*~~

“So you’ve just been living on the streets?” You peer through the window full of grime, finding tons of hybrids scattered throughout the dimly lit alleyway. Minho, not wanting to draw attention to your mundane features, had snuck you inside what he called his “home” through the sewer system. And after spending a good five minutes in there, you’d take the trash chute again without hesitation.

Minho lived in an abandoned apartment building that if you were able to guess, went up in flames during the war. The walls were covered in charred remains and the ceilings were stripped, exposing the rusted metal squares making up the roof. The floor was littered with soot, dirt and unsettlingly creaked when you took a step. Minho had set up his little sleeping area in the cleanest corner of the apartment, which basically consisted of a well-worn mattress, a couple ragged blankets and a dented suitcase.

You couldn’t even imagine.

“Pretty much.” A shuffle of fabric occurs over your shoulder. You turn to see Minho sort through his minimal array of clothing, folding the pieces that weren’t in complete rags. He places the folded clothing in the middle of a bed sheet, before tying it into a cute little bundle. An amused smile pulls at your lips, but disappears when you realize he’s intending to take those clothes with him.

“You know, once we get back to my part of town, I can get you some new clothes. Ones that aren’t in tatters.”

Minho shakes his head, “I don’t want anything from you.”

Your heart drops at the rejection. With a sigh, you turn back to look out the filthy glass. Minho hadn’t told you much, but this part of the Forbidden was invested with hundreds of abandoned and runaway hybrids. This is one of the only safe places in Miroh where they’re able to live freely, but at the cost of homelessness and lack of resources. Minho had obviously been surviving off what little he could find, just like these other hybrids. You didn’t even want to think of how they’ve been keeping themselves alive, especially with how cold this winter has been.

“How long?” You ask, watching a cat hybrid pass out blankets and coats to a group of shivering rabbit hybrids. “How long have you been living here?”

“A couple months. I never stay in one place too long.” Through the window reflection, you watch as Minho places as many bundles as he could fit inside his suitcase. Those he couldn’t, he piles onto his bed and shoves into a trash bag.

Your eyebrows furrow, “Where else have you lived?”

“All over. The Capital, the Outskirts, anywhere I could find somewhere to hide.” Minho sighs, caressing the dent in the suitcase. “I guess I was hoping to find my brothers.”

“I mean, you found Hyunjin, didn’t you?”

The hybrid huffs, “Yeah, and then what could I do? It’s not like I could fight for his freedom like Chan-hyung did.”

A moment of tense silence stretches between the two of you. Instead of keeping your eyes on the hybrid family outside, you return your gaze to your unlikely savior. His own gaze was centered on the wall in front of him, his back facing your direction. Out of nowhere, he slams his hands against the surface of his suitcase, effectively causing your body to flinch.

Through gritted teeth, he hisses, “God, I hated watching those bastards throw him in the ring and allow his own brethren to tear him apart like a fucking chew toy.”

“There’s nothing you could have done.” You sigh, “You would’ve only gotten yourself killed in the process.”

Minho doesn’t respond to your statement, nor does he acknowledge you speaking at all. He continues to stare at the wall and scratch his claws alongside the metal container. You debate trying to get his attention again, but decide against it. Whatever demons Minho was facing weren’t like those of Chan, Woojin and Seungmin where you could brush them away with an excerpt of comfort. You’d call him cold, but you understood how that felt.

You used to be the same way.

“Tell me something, (Y/N).” The way Minho so harshly utters your name sends a shudder down your spine. You mask your physical discomfort with a raise of your eyebrows and an acknowledging hum. Minho purses his lips before asking, “Why are you doing this?”

You shake your head, “What do you mean?”

“All of this.” Minho gestures to himself then outside the window, “Why are you helping hybrids?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Minho’s sarcastic cackle has more shivers wracking your figure. Out of instinct, you back up to press yourself against the window, the glass cool against your skin. The hybrid stays where he is, caressing the claws emerging from beneath his fingernails. Goosebumps spread across your flesh as he angles his head to peer at you over his shoulder. Through the dim light, his eyes glowed a bright yellow. He murmurs, “You’re lying. Why are you really doing this?”

“Because I want to help you.”

“Bullshit!” Minho snaps at your repetition, turning his entire body to face you. His features were pulled into an ugly sneer, one that almost didn’t look human. You couldn’t remember what kind of hybrid Chan had said he was, and you were really wishing he would take his hood off so you could see his ears. “There’s always a catch! Humans aren’t capable of doing the right thing!”

As much as you will yourself to remain calm, you were growing very angry. You understand Minho obviously has reason to loathe humans, and you couldn’t imagine what he and any other hybrid has been through, but that doesn’t give him the right to degrade you just because you were born human. Sure, the majority of your species are assholes and have no sense of compassion, but the rest of them don’t define the person you are.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“The truth!” Minho hisses, “I want you to look me in the fucking eyes and tell me the real reason you’re rounding us up!”

You seethe, leaving your place at the window to stand right in front of the hybrid. Staring straight into his piercing eyes just how he asked, you speak straight from your heart, “Just because you’ve been through hell and back does not give you the right to paint anyone who offers you kindness as a villain… Do you know how dangerous this is for me? So far, I’ve been cursed at, almost beaten and nearly arrested trying to save your brothers. And not to mention the fucking guilt I’d feel if anything ever happens to one of you.

“Because guess what, Minho? Unlike others, I have a heart. And I may be foolish and a damn idiot for following it, but that’s the kind of person I am.” Minho’s eyes try to avert from yours, but you follow and force his focus to remain on you. With a deep sigh, you finish, “So don’t you dare compare me to ‘them,’ because you know what, I’m putting a lot at risk for you guys. And I’ll be damned if your bitterness stops me from doing so.”

Another awkward silence uptakes the atmosphere. You felt a little bad for snapping at the hybrid, but then again you really didn’t. Everything you said is true. The boys may be in danger, but you are even more so. If you’re caught housing rogue and runaway hybrids, ones especially like these boys, you’d be in big, big trouble. You could spend years locked away in the Capital, disappearing like your grandfather did. Or worse.

Minho sighs before meeting your eyes one last time, his irises back to their normal brown. He shakes his head, “You’re really doing this out of the kindness of your heart?”

“I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.” You nod, “Now, can you actually treat me like a decent person?”

The hybrid says nothing and gathers his belongings. He throws the trash bag over his shoulder, dragging the suitcase across the creaking floor to the doorway. Minho pauses, tilts his head and hums, “You coming or what?”

You sigh. At least he’s not threatening to leave you behind this time.

~~*~~**~~*~~

“Stay close. If these guys figure out you’re human, you’ll never see the light of day ever again.” Minho pulls you into his side, his arm tight around your waist. Although you’re not too happy with the position, you don’t argue. As harmless as majority of the homeless hybrids seem, you know they wouldn’t hesitate to tear you apart. At this point, you just want to get home to the boys.

Get home to Chan.

“Don’t look at anyone. Just keep your head down, got it?”

You nod, “Yeah, yeah.”

You allow Minho to lead you through the packed alleyway, uttering excuses to get through. It may have been your own imagination, but you swear you could feel dozens of eyes staring you down. You push closer to the hybrid, grasping the limb around your torso for comfort. The male acknowledges your anxiety with a gentle pat to your side. It doesn’t ease anything.

Beads of sweat roll down your forehead, which is ironic because the rest of your body felt ice cold. You exhale a deep breath and watch the fog snake in front of your eyes. Panic lurches throughout your veins when you accidentally bump into someone in front of you. Before they could turn, Minho transfers you to his opposite side and apologizes for his clumsiness. You feel your tension recede when the person mutters something out of understanding and goes back to whatever it was they were doing.

You and Minho manage to make it to the end of the alley with no faults. Wracked with heat and shivers, you shove Minho away and collapse against a nearby wall. You tuck your knees into your chest and shield your burning face inside your palms. Minho calls your name, but you can’t respond.

It takes a few moments to ease the panic attack building inside your chest, but you manage to gain control of your own senses again. With a sigh, you uncurl yourself and climb shakily to your feet. Minho offers you a look of concern, one that surprises you, and questions, “You okay?”

You nod and swipe a hand across your sweaty forehead, “Yeah, just needed a minute.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine.”

You sigh, “Listen, you can’t tell Chan about this, okay? I don’t need him to worry about me.”

“Yeah, no problem”

“Thanks.”

You don’t like the stressful edge of the silence. It fills your body with tension once again, and you can’t seem to meet Minho’s piercing gaze anymore.

His next words strike something deep inside you, “Who abandoned you?”

“Wh-what?”

“Earlier you said you knew what it felt like to be abandoned. So who abandoned you?”

You shake your head, “I don’t-”

“-(Y/N)!” Before you can deflect Minho’s interrogation, sudden arms are sweeping you off your feet and lifting you into the air. You can barely breathe with how tightly this stranger was holding you, but luckily, they lower you back to the ground and allow you the chance to utter their name:

“Chan.”

“Thank god, I thought the police got to you.” Chan smooths back the strands of your hair before caressing your cheek. His skin felt good against your own, easing whatever worries from before had remained. “God damn it, (Y/N), whatever happened to sticking to the plan.”

You shake your head, “I wanted you safe. Where’s Woojin and Hyunjin?”

“Back at the apartment.” Chan answers, “I stayed to look for you. There’s a cab waiting for us a couple streets over.

“How did you get out? I mean, there were cops everywhere, (Y/N).”

You chuckle, “Actually, I had a little help.”

Chan follows your gaze, his touch immediately falling away from your body. His expression shifts wildly, first confusion, then surprise, then absolute joy. The biggest grin spreads across his face as he rushes toward the watching hybrid and sweeps the boy into his embrace. Laughter erupts from the two boys, the sound like music within your ears, as they cling to one another. Soon, chuckles and giggles fade and Chan parts from Minho to scan him up and down.

He shakes his head with a laugh, “You were always a sly bastard.”

Minho grins, “What can I say? I wasn’t born a coyote for nothing.”

Chan sniffs, “It’s so good to see you, bro. So, so good.”

“Same here, Channie-hyung. Same here.”

Chan and Minho hug once again. You watch with admiration, loving how content Chan looked at having his long lost brother within his arms. How could the universe treat such a kind and beautiful creature like absolute shit? Chan deserves the world, so do the rest of his brothers.

And like you said to Minho, you’d be damned if anything stops you from giving them that chance.

~~*~~**~~*~~

“You really should have paid more attention, Chan. You could’ve been killed.”

Chan groans, a mix out of frustration and pain. Carefully, you try to be more gentle in sewing the gashes on his arm. When you started, he claimed that it didn’t hurt, but the whites of his knuckles and gritting of his teeth told you otherwise.

“How many times are you going to lecture me about that?” He sends you a teasing smile which shifts into a grimace as you pull the needle through his flesh again. “I still won, didn’t I?”

You sigh, shaking your head with a huff.

“What? You didn’t think I was going to win?”

“It’s not that.” You finish off one of the wounds, tying the string with a small knot. You quickly clean off and sterilize the needle again before tying it to a new thread. Satisfied, you begin stitching the second cut, “I just really don’t like seeing you like this. I think I still have trauma from the time I found you.”

“Well, it’s over and we have Hyunjin and Minho back. That’s all that matters.”

You choose not to respond and continue stitching Chan up in silence. Although you’re completely focused on your work, you can feel Chan’s eyes watching your face. You try to ignore the flitters inside your stomach, passing it off as hunger pains.

You finish the second and third wounds, running a cloth over them to clear any excess blood. Chan raises his arm so you can wrap a bandage around it, his eyes never once leaving your face. With one final pat to his now bandaged arm, you nod, “Okay, I think you’re all set.”

With a smile you meet his gaze, his sparkling brown eyes boring into your own. Your eyes avert to a splotch of dried blood staining just above his right eyebrow. You grab the cloth from before and warn, “Hold still.”

You lean in to lift the moistened rag, swiping it over the smudge with soft strokes. Chan’s warm breath paints your cheeks red hot, and you notice the trembling of your hand at the proximity. Once the blood is gone, you move to retract your limb, but you’re stopped when Chan wraps his fingers around your wrist.

Frozen with shock, you allow Chan to remove the cloth with his other hand. With your hand now free, Chan lowers it into his lap and spreads your fingers into a fan. His pointer finger traces the lines of your palms before lifting it to press a soft kiss to the exact center. His eyes closing in content. A strange heat rushes through your body, a cross between embarrassment and affection, and you make no move to stop him.

When he removes his lips, your flesh feels strangely cold. His eyelids flutter ajar once again, and his dark gaze leaves your lungs without breath. Chan had never looked at you in such a way before, with such admiration and heart. And before you can stop yourself, your eyes are averting down to his lips. Have they always been that pink and plump before?”

“(Y/N),” A shiver runs through your body as your name falls from his lips. You find yourself leaning closer, and you hoped he couldn’t hear how fast your heart was racing nor how you were absolutely shaking. Excitement floods through your veins when the hybrid leans in as well, ears falling to the side, his lips brushing over your cheek as he speaks, “You are the most beautiful human I’ve ever met…”

You find yourself unable to reply, perched on the edge of threading your fingers in his soft hair. Your hand was still on his cheek, and you couldn’t help but think of how beautiful this creature was sitting beneath you. His glittering eyes. Smooth skin. Gentle hands. Everything screamed perfection, even the blemishes he had were perfect.

You haven’t felt like this in a long, long time. And even though you were terrified, you couldn’t deny that you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss Chan so badly.

But just before you could, the bathroom door flies open. You jerk away from the wolf hybrid, clumsily climbing to your feet. Seungmin stood in the doorway, a grin on his face and his laptop cradled in his arms. Luckily, it seemed like he hadn’t seen anything, and you can’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed.

“I think I found Felix! C’mon, you guys have to see this!”

You follow the younger hybrid without acknowledging your previous companion. What were you thinking? Hybrid and human relationships are forbidden in Miroh, much less unheard of. Falling for Chan was like signing your death warrant. Not only could Chan be euthanized, but you could be executed as well. You can’t let that happen again. Not ever.

Even so, you try not to think of how cold and lonely your lips feel.

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