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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

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sparks and embers - chapter 1

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she'd been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Preface: Let me say, I am immensely nervous about this. After months of back and forth inside my mind, I’ve decided to go for it and begin the long process of moving my long running series to Tumblr, along with changing the name (something I’ve wanted to do for a long time). I hit a big emotional road block after over a year of writing and posting, so I’m hoping this move will eventually get me back into the swing. But for now, I’m looking forward to revisiting the beginning of this space love triangle.

If you’ve already read the saga, absolutely NO pressure to read again. Each chapter will be edited a little, but no major plot points will change. To any newcomers who find themselves interested, the story is already posted on AO3 if you are desperate to continue. Otherwise if you prefer reading on Tumblr, or simply like the forced breaks between chapters, I’ll be posting a new chapter every couple of days. I know it’s not written as reader insert, but I just couldn’t make the story work out in any other fashion. I poured a lot of love and heart into Alexys so I hope you’ll give her a chance.

Chapter 1 - Crash Landing

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: descriptions of severe injury including blood and bone, medical procedures

Read on AO3

I felt it before I heard it.

A booming crash of metal and glass, sending a shattering vibration through the walls and furniture around me. After the years of mostly silence I’d become accustomed to, the noise that came pummelling into my ears almost made me shriek in surprise. It was short lived, coming and going in a flicker so quick I had to wonder if it was real at all.

Lights began to flash, blinking rapidly in uneven time. The mixture of harsh beeps indicated something was faulting my electricity circuits, plunging me into the darkness of night over and over.

I could only question myself again at the plausibility of this being a dream, but the slow, increasing creak emanating from beyond the walls of this building brought me to a certainty.

Something had crashed outside.

Fear radiated through my limbs, leaving me stuck where I was standing for a few moments, before an uncontrollable urge of selflessness and honestly, curiosity, forced me to move and exit the safety of my clinic.

There wasn’t really a way to prepare for what I saw not metres away from my front entrance. A ship, an X-wing of some variety, was wrecked into itself, varying metals twisted and curled over each other, flames beginning to billow out from the creases. I could feel the heat of them rise as I cautiously stepped forward, taking in the scene with wide eyes. Only seconds had passed when I saw it – the movement of something – no, a person, demanding my attention. The pilot of this battered machine had been thrown just beyond the edge of its hull, broken transparisteel smattering the ground around them.

Hm, the Resistance should probably investigate their flight safety measures.

That thought quickly flittered away when the pilot moved again, this time with a painful moan echoing into the atmosphere. The switch inside quickly flipped, and an all too familiar feeling of conviction flooded through.

This is your cue Alexys.

I raced quickly to the pilot and knelt on the ground before them, fingers carefully removing the black and red helmet with both urgency and restraint as to not cause any more possible damage to their head or neck. The moan I'd heard just moments before let me know this person had some kind of airway, but it was pertinent I assess further. With the helmet gone I noticed the short, lightly waved black hair of a man, his eyes pulled closed, a few bruises and smudges of grey soot smattered over his face. His chest was moving, laboured breathing with the occasional heave on inhale.

At least he’s breathing.

“It’s alright,” I insisted. “I’m here to help you.”

There wasn’t any discernible response from the pilot other than a groan that withered away slowly, and that in itself was worrying. Kneeling over his body, I placed two fingers under the line of his jaw, halfway down, trying to feel for a pulse. I could sense the thump of blood under my fingertips, but it was too slow, too faint, too uneven.

Not great, but it was enough for now.

I began to scan over his body, knowing it was time to assess what was giving him reason to cry out in pain. There were severe burns on his left arm which had caused some of his flight suit to stick to the skin, with more scalds reaching down to his torso and abdomen. His right arm was almost definitely broken with the limb morphed into an irregular angle almost halfway along.

Without being able to look at them directly to ascertain whether I was going to be able to move him, I pressed on his hips gently, silently praying he hadn’t broken his pelvis. He muffled softly, but anyone who had actually shattered the bone would have screamed. As my eyes continued to scan down, it became obvious all too suddenly the shattered edge of his right femur bone poking out of the orange flight suit.

Kriff, this is not ideal.

I wanted to kick myself for not noticing it before, but there was no time, not with the very real possibility of him bleeding out in front of my eyes. My feet moved under me, racing back to the clinic room, knowing where the bandage and splint lay waiting, along with the anaesthetic injections I had stocked in the pharmacy cupboard.

He was certainly going to need them.

Within minutes I was back to the ground with the pilot, clicking together the injector handle and vial, piercing the needle straight into his thigh above the fracture site. I wouldn’t be able to wait for it to dull most of the pain, so internally, I braced myself for the scream I was about to elicit from this poor human's chest. The second I started to wrap the bandage around the splint, a piercing wail echoed through the air, almost causing me to hesitate. Still, my hands continued to haphazardly wrap the white material around his leg, pushing through the guilt it ignited.

Suddenly, the noise stopped.

My eyes darted to his face as his head slumped over on its side. “Hey!” I shouted into his face as I scrambled back to the top end of his limp body. “Hey can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me!”

There was no response.

I pinched at the muscle on his shoulder, harder and harder to elicit any kind of reaction. Nothing. My hand pulled into a closed fist and grinded against his sternum. “Come on, open those eyes if you can feel this!”

Still nothing.

Again I took check of his breathing, chest still rising and falling, yet shallow and with little power. His heartbeat had begun to race, but through my fingertips I could feel the strain in the muscle. Something was seriously wrong, even more so than his other injuries. Something internally. If I didn’t get him into the clinic, he was going to die.

In a snap decision, I chose to forgo an attempt to run back and locate the hover-stretcher. It would take too much time to set up and power on, time this man didn’t have. I would have to move him myself.

How the hell am I going to do this?

With my arms hooked and locked under his armpits I began to drag the pilots hefty body backwards towards the clinic behind me, thankfully only a few meters away, barely making it past the entryway when a roar of flames overtook the X-wing. I looked up to see the blaze almost completely engulfing the ship, a ferocious heat searing into my eyes and face. With even more urgency I heaved the body into the large clinic room, getting up and slamming the door just in time. Just before a house rattling explosion sent shockwaves into the atmosphere.

Lucky didn’t seem to be an appropriate feeling considering the situation I was in, but at least no one had died. Yet. With my last bit of brute strength, I hoisted the pilots limp body onto the closest hospital bed, noticing then the trail of red liquid I’d brought along with me.

Oh no no no.

With him still lifeless, I tugged at his body and limbs to lie flat on the bed, scurrying to my medical trolley and hauling it back to where the pilot laid, ragged breaths still thankfully escaping into the air. Snatching the heavy shears from the top drawer, I began to tear through the thick fabric of the flight suit, unclipping and removing as much of the life support vest and belt as I could. I had to be careful not to rip away the fabric that melted into the burns scattered all over his body, the number of them increasing as I peeled away the suit, starting from his legs, up to his abdomen and chest over to his upper arms. His torso was in full view now, a smattering of dark hair over his pectorals, underneath which showed the bruises of his crash’s impact.

Oh he’s definitely got some broken ribs.

As my gaze scanned over his skin, I could finally isolate where all that blood had escaped from. A deep penetrating wound just below the last rib on his left flank. As I registered his quick shallow breaths and the uneven rise in his chest, it became obvious.

Collapsed lung.

Whatever had pierced through his chest had poked an extremely damaging hole in his lung, the pleural space now filling with air, leaving no room for his lung to expand. My following movements were swift and calculated, almost automatic. A pointed scalpel was soon in my hand, poised to cut. But I couldn’t help but hesitate. It had been so long since I’d had to do this. And yet, somehow, concern for this stranger’s life was quick to weave it’s way through, dissolving my fear into pure resolve.

I made my incision in between the 4th and 5th ribs, using a clamp to push into the underlying tissue and past the pleural cavity, a gloved hand then entering to check I’d made it through. With an instinctive confidence, I guided the chest tube between the layers of tissue, undoing the ratchet of the clamp to an immediate rush of air. The pilot’s chest heaved in relief, along with my own.

One crisis averted.

But there was more to do. Connecting a drain to the tube, I haphazardly sutured it in place, before flying to the pharmacy cupboard. My stock of bacta was limited, returning with an already prepared vial into the pressurised injector, reminding myself I would need to use it sparingly if this stranger was going to make it through the full extend of his injuries. I had cursed at myself only a few times in the years past at being so far removed from a higher level medical centre that would be overflowing with bacta and medical droids that could help in exactly this kind of situation, but the thought had never burned me so badly. There was no way to know if I could keep this man alive with the resources that yesterday I had been more than comfortable with. I would just have to try.

I injected some of the bacta solution throughout the surrounding area of the wound and covered it with heavy dressing, knowing the bleeding would quickly be curbed. Unfortunately, the wound itself would take a few days to fully close, only ever being able to afford lower quality bacta. Before moving on to the burns, I placed some basic monitoring, lines extending from electrical dots over his chest, wrist and neck to the data monitor above the bed. As the numbers lit up on the holo screen, I felt myself breathe a small sigh of relief, having prepared for a much worse result. His heart rate was better, oxygen levels returning to normal, blood pressure not optimal by any means but high enough to sustain his life, for now.

After securing an oxygen filter over his battered face, I continued to inspect and clean as many of the small and more sizeable burns dotting his body. Even with the many I had uncovered, the one extending from his shoulder past his elbow was the one of most concern. Third degree and extremely unhappy looking. If I wasn’t quick to treat this, it could leak even more fluid from his already compromised circulatory system. I was thankful he still remained unconscious when I began to slowly shed the charred material melted into the skin layer. I couldn’t help but shudder as I remembered the initial scream this man had let out, knowing I would be hearing it now if not for his comatose state.

Covering the immense scald in as much salve as I could spare, I began to wrap it in protective antibacterial bandage, soon moving on to protect his many blisters and deeper burns with dressings. Glancing at the monitor screen, he was still stable, and swallowed hard. Now it was time to attempt possibly the most daunting part of this patient’s treatment.

His femur was still sticking through the tissue of his thigh, slightly dried dark red blood creating lightning strike looking lines extending from the wound.

I need to get some blood into him before moving this.

I quickly got to work on an IV cannula, his poor blood pressure making it significantly more difficult than it should have been. Two bags of O- blood were all I had, and a wave of dread coursed through me with the thought of that not being enough if this all went wrong. My fist squeezed the fast flow pump of the IV line, pushing fresh blood urgently into his system, making his blood pressure rise only slightly. With the last of the red liquid trickling through the line I wheeled over the portable X-Ray. It was so old the mechanical arm screeched at me as I positioned it into place over the pilot’s leg. The bone had to be at least somewhat in place before getting the bacta to work its magic or this guy might walk with two uneven legs for the rest of his life.

If he actually made it through the rest of his injuries, that is.

Shaking my arms out at my side, I sucked in a few deep breaths to build my stamina. Unfortunately, this stranger was stuck with a small framed female to attempt reducing his severe fracture. With one last inhale, I drew the courage to pull as hard as I could horizontally at the knee joint, digging my fingers into a vice grip around the limb and yanking it towards me. To my relief, the fractured edge of the femur to slipped back into the hole it was peeking out from, settling back under the skin.

Thank all the stars in the galaxy he’s not awake for this.

I quickly pressed the image button on the X-ray to assess the progress I’d made. The faint white lines of bone edges were stark enough on the grey background of the image. The fracture wasn’t reduced even nearly enough. I prepared myself again, with another deep breath I pulled hard. This time my efforts were forced into angling the lower portion of bone to try and lock it back into place. The grinding of bone edges could be felt through my fingers, pushing myself to pull even harder, creating more space between the fracture in the hope of giving a fighting chance of lining up the splintered edges. My muscles were whining, begging for this to be over, tears of exhaustion soon stinging at the edges of my eyes.

With one final twisting motion there was a sudden click.

Finally.

My relief was short lived.

It was slow at first, before racing faster. A stream of dark red blood pooling at the wound the broken bone had made.

Oh maker no.

Within moments the pace of the blood quickened. I shot my hands to the open flesh site, pressing down hard in an attempt to disturb the flow. The liquid quickly covered my gloved hands, already sure I’d sliced into the femoral artery. The pressure of my hands into the area made the blood spurt out onto my arms, my clothes, my face, everywhere. The monitor was screaming, blood pressure falling quickly. Wiping some of the hot coppery fluid away from my left eye, I slid my fingers back into the gash, moving desperately to stop the overflow before the man lying in front of me bled out, knowing it would all be my fault.

You have to do it Alexys. He will die if you don’t.

The voice nagged at me, pleading to do what it wanted.

He’s with the Resistance! If he survives, if he contacts them, they’ll find me. And they’ll know.

It is time to decide. His life. Or yours.

Seconds ticked by fleetingly, numbers flashing on the monitor trickling down, the speed of blood flow from the pilot’s leg stubbornly keeping it’s intensity.

Everything I’d done to get here, to isolate myself so no one could find me. It would all amount to nothing. My easy, albeit lonely life, would be gone. All because of this stranger.

But I couldn’t let him die. Not like this.

In one flash, I removed my hands from inside the wound, ripping off my gloves and placing two palms at either side of the leg. With closed eyes, I willed the energy out of the depths of its slumber. From the darkened corner of my mind I pulled it back into existence, opening the gate I’d locked it inside for so long, letting it finally burst through and fill up my brain. From there it down through my neck, through my chest and down my arms, right to the end of my fingertips. Its warming glow was almost comforting, friendly. I would have basked in it for a while if not for the life that hung in the balance before me.

Through the pads of my fingerprints I pushed the stream outwards, connecting past the skin of this innocent human being, and felt the overwhelming heat of pain and dimming of energy.

Hurry, he’s dying.

I began to map out the tissue of his leg, frustratingly slowly, starting at the smallest of capillaries, weaving and winding through the flesh, connecting them through the maze of fat and muscle. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, my breathing forced and harsh. The vessels grew bigger as I pushed the energy through, skipping past broken points of other smaller injuries. I could fix them later.

Finally, I felt a molten warmth radiating close to where the maze had guided me. Racing to it, I sensed something pushing me back, the pressure of escaping fluid holding my efforts. I’d found the cut, but now I had to somehow knit it back together.

You’re taking too long.

The alarms of the monitor started to echo with a hollow ring inside my ear, fading until I could hear almost nothing. The world around me was blurry, only the image of vessel tissue and all-consuming redness visible in my minds eye. The energy I was expending began to burn me - I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. I reached out with it, what felt like many hands grasping desperately at the severed edge of the vessel, frantic yet delicate, pulling whatever tissue I could hold back into place.

Several fringes connected, the pressure pushing forcefully against me, making it harder to hold. I couldn’t help but begin to shake at the strain, the sound of my own heart pounding over the slowing heartbeat of the pilot. My grip was already beginning to fade before I started to sew the pieces of artery back together, an ache growing behind my eyes as I pierced an invisible needle through the tissue, over and over, still clawing at the unsewn edges as I made my way around the tube.

I was so close, the tension of the fluid still being driven out of the broken seal almost overcoming me. The unseen thread had almost made its way full circle. I was almost there.

My entire body rattled with exhaustion and pain. One final thread wove itself around the artery, its abrupt closure alleviating the strain on invisible fingers that had been clutching it all together.

You did it.

The energy dissipated quickly in a rolling wave, letting it retreat back into my mind, scampering to the secluded area of my brain, hidden once more. I felt light suddenly, dizzy, the world coming back into focus, screaming alarms growing louder. It was too much, all at once.

A sharp pang of fatigue enveloped every part of my senses and I faltered back, knees giving way, slumping to the floor.

Then, there was only darkness.

Next Chapter

Tag list: @tlcwrites @roanniom @foxilayde @blackberries45 @hopeamarsu @caillea @princessxkenobi @direnightshade @mariesackler @leatherboundbirate @blowthatpieceofjunk @mylifeisactuallyamess @poedameronloverx @millenialcatlady @jynz-andtonic @lightsinthedistancee @star-killer-md @morby @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @paterson-blue

Just let me know if you would like to be removed or added, no judgement!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x original female character #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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Holy Ground - Chapter 1

The one where Andy seems to have lost everything, but he’s not ready to give up.

A terrible car accident ruins Andy Barber’s idea of a perfect life. But if the love’s still there, why wouldn’t he retrace the steps that led him to his happy ending? After all, the best love stories were made to be written more than just once.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist and if you’d like to be tagged on my following Chris Evans and characters stories, just fill out this form.

Andy’s P.O.V.

The never-ending beeping of the machine had become a constant in my life. It was both a melody and a curse, a relief and the worst of tortures, it truly depended on my mood for the day. Sadly, for the last few weeks, it was hard to remember that this meant a good thing, it meant she was alive, there was still hope for us.

Hope was dying quicker than the woman on the bed, who I watched with unwavering attention, and that only meant it was getting harder and harder to remember that she was still even there.

A body isn’t a life, that had never been as obvious to me as it was right then, and although her hand was safely wrapped by mine, she never seemed more distant than in that moment. So close, yet so out-of-reach. Still alive, but seemingly just… not there.

Sighing, I released her hand only to run both of mine over my face, needing a moment to close my eyes and imagine I was somewhere else, anywhere else other than this stupid fucking hospital, the only place I ever went to since the accident.

But then, as it happened every time I tried to sleep, flashes of what I imagined had happened to her startled me into opening my eyes again, and sitting up on the chair that was starting to mold into the shape of my body. I really needed her to wake up. Soon.

A surge of anger rushed through me - not the first one I’d felt since this entire situation had happened, and suddenly I was up from the chair, leaning over her, cradling her unresponsive face in my hands.

“Wake up,” I urged, trying to shake her as softly as possible, but still determined to get a response from her. “Wake up, dammit.”

Unsurprisingly, it was in vain. There was no response, no single movement, no sign from the heavens that the woman I loved was even there at all.

Defeated, I slumped back on the chair and pondered over the same damn details when suddenly, something happened. The beeping had changed. It was quicker now, mirroring my own heartbeat inside my chest.

“Nurse!” I shouted, desperate for someone, anyone to tell me that this was good news, but the second two people entered the room in blue scrubs, I was being thrown out.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we need you to go wait in the lobby. Someone will come get you once things are stable again.”

Stable. Again.

That’s not what I wanted. No, it was not. Because nothing about my life with Y/N had ever been just “stable”. That word could simply not encompass everything she was, everything she meant, everything we had lived together. Not the way she woke me up with the smell of pancakes in the morning, only to be singing the softest of melodies when I got to the kitchen to watch her sway and cook at the same time. Not the way she listened attentively to everything I ever got to say, especially when I was frustrated and it took me some time to make any sense at all. Not the way she held me in her arms when the night came and brought horrors from the past to my mind, raising nightmares that seemed even worse while I was awake.

I wanted her back, and not the beeping of the machine that kept her there, but not really alive. That wasn’t alive. That was merely existing, and that’s how I felt that I was doing, too. But how does one find the motivation to even try when the love of your life is just… not there?

I was quickly becoming overwhelmed by my own feelings, I could recognize that. Finally deciding to take a seat in the waiting area, I covered my face again as I struggled to think through the fog of emotions clouding my brain. What the hell was happening back in her room? Could it be…

No. I could not afford to think that. I could not afford to lose her. Looking up to the ceiling in the hopes to control my desperate desire to cry, I prayed to whoever was listening that they gave me my girl back. I needed her. God, how I needed her.

“Mr. Barber?” I almost got whiplash from how quickly I turned to meet the doctor, trying to determine if he was coming to share bad or good news by the expression on his face. Unfortunately, the dominion of emotions came with the profession - I expected that, mostly because I used to have the same skill, developed in the exercise of mine.

The days where legal routines ruled my week seemed like a lifetime away.

“We have some news for you.” I nodded, not trusting my own voice as I got up from the chair to follow the doctor closer to the room where she rested, hopefully still alive. “At last, there was some response to the treatment we had been administering…” I ended up blocking whatever medical terms he used while explaining what had happened as I tried to peek through the curtains into the room, check if she was still there, still unresponsive but there. “...She’s waiting for you.”

That startled me, making me meet the doctor’s eyes again.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The man had a good heart, that much was obvious, because instead of impatient, he just smiled and repeated, “She’s awake now. We still haven’t been able to figure out the damage that the impact has done on her cognitive functions, but she’s alive and awake, and when we said you had been waiting, she asked to see you.”

I nodded, immediately turning my back to the doctor without any further comments and reaching out for the door, eager to see her again. I knew I’d only believe that she was awake when I saw it with my own two eyes.

Her gaze fell on mine when I pushed the door open, my mouth falling open and tears erupting from the utter relief that I felt. It was really true. She was okay. We’d be okay.

I threw myself on her before even thinking twice about it. Instinctively, I knew how to avoid the wires and bruises she still had, after having spent so long just looking at her, memorizing every inch of her face while she couldn’t move.

When her arms closed around me, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. And then I was crying. Just like she always did the few times I’d done this before ever since we got together, she just held me, hands softly running circles on my back as I let go of all the pain and fear I’d been accumulating these last few months without her.

She didn’t even say anything, just patiently waited as I slowly calmed down, sniffling like a little kid and taking her natural perfume in now that I could bury my face in the crook of her neck. I knew that my unkept beard tickled her, but despite a few chuckles, she never complained.

I was thankful for that. Because I truly needed this. I needed to feel close to her again, in this physical sense, as long as it was the only one I could have until she was able to leave this hospital. I hoped to God that now that she’d woken up, it wouldn’t be too long before I could get her back home.

“How are you feeling, my love?” I watched her eyes momentarily widen, seemingly in surprise, when I pulled away to watch her expression, knuckles grazing softly over her cheekbones. And then she looked confused, maybe even guilty, that deep frown appearing between her eyebrows as she almost pouted at me.

“I’m okay, I swear. I wish you wouldn’t have spent this long waiting for me here.” The sentence was so puzzling it froze me on the spot. What did she mean, I shouldn’t have waited for her to wake up? I should have simply gone home and walked around like nothing was wrong, while she was here alone, possibly dying?

“Why is that?” I finally managed to get out, reaching out to hold one of her tiny, freezing hands between mine, and although she once again looked up in shock at me, she seemed somewhat grateful, the goosebumps along her arms showing just how cold she really was.

“I mean… You just didn’t have to, Andy. I know you’re a nice guy, I wouldn’t have agreed to go on that date with you if I didn’t think so, but I think this is too much, even for you. You barely know me. There was no reason to feel so obligated to keep me company, you know?” And just when I was sure that the pain in my chest signaled a heart attack, she looked down at our joined hands, squeezed mine and said, “Although I must admit, I’m kinda glad you did. I’ve been dreaming about our second date ever since you brought me back to my apartment and gave me that kiss.”

The weight of my wedding ring suddenly became all I could focus on, even if she didn’t even seem to realize the metal was there, warming her cold skin. But it was the burning of the matching jewelry safely tucked inside my pocket since the night of the accident that really made me realize that car crash might have taken more from me than I ever expected.

#andy barber angst #andy barber #angst #andy barber fanfiction #my series #andy barber requests #andy barber request #andy barber fan fiction #andy barber fic #andy barber fics #andy barber reader #andy barber reader insert

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damienthepious · 3 years

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chuesday. they’re all still stressed! alas...

Going Through Changes, Ripping Out Pages (chapter 9)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ao3] [ch 10] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, (uhhhhh sorta), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (WE WILL GET THERE…… EVENTUALLY)

Summary: Lord Arum wakes to discover that some things have changed while he slept. Namely, there is a human in his bed.

Chapter Summary: Morning. A little less violent, this time.

Chapter Notes: A bit of a short chapter, but only because I wanted to give the second half a bit more attention, so it wound up getting split into two parts. How many chapters will this end up being? Don't worry about it. We'll find that answer together.

Arum doesn't quite manage sleep again, after that. Despite the warmth, despite the lulling softness of their breath, their heartbeats. Damien falls back to unconsciousness, though, after a surprisingly short amount of time. Perhaps he is too exhausted not to. Perhaps the sleep is easier to bear than the sorrow.

Arum still tastes the salt on the air, the remaining tracks on Damien's cheeks. The other unfamiliar scents are… disconcertingly comfortable. More vivid, more present than the lingering hints in his own sheets, in his own bed- leather, ink, feathers, herbs, soft skin, some gentle soap that clings to their hair-

Arum presses his eyes closed, breathes slow to match their sleeping rhythms. It does little good.

(Amaryllis' mouth pressing hot against his own, her scent sharp with hope and desperation-)

(Damien's lips, trailing up from his heart, up his throat-)

He squeezes his eyes shut, though it does nothing to banish the thought of the look on Damien's face, when he realized that he was not kissing his monster.

Arum does not sleep again, but he forces himself not to move until he senses the earliest diurnal creatures of his swamp beginning to stir at the distant edges of his consciousness. He thinks, judging by how long that takes, that he managed a few decent hours before he and Damien woke. Not an unreasonable amount of sleep, for Arum in the midst of a project. He is uncertain whether or not this… endeavor counts as a project, exactly.

He shifts the covers aside as carefully as he is able. Rilla- Amaryllis does not stir. There is a heaviness to her sleep that Arum almost envies. Damien shifts when Arum does, though he does not wake this time. He simply curls towards the warmth that stays beside him when Arum retreats, curling along Amaryllis' side and sighing into her shoulder.

It is better, Arum thinks, that he is not here when they wake. Between his own confusion the morning before and Damien's half-drowsing embrace- better not to repeat either incident, or to invite some new unpleasantness.

Sir Damien fits so easily, tucked against Amaryllis' side as if they were a statue carved from a single block of stone. Arum shakes his head, and silently instructs the Keep to close the portal behind him, leaving them to their rest.

He frowns when he is safely away, and then he sighs.

"Keep," he murmurs, and the rotten plant pretends to begin to pay attention to him, as if it has not been quietly fretting in the back of his mind for the last few hours. "I imagine… I imagine they will wake soon enough. Prepare something to keep them fed, since you apparently know their tastes so well."

The Keep murmurs an assent, and a gentle addition, and Arum rolls his eyes.

"If I must," he grumbles. "You will forgive me if I am concerned for my mind before my body, Keep."

It warbles something dismissive, denying the separation, and Arum fights the urge to roll his eyes again.

"Fine," he says. "Fine. The lot of us will think better on a full stomach anyway. Prepare some tea, as well."

Rilla wakes to the familiar feeling of Damien's hand caressing slowly, gently up and down her arm, and she knows before she even opens her eyes that Arum isn't still in bed with them. She knows, too, that Damien's thoughts are a million miles away, because he doesn't notice that she's waking, and as she blinks the sleep from her eyes enough to focus on his expression, she can see that his gaze is focused, troubled, distant.

Rilla feels… better. Better than the night before, that is, not that that's a high bar or anything. Waking up with Damien wrapped around her certainly helps, even if he looks totally distracted.

She leans up and kisses his neck, gratified when he jolts and then breathes a laugh, and he squeezes her tighter in his arms.

"Ah- my flower, I hope I did not-"

"If you're up and Arum's already out of bed too, I should definitely be awake," Rilla manages through an insistent urge to yawn, and Damien's mouth curls wryly. "It's not the sort of day I should be oversleeping for. Are you… okay? You looked like… I don't know."

Damien ducks his head. "Well…" he bites his lip, then looks away for a moment, and Rilla's stomach flutters nervously. "I think… when I woke up- well, I was thinking about… about Arum's body-"

Rilla raises an eyebrow, and Damien fumbles his next breath, his cheeks darkening just slightly.

"Not! Not in that way, don't be-"

"Teasing, Damien," she says, and then she kisses his shoulder, soothing. "I know. Keep talking."

He laughs, a little thinly, and shakes his head. "I… I was thinking about- about his feeling of coldness, last night, and I was thinking about… about what his body may remember, even if he himself… even if his mind… what is it that you call it, when one repeats a motion so thoroughly that it becomes automatic, that it comes naturally, without thought?"

Rilla purses her lips. "Muscle memory, you mean?"

"Yes." Damien nods, though he still looks troubled. "That's the one. I was thinking… thinking of what else his body may remember, and…"

Usually, so long as Rilla isn't already busy or in a bad mood, she lets Damien come around to his points in his own sweet time, but- well, considering the subject matter at hand-

"Damien," she says firmly. "Clearly you thought of something. Come on."

"The issue is," he says weakly, "that I think it might be a terrible idea, in fact. I worry that I might simply be so desperate-"

"What is it?"

"Well- well…" Damien bites his lip again, harder this time, and then he hesitantly meets Rilla's eyes. "Lord Arum and I… it is almost second nature between us, our duels, our sparring-"

"Oh, for Saints' sake," Rilla groans, letting her head thwump back into the pillows and pressing a hand over her eyes. "Okay, you're right, that's a terrible idea-"

"I know," Damien sighs. "I know, I shouldn't have said anything, the last thing we wish to do is to make him think we intend to harm him, and I can hardly imagine that he would trust our intentions in some sort of nonlethal combat-"

"We have to try it," Rilla says, growling through her teeth with her eyes still covered.

"… I beg your pardon?"

"Physicality, adrenaline, muscle memory, actual memory from some of the highest-stress moments of your shared history- it's a good idea, Damien, even if I hate it. I don't wanna say it might work because I'm not looking to get my hopes up again, but-"

She doesn't finish the thought. She peels her hand off her face, squinting up at Damien instead.

"You think… you think we should raise the matter with him? See if he will consider…"

"It's literally how the two of you met," Rilla says with a sigh. "And yeah, I think he'll consider. First off, if he thinks you're challenging his skill, he'll be too proud not to accept. He'll wanna prove something. Secondly, I think he might just be frustrated enough to want to fight in general."

Damien hums thoughtfully, and Rilla pauses, considering her own words for a moment before she continues.

"Though… okay. I'm going to ask this, and I hate asking it, obviously, but I'm just gonna- you don't think, if you try to spar with him- you don't think that he'll- that he might-"

"Hurt me?" Damien's voice keens with a combination of pain and sorrow, but he smiles oddly anyway. "I cannot say it is impossible, but … well, even in our second duel, when he bested me, he cut me only to prove the point, I think, and he bound the wound so quickly afterward… even that, perhaps, could be a path towards his memories-"

"Damien I'm not going to let him hurt you for the chance of-"

"I know," Damien says, his smile gone wry, and he squeezes her again. "I was not suggesting that, I swear. In no small part because I know he would never forgive himself, if that did unlock his memories. Besides, my love." He sits up a little straighter, and the expression on his face goes sad and certain at the same time. "I do not think he could if he tried."

"If he hurt you before-"

"I do not think that Arum, this Arum, could defeat me in combat. I managed to best him as he is when I had barely an ounce of experience fighting with a blade such as his, with no knowledge of his specific tricks and tactics. Now? Oh, now- I have danced with him countless times, I know his movements and his mind, I know his footwork, the angle of his wrist in the moment before the strike- I know all of it. I know him. Unfortunately, my love, if he agrees- this will not be a fair fight. I admit I am rather concerned about that, at least, for his own sake."

"Why?" Rilla asks. "It's not like you'll hurt him, obviously." Speaking of someone never forgiving themself. She knows that Damien still agonizes over Arum's scar from their first fight, every once in a while.

"No," he agrees. "I would never hurt him." He pauses. "Physically, intentionally. But- I expect that our current relative positions might cause some damage to his pride."

Rilla snorts. "Okay, point." She shakes her head, then rolls herself to slip from the bed properly, stretching with a grimace. "Okay, okay. We'll float the idea. After we get some food into us, I think, and maybe after we sift through some other ideas first. Don't wanna spook him too early in the morning."

Damien nods, following her ascent, and as he rolls to stand the Keep sings lightly, vines curling at the corner of the room but not forming a portal just yet.

"Ah," Rilla says, hazarding a smile. "Heard me mention food, huh?"

It hums a confirmation, surprised and warm, and Damien manages a little laugh as he takes Rilla's hand.

"How… how is he, this morning?" Damien asks.

The Keep hesitates, then lilts a set of tones that bounce like a see-saw. Rilla meets Damien's eye, and then she shrugs.

"Better than yesterday, at least," she says.

The Keep warbles a wry sort of agreement, and then it pulls open the portal.

[->]

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #sir damien #going through changes ripping out pages #commente pleas

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megalony · 4 years

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Safe House- Part 2

Here is the follow-up part for my murderer! Ben Hardy imagine which I hope you will all like, thank you for the lovely feedback on the first part. This is quite a long part.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex

Murderer! Ben masterlist

Part 1

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) go to a secluded safe house when something happens at his work. But (Y/n) is nine months pregnant and worries staying for too long may mean going into labour with no one around.

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(Y/n) felt like there was a storm raging inside her head the moment her blurry eyes managed to form a proper picture of where she was and what was happening around her. The last thing she remembered was her head aiming for the wooden table near the stairs and Ben's ferocious grip on her arm before everything seemed to switch off like a tv being unplugged.

Focusing her eyes and trying to sort out her rapid breathing, (Y/n) felt her heartbeat increasing when she saw Ben kneeling in front of her. There was a look of both relief and worry in his eyes that was a bit unsettling due to the fact that he almost always had an unreadable expression on his face. Showing or even feeling emotion wasn't something Ben was usually likely to do.

"You passed out when you hit your head... you've been out for about ten minutes."

(Y/n) pressed her face into the cushion beneath her head as she soon realised that she was laid out on the sofa. Ben must have moved her when she fell unconscious due to his temper and controlling nature. As if a switch had flicked on in her head, (Y/n)'s hand shot down to rest over her protruding stomach like she was checking the baby was still there and safe. A swell of relief pulsed through her when she could feel the baby moving, meaning that they were okay and hopefully unharmed.

The moment Ben gingerly reached his hand out to try and brush a strand of hair from her eyes, (Y/n) smacked his hand away with as much force as her weak body could muster. A cry of both sadness and pain left her lips as she forced her first into his chest but it didn't seem to make much of an impact on him at all. He didn't even move which made her more frustrated than anything else.

"I'd be safer away from you." (Y/n) choked out, speaking the words quietly but in a tone that cut through Ben and caused his expression to change. He never meant to hurt her, he didn't intend to push her or bruise her or handle her roughly like he did, it just seemed to happen.

(Y/n)'s breath hitched in her throat as she turned her head away from her husband, pressing her hand to her mouth to stop a cry from escaping as a few loose tears made their way down her features. She knew he didn't mean to hurt her but he just did and she was having a baby, she didn't want anything to happen to their baby that Ben didn't seem to care for as much as she did. Closing her eyes, (Y/n) rested her hand against her stomach that felt tight like her muscles were strings that were being pulled and stretched.

"You don't mean that." (Y/n) was unsure if Ben was pleading with her to agree with him or if he was stating a point but either way they both knew he was probably right. But at the moment, (Y/n) didn't care if she meant it or not, he had hurt her and he could have hurt the baby too if he had knocked her just a bit harder.

Reaching out (Y/n) grabbed one of the cushions and held it to her chest and stomach, tucking her chin into the cushion as she closed her eyes.

"What if you hurt them?" (Y/n) slowly opened her eyes, managing to see Ben through the floods of tears that were now pouring from her eyes. Ben could have done some sort of damage to the baby, he could have done some damage to (Y/n) without either of them realising it. She was due to have the baby any day now and Ben could have just made things ten times worse.

"I didn't... I wouldn't purposely push you, I'm just trying to keep you safe." Ben's lips pursed in a way that made his features look strained because he wanted- he needed, (Y/n) to believe him. He didn't push her, he tried to pull her closer to him he didn't mean for her to fall like she did or to bash her head. He had reached down to try and stop her so she didn't bash her stomach to try and protect the baby, all Ben wanted was for them to be safe, that's why they are all here.

Reaching over, Ben ever so gently held onto (Y/n)'s shoulder and slipped his other arm under her chest so he could try and ease her so she was sitting up rather than lying down. (Y/n)'s body seemed to be made of jelly as she didn't hold the energy to even hold her head up but she didn't need to, Ben kept her upright. He held her in a sitting position before he got up and sat down in the small space he'd created before easing (Y/n) back down so she was leaning against him. Thankful when she didn't pull away but he knew she was too tired and weak to do that.

He never meant to hurt her, it just happened and she was right. If he used that little bit more force or if he pushed her once more he could have done some damage. Ben rested his chin on her shoulder, turning his head so he could kiss her neck as if he was silently apologising to her. When he kissed his way up to her jaw he could feel (Y/n)'s anger slowly beginning to melt away.

He wrapped his arms around her middle, keeping them loose around her frame when (Y/n) whimpered the moment he touched her side that was clearly bruised or sensitive.

After a while, (Y/n) took Ben's hand in her own and for a moment he thought she was going to throw his arm away from her, but she didn't. She moved his hand lower down her abdomen instead so he could feel the baby moving. He began rubbing his hand up and down her stomach, pressing his fingertips a bit firmer against her skin like some kind of massage when he noticed (Y/n) shifting like she was in some sort of discomfort or pain. Every time he felt the baby wriggling or kicking he stopped his movements and rested his palm against her stomach.

They stayed like that for quite a while, no words passing between them even when (Y/n) took the tv remote and turned a random channel on to add some background noise. Her stomach was hurting and it felt like she was going to turn stiff and have a lot of bruising, but Ben's massage was helping.

(Y/n) didn't know how long they had been sat there since both of them seemed to drift in and out of sleep but she guessed a few hours must have gone by. She slowly moved Ben's arm that was resting limply around her frame since he was now asleep and slowly sat up, stretching her arms above her head as she rolled her shoulders to wake the muscles up. She winced as all of her muscles felt taught and tense like they were cramped and squashed into a small space or position.

Pushing herself to her feet, (Y/n) rubbed at her lower back where she hit the sofa earlier, trying to relieve the tension as she made her way very slowly into the kitchen to get a drink. Her legs were weak like jelly and she felt like she was going to collapse at any moment, she knew that as soon as she got her drink she would need to go back and sit down quickly.

Glancing out of the window when she got a glass of water, (Y/n) noticed that the rain seemed to be coming down heavier than it was earlier this morning. Her eyes watched the water fall like sprays of bullets attacking the soil and grass as she took a few sips of the cold water that felt soothing to her system. A gasp suddenly escaped her lips as the glass fell from her grasp and landed in the sink causing an awful shattering sound to vibrate through her ears which sent shivers running up and down her spine. Her eyes snapped closed as her left hand stayed hovering over the sink but her right hand pressed to her stomach.

"(Y/n), what's happened?" Ben's alert and slightly stern voice found her ears as she had clearly woken him up and in what felt like no time at all, she felt his chest pressing up against her back and his hands resting on her shoulders.

He glanced his eyes around, unsure if (Y/n) had suddenly seen or heard something that had spooked or frightened her or if she simply just smashed something by mistake. He looked over at the window and the back door in front of them but there was nothing but the downpour of rain that could be seen. Turning his attention back to his wife, Ben looked at her hand hovering over the sink like she thought she was still holding the glass.

"Baby, you cut your hand." He commented quietly as he reached out and turned on the tap before taking her hand in his own to hold under the water seeing that a few small specs of glass had cut her palm and around her thumb. It wasn't anything extensive or deep though which was relieving. "Come on, talk to me." There was a sigh entwined with his words as he thought she was still ignoring him or giving him the silent treatment because she knew he couldn't stand it. But when a whimper passed through (Y/n)'s lips, Ben's eyes scanned the kitchen again just to check for any threats before he leaned over her shoulder to gain a better look at her as he turned off the tap.

His eyes followed her line of sight when she tilted her head down and his blood ran cold when they both came to focus on the same thing.

(Y/n)'s waters had broken.

"Let's get you sat down." Ben's voice was oddly calm but it was a very big contrast to how he felt on the inside. He tried to slowly turn (Y/n) around so he could guide her back to the sofa but (Y/n) wouldn't move an inch.

Tears started to fall from her eyes that she couldn't find it in herself to wipe away as she just stared down at the floor like there had been some kind of mistake or like she was waiting to wake up from a dream. She knew this was going to happen. (Y/n) just knew she was going to have the baby whilst they were here, from the moment Ben had told her to pack a few things and ushered her out the house she knew something was going to happen or go wrong and now it had.

"Doctor." (Y/n) breathed, reaching her hand back to grasp onto Ben's arm and pull on the limb harshly trying to get his attention.

"I want you to sit down first before you fall down. When the contractions happen and things start moving then I'll call for help." Ben turned (Y/n) around, keeping his arms around her as he walked her slowly back through to the lounge. He could feel her wanting to protest against his words but she either didn't have the patience to argue or she was concentrating too much to even bother trying.

A whine escaped (Y/n)'s lips as she reached out for the sofa to steady herself when what she could only guess was a contraction suddenly tore through her like it was trying to split her apart. Her legs started to shake as she could feel herself caving in and crumbling down until Ben held her weight up for her, shifting his arms around her so he could ease her down onto the sofa before sitting next to her. Glancing his eyes to the watch on his wrist to check the time of the contraction. He didn't know much about labour but he remembered the few things (Y/n) had said and what the midwife had said when they were at checkups.

Ben wasn't calling for a midwife or a doctor now when labour had only just started because they both knew this was going to take hours. He wasn't having help come round and be here for ages and risk them recognising him and calling the police or making a fuss. The less time anyone was here the better.

"W-what have you done?" (Y/n) whispered the words as she tipped her head back against the sofa as the contraction wore off.

"I'm sorry I hurt you and the baby sweetheart but they were late and they need to come sooner or later. Just try and breathe deeply for me because we can't stop this now."

(Y/n) let out a broken sob as she shut her eyes tightly to try and fight off the tears. They couldn't expect the baby to be right on time and it was just pot luck that they had to wait two extra weeks until labour started. If they were back home labour wouldn't be a problem it would be a much-welcomed experience but right now it wasn't. She knew she couldn't blame Ben entirely because he was right in the sense that the baby would be coming any day now and they did need them to come now so they knew there wasn't anything wrong. But he had still caused the labour to start now and he could have done some damage.

Ben tried rubbing his hand up and down her arm but she simply pulled away from him in pain and annoyance. In (Y/n)'s mind, this was still Ben's fault no matter what he said or did.

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"I- I don't want to." (Y/n) protested feebly as she shook her head, her half-lidded eyes locking with Ben's as he pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew she didn't want to move and it was clear she didn't have a lot of energy left due to the dizziness she was feeling from passing out and the pain. But if they stayed here on the sofa much longer Ben knew the baby would be born here and he would much rather (Y/n) be upstairs in bed where she would be comfier and a bit more at ease.

"Baby I'll carry you up there if you want but we're not staying down here."

They had been sat down here for three hours and in that time (Y/n) seemed to slump further and further down the sofa until she looked like she was about to slide onto the floor. It was warmer upstairs and it was getting towards the evening now anyway, they needed to get ready because the contractions were getting closer together.

Biting down on her bottom lip, (Y/n) felt her muscles tightening but she gave in and held her hand out to Ben, knowing he was right. She was uncomfy and unsettled on the sofa anyway, it would be better to go upstairs.

Leaning over her, Ben took both her hands in his own and slowly pulled on her arms to help ease her to her feet but he noticed the moment she was stood up her knees were shaking like twigs that were about to snap. He kept his arms tightly around her frame but when they started to walk he felt like he was dragging her and he didn't want to do that in case he hurt her. Turning her head, (Y/n) buried her face in his chest as she dug her nails into his arms that were wrapped around her like vines.

She wanted to scream, to shout and to hit him and tell him this was all his fault but (Y/n) knew that she needed Ben with her now because she couldn't do this on her own.

When they reached the stairs, (Y/n) unravelled one arm from Ben so she could hold onto the bannister, wanting something to pull herself up because she was losing the will to keep moving. They managed to get halfway up the stairs before (Y/n) shook her head, crying out as she twisted around so she could sit down on the step and wait out the contraction that hit her like a train.

"Sshh, it's okay, it's alright." Ben pressed his lips to the top of her head when a scream left (Y/n)'s lips that shook him to the core. (Y/n) had never seen Ben be so affectionate or caring like this before, even at scans or just late-night hugs he wasn't quite like this.

(Y/n) rubbed her hand over her lower abdomen, applying a bit of pressure to see if it would help relieve the tension or the pain as the contraction slowly started to subside. Her head fell onto Ben's shoulder as she felt like she was going to pass out as everything seemed to blur to the point she couldn't understand nor really hear what he was saying to her. Her body shivered when Ben slipped his hands under her arms and hoisted her to her feet, only to have her legs give out almost causing Ben to stumble with her in his arms.

Ben just about managed to turn himself and (Y/n) around before he leaned herself onto his chest so he could start heading back up the stairs. (Y/n)'s feet scuffed against the carpeted steps but she managed to lift her legs up enough as she started to feel like gravity had its hold back on her again.

When they reached one of the bedrooms, Ben flicked the light on before heading inside with (Y/n) in his arms. He was about to help her onto the bed but she shook her head which confused him. Ben held onto (Y/n)'s waist for support and to make sure she didn't fall as she leaned forward and planted her hands down on the bed, arching her back out like she was stretching or doing yoga.

Taking a deep breath, (Y/n) slowly lowered herself down until she was kneeling on the carpet in front of the bed, looking up when Ben let go of her so he could sit down on the bed next to her arms.

"Can y-you call the doctor now?" (Y/n) whimpered helplessly through the words she wanted to scream at her husband who had declined her request over the past three hours each time she had asked. She knew the contractions had been far apart earlier but they were getting closer together now and that meant the baby was getting closer to being born and they needed help.

She did admit that Ben was being more understanding and more helpful than she thought he would all except for contacting any form of help. The contractions were becoming closer and closer together and (Y/n) didn't like it because they were alone here in an isolated house in the middle of nowhere. If something went wrong no one was going to be able to help.

Tipping her head forward against her folded arms, (Y/n) arched her back out as a groan mixed with a scream tore from the back of her throat. She was sat on her knees in front of the bed with her arms folded over the mattress like she was praying but it was beginning to ease the pain and it felt better than sitting on the sofa had done earlier.

"I'll try and find the number, I don't know the local doctor round here and I can't bloody well call our doctor in London." Ben responded and although his words were snappy his tone was a lot calmer than (Y/n) had expected it to be. He got his phone out of his back pocket and began scrolling on the internet but the signal was terrible due to the raging storm outside. He needed the number for any doctor or midwife around here but he couldn't find one and he only had their doctor in London on his phone.

Ben got up from the bed and wandered over to one of the cupboards as he continued to scroll on his phone. He grabbed a pile of towels and some flannels and sheets that were piled in there and dumped them all on the bed. His eyes followed (Y/n) as she immediately grabbed a towel and started to lay it out on the floor before moving so she was kneeling on it and resumed her previous position.

"I think I got one baby, give me two minutes." Ben pressed his lips to the top of her head, running his fingers through her hair before he left the room, dialling the number he managed to scout out.

(Y/n) breathed deeply through the next contraction before she slowly stretched up and grabbed the hem of the cover on the bed. She pulled the cover back to the end of the bed and started moving a few towels and sheets over the bed for when she was ready to push. Swallowing harshly, (Y/n) closed her eyes as she shrugged off her cardigan and jumper so she was wearing one of Ben's plain button-up shirts and her bra, having already kicked off her leggings and underwear downstairs.

The room wasn't that warm even though the heater was on but (Y/n) felt like she was on fire, beads of sweat were already forming on her skin that was burning bright red like a traffic light.

"Baby," There was hesitation in Ben's tone as he kneeled down beside (Y/n) when he came back into the room. "Midwife's on her way, but she's gonna be a few hours due to the storm." Ben didn't like the way (Y/n)'s head snapped to look at his own and the rage and pain in her eyes made him want to cry.

"No... no, y-you can't do this to me. What if s-something happens? I can't, I can't do this..." (Y/n) broke off with a sob as she tipped her head back like she was crying at the ceiling. The baby would be born in a few hours, if the midwife wasn't here soon it would be (Y/n) and Ben doing this on their own and this was (Y/n)'s worst nightmare that she simply knew was going to come true one day this week.

"If anything happens I'll call the doctor's office she gave me the number for it. I have a website on my phone to check and you're halfway through already... you'll have to make do with me because I can't drive you anywhere in this storm and no one can get here any quicker. I'm sorry." There was sincerity in Ben's voice but it only calmed one of the thousand nerves going haywire in (Y/n)'s system. An on-call doctor was a good thing in case something went wrong or they got worried but it wasn't the same and being alone like this was only good for intimacy because (Y/n) felt safe around Ben.

Websites and phone calls couldn't compare to the actual midwife being present. But there was nothing else they could do.

"Right, shall we get you on the bed now?"

"No, I- I want to stay here." (Y/n) pressed her burning forehead against the cold sheet covering the mattress that felt rather calming and soothing against her skin. She felt Ben's hand rubbing over her lower back as his other hand skimmed over her arm.

"That's fine, we'll chill here for a while. It's all gonna be fine." Ben kissed her shoulder, feeling just how hot her skin was against his own. He sat down on the floor with his back up against the bed, his hands rubbing over her skin to try and be helpful as he knew they would be sitting here for a while.

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Tipping her head back against the pillow, (Y/n) took as many deep breaths as she could manage but her lungs were on fire. They were burning like she was breathing in smoke and she could feel her lungs inflating and deflating which was something (Y/n) never normally felt and it was horrible.

Her blurring eyes watched Ben as he paced up and down the room, his phone pressed to his ear as he seemed to be arguing with the doctor on the other end of the line. The midwife still wasn't here and (Y/n) was at the stage of needing to push, by the time the midwife arrived they would already be done and dusted and have their baby in their arms at this rate.

(Y/n)'s body jumped when Ben threw the phone with a growl, both of them watching as it collided with the wardrobe before scattering onto the floor.

"Signals gone." He muttered in annoyance before he sat down on the end of the bed, dragging his nails through his hair to brush the curling strands out of his eyes.

"Y-you'll have to do then."

(Y/n) shook her head but she was past the point of caring about that now, someone would turn up to help them eventually but right now Ben was the only one here who was able to do something and to help so he needed to help. When another contraction tore through her already broken body, (Y/n) pushed her head further back into the pillow as she let out a scream. Her eyes snapped closed but a small wave of relief shot through her when she felt Ben's hand taking her own.

"Baby, baby stop pushing." Ben's words confused (Y/n) as she opened her eyes to look at him, seeing something in his eyes that made her worried but she couldn't do what he said. The pains were excruciating but she felt better when she pushed, she wanted the baby out now.

"It hurts." (Y/n) breathed through the word as she finally stopped pushing when the pain subsided for a moment.

"I know but I can't see the head-"

"That's the point o... of pushing." (Y/n) groaned as she spoke, her eyes narrowing on her husband as she wondered if he was trying purposely to wind her up right now. The whole point of pushing was to get the baby into the world, if he couldn't see the head then (Y/n) had to continue.

"Don't take the piss. It's the wrong way round, the legs are coming first." The look on Ben's face made (Y/n) shudder because she could see all the emotions he was feeling and she knew each of them too well. He looked almost annoyed at their baby as if it was their fault that they were now making labour that much harder. But there was a sense of sorrow in his eyes that linked with guilt because Ben knew that he was most likely the cause of this. He had caused labour to happen now and the baby clearly wasn't in the right position or had been and had then moved just as labour happened.

A sob left (Y/n)'s lips as she relaxed all of her muscles instead of holding them tensed, feeling like she was sinking into the mattress that she wanted to swallow her whole. She remembered reading about babies being born breached like this, they could get stuck or they could try and breathe whilst their head wasn't born and suffocate. (Y/n) felt like she was going to be sick at the thought of the baby getting stuck when there was no professional here who would be able to help.

"I c... I can't just wait here Ben." (Y/n) whimpered as she felt her lips pulling down at the corners trying to release another sob. She could already feel her stomach tensing and the muscles tearing, it was going to be physically impossible for her to not push on the next contraction. She couldn't just lie here and wait for the midwife who could be another hour or more, she had to push.

"I never said you had to." He quipped back, his words and his movements causing (Y/n)'s tired, bleak eyes to narrow as she watched him get up off the bed and move so he was standing beside her. "Sit up for me." (Y/n) wasn't sure if she liked how concerned and gentle Ben was being right now because she wasn't used to this side of him. In his sweetest moments with her, Ben still had an air of confidence and ignorance about him, he was always cold and calculated but right now he wasn't and it was unsettling but welcomed all the same.

Her eyes locked with his own and he saw the hesitation in her eyes but she held onto his arms which slipped around her waist so he could sit her up instead of her lying back against the mountain of pillows.

Confusion rattled through (Y/n) when Ben helped her shuffle over until she was sitting up on the edge of the bed with her feet hanging off and barely touching the carpet. Her head tilted up to look at him, her eyes clearly showing him she didn't know what train of thought he was on but she wanted to join.

"This is the safer position... if they get stuck, gravity will," Ben motioned with his hand to imply that if something did happen to the baby, gravity would have a hold on them and it would help them be born. He remembered either hearing or reading this somewhere and it was the best option they had right now.

When (Y/n) cried out and tucked her chin into her chest, Ben kneeled down in front of her, grabbing a few towels to place around and have ready before he dared look again and see if the baby was any closer to being born yet. (Y/n) dug her hands into the mattress to the point she could feel her nails scraping through into the fabric as she tried hard to hold herself steady but she felt like she was going to fall forward into Ben.

"I'm sorry."

(Y/n) looked down at Ben with narrowed eyes, wondering what he was apologising for since he hated having to admit he was wrong or saying sorry and she didn't know what he was sorry about. He had already gruffly said he was sorry about all of this happening now, Ben was not the kind of person so say sorry twice.

But she quickly realised what he meant, crying out in response to the sudden pain Ben couldn't help but make worse. His hands were both shaking horribly as he reached out and held onto the newborn's legs that he could see, having to pull them out properly since they were curled up against the baby's torso and stomach so they didn't get caught or stuck.

"You okay?" Ben tilted his head up to lock eyes with her but his hands stayed shakily holding onto the baby's lower half. He didn't like it, he didn't want to be doing this. Ben felt like his hands were covered in glue or slime that was sticking them to the baby and it made his stomach churn. He could handle blood and guts when he hurt or shot people but this was something else entirely that he wasn't used to, it was something he didn't want to get used to.

"Hmm." (Y/n) hummed back, nodding her head as she closed her eyes, digging her hands a bit more into the bed to stabilise herself as she felt another contraction building up.

(Y/n) shivered, feeling her stomach muscles tightening when Ben had to pull on the baby's arms to make sure they too didn't get stuck or bent or caught in the way. The moment Ben let go of the baby with one hand to reach out for a towel, his head snapped back to look at (Y/n) as she cried, her foot beginning to tap against the carpet as she squirmed like she couldn't manage to sit still.

"I don't like it." (Y/n) breathed, her legs pulling up a little as she continued to squirm around. It was like there was a weight tied to her and it was pulling on her and causing pain. When another pain hit, (Y/n) hit her hand against Ben's shoulder to grab his attention before she started to push again, suddenly feeling the weight lifting from her body but she didn't know if it was a good feeling or not.

"Oh shit."

"What? W-what's wrong?" (Y/n) leaned her head down to try and see what was happening as Ben took their newborn baby into his arms and set them down in the blanket on his lap. Her stomach tensed as she watched him quickly unravel the cord that had pressed around the baby's neck but (Y/n) didn't know if it had been tight or rather loose. She didn't know if that had happened during the struggle of labour or if possibly it had been like that before. But it couldn't have been, she felt the baby moving so it couldn't have been strangling them for very long.

"It's alright..." Ben seemed to be speaking to himself more than to (Y/n) as he fumbled to grab the pair of scissors he had found downstairs earlier. He hastily cut the cord before he turned the baby on their side so he could rub his hand up and down their back to get them breathing.

(Y/n) felt her chest heaving as she tried to regain back the breaths that she had lost or held in for too long but her eyes were focusing on Ben as much as they could with the tears beginning to distort her vision. The moment a small cry flooded through the air, both parents felt like they were going to faint.

"She's okay." Ben wrapped the towel around his baby girl, rubbing his hands over her frame to make sure she wasn't cold or still in some state of shock.

When he tilted his head up to look at (Y/n), the grin on his features was like none (Y/n) had ever seen before. He didn't look like the devil kneeling in front of her or like a mad man with eyes of darkness who was about to unleash a whole new sense of pain onto his victim. He looked... like someone capable of a sense of love Ben had never shown before.

Pushing himself up on his knees, Ben leaned over and ever so gently settled the newborn into (Y/n)'s arms before he grabbed another towel ready for the placenta.

He scrubbed his hands and arms so furiously against a towel that he almost rubbed off a layer of skin but it was one of his habits that (Y/n) had seen many times before. Ben didn't like to get his hands dirty and if he got a victim's blood on his hands he wouldn't stop rubbing or scratching or washing them until every little speck had gone.

Ben's legs were the ones to turn to jelly this time around as he slowly sat down on the bed next to (Y/n), his eyes focusing on the bundle in her arms who was way overdue. Turning her head, (Y/n) leaned her head on Ben's shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. His arm wrapped around her back so he could rest his hand on their girl's head, brushing his thumb over the small tufts of hair he could see.

"We did good."

#ben hardy #ben x reader #ben hardy imagine #dad! ben #imagine #murderer! ben #borhap #safe house

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booklovingturtle · 5 years

Text

Jude Teaches Cardan to Fight (pt 3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: The High King’s Senechal decides that it’s important for him to learn how to defend himself. During their first training session, things go about as well as could be expected when Jude and Cardan are in a room with pointed weapons.

AN: L O L. Okay. I lied a little. I think there will be a part four but I’m not sure yet. I like the way this one ended but there is always space for another piece. As of now, this is the end.

Cardan’s muscles burned from training. His lungs were fighting against the pounding of his heart to gulp down mouthfuls of fresh air. Sweat trickled down his back and stuck his shirt to his heated skin. Fatigue wore down his limbs and made the sword tilt downward.

Jude would have none of it. She gave him barely enough time to breathe before swinging towards him. She moved fast and strategically, placing bruises along his body with her practice sword. Sometimes she would use the hilt of her sword to hit a nerve or just annoy him. She was ruthless and cunning but beyond that, she was a genius.

Cardan’s only example of training was Balekin’s vicious abuse. Each stab of the sword was followed by a stab of his words. If Cardan faltered, it was because he was a half-wit. If he couldn’t block one of Balekin’s attacks, it was because he was weak. If he missed a blow, it was because he was too weak to inflict any real damage. There was no learning with Balekin. Only vain attempts at pleasing him.

Training with Jude was nothing like that. The first lesson had started poorly thanks to his inability to stay calm but it had ended peacefully. They went over basic skills that he’d forgotten. She even taught him a few new ones. The whole time Jude was stern but never cruel.

He hadn’t enjoyed the training session yet he hadn’t walked out of it with any physical or mental scars. His whole body had ached the next day. His muscles were crying loud enough that he tried to skip their second session. Jude came into his room and naturally refused to let that stand.

“If you’re in too much pain to hold a sword then we will go over the parts of the body to aim at. Mental instruction is just as important as physical.” She proceeded to ask a servant to bring in a desk and chairs for them.

That day was spent with her hideously drawn diagram of the body accompanied by thorough explanations of the best ways to attack each.

“Give me back the pen,” she tried to yank it from his grasp when she saw his crude addition to her diagram. “Use your own time to practice your erotic art.”

Cardan had laughed harder than ever. Jude’s cheeks flushed as if only then having realized what she had said.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

Their third day of training was back in the weapons room. Cardan was surprised to see that he wasn’t entirely dreading it. Day three was a review of novice skills followed by a mock sword fight.

“Good,” Jude's mouth twitched. It wasn’t a smile but it was enough to make one breakout on his face. “You’re not terrible when you aren’t whining in between attacks.”

It turns out, Jude was quite right. There was an elegance to swordplay that Cardan hadn’t noticed before. As long as he focused on his own body it was easy to fall into it. Swordplay was almost intimate. His eyes stayed entirely focused on her while they trained. He was learning to read her cues, anticipate her attack, and find her weak points. It made it easier to stay focused on her that when he made a mistake, she corrected him objectively.

“Stop twisting your upper body so much. You shift too much of your weight like that and unbalance yourself. We’re supposed to be fighting, not doing the cha-cha-slide.”

“The what?” Cardan asked dumbfounded.

His confused look actually made her smile. “It’s a human dance. I learned it my old school assemblies but they do it at almost every party.”

That did intrigue him. “A dance? Could you teach it to me? Maybe we could ask the musicians at court to learn it.”

Jude had laughed so hard that her knees went out from under her.

Two months into training with her and Cardan finally stopped fearing it. Jude was so easy to train with. She never asked him to slit the throat of a human servant or called him a coward. She had kept her word. She was not asking him to become a fighter or killer. He was relieved every time she would quiz him on the best ways to disarm an opponent and not decapitate them.

“If I’m ever caught without a weapon I can always use my good looks and brilliant charm to disarm them,” Cardan joked through labored breaths.

“Maybe. That would only work if they were blind and deaf, though, so let's not count on that happening.”

He wasn’t the only one that was being changed by the training sessions. Jude tried her best to be understanding of his previous experiences. She was usually patient. After the first session, if he had ever angered her during training, she never showed it. Even their spiteful arguing had smoothed into playful bickering.

“I can’t do this,” he had spat angrily one day. She was trying to show him how to quickly switch from one weapon to another. Cardan kept dropping the sword and the dagger mid-switch.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Do you have a heartbeat?” He crossed his arms and glowered. “Do you have arms?”

“Yes.” At that moment he wished that he could use her dishonest sarcasm.

“Do you have all ten fingers?”

“Yes!”

“Then I’m not seeing why you can’t do it. I see why you aren’t doing it but not why you can’t,” she challenged his defeated attitude. You are afraid of making a mistake. I don’t need perfection. I care that you are able to execute the maneuver. I can nitpick the technique later. Just breathe and try it again.”

Madoc was a bloodcap. He reveled in war and bloodshed just as Balekin did. Yet here was his ward, a master liar, gently instructing the High King on how to properly throw daggers and dodge a punch. Jude was entirely different in the training room. He wasn’t sure when it had happened but he could see it now.

Cardan’s sword swung and collided with hers again. They had been going back and forth for ages now. Jude nodding when he did something right and giving him words of approval. He was trying to keep his head on the sharpness of her blade and not of the kindness of her words.

Somehow he had developed an appreciation for her constructive feedback. It no longer prickled him to hear her critique him. In fact, Cardan was excited to hear what she had to say. If it was good then he ignored the way heat flooded through his body. If it was bad then he worked harder to please her.

Her foot snuck out from under her while her blade had distracted him. Cardan head hit the floor painfully but he curled forward and yanked her body down with him.

Jude landed beside him, sword clattering away from her. He was reaching for his dagger but she recovered before he could. She twisted and was on top of him immediately. The cold steel of a dagger was pressed to his pulse.

“Not too bad for a lazy King, huh?” Cardan’s breathing was ragged. A smile was pasted on his face despite the blade at his neck.

Jude own chest heaved above him. Her body was like liquid fire moving over him. It was an effort not to press her to him.

“Not bad at all. You got a little over enthusiastic near the end. I’ll take that over whining.” A spark danced in her eyes.

The knife reminded him of a time long ago. The smell of fear in a dark room hidden under the castle. Jude’s pointed crossbow. Shame and desire mixing to create his own personal hell. Jude kissing him and he wanted to drown in her.

“Believe me,” Cardan’s hands found her waist, “I’m not complaining.”

Jude tensed for a moment. Her body was rigid but her eyes were on his lips. She seemed to have been thinking about the same night as him.

“I could stay in this position forever,” he teased, finding the heated skin under her shirt.

She shuttered, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s a shame, then.” Her words were uneven.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because unlike you...I do not have forever.” Jude’s sentenced punched a hole through him. Her opened long enough to read the sorrow in his. Her own were full of an odd unnerved look. The reminder of her mortality was for him, not her. She could see that for a moment there, he had forgotten who she was. What she was. She stood and took all of the warmth in Elfhame with her.

“Same time tomorrow,” she spoke as if the last minute had vanished from existence. “I have meetings to attend so the Bomb will be training you in my place.”

“Wait-” Carda foolishly rose to his feet. “Rest up,” she turned away from his plea. “I don’t suggest having any court gatherings or night guests. If you thought that I was a strict trainer, the Bomb is a whole other story. You’ll need all your energy for her tomorrow.”

She was out of the room before he could fully process the way her voice faltered when she mentioned night guest. Cardan was relieved and disappointed about tomorrow. On one hand, it would give him time to forget how Jude had felt pressed against him. On the other, it would only prolong how long he would have to wait until he could see her again.

Tags: @ourbooksuniverse @notyourclassicshadowhunter @fangirlinghard-spoilerson @afexiss @cute898 @mintyvina @andromeddea (let me know if you would like to be added to the list and/or if I forgot to add you!)

#booklovingturtle writes #holly black #the cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #tcp #twk #qon #jurdan #jurdan fic #jude duarte #prince cardan #king cardan #jude #cardan #cardan greenbriar #jude x cardan #cardan x jude

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thephantomofthe-internet · 6 years

Text

Homeward Bound: Chapter 6

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Henderson!Reader

Chapter Summary: Could Steve Harrington be a...decent friend?

Word Count: 5,926

Warnings: Swearing, Blood mention, mental illness mention, surgery mention

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @hargrovesgoldilocks @denimjacketkisses @hipsmcgee @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @casaharrington

Series Tag: @kurt-nightcrawler @alonewolfblog @baebee35 @supernatural-pants @bucky4cap45 @thoughstofaredhead @wearemightyghosts

The knife and the potato fell to the floor as Steve grabbed his open palm, hissing in pain. You jumped into action before you realized you were moving. You pushed his hand away, pressing a clean rag into the wound and rushing off to find the first aid kit. You were back quicker than you thought you could move.

You set the kit on the counter, pulling out an alcohol swap and moved the cloth, wiping the wound. Steve hissed and you chuckled “Will you ever get used to that feeling?” you muttered softly.

“Guess not…” he replied, his voice almost breathy. He watched you move, taking in how focused you were, your forehead creased with worry. He wanted to press a kiss on the lines, to promise that everything was alright. But he couldn’t, he lost that right years ago.

You looked at the wound, now clean and hardly bleeding. It wasn’t deep; it could easily be cared for with a bit of gauze and medical tape. You covered it quickly, cutting off the strip of gauze and folding it into a neat square. You pressed it to his palm and quickly tore off some tape, sealing each side. Without thinking, you pressed a kiss to the gauze, an old habit from taking care of his wounds when otherworldly monsters terrorized your lives. You heard him take in a breath and you let go of his hand quickly, ignoring your heavy blush as you packed up the kit.

“Well, as per my mother’s rule you aren’t allowed in the kitchen anymore, go hang out with Dustin, we’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” You said quickly, storing the kit on top of the fridge.

Steve nodded “Alright…” he said awkwardly, shuffling out of the kitchen. He looked dejected and you almost felt bad for bringing up old memories, but then again, he did that to you all the time.

You couldn’t stop the memory from hitting you.

It wasn’t the first time either of you had gotten hurt, but this time it was bad. Usually, you could handle patching up Steve and Dustin after a night of monster hunting, but this time Steve could barely move on his own and Joyce was sitting over him with a medical needle and thread, examining the large hole in his leg, freshly cleaned.

They got him. Those stupid, terrifying demo-dogs had gotten him. One latched onto his leg and took a piece of him. And it was your fault. If you hadn’t gotten in the way and held him back, he wouldn’t be hurt. This was your fault. You’d never felt more guilty in your life.

You sat behind him, his head in your crossed legs, supporting his neck with your calves and socked feet. He looked nauseous with pain, his eyes clamped shut and his forehead sweating. You wiped his forehead with a cool cloth, soothing him softly.

“I can’t promise they’ll be straight stitches, but I’ll do my best…” Joyce warned, threading the needle and carefully making the first stitch. They had no anaesthetic and no pain killer beyond Advil, so he felt every pull at his skin. Steve gritted his teeth, trying not to groan or seem weaker than he was.

You quickly took his hand, squeezing it in yours. He squeezed it back, harder than he probably meant to, but you didn’t complain. You felt this bit of pain was well earned for the amount of pain you caused him.

When he winced heavily when the needle reached the centre of his calf, you brought his palm to your lips, kissing it quickly. Oddly, this hushed him immediately. You assumed it gave him something to focus on. As the stitches got worse, you kissed his forehead, cheek, nose, and scrunched eyelids until the job was done and Steve was allowed to move. He let go of your hand, examining your knuckles with a worried look.

“I bruised them, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…” he muttered, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin.

You shook your head “It’s nothing, I did worse to you anyway…” you replied pitifully.

Steve shook his head “No, you didn’t. Don’t blame yourself. It’s no one’s fault that I got hurt, it’s just something that happened.” He said. You nodded softly, believing him as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

He was so easy to believe then. You shook the memory out of your head, focusing back on the potatoes. You worked quickly, wanted to finish off the work so you could make yourself look a bit better so you could rush out quickly and meet up with Billy.

Meeting up with Billy was the right choice. He’d grown, that was obvious to you just by looking at him. And besides, your memories with Billy weren’t major. Most of your time with him was spent in bed, sweaty and grinning in euphoria, not risking your lives together; the thrill was safer and easier. When you looked at Billy, you weren’t filled with immense pain and memories with him. And that was a good thing. It was a good thing to not be filled with emotion when you looked at someone. It was nice to simply want to be around someone because you found them to be worth your time. Not to be around someone whose very presence was marked by trauma and pain.

“Y/N…” someone asked behind you. You hadn’t realized that you’d just been standing there, blank faced and staring into space, imagining yourself finishing off the work. You hummed, dazed and unaware of who was behind you. Strong hands came to your shoulders, squeezing them once, trying to earn your attention. “Are you alright?” the voice asked again.

You turned slightly, still entranced in thoughts, your mind a million miles away. “Hm? Yes, I’m fine, Dusty…” you said, your voice a million miles away, your smile vague and empty. Dustin frowned, shaking his head. He took the peeler from your hand and handed you instead a clean cloth.

“No, you’re not. Go upstairs, I have this.” He said, pushing you out of the kitchen. You didn’t protest, your whole body felt weak and empty. You needed to sleep for awhile.

You hadn’t had an attack like that in awhile. You blamed the blood, you didn’t handle it well. You have to be sure to mention it to your therapist when you got home; she liked to know when you had more serious or frequent attacks. She’d probably just suggest trying new medication or upping your dosage. Either way, you made a note to tell her.

The law suit settlement didn’t just cover the damages Hawkins Labs created, they promised free mental and physical healthcare for whoever could prove they earned it. Your lawyers worked hard to prove that your mental health had been wracked by this. They fought even harder to prove that you shouldn’t be put into a facility. While the kids were promised they’d forget in time and given therapists and Jane was suggestive for long term schooling for children with developmental issues, you were suggested for mental asylum. According to the other team, you were the most messed up of the group, because of your passionate soul. Luckily for you, an actual psychiatrist found that you weren’t actually sicker than anyone else and that passion did not dictate susceptibility to mental illness.

You were sick. That was a hard pill to swallow. You were sick. Not in the way others in Hawkins Labs were sick; radiation poisoning was common as well as physical and mental deformities in the children birthed in the labs. Lots of people had PTSD; that was more common. You yourself took two different pills for the anxiety the years had left you and then one for your insomnia. They worked well enough most days.

Today, it just didn’t do its job. Today, you broke. And you hated breaking. You sat down on your bed, hands gripping tightly onto your ancient pink bed sheets and letting out shallow, shaky breaths. You tried to find your footing again, closing your eyes and focusing on the breaths. This was supposed to work, to help you calm down again, but it wasn’t a perfect science and today it just wasn’t working. This was frustrating. You just wanted to move on, but as hot tears slipped down your cheeks and sobs wracked your chest. The room spun out of your control; you were dizzy and sit to your stomach, motion sick in a still room. You let your head slump down between your knees, forcing gasps of air in your closed lungs, and focusing on a spot on the floor, trying to stop the spinning.

This was not what you wanted-you wanted to try to enjoy your time at home. This was a difficult task, but you knew that going in. You just wanted to find something to like here, to make it tolerable for you so you could visit your mother a bit more, since she seemed so hell bent on staying. But right now it was hard. Insanely hard. The memories were closing in on you, they were about to crush you, and you couldn’t escape.

You went through the skills your therapist had instilled into you, muttering softly to yourself “Five things to see…one desk…one TV…one bottle of nail polish…one stack of textbooks…one music box.”

“Four things to smell…dinner downstairs…old perfume…nail polish…peach candles.”

“Three things to feel…bed sheets…paper…my heartbeat.” Your therapist always told you to name you heartbeat, a reminder that you were still alive.

“Two things to hear…the TV…Dusty downstairs.”

“One thing to taste…blood.” You ripped a piece of skin out of the inside of your mouth with your teeth, a bad habit.

“Y/N!” Dustin called from downstairs, startling you, raising your slowing heartbeat. You sat up, straightening your clothes, wiping the tears from your face and sniffling heavily.

“Y-yeah?” you called, silently damning the crack in your voice.

“Dinner, come on before mom kills you!” he called back. You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and stood on shaky legs.

“J-just a second!” you called. You were nowhere near ready to go downstairs, but hell hath no fury like a Claudia Henderson scorned and skipping a meal was the worst way to spurn her. You looked once in the mirror attached to your door, noting that your eyes were puffy, but not intensely red, a definite plus. You looked paler, a minus, but your clothes weren’t wrinkled and your hair wasn’t awful, so you puffed out your chest and walked downstairs, finding an easy smile.

“Y/N!” your mother sighed “There you are, help me bring everything out.” You nodded stepping back into the kitchen and grabbing the bowl of loose corn. Your mother grabbed your elbow, pinching it tightly as she smiled out at the boys, already sitting.

“Why didn’t you sit with Steve?” she asked through gritted teeth.

You felt your smile falter “What?” you asked.

“You left, Dusty took over, and you left Steve alone for an hour. That was very rude.” She clarified tightly.

“I wasn’t feeling well, I’m sure he was fine on his own.” You said roughly, yanking away from her and heading into the dining room, placing the dish on the table and took the seat next to Dustin, much to your mother’s dismay.

Your mother practically threw the baked chicken on the table, her disappointment obvious. Even more obvious was what this dinner was; she was trying to display your wifely abilities to who she was certain was your future husband. You’d failed miserably in her eyes-you showed that you couldn’t cook, that you weren’t a good hostess, and that you weren’t interested in him. You could see resentment and disappointment practically dripping down her forehead and, for a brief moment, you felt bad.

“Steve, how’s your hand? Any better now?” you asked tentatively. Your mother perked up instantly, a small smile slipping onto her lips and into her eyes. Steve looked shocked for a second that you even deigned to start a conversation with him. He nearly dropped the chicken leg he was transferring to his plate.

“It’s…it’s fine! Stopped bleeding, thank you-for helping me, I mean.” He stuttered, taking a long sip of red wine when he finished, obviously embarrassed and awkward.

“Good. It was no trouble, really.” You replied, turning to smile at your mother, the look in your eyes screaming ‘happy?’, to which your mother nodded and you settled in to not speak again for the rest of the meal.

“Are you alright? Dustin mentioned that you weren’t feeling well.” Steve asked, startling you in turn.

You looked back to him, nodding “Yeah, I’m alright, blood just kinda freaks me out, but nothing to worry about.” You replied easily, not bothering to look up.

“I know the feeling, a lot of shit freaks me out now too…” he said. You didn’t dare breech the subject but it was almost comforting to know that the old protector of your youth was just as messed up as you were.

You simply nodded in response, moving corn kernels around your plate as your mother settled in to start her matchmaking. You watched as her posture changed, sitting straighter and taller with a sickly sweet smile on her face, her eyes darting between you and Steve as Dustin cowered away from the whole scene.

“So, Y/N…what’re you doing in Los Angeles nowadays?” she asked, a leading question she already knew the answer to.

You gritted your teeth, forcing a smile “Okay, again I don’t live in Los Angeles, I live in San Diego.” You said, turning to Steve just as she wanted you to “I work for a publishing house, I’m a junior editor.”

Steve hummed in response, his mouth full. One thing had changed, he now had table manners. Instead of speaking with his mouth full, covering his mouth slightly, he now waited until he’d finished chewing and swallowed before speaking. “I’ve heard San Diego is gorgeous.” He said, wasting all his build up on a useless comment.

“The beaches are lovely. If you ever bother to leave Hawkins, you should go and enjoy them.” You said, the distaste for his lifestyle evident in your voice. His confidence demurred and he back down from retorting.

“Now, Y/N, just because you just had to get out of Hawkins, doesn’t mean that everyone hates it here. You might find it better now that you’ve had some time away.” You mother reasoned.

“I just can’t fathom staying in a town so filled with terrible memories.” You said honestly.

“Well, maybe Steve holds the answer. Steve?” you mother countered, turning to look at him. He swallowed, nerves settling into his whole body.

“Well…Hawkins isn’t a bad place, but I would be lying if I said the station here was my first choice. I tried to get into one of the Chicago, but they’re all full. I was lucky to get in here through Hopper.” He admitted. Your mother huffed, but you found yourself smiling. He was on your side, for once, and for a brief moment you felt allied with him, something that hadn’t happened in years.

“Well maybe you should look in California, Steve, maybe even San Diego, you seemed so interested in the city.” Your mother said diplomatically.

You scoffed “Mother! Give it a rest, will ya? You’re pestering the poor guy.” You said.

“I’m just trying to make conversation! Just because you’re antisocial…” she replied with an eye roll.

“I am not antisocial! Just because I don’t want you playing matchmaker with my life-” you snapped, dropping your fork.

“Y/N, calm down…” Dustin’s hand came to yours, catching your attention. You huffed out a breath, choosing to focus on the kitchy cat shaped clock in the kitchen, watching its eyes flick and forth with a crazy smile.

“Mom, give it a rest and stop bugging Y/N, you’re making everyone uncomfortable.” He added, earning a scoff from her.

“I was not bugging, I was just making conversation.” She said, almost childlike in her demeanour.

“It doesn’t matter. Leave it alone.” He snapped. You’d known for awhile that Dustin was the male head of the household; he’d taken over for your father since you first moved to Hawkins and now it was more obvious than ever. He was the rational voice in the house, despite being the youngest person there. It was almost comical seeing your mother get shut down by her baby boy.

Steve looked incredibly awkward. He most stared down at his plate, taking small bites and trying to avoid eye contact. He looked shrivelled and small, hollow and embarrassed by both you and your mother. You tried not to pay him any mind, but his eyes kept darting to you with this pitiful look, darting away when you looked at him.

Instead of focusing on him, you focused on Dustin.

“So, okay, are the graduation robes as ugly as they were when I graduated?” you asked with a grin, earning matching ones from both Steve and Dustin.

“Oh, I don’t think they’ve gotten new ones since you graduated. Mine has actual holes in it; mom’s been trying to patch them for weeks now!” Dustin laughed, the shared image of moth eaten burgundy fabric and shoddy caps, the tassel decorated with a gold plastic ‘1990’ charm gleaming in their collective eyes, the only thing he’d be allowed to keep.

“Jeez, maybe don’t patch ‘em, they’ll probably provide some air flow.” Steve joked, earning a cackle from you.

“Oh my God yes! Those things are so heavy! You’re gonna sweat off like ten pounds!” you cried, laughing loudly.

“Oh God is it that bad? I swore you two didn’t look that bad after the whole thing!” Dustin moaned, his curl laden head dropping into his hands.

“Well I mean dude what can I say? Your sister and I are total hotties. Just listen to us and you’ll come through looking alright.” Steve said, reaching across the table to grip his shoulder.

You scoffed, ignoring the ‘hottie’ comment. “I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt we both looked awful. If I remember corrected, your hair deflated within the first fifteen minutes and you whined for the rest of the ceremony about it. You designed your hair around the stupid hat!” you recalled, laughing at the memory. Steve pouted, sticking his tongue out at you, only earning a bigger laugh from you.

“Ugh should I even go? Marcy’s skipping, going to the quarry with a few people. Maybe I should just bail on the whole thing…” Dustin sighed.

“No!” both you and your mother cried in unison, looking at each other for the first time in awhile.

“Dusty, I came all the way out here for this. While I agree that graduation is lame, you have to go through it for my sake. Besides, mom needs a complete set of awkward graduation photos for the wall. It’s only fair.” You reasoned diplomatically.

“Yeah dude, besides, Marcy and her friends are gonna get busted for smoking pot out there, again. Don’t get caught up in their bullshit.” Steve added cheekily.

“Not by you, you’re gonna be sweating in the stands with everyone else. And nobody’s afraid of Powell or Callahan.” Dustin scoffed. “Besides, you’re not gonna tell anyone about that or else I’ll tell everyone what you said last weekend, starting with Y/N.”

“Ooh blackmail I like it, really sticking it to the man.” You said, leaning over to feign a whisper “What he say?”

“You wouldn’t dare little man; I got too much dirt on you.” Steve replied easily, although the twitchy look in his eye said otherwise on his ease with the whole conversation.

“Try me.” Dustin shot back. They stared at each other for a moment, pulling their most serious faces before Steve broke, giggling like a toddler.

“We’re good man, I’m not gonna ruin their fun or anything.” Steve said, earning a laugh from Dustin, shaking his mop of curls.

“Speaking of fun, we should take Y/N out tonight, since you ruined the fun earlier.” Dustin said.

Your smile dropped “Oh guys I can’t tonight…I have plans…” you said awkwardly.

“Y/N you just got back how on earth can you have plans?” your mother asked haughtily.

“I found a friend at the mall; we’re meeting up after this. I promise, I won’t be out all night!” you replied easily.

“And just how are you planning on getting around tonight?” your mother asked.

“Well I was planning on borrowing the car, but since you seem to be in a mood, I’ll just walk.” You said easily.

“No way! It’s gonna get dark, not safe.” Steve added, nodding along with your mother.

“Exactly! Why don’t you just go out with Steve and Dusty tonight? Much safer.” Your mother said diplomatically.

“Because I already have plans. It would be rude to cancel now. And besides, I want to see my friend! Is that so bad?” you said.

“Well, then I suggest you ask Steve for a ride.” Your mother said.

“Why, so I can get stranded out there? I’m a twenty-two year old woman I can walk to a friend’s house in a tiny, ridiculously safe town. I mean come on!” you cried.

“Y/N, it’s alright, I’ll drive you, just calm down.” Steve tried, his hand coming out to take yours, an odd way to calm you down.

You wretched your hand away, shaking your head “That’s not the point! I don’t need this, I’m an adult!” you cried.

“Well then maybe you should act like one.” Your mother snapped. You sighed, looking to the ceiling in the hopes that you’d find some sort of calm in it. When you didn’t, you pushed away from the table.

“Excuse me, I have some calls to make.” You said. Your mother tried to argue, but you were already gone, back into your room and away from the scene.

You felt like a child. You were an adult- you lived on your own, you paid your own bills, you had your own tiny apartment for fuck’s sake! And yet you couldn’t convince your mother that you were old enough to leave the house on your own. It was all in her grand plan to get you and Steve back together. You refused to fall into that trap; you’d rather die alone than end up with the person your mother picked for you.

With enough frustration to hulk out and destroy the house, you picked up your old landline and dialled the number, now faded, that Billy had given you.

The phone rang thrice before anyone picked up. You prayed that it was actually his number and not a fake one. Luckily for you, he picked up. “Hello?” he asked, his voice strained and groggy.

“Hey Bill, it’s me, listen, shit’s a little weird here, you wanna just go out tonight instead? My treat?” you said.

“No way, I cleaned for this.” Billy replied, earning a giggle from you.

“Ugh please? Pretty please? Cause by the looks of it, I’m not getting to your place without a police escort.” You explained.

“Sexy, I’ll see you in a few.” Billy replied, hanging up before you could fully respond.

You groaned, dropping the receiver on the hook. A knock on the door startled you and you spun around to find Steve leaning on your door with a concerned expression.

“Jesus Christ you scared me!” you gasped, rolling your eyes.

“Sorry…” he replied, stepping into your room without asking. “Listen, you’re not getting out of here without me driving you, it’s just your mom.”

“Don’t I know it.” You sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Ugh why did I bother coming in?”

“Dustin.” You and Steve said in unison, looking up at one another.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head “Come on Henderson, let’s get you to Hargrove’s place.” He said.

You grabbed your purse quickly, only stopping to look at him once, a puzzled look on your face. “How’d you know?” you asked.

“I saw you two at the mall, put two and two together.” He replied with a shrug.

“I thought you were on duty.” You asked, eyebrows raised into your hairline.

“Someone called in a pigeon in the food court.” He replied. You watched him for a second in utter disbelieve. Steve sighed, looking away “And I couldn’t handle anymore Dustin time.” He admitted.

“And here I thought you two were best friends for life.” You chuckled, backing out of your room, watching him with eyes that danced with mirth and ease. It was the type of look that made Steve wish he could grab you and kiss you. You just looked so young and happy, just like you did in high school when everything went to shit and you could still laugh. Before everything broke you. Before everything broke them.

“Look I love the kid,” he said, following behind you “But I can’t spend all day listening to him talk about you-that’s all he’s been talking about all week.”

“Well what can I say? He’s my biggest fan, first of what will soon to be many!” you replied, flipping your hair off your shoulder and jumping down the final two steps.

“Alright mom, I’m heading out. I’ll be back later, don’t wait up.” You called, waving to her and Dustin in the living room.

“I said you aren’t going without-” she started, but Steve popped his head in, smiling politely.

“I’ll be back in a few, you want me to pick up a movie Dustin?” Steve asked, shutting your mother up instantly.

“Yeah, check if Heathers is in, Max said it was epic.” Dustin said, nodding at you from his seat on the couch, a copy of Moby Dick open in his lap, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“You got it, see ya!” he called, following you out into the hall. You pulled on your shoes, paying him no mind as he watched you. He seemed to be always watching you. It should’ve been unsettling, but it wasn’t. Instead, it felt normal. Steve had always been like this with you, watching you from afar. You had made all the moves in the past, and now you seemed to be in the same position.

Billy was still waiting outside. That was his perpetual place while you were on break at work. He’d stand outside Scoops Ahoy!, waiting for you to finish up so he could go back to groping you and pestering you as you tried to direct mouldy old ladies to Stella’s Dress Barn or Antique Lace. Scoops was your safe haven because of this-since he wouldn’t demean himself by licking an ice cream cone in public, you got your whole break to yourself.

So while he bitterly smoked, you hung out with Steve and Robin, his epic co-worker and almost girlfriend. You couldn’t pretend that it didn’t sting a little when they would flirt openly around you. You had no right to be jealous, you had a boyfriend and supposedly everything a teen girl could want. Unfortunately, you knew in your heart that you didn’t really have anything.

“You want another scoop, Y/N?” Steve asked, drawing you out of your daze.

“Hm? Oh I shouldn’t, I spend too much here anyway…” you replied, pushing away the cup, stained with chocolate.

“It’s on the house.” He said with a chuckle, leaning down with a sugar cone to grab a clean and warm metal scoop.

“You sure? I don’t want you getting in trouble with your boss.” You said.

“If I ever give a shit about this place, I’ll let you know. Now, what kind do you want?” he asked with a chuckle, earning a small, sweet smile from you. The kind of smile he always felt he was working for.

“Eh, whatever will be the least noticeable.” You said with a shrug, leaning over the glass to watch him choose. The vanilla carton was almost empty, so he had to work twice as hard to get the snow white cream out of its edges. You watched almost mystified as his arms bulged and flexed as he worked. You melted faster than the ice cream around you. It wasn’t because he was strong per say, Billy was strong if not stronger than him, but you liked that you knew that he hadn’t used his fists against nearly as many people for ill will. That sheer fact was much sexier than Billy could ever be. You could nearly drool over him, but when he looked up, you tried to be a little less obvious. Of course, to Steve, you were insanely obvious and it made him blush.

“Here ya go. Eat it quick, or it’ll melt down your hand.” He warned.

You simply smirked “Oh don’t worry, I’m very good with my mouth.” You said.

Robin gasped, laughing “Y/N! Billy is right outside!” she cried.

“I’m just teasing!” you replied, turning to wave to Billy. He nodded back, an annoyed look making lines around his mouth. You motioned for him to come inside, knowing it was in vain. As usual, he shook his head and turned away, preferring solitude and cigarettes.

Robin and Steve quickly got caught up in one of their little spats, half flirting, half arguing. Suddenly, you weren’t Steve’s focus, which made you feel very small and embarrassed. Watching them was like watching an old married couple-the two seemed absolutely perfect for each other, everyone else agreed. It was only a matter of time, soon enough they’d finally get together and your longing for Steve would really be wrong. The whole thing hurt far more than it should have.

When Steve’s eyes caught yours, without thinking, you caught yourself watching him as he watched you slowly lick the cone, holding his gaze as you gave him your best ‘fuck me’ eyes. You broke his gaze as you slowly licked sticky residue off your lips, smirking softly. Steve coughed loudly, feeling his whole body go tense as he blood flow changed direction.

“Well, I gotta head out, I’ll see you guys later. We still on for this weekend, Rob?” you said, standing up from your stool and tossing your purse over your shoulder.

“Totally! Blondie is gonna be bitchin’ live!” she replied, her tone giggly, wiping her hands on her apron as a new customer came in, small child in tow.

“Great! See ya!” you called, heading out of the shop and back to Billy, taking his arm gently.

“What was that about?” he grumbled, heading off back to your desk at the front of the mall.

“No clue, want some?” you asked, offering him the dripping cone.

“Nah, I hate plain vanilla.” He replied gruffly.

“So do I, but it was free so who cares?” you said, tossing the half eaten cone in the trash. The rest of your shift was spent with Billy pestering you about your feelings towards Steve or pestering you to pay attention to him.

Meanwhile, the image of you and that cone wouldn’t leave Steve’s mind. You wouldn’t leave Steve’s mind; a dangerous problem.

You opened the door, ushering him out before any more memories could take hold. You notes that he still drove the cruiser even after work. You had assumed that he had a second car, another sign of his family’s wealth, but maybe you were wrong. Either way, you climbed in and buckled up, remembering how bad his driving was.

The ride was slower and weirder than the one yesterday. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, his eyes watching the road carefully, his headlights blasting white cones of light onto the road ahead. You gave him the address though he already seemed to know where to go.

“I’ve been called a few times to that complex, noise complaints against Hargrove, guy needs to learn to tone it down.” He commented with a chuckle, flashing you a proud, boastful smile that screamed ‘I’m better than him’.

You didn’t reply, in part because you couldn’t decide whether to laugh awkwardly or defend him, but in bigger part because your mouth had dried up. You were nervous, you had no idea why, but you were. It had been years since you’d seen him, things had inevitably changed between you and you didn’t want to know if those things were going to be a problem.

Billy was a confusing creature, as far as you could remember, he was three parts smug arrogance and one part genuine heart and softness. You didn’t exactly know how to handle this odd mix, even as a teenager. And now, with the mix being unknown was odd and not exactly reassuring to your poor, haggard nerves.

“Hey, you alright there, Henderson?” Steve asked, turning to look at you for a moment, eyes darting to mark his turn.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a shaky breath “No, no I guess not. I’m nervous that’s all. God, that sounds so high school.” You bemoaned yourself, your head hitting the headrest behind you.

“It’s cool, it happens.” Steve said, reaching over to squeeze your shoulder. His hand hovered just a second too long, though you tried to ignore it. It was easier to ignore than you thought, hell it even felt normal.

“No it’s not I sound like such a little baby.” You groaned, letting out a heavy sigh before straightening your back and rolling your neck. “Alright, I’m good, I’m good.” You said, nodding more to yourself than to him.

“Hey,” Steve said, turning off the engine. You hadn’t realized that you’d parked or that you were already at the giant complex. “You don’t sound like a baby, you sound like a person.” He told you.

“Well being a person sucks, I’d prefer to be a robot who can handle her life without issues or stupid fears.” You said.

“I get it, I do, but you have to give yourself some slack here, Henderson.” He took your hand in his, squeezing it tightly “We went through a lot before we could even vote, you’re allowed to be a little broken. I think we’re all a little broken.”

You nodded “Right...” you sighed, smiling softly up at him “Thanks, Steve.” You gathered your things, pulling open the door. The air was warm and humid and while you wished it was cool and crisp, you pushed into the warm walls of air forcing you back towards the car, where Steve watched you as he was certain he did when Dustin went on his first date, hell he probably gave him the same pep talk he gave you. Unlike Dustin, who you were sure turned back to say thanks, you pushed into the foyer, pushing the buzzer labelled 514.

“What up what’d you want?” the voice on the intercom said, clearly Billy and very clearly annoyed.

You pushed the speaker button “Well I mean if you’re going to be an asshole I can go, Officer Harrington’s still waiting outside.” You said, matching his tone.

You heard the door buzz and unlock, as Billy’s voice returned on the intercom “You know as well as I do that I don’t want you to go.” He said softly. You nodded, opening the door. You found your way up the elevator to the third floor and up you went to find some sort of destiny. You still didn’t know if it was yours or someone else’s.

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oldanddangerousbb · 5 years

Text

War and Peace Pt. 1

Father! Tony Stark x Daughter! Reader

When Tony finds out he is a father he is ecstatic until his selfish wishes get in the way. TW: angst, death of a family member, falling A/N: Hi y’all this is my first writing in a while so please give me feedback! This begins at the very beginning before the first movie even really starts so be ready for some angst. Buckle up this will be a long one. WC: 1544

Tony Stark was not an unkind man. No, he was a man who many looked up to; a man many envied. He donated to charity when tax season came around. He gave a Christmas bonus to his personal driver, Happy every January after his assistant, the lovely Ms. Potts, reminded him.

Tony Stark is a man full of vice and, yes, he is selfish, but Tony Stark does consider himself a good father.

He had never wanted to be a father but after a night of fun, a night that had become so normal to him he had never even thought to learn anything more about the woman he shared his bed with than her name: Viola Y/L/N, and he only knew that because she had left her card on the entry way table when she left with a sultry “Call me” murmured over her shoulder.

So when instead Tony Stark got a call from Malibu Medical Emergency Room three years later, he wracked his mind to find something that might indicate why this woman he slept with one time might have got it in her head that it was his kid. Hell if she slept with him she had probably slept with half of Malibu. And Tony Stark said that exact thing to the doctor, Ms. Potts and anyone else within hearing distance of the only slight drunk billionaire. Yet when the paternity test came back, the slightly miffed doctor simply clapped Tony Stark on the back (harder than was necessary) and snapped a simple “Congrats dad, its a girl.”

Tony Stark is a forgetful man, but he will never forget the first time he saw his daughter. The stark whiteness of the room in which she was led out of created a halo effect that Renaissance painters would have killed to imitate. And that’s what she was to him then. An angel. An angel who was sobbing hysterically and looking awfully confused. An angel who wouldn’t meet his gaze, an angel that when she did finally look up at her father all she whispered to him was “Where’s my mommy? I want my mommy. Please give her back.”

At that moment he promised himself he would protect this little girl (he had done the math, she was only three years old) till his dying breath.

Tony Stark was a man who had lost his way somewhere. Men who think they have nothing to lose, they are the one’s who fall the hardest when knocked down, and Tony Stark with nothing to lose.

Life had settled in the Stark family mansion, it had settled like the first snow fall of the winter. All was quiet and the things that had once breathed gasped their last breath and froze. It was a cold place to grow up, and as the memories of her loving mother faded Y/N stopped remembering summer. She forgot what it was like to have a parent around, someone to kiss her when she fell, someone to tuck her in at night. But she did have one solace in this great big lonely fortress.

And even he couldn’t comfort her. JARVIS filled in the cracks of her absent father and her forgotten mother. He told her bedtime stories, he assured her that her father still loved, that her father checked on her every night he was home, but most importantly he was always with her.

In the early days of fatherhood, in that beautiful honeymoon period where every cry was his joy, Tony Stark crafted his daughter a necklace of silver that contained a micro chip containing JARVIS. JARVIS could record your heartbeat, give you gentle reminders but most importantly, he could speak to you, he could watch out for you. Tony crafted a matching band that he wore around his wrist that allowed him to feel his baby girls heartbeat, that would vibrate when JARVIS was worried about her surroundings.

Even when that honeymoon soured, when the cries became incessant and unstoppable rather than small miracle, when Tony Stark embraced his vices and turned his back to you; you still had JARVIS.

And so when it was time for Tony to leave once again for a business trip you barely even looked up from your multiplication tables. You nodded once and asked softly, “How long dad?”

“I don’t know, but likely not more than a week. I love you.” And with that he was gone, already out the door before the first tear fell from your face.

“Should I tell him to come back?” JARVIS’s voice came softly from the speakers.

“No, thank you.” You muttered back, trying not to cry too hard in front of JARVIS because you knew how he worried about you.

“You seem highly upset little one. And it is 78% likely that if Mr. Stark were to return you would be at least a little happier.”

“No dadd- JARVIS, I have no want to see Tony right now. I don’t even know if I ever want to see him again!”

You were already up and away from the table before JARVIS could warn you about the slight spill Tony had created when he had sloshed in drunkly the night before. When JARVIS tried calling Mr. Stark, between frantic calls of your name, the phone had been switched off, and the bracelet hadn’t been updated in years and would not answer his call to action.

When Pepper Potts had finally answered her phone, sighing exasperatedly into it, asking Tony what on earth he could have forgotten at home, she was startled when she heard the computers frantic tone. She could barely understand the words coming out of its mouth (?) that his daughter had fallen, that Y/N had fallen, that she had been distressed and slipped in a puddle Stark had created when he drunkly dropped the bottle of booze he had been sipping on in his haste to undress the woman in front of him.

The ambulance arrived before Pepper, and Tony was still none the wiser as his phone was still off and he was at least 10,000 feet in the air by now. When Pepper rushed into the home, the sight of you had her nearly gagging. Your face was swollen, legs and arms badly bruised, but the worst of it was the howling. You howled for them to not touch you, you begged the men to take their hands off you, you screamed for JARVIS to stop them, you screamed for your father.

“Y/N! Honey its me. It’s Pepper. They don’t want to hurt yo-” Pepper had just barely grabbed your shoulder when you turned on her as well still screaming and crying.

“Leave me alone! Leave me alone and let me go! I don’t need any of you!” Your howl was soul crushing to Pepper because this just wasn’t right. You were a six year old girl obviously scared and most likely in shock from the pain and instead of accepting the comfort you screamed for them to leave you.

“Y/N we are here to-” she tried again.

“NO! Daddy make them leave. Make them leave me alone.” You screamed, jerking from her and falling off the couch you had been perched on, most likely only damaging yourself more.

Pepper could have caught you, yet she had nearly choked on tears when she realized you hadn’t been screaming for Tony, your father; no you were screaming for JARVIS.

“Oh, Y/N.” Pepper whispered. She turned her back to you and dismissed the paramedics. At first they refused to go but they had gotten another call and your wounds were not life threatening, but they made note to send child protective services down to the Stark mansion, as they knew of no Stark child and none the less six year olds were prohibited by law to be left by themselves.

Pepper tried once again to approach you, and as you had finally settled after the two paramedics left she made it to you without your horrible wailing.

JARVIS finally spoke at this time “Ms. Potts is only here to help little one. Please let her. I hate seeing you hurt.” It was only once these words were spoken did you roll to your back to let her see what was wrong.

Pepper looked you over, most of the scratches were topical and would heal quickly but it wasn’t those wounds she worried about. It was the ones you carried in your head, in your heart.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. We are going to be okay.” Pepper grips you in a hug and you shudder, every nerve in your body coming to life. Pepper recoiled worried that she had hurt you.

You gripped her harder and whispered in a strained voice: “Please, please, please don’t let go.”

And she promised you that she wouldn’t.

A/N Pt. 2 So in the next part we shall see Tony’s point of view and figure out where this business trip took him and how get some back story as to how we got here. Buckle up folks I am not exactly sure where this will go but the Fates tell me its got to get worse before it can get better.

#tony stark #marvel imagine #marvel #tony stark x reader #pepper potts #iron man #imagine #marvel imagines #avengers

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bidermanbiderman · 6 years

Text

A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky x FemReader

Word Count: 2,222

Summary: After a terrible mission, Bucky helps (Y/N) recover with some plant therapy.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of children being test subjects (sorry)

A/N: Part 2/2 for @sweetboybucky 's 1K challenge. My prompt was ‘No rain, no flowers’ and this is what came of it. Pt 1 is just some fluff, pt 2 gets a little angsty but plants make everything better and I promise it’ll all be good in the end. Shout out to Bob Dylan for the title. Header made by me

Part One

Masterlist

(Y/N) had been back for a week but you wouldn't have been able to tell by looking at plants or the garden. Bucky tried to keep up with the watering but he really didn't know anything about plants and the greenery was starting to wilt and shrivel. He was worried that something similar might be happening to (Y/N).

As far as he knew she hadn't come out of her room at all since she had returned from the mission unless she had somehow managed to find a time when no one else was around. The food left by her friends outside her bedroom door would disappear but otherwise there was no sign of life from within.

According to the debriefing that Natasha had given the rest of the team after the mission, (Y/N) had good reason to want to hide away. The two women had been sent to gather information on some sort of new biological weapon but they hadn’t realized that the chemical was being tested on children. Since they were only there to gather information they didn’t have the weapons or the team to be able to take down such an extensive operation. (Y/N) had wanted to try to take them out herself but Natasha forced her to leave before she could cause any real damage to herself. Nat had seen and lived horrors like this before but (Y/N) was still naive. She didn’t know how to cope with any of it. Tony quickly got to work on a plan to take down the operation and rescue the children, but it had been a whole week and he hadn't managed to tie all the loose ends together.

For the 8th day in a row, Bucky knocked on (Y/N)s door, and for the 8th day in a row he received only silence in response. “(Y/N) listen, I know you don't want to talk and that's fine. But I just wanted to let you know.. I’m going to be leaving on a mission soon,” he heard soft footsteps padding their way towards the door and he let out a small sigh of relief. At least he knew she was still conscious in there. “We're going to free those kids.”

The door opened suddenly, revealing a very gaunt woman swimming in a large hoodie. Bucky couldn’t help the sharp inhale that slipped through his lips. “Jesus… (Y/N)...” he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to say next.

“You’re going to free the kids?” She repeated quietly, a slight edge of disbelief evident only by the small quiver in her voice.

“Tony is just finishing up the plans. Nat’s going to lead us in because she knows the terrain. Almost everyone is coming, except Bruce he agreed to stay here with you. We’re… everyone’s really worried about you.”

She didn’t know how to respond so she just shook her head. Her next sentence came out as barely more than a whisper, Bucky thought if he didn’t have super soldier hearing he might not have heard her at all.

“I can’t stand the thought of going about my life while knowing what those children are being put through every day,” her voice cracked and the tears threatened to spill over. To Bucky, seeing her like this was like being stabbed through the chest with a red-hot sword. He stepped forward and kicked the door closed behind him before pulling the smaller woman into a tight embrace. (Y/N) buried her face in Bucky’s chest and finally let out all the emotions she had been holding in. The sobs shook her body as she tried to curl up small enough that she’d just disappear into his arms. He whispered reassurances into her hair holding her closer with every breath. An eternity seemed to pass like this before she finally got her breathing under control.

“When do you leave?” She muttered, face still buried in his shirt.

“Probably tomorrow afternoon. Its not set in stone yet Tony has a few final kinks he has to work out,” he replied, rubbing small circles into her lower back.

She took a deep, slow breath before continuing. “Do you think maybe… You could stay with me tonight? I haven’t been able to sleep,” she whispered, still not breaking their embrace.

“Of course. Come on,” he replied finally stepping back a bit. He never lost contact with her though, his hand sliding down her arm before his fingers interlaced with hers. He led her to the bed where she climbed in and he helped wrap her up in blankets. He sat on the edge of the bed and rested a hand on her calf, not entirely sure what to do with himself.

“You just gonna sleep sitting up?” She mumbled the corner of her lips just barely twitching.

He shrugged, “Nothing I haven't done before.”

“Don't be stupid. I paid a lot of money for these sheets you might as well enjoy them,” she replied pulling the blankets back to make room for him. With her okay he didn't give a second thought to climbing in bed next to her but he still kept his distance. She didn't, rolling over to face him and curling into his side. Reflexively he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her just a little closer. He didn't want to overstep any boundaries but as long as she was leading the way he wouldn't hesitate to follow.

It hadn't been more than five minutes before he heard her softly snoring and he was quick to drift off to sleep after her. That night both of them slept better than they had in ages.

She woke the next morning to an empty bed and a note on the pillow next to her. It read: “(Y/N), we are leaving first thing this morning. You were sleeping so well, I couldn’t wake you. We’ll be back soon. Please don’t stay holed up in your room, the plants need you. -B”

She rubbed her face and groaned before rolling out of bed. Standing up she stretched the sleep out of her muscles and decided that today would be the day. She needed to go downstairs, if anything she sort of owed it to Bucky. He had been taking care of the plants for too long and last night he had taken care of her too.

As she walked around the compound for the first time in over a week she couldn’t help but smile. She could tell that Bucky really had been trying, all the succulents were over watered but the other plants didn’t look too bad. She was able to busy herself for almost the whole day checking in on the plants and tending to the garden. The thought of the Avengers rescuing the children eased her mind just enough that she was almost on her way to feeling normal again.

That night she couldn’t sleep again. With no updates from the team she couldn’t help but worry. Bruce had offered to hang out and watch a movie with her but she knew she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate well enough to get through a whole movie and really all she wanted to do was be wrapped up in her bed. She spent more than a few hours like that, twisted up in her blankets staring at the dark ceiling.

The next day, still no updates. She had enough motivation to spend most of the day out and about, but as the hours and soon enough days went by she found it harder and harder to leave her bed.

Four days and 10 hours after she had woken up to the note on her pillow there was a knock at her bedroom door. She shot out of bed, nearly tripping over the blankets twisted around her legs but she managed to get to the door. She was met by an empty hallway, and with a puzzled look on her face she scanned both directions for any sign of life. It was only when she looked down did she notice small cactus in a pot in front of her door. Bending down to pick it up she couldn’t help but smile as she realized there was a trail of little plants leading down the hallway. She put the cactus back down and followed the trail leading her to Bucky’s door.

With her bottom lip caught between her teeth she rapped her knuckles quickly against the wood.

Bucky had been planning this since before he had even left for the mission. The team had been home for about an hour but Steve had quickly helped him set everything up. Five little plants carefully placed leading from her door to his, and inside his room an explosion of greenery and flora.

She didn’t even notice right away, as soon as the door open she threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she muttered into his neck. “Did you… the kids?” She added, stepping back.

Her thought was cut short when she noticed the new additions to his room. She looked around in awe, stepping past him to get a closer look at the dozens of plants scattered around.

“We got em. Shut down the whole operation. They’re all in the process of being medically cleared now and soon enough they’ll all be in homes with families who love them,” he watched her admire the plants, his heart swelling in his chest. She reached out and gently stroked the leaves on the small desert rose that was perched on his dresser, tears silently spilling down her cheeks. Her voice cracked as she spoke again, “Bucky, I…” but she was at a loss for words.

She hadn’t noticed that he had crossed the room until he wrapped his arms around her from behind, tucking his head down into the crook of her neck.

“No rain, no flowers,” he mumbled, and she felt him shrug against her back. She choked out a laugh, turning around in his arms.

“You are something else, James Buchanan Barnes,” she replied as she shook her head, resting her hands on his chest. Her eyes flitted upwards, finally meeting with his.

It took him a second to realize he had stopped breathing altogether, entirely distracted by the woman in his arms. He glanced down at her lips which had turned into a soft smile.

She noticed where his gaze went and she couldn’t help but smile a little more. “Just kiss me already, will you?”

For a brief second a wide grin stretched across his face but it only took a heartbeat before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The butterflies that surged in his stomach at the soft sigh that escaped her made him regret waiting so long to act on his feelings. He pulled her impossibly closer, deepening the kiss as her hand found purchase in his hair, gripping ever so gently. After a few moments he pulled back.

“As much as I would love to do this all night, we need to find homes for all these plants,” he said, his face still only a few inches from hers.

She smirked up at him. “The night is young, can’t we do both?”

He grinned back. “I mean technically yes but if I kiss you again I’m not going to be able to stop so you better do something with these plants pretty quick.”

She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face if she tried and she stepped back, breaking the embrace. She knew if they stayed like that much longer she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself either.

“You know that giant windowsill down in the living room? I think these would all fit there,” she said, surveying all the plants.

“Yeah, but then they’ll block my view of you in the garden,” Bucky replied with a smirk and watched as her cheeks flushed red. “Don’t act like you never noticed,” he added with a grin.

“I mean… I didn’t not notice,” she shrugged with a smile and quickly turned away to start gathering the plants. “The big window in the kitchen should work just as well. And the ones in the hall can go in my room.”

It took three trips but they managed to get all the plants down to the kitchen and as (Y/N) arranged the last of them Bucky watched her, sitting back in one of the kitchen chairs. If anyone asked he’d tell them he was admiring her work but really he was just appreciating how natural and carefree she seemed, the sparkle returned to her eyes.

She turned around and caught him staring, and in a few short strides she had her arms wrapped around his neck.

“See something you like?” She asked, grinning mischievously.

He shook his head, a matching grin on his face. “I just… I don’t know why it took me so long to talk to you.”

“Yeah me neither, you’ve been watching me through that window forever,” she teased, but before he could respond she added, “I guess we just needed a little rain first.”

“You’re a dork,” he replied, pulling her down onto his lap. And for the second time in a long list of many more to come, he kissed her.

Tags: @im-going-too-fast <3

#biderman writes #sweetboybucky1k #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan #the winter soldier #bucky barnes story #bucky barnes #bucky #bucko

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mintchocolateleaves · 6 years

Text

Flare Up (4/5)

A/N: I have a really big love for the Fever Pitch AU universe. I keep thinking of ways to extend it, so maybe after I finish the prequel, I’ll continue with it, making this a little longer. Who knows?

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3]

Kouta does not let go of Izuku until they reach the hospital.

From the moment the paramedics arrive, leading the two of them into the ambulance, Kouta latches on to Izuku and does not let go. Much like a limpet against a rock. Even after the paramedics attach them to ECG monitors, glancing at the rhythm of their heartbeats.

The minute the wires are off, ECG taken, the boy relaxes a little, although he remains rooted to Izuku’s side.

“It’s okay Kouta,” Izuku mumbles, sitting beside the boy. So far, they’ve not been able to get in contact with his parents, have been incapable of getting any information out of the boy on the topic of them. “We’ll be in the hospital soon.”

“I’m cold…” the child says, grip tight on Izuku’s sleeve. He’s close to passing out from the cold, but somehow the boy stays awake. Almost as if he’s determined to stay awake long enough to cause enough trouble that the paramedics give up trying to pry him away from Izuku’s side.

Izuku glances at the boy, at the heat packs that are placed around them, aimed at rising their body temperature at a stable rate that doesn’t cause further damage and thinks.

“I know,” he says, grabbing one of the packs from where it’s pressed against his neck, and leaning towards Kouta. He says, “here, have this, it’ll help warm you up a little more.”

Kouta looks up at him, blinks.

Then, the child takes a quick look towards one of the paramedics, the man focusing on recording all the information while they drive to the hospital.

“I already have some,” Kouta whispers, as if afraid they’ll be scolded. “Anyway, you need them too, you’re cold as well, right?”

Izuku shrugs his shoulders. The movement is slow, mainly because his body feels like ice, but Kouta needs it more than him. He says, “I’m only giving you one more, that’s alright, isn’t it? I still have a few more.”

Kouta, perhaps realising that he’s fighting a losing battle, accepts it without another word. He remains quiet until the ambulance stops, doors opening to reveal the lights of the hospital, the accident and emergency room inside.

Their destination.

“Come on Kouta,” Izuku says, as their paramedic stands, looking over at the two of them, “we need to go in now.”

The child doesn’t seem to want to move from his perch on Izuku. And so, not minding too much, Izuku lifts him into his arm, nodding as the paramedic comes closer.

“Can I take this out now?” Kouta says, as Izuku stands, pointing up to the nasal cannula that’s feeding oxygen into his nose. It’s a precaution, Izuku knows, to ensure that they can keep breathing properly, that they’ve not swallowed too much water that it’d lead to respiratory issues and low oxygen levels.

Izuku glances towards the paramedic, waits for an answer. At the sight of a shaking head, he says, “just a little longer. Let’s make sure we’ve got them until the doctor’s say we can take them off, okay?”

The child offers a nod. “It’s itchy, though.”

“Isn’t it?” Izuku says, and laughs. The laugh leaves him breathless, and it hurts, but he’s happy, so he supposes that it weighs out the pain, makes it worth it. “Hopefully we’ll get rid of them pretty quickly, right Kouta?”

Kouta nods.

And together they enter the hospital.

His mother arrives before they see the first doctor.

Midoriya Inko arrives in a flurry, a pink bag over her shoulder filled with goodies she thinks Izuku – and Kouta as soon as she learns of his existence – would enjoy while they wait to be seen. She brings a change of clothes, something Izuku takes gratefully, glad not to be wearing gowns that the hospital had handed him and Kouta to wear.

“Oh, Izuku,” his mother says, as soon as he’s changed, finally taking the time to wrap him in her arms. She squeezes, not enough that it leaves his still chilled bones aching, but enough to be comfortable. “You keep throwing worry after worry at me.”

He sits then, readjusts the cannula feeding him oxygen.

“Sorry,” he says, as his mother sits on his other side. And then, he waves a hand to his side, “this is Kouta. We’ve decided to hang out together until his guardian gets here. Haven’t we Kouta?”

The child nods his head, hand clutching even harder onto his sleeve. “Is she your…”

He fades off, glancing up at Izuku.

“I’m Izuku’s mother,” Inko says, getting the words in before Izuku can introduce her. She offers a smile, “thank you for looking after my son, he’s always getting himself in different sorts of trouble.”

It’s about at this time, Izuku thinks, that his mother realises what’s happened. Both Izuku and Kouta are wearing the same heat packs, both covered in blankets in the aim to regain the heat the freezing ice had stolen from them. And she knows her son, she puts the pieces together.

And so with a sparkle in her eye, she makes a mistake on purpose. To Kouta, she leans forwards, ruffles his hair and says, “thank you for saving my son. You must have been very brave.”

Izuku sends her a smile, watches as Kouta grins and shakes his head. He says, “No! Izuku saved me!”

“Well,” Inko says, “I bet you’re still extremely brave.”

After about an hour, they finally track down the child’s guardian.

Not a mother, or a father – but another relative: His aunt. Except it’s not that easy for him to decipher who it is at first, seeing as one moment Kouta is alone, and the next he is surrounded by an entire hero team.

Izuku does not need to see them in their uniforms to recognise the Pussycats. He simply holds in a breath – probably not the best thing to do, seeing as he’s on oxygen for a reason – and watches everything pan out.

“Kouta!” The one that throws herself in front of the others is the super hero Mandalay. “Oh god, when you didn’t come home I started phoning everyone! I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Kouta finally let’s go of Izuku’s sleeve.

He stands, throws himself at his aunt, and bursts into tears. It’s not until the rest of the pussycats wrap him in a hug also, that the child finally speaks through the sobbing, hiccupping on words.

“I was so scared, the water was just there, and I couldn’t breathe, and I thought – I thought–” Kouta shudders a breath, “but then Izuku grabbed me and he gave me his coat because I was cold and he said it was okay to cry and–”

The child continues to ramble. He doesn’t seem to realise that Izuku and his mother are there any more, not until the doctor calls Izuku’s name, and he stands, ready for to be seen. At last.

Hospital waits are so long, Izuku can’t help but feel a little irritation at the system.

“Izuku!” Kouta turns almost as if his ears are tuned into his movements, “where are you going?”

“Just talking to the doctor for a moment,” he says, “I’ll be back in a minute, alright?”

Kouta hiccups his protest, but after a few words of consolidation from his aunt, he finally seems to accept that Izuku needs to be seen to as well. But demanding as he is, he makes sure he gets the words he needs to say out first. Prying out from his aunts grasp, he rushes up to Izuku and tugs on his trouser leg.

“I don’t like heroes much, Izuku,” he says, and now his cheeks redden, embarrassment at what he’s about to say shining through. “But I like you.”

Izuku smiles. He says, “I like you too, Kouta.”

As he’s walking towards one of the clinical rooms, he can hear Mandalay’s voice clear in his head, almost as if it were his own.

With her quirk, she says: I’ll never forget this. Thank you for saving Kouta.

(After they remove the liquid that’s settled in Izuku’s lungs, they declare him in fit health.

Izuku leaves with a smile, a phone number for a heroes agency should he ever need their help, and a promise from a little boy, that he’ll see him again, but next time, in a first aid class.)

Like he promises himself, Izuku finishes the child safety class. It brings him a little more understanding on the situation he’d been in before, and well – it makes him feel a little more confident with the concept of rescuing children again if he needs to.

After that, there’s only so many more courses he can do regarding first aid, only a healthy living course before he’s qualified in them all. It feels terrifying, the concept of being done with all his lessons, so Izuku finds himself volunteering, giving aid to the junior first aiders, the children who’re learning.

Every Tuesday evening, Izuku waves at children – tries not to show any favouritism to Kouta, and usually fails – slowly teaching them how to clean wounds and how to apply plasters. For the slightly older members, Izuku teaches CPR, the right arm movements and directions to make sure you can keep someone alive.

Between classes, counselling, villain sites and volunteering, Izuku’s pretty much got no time for anything else.

(Well, maybe the occasional movie night with some of the friends he’s made in first aid courses, but mostly there’s no time.)

It’s enough, and Izuku is content… mostly. There’s still something that weighs on him, and soon, after a brief conversation with his mother, trying to get her to understand, he pulls a trick he probably wouldn’t if he wasn’t confident in his current grades.

He starts to miss classes. Not to an extent where he’s left worrying about whether he’ll pass the year, wondering whether he’ll need to retake, but enough that he’s left studying until early morning to catch up.

Izuku trades classes for villain sites. The moment he hears of anything, on his way to school, or anywhere in the same vicinity as his school, he leaves classrooms behind and settles into the regular bustle of pulling people from buildings, helping stem blood flow.

He gets used to making eye contact with villains and heroes alike, grows comfortable with telling people no whenever they tell him to stop putting himself in danger.

It makes him feel more… calmer. More mature, even.

Seeing things that most people will never see in a lifetime, it’s horrible and leaves him gasping for air some nights, but Izuku also values it. He takes the face of each person he saves, holds them close and remains upbeat, because they’re alright because of him.

He wonders how happy he’d feel as a hero. If he’s this happy right now, then as soon as he’s got a hero’s license, he imagines he’ll reach a feeling of almost… euphoria.

“All-Might!”

Perhaps it’s a testament to how far he’s come in the past few years, but Izuku, a second-year high school student, doesn’t even hesitate anymore whenever he sees All-Might. Where before he would stumble over his words, he simply remains calm these days talking to the man.

People turn, glancing around for a sight of the man. Izuku winces as he realises that the man is not currently in his hero form, having transformed back into his… true… form following an altercation with a villain.

Izuku rushes up to the number one hero, offers a small wave and glances down at his shirt. There’s blood on it, which sucks but he’d managed to stem the bleeding of a cut femoral artery on a villain just in time for the paramedics to arrive.

The success rate of the villain isn’t the highest, but it’s more than zero thanks to Izuku, and he classes it as a win.

All-Might turns to him, with the same pursed lips and offers him a nod. He says, “young Midoriya. You’re… present again.”

Izuku offers the man his brightest smile.

“Well…” All-Might lets out a sigh, as if knowing warning Izuku away is a poor idea. They’ve met several times now, and every warning comes with another dismissal. “Thank you for the hard work.”

Izuku flushes. But still, the compliment feels subpar at best. He wants All-Might to acknowledge him, for once, even though he doesn’t know how to go about seeking the man’s approval.

“No injuries this time?” All-Might continues. And then a pause. “Wait – shouldn’t you be in class?”

Crossing his arms, Izuku decides this is another one of the things he doesn’t want to go into with his hero. “Shouldn’t you be teaching a class?”

All-Might’s lips are practically a thin line. For a moment Izuku can see how tense the man’s body is, as if this conversation is something the man’s focusing entirely on – either that, or he’s spent a lot of time thinking things over.

“This is the sixth time you’ve administered first aid this month,” the hero says, and he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at his bangs. Izuku feels almost honoured to know that his favourite hero is keeping an eye on him, watching and remembering how many times Izuku’s been present. “This can’t be very good for your grades, you’re missing classes.”

Okay, being scolded is not what Izuku wants right now.

“I can handle classes,” he says, “I’m still top of my class, and I attend class often enough that I’m able to finish the year.”

He does not mention the tears that fill his eyes when he grows frustrated with himself, unable to answer questions without all too expensive textbooks that he’s had to dig into his savings to purchase.

All-Might hums. Whether it’s in agreement or disapproval, Izuku isn’t sure.

“I was watching the sports festival last week,” Izuku mentions, at the next scene, treating All-Might this time, bandaging the heroes arm from where the hero had saved a child by taking the brunt of falling glass from a window.

There are cuts on his arms, not deep enough to require stitches, but bad enough that Izuku holds gauze against the skin until he’s certain the blood has clotted.

All-Might glances at him and says, “it was an interesting turn out. I was glad to watch the underdog win this year.”

Izuku offers a smile, “they’ve all got such great potential, and it’s really starting to shine.”

“Yes,” All-Might says, nodding. He smiles, and Izuku can see it in the heroes eyes, the pride he has for his students, the way he seems to value those he’s helped train. “They’ll all make great heroes once they graduate.”

“As will I,” Izuku says, once he’s finished with the bandage. He leans back, offers a grin. “You’re all done.”

The number one hero breathes another sigh. For a moment, he seems to ponder on asking him a question, but it’s not until Izuku questions it, that he decides to ask.

“Why are you trying to convince me about becoming a hero, young Midoriya? You don’t need my approval to become such.”

Izuku turns away, glances at the rubble from fallen buildings and steels himself. Steely-eyed and determined, he keeps his voice level as he responds. He says, “because you’re the one who told me I couldn’t.”

It is just as he’s about to enter his third year of high school that everything goes wrong.

Izuku comes home to a sobbing wreck of a mother, and he holds her as he looks around the house, at the emptiness of it, the wreck that it is. There’s been no villain attacks, no, but they’ve been robbed.

His mother looks up at him, breathes out a sigh and says, “I’ve already phoned the police.”

The house is too empty, Izuku feels almost as if there’s enough room for the ghosts of old memories to move in without making things feel overcrowded.

“It’s okay,” Izuku says, sitting her down onto the table. Anything that seems like it would sell has been taken. Drawers and cupboards have been left open, contents splayed everywhere in a search for anything valuable.

“We can’t–” His mother breaks off. “We can’t afford this Izuku. The government stopped giving compensation for thefts like this when they started giving compensation out for victims of villain attacks…”

“It’s going to be alright,” Izuku says. “We’ll find the money. I’ll get a part-time job or… or…”

Izuku scrunches his eyes shut, takes in a deep breath and says, “we’ll use the savings account you’ve been keeping for university.”

His mother looks up at him, wide-eyed. She shakes her head, “Izuku, I can’t do that. We won’t be able to afford your medical school bills–”

He swallows. Another dream he probably won’t get to see fulfilled. No. Izuku’s not giving up on this so easily.

“Use it,” Izuku says, “use the money. I’ll… I’ll study hard and get in on a scholarship or something. Just, use the money.”

Inko looks at him, realises that asking again will only receive the same answer, no matter the pained look on his face, and nods. She says, “ok. I’ll – we’ll have to buy some more textbooks to help you ace every exam.”

Izuku nods.

Almost as if she knows that Izuku needs a moment to himself, his mother stands, brushes her hands on her trousers and excuses herself, saying she’s going to go see if the police have arrived yet.

Izuku buries his head in his hands.

He takes in a deep breath.

And he lets the frustration he’s feeling well up in his eyes, lets the tears fall.

[Next Chapter]

#Midoriya Izuku #All-Might #Midoriya Inko #BNHA #Kouta Izumi #Boku No Hero Academia #My Hero Academia #Fic: Flare Up #mywriting

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little-chimchim · 6 years

Text

Shut Up N’Let Me Go- Part 2

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2184

Genre: Cheating au! Secret relationship au! angst, fluff, smut (My standard)

Pairing: Taeyang x Reader

A/N: Shoot, sorry this took so long to put up. I’ve had a lot of other works that I’ve been working on. Also! Drama and angst af. This is really fun to write, but knowing me I live for the angst. So here you guys go! I love you all! - Kay

Part 1 Part 3 (End)

Everything had stopped. Neither you or Taeyang registered the other presence in the room until you heard a loud gasp.

You pushed Taeyang off of you and looked to the door. “What’s going on?” Juho asked cautiously, walking into the studio.

You hid your face, now red from embarrassment. “Taeyang?” he asked. Taeyang shook his blond head, walking over to Juho. “Whatever you do, do not tell Inseong.” He told his hyung, almost pleading. Juho frowned then looked at you, disappointed. “Are you serious, Y/N?” He grumbled, he wasn’t angry but you could tell he was very saddened to see what you had done.

You bowed your head, avoiding eye contact with Juho. “Please don’t tell Inseong.”

Juho nodded and turned his attention back to Taeyang. “I won’t tell, but the second things start going wrong because you decided to be stupid, I won’t be there to comfort the two of you.” Juho said, pointing his finger.

Inseong walked through the door, his phone and wallet in his hand. When he saw Juho standing around the two of you, curiosity got the best of him.

He walked over and put a careful hand on Juho’s arm. “What’s going on here?” He asked. You felt a lump in your throat, what if Juho told him what he saw?

Juho only smiled, “I saw them practicing and I was telling them a couple of things that might need work.” He lied straight through his teeth.

Inseong smiled and looked to you and Taeyang. “Let’s see it then!” He cheered.

Juho crossed his arms and walked to the wall and leaned on it. “Yes, let’s.” He said sternly. You turned away from him and towards Taeyang. You felt Juho’s eyes burn into your back.

Taeyang bent you down to your starting position. You heard the music begin playing and that’s when the two of you started your dance.

Things between the two of you were tense, movements weren’t as fluid and you both stayed as far apart as physically possible.

When the song ended, Inseong stood up and clapped excitedly. “You both looked great! Now, let’s go eat. I’m sure you’re hungry.” He grabbed your hand and kissed your forehead.

You moved your eyes and saw Juho looking back, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

Insigne turned to Taeyang and ushered him along. Taeyang walked over to Juho and sighed. “I think I’ll stay behind, go have fun you two.” He waved you off, not taking his attention away from Taeyang.

You took a deep breath of relief and held Inseong’s hand tighter. “We’ll see you back at the dorm.” He said before pulling you out of the studio.

Taeyang hit his hand against the wall. He didn’t do it hard enough to damage anything, but his hand throbbed afterwards. “If your feelings for her are that strong, you should have asked her out before Inseong did. You shouldn’t have made a move a year after they started dating.” Juho said blatantly.

Taeyang grumbled and glared at Juho. “You know I was about to. Everyone but Inseong knew I was going to do it, too. Then Inseong stepped in and took her before I could ask her out.”

Juho nodded his head. “I know, Taeyang. You should back off before things get messy.”

“Honestly Juho, I don’t think I can at this point. For her it’s physical attraction, for me it’s the opposite. Now that this has started, I don’t think I can stop it that easily.” Taeyang sighed, pulling his hand through his hair.

Juho nodded his head and started to leave. “Just be careful.”

Juho left the studio and left Taeyang alone to his own thoughts and guilt.

Each and every day went like this and you knew you had to stop it. You wanted more than anything to stop hurting Inseong, but physical desires took over.

At some point during practice every day, you and Taeyang would kiss. It wasn't a peck or a slight graze of the lips. Your kisses would get deeper each and every day. He pressed you against a wall or hovered over you as you made out on the frigid floor of the studio. Hands would wander to foreign places and discreet marks would be left.

Also with each passing day, there would be less and less guilt behind each kiss. The two of you stopped apologizing for every kiss and vowing to stopped it after each one. Instead, you relished in the time you had away from everyone's wandering eyes.

You both knew what you were doing wasn't right and that you should both get ahold of yourselves, but it was easier said than done. You also knew that with after each and every kiss and mark left on your body, it was beginning to be more than just physical attraction. You had to force yourself to ignore the budding feelings and concentrate on Inseong.

It was harder than you wanted to admit. Everytime you kissed Inseong, you imagined that it was Taeyang. You imagined the fullness of his lips moving against yours and how held you like he wouldn’t let go.

But when you were pulled back to reality, guilt would wash over you when you realized that it was your boyfriend and not his best friend.

Nothing felt the same. Whenever you were at the dorm, you could always feel Juho’s eyes burn at the back of your head. You were terrified that he would say something at any point in time, especially when you and Taeyang stood anywhere near each other.

You couldn’t talk to a soul about your problem, besides from Taeyang. Though, you couldn’t just tell him that you thought you were growing feelings for him. It would complicate matters even more and that was something neither of you needed, especially when his dancing showcase slowly approached.

On the day of the showcase, you got ready in one of the small dressing rooms next to the stage. You didn’t enjoy the overly skimpy outfit that you were forced to wear, but the stylist ‘insisted’ that the audience would love it.

You didn’t think so.

The stylist was finishing the final touches on your makeup when there was knock on the dressing room door. You got up and opened it, revealing and already dressed Taeyang. He looked amazing, dressed fully it white and a suit jacket that showed half his chest.

He looked to you nervously then to the stylist. He smiled and pointed outside the door. “I need to talk to Y/N for a few minutes before we go on stage. Would you mind if we could get a little privacy?” He asked her sweetly. The stylist smiled and packed up her things before exiting the room.

Once she was gone, Taeyang closed the door and quickly locked it. “Taeyang what ar-” He grabbed your shoulders and pressed you against the wall, caging you between his arms. Within a heartbeat he had his mouth against yours.

You opened your eyes and moved away from the kiss, though he still had you pushed against the wall. “Taeyang, we’re on in twenty minutes.” You whispered to him, your eyes looked to the clock on the other side of the room.

He smirked and pulled your face back to his. “Then we’ll have to make it quick. Take your shorts off.” He commanded lowly, his voice sent shivers down your spine. “What?” you asked him. He pressed himself against you so you could feel his growing bulge.

“I said take your shorts off. I’m unbelievably horny and I won’t be able to perform if I don’t do anything about it.” He whispered to you. He lowered one of his arms and started to play with the buttons on your tight denim shorts.

You nodded and made your way down to help him out. He pulled your shorts down and let them fall at your feet. He smiled and leaned down to look at what was under them. He grabbed the thin fabric of your underwear and slowly pulled them down your thighs, savory every moment.

Once they were off he stood back up and kissed your lips, his hands wandered down to your heat and played with your clit teasingly. With his other hand, he undid his belt buckle and pulled down his pants, his boxers came along with it.

He pulled his hand away form his pants and separated from the prolonged kiss. He smiled and moved his hand over your mouth. “You’re going to have to be quiet,” he whispered as he thrust himself inside of you.

You wanted to scream out his name, but you knew that there were dozens of people just outside that door. If they knew what was going on, it would cause the scandal of the century so keeping quiet was the only thing saving both of your careers from being on the line.

He held onto your mouth tightly as he let go of his sexual frustrations and once he was done, he made sure you were both dressed and ready to perform.

With five minutes left to spare.

You were sore after the performance. Not from the dancing or endless amount of pictures you had to take, posing in unnatural positions. No, it was from the number Taeyang performed on you before the show.

Never before had you experienced something so intense and so quick at once and your body hurt because of it but you loved it. You loved it more than you could handle. You loved it until the guilt came back to you like a hungry monster.

Inseong found you after the show, a large bouquet of flowers in his hands and a proud little smile on his face. “I am so proud of my baby!” He cooed as he lifted you into his arms, hugging you tightly. He didn’t let go until you were gasping for air.

He set you down and kissed your head gently.

“Come to the dorm when you’re done. I know you’re tired so I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.” He told you. He kissed your lips one last time before he waved goodbye. “I love you. See you soon.” He said before he left with Youngbin by his side.

Taeyang leaned against the wall outside your dressing room. He had seen everything with Inseong and it made him chuckle a bit. You turned to him and furrowed your brows, glaring at the blonde man in front of you. “What’s so funny, Taeyang?” You asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders and casually made his way into your dressing room. He was testing you to see if you would follow. You resisted for a few minutes before you realized that you needed your things from the dressing room. So you walked inside, closing the door firmly behind you.

Taeyang sat on a chair in the middle of the room. He sat bent over, his hands held each other while he looked at you. “You seemed less excited about doing things with him the more and more that this goes on.” He said blatantly. He bit his lip and stood up from his perch on the chair.

“We can stop this now. Now that the performance is done, we won’t have any need to talk to each other besides in a big group. You can go back to Inseong and become the happy, perfect couple that you used to be.” He tried sounding sincere but you could tell there was a hint of malice behind his tone.

“I don’t want to do that, Taeyang.”

He raised his eyebrows but then knitted them together in confusion. “You don’t want to?” He made sure that he was hearing you correctly. You nodded and took in a deep breath. “I’m not ready to let go of Inseong. I may be falling out of love with him but there’s still hope in me that I can fix that. Though, there’s also that part of me that’s not ready to let you go…”

He held up his finger and frowned. He knew exactly what you were trying to say to him. Despite being overjoyed that you reciprocated his feelings, he didn’t want it to happen like this. It wasn’t fair to Inseong. He wanted you to love him but he wanted you to love Inseong more.

He felt as if it was his fault for you falling out of love with Inseong and he knew that he couldn’t let it go any further. He took your face in his hand and stroked your cheeks softly, running the pads of his fingers against the skin of your face.

“Let me go.” He whispered. He bent down and kissed your lips. He pulled away but his lips stayed just inches away from yours. He pursed his lips and let go of your face. He met your eyes once before he walked out of the dressing room.

Letting go was going to be harder than tackling your greatest fear, and you knew you weren’t ready to do that.

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plumpwhump · 6 years

Text

Stuck in a Moment You Can’t Get out of part 3

This is it, the final part. And on Valentine’s Day, too. Perfect timing, amiright?

If you would like to read this on ao3, you can find it here

Part 1 Part 2

Keith stood outside of Lance’s pod, already having come out of his own hours ago. He touched the glass with the back of his hand, looking at the expressionless face of his fellow paladin on the other side.

He couldn’t wait for Lance to come out, but he also dreaded it.

After the red lion was retrieved, everything was a messy scramble. Keith bolted out of the lion with Lance heavy in his arms, running past the other concerned paladins and missing their panicked questions. He never stopped for anything or anyone and just kept sprinting down what felt like a never-ending hallway. His body had become numb and light, the only feeling he knew being the anxiety in his chest and the burning of his legs.

The only thing keeping him grounded was Lance’s faint breathing against his neck.

Coran was already waiting in the medbay, two pods activated and open for them. Lance was to be put in first and Keith was kicked out of the room temporarily as the older Altean zipped the blue paladin into a cryosuit.

When Keith was let back in a few minutes later, Lance was laying on a table convulsing in pain, more awake than he was than before. Keith immediately rushed over to try and calm the other down, but it didn’t work. No matter how he ran his fingers through his hair or squeezed his hand, Lance didn’t stop thrashing and panting.

Coran placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder to grab his attention. “The best thing we can do for him now is getting him into the pod. Quickly, now.”

Keith helped Coran hoist Lance into the pod, ignoring the aches of his own body. The glass materialized before the blue paladin could fall over, freezing him in place. He looked frail and tired, the deep gashes on his face contrasting against his skin.

It would be fine. Lance would be okay now. The pod will fix both of them and they can forget all about this, just like Lance wanted.

But Keith couldn’t stop the growing anxiety in his chest. He was still shaking from the adrenaline, trembling too hard to even hold the pouch of water Coran offered him. In the end, Shiro was called into the room to help calm him down.

Keith couldn’t help but compare it to how he helped calm Lance down, subconsciously taking notes.

It was like he couldn’t get the blue paladin off his mind.

“Keith,” Shiro said in a soft voice. “Can you talk to me?”

Keith shook his head no. No, he didn’t want to talk yet. He just wanted to be hugged by Shiro, letting himself finally relax in his brother’s arms. He wanted to be told everything would be alright because Lance was in the pod. Because Lance was safe. Because Lance would heal and he could forgive himself.

Once Coran deemed his heart rate “safe”, Keith put on his own suit and stepped into a pod, his eyes slipping shut only to open them after what felt like only seconds later. In reality, he had been in there for about an hour.

The rest of the team was in the room, already returned from their own respective missions and eager to find out what happened. The glass popped open, the freezing air hissing out of the sides as Keith sucked in a breath. Hunk was the one to catch him when he fell out, presumably there to watch over his best friend. As soon as Keith was fully awake, he was pestered with questions from the whole team.

“What happened out there?”

“Are you feeling better?”

“How did Lance get those cuts on his face?”

“Was the mission successful?”

Keith was overwhelmed. His body might have felt refreshed, but mentally, he was still exhausted. Every time he opened his mouth to answer, his words got caught in his throat, threatening to choke him. He ran out of the room before they could reach out and stop him.

He could feel the panic rearing its ugly head in his chest and struggled to remain calm. Not now, he tried telling it. The anxieties and doubts were relentless, firing off in his head one after the other.

God, this was all his fault. He did this to Lance. His teammate was still frozen behind a pod and he almost died.

No, Lance would be fine. He was in a pod and healing, it’s going to be alright. Lance is alive.

He ran faster until he could barely move his legs. The war in his mind was an endless loop of recycled arguments and fears.

In the end, Shiro found him holed up in his room hidden underneath the covers hours later. He entered the room soundlessly, standing in the doorway and looking at the lump of blankets that was Keith. Shiro sat on the end of the bed, the mattress dipping underneath his weight.

Keith was still for a moment before moving himself, poking his head out from beneath the blankets and resting it in Shiro’s lap. His eyes were red and puffy, but neither of them mentioned it. The room was quiet minus the humming of the castle. Like this, Keith could almost convince himself that he was okay.

“Lance is doing fine,” Shiro started, Keith wincing. Shiro always knew what was bothering him, no matter what it was.

“But what about…” Keith gestured to his face lamely, not wanting to say it aloud. He didn’t think he would be able to get it out of his mouth anyway.

He saw Shiro bite the inside of his cheek and his stomach plummeted. “Well, Coran had a few things to say about that.”

There was a weighted pause, nothing like the peaceful silence from before.

“The cuts got infected. You two were out there for almost a day, which was long enough for this space infection to get into Lance’s system. I forgot the exact word Coran used. It’s non-fatal, so don’t worry about that, he will be fine.”

Keith felt some of the tension in his body relax.

“But it damaged his skin, his face in particular. The muscle underneath was completely shredded and it was exposed for too long for the pods to fix it. So he’s going to have…”

“He’s going to have scars on his face, Keith.”

It felt like a bombshell just dropped on top of Keith, his head swimming. He felt sick as he sat up in a flurry, not wanting to believe this was happening. “But why can’t the pods fix it? Isn’t it just like any other wound?”

Shiro shook his head. “It’s too damaged for the pods to repair it, Keith. The only thing they can do is replace the damage with scar tissue, which can’t be taken away. Just like how the pods can’t remove my scars.”

Keith let his hands drop into his lap. His eyes stung again, already sore from crying earlier. Shiro wrapped his human arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a comforting one-armed embrace. Keith leaned into the warmth of his chest but refused to let any tears drop.

“It’s all my fault,” he croaked, pinching the inside of his palm. Shiro’s embrace grew tighter.

“Don’t say that. You did your best and it’s because of that he’s still here. You helped him, Keith. You saved his life.”

Keith felt his hands trembling and pinched harder. No, Shiro didn’t understand. It was Keith’s fault Lance was hurt in the first place. If he had just cared more, if he was paying more attention to his surroundings. It should have mattered more to him instead of acting indifferent.

But he kept his mouth shut, not ready to talk about it just yet. Instead, he hid his face and welcomed his brother’s comfort while he could get it.

~~~

It wasn’t until the next day when Keith went to go see Lance again.

He woke up in his bed bleary and disoriented, Shiro laying next to him snoring peacefully. Keith couldn’t help but smile, grateful that the other had gotten sleep last night. He got up and slipped into a fresh pair of clothes before walking down to the medbay, not bothering to take a shower or get something to eat.

The medbay was cold and empty. The cryopod in the center of the room still held Lance, the monitor displaying his vitals and heartbeat. Keith sat in front of the glass with his back pressed against it, leaning his head back and feeling the whir of machinery. His eyes slipped shut as he listened to the steady beeping of Lance’s heart, breathing in time with it.

Lance was fine, he tried to convince himself. He was going to be okay.

The rest of the team drifted in and out of the room throughout the day. Hunk came to check up on Lance, but then switched his focus to Keith. When the red paladin didn’t respond to his words and concerned questions, he left the room and came back later with a bowl of food and a blanket.

The food went untouched, but Keith appreciated the gesture anyway.

Pidge came in and didn’t do anything other than lean against Keith without a word, her computer in her lap as she typed away on the keyboard. Keith allowed her to work against him, knowing that even she needed comfort and reassurance from time to time, even if she had a hard time voicing that. Eventually, she packed up her things and left just as quietly as when she came in.

Allura tried pressing him. She pestered him with question after question even when she knew she wasn’t going to get answers. How did Lance get injured? What happened to your lion? How did all of this happen?

In the end, she gave up with a sigh, patting the top of his head lightly before exiting the room.

Coran came in periodically to check Lance’s vitals, saying nothing with his mouth, but a lot with his eyes. The sympathetic looks he kept throwing were grating on Keith’s nerves, but he kept his knees tucked in and his head resting on top of them.

He fell asleep like that, never making it back to his room.

Then, he was awoken in the middle of the night by a loud, familiar beep. Keith had just stood up when the glass opened, leaving Lance to fall out like a broken doll. He caught the blue paladin in his arms, his body limp and not fully awake.

He lowered Lance onto the ground, his throat growing tight when he caught sight of the blue paladin’s face. Even in the dim lighting, he could see the scars that ripped through his skin. Keith didn’t look for too long.

Lance groaned and opened his eyes slowly, looking around the room before his gaze locked with Keith’s. He felt the air being ripped out of his lungs when he looked into his teammate’s eyes, forgetting how breathtaking they could be. The scratches didn’t seem to have taken away Lance’s vision, thank the lord for small miracles.

Lance sat up from Keith’s arms and yawned, pressed a hand to his forehead. “What… Ugh, my head.”

Keith lowered him back down, his cheeks flushed red when he realized how intimate their position could be interpreted as. “We were picked up by the castle. What do you remember?” Was it worse than he thought? What if Lance got some sort of amnesia?

He could see the gears whirring in Lance’s head as everything came back to him, his expression darkening when it all clicked into place. “W-We finished the mission and I was… Hurt.” Such weighted words. “The cuts got infected and then... I think I passed out.”

Keith nodded his head, secretly relieved. Okay, no brain trauma. He bit the inside of his lip when his eyes got caught on the scars again. Lance didn’t seem to notice them yet and Keith didn’t know how he would react. His grip tightened.

“How are you feeling now?”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “Greasy. My skin probably broke out after not washing it.” He ran a hand through his own hair, groaning in disgust when it got caught in the clumps of dry blood still caked there. “Eugh, what the fuck!”

The blue paladin stood up quickly and out of Keith’s arms, practically running out of the room. “Lance, wait-”

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to take a shower. I can’t believe you guys didn’t wash this out of my hair before sticking me in the pod. That’s just plain old nasty!” the blue paladin shouted over his shoulder.

And before Keith could stop and warn him, or even just explain things a little further, Lance was already out of the room. He sat there in a daze before hopping onto his feet, chasing after the other.

He didn’t want Lance to be alone, not when he learned that… He stopped that train of thought, dreading when it would finally come. Or maybe it was him who didn’t want to be alone.

~~~

Lance stepped into his own room with a sense of familiarity, glad to be back. No offense to Keith, but he needed some… Alone time. Just to get himself together before he faced the rest of the team. Nothing that a good shower couldn’t fix.

Peeling himself out of the cryosuit (eugh, it was taking off a second skin), he tied his fluffy blue robe around himself and stepping into the bathroom. He flicked the light switch on and froze when he spotted himself in the mirror.

All the air was ripped out of his lungs and suddenly, he felt detached from his own body. The temperature of the air in the room seemed to plummet. Who was that looking back at him? That couldn’t be him, could it? Lance slowly moved toward the mirror, an outstretched hand touching the glass gingerly.

Right over the long, angry scars over the reflection’s face.

They ripped straight down the side, jagged and fresh, but for the most part, healed. The pink lines ran through the eyebrow to the bottom of the chin, giving a jarring appearance. The person in the reflection looked weary, their eyes dark and tired as well as wide and distressed.

Lance’s fingers slipped off the glass as he touched his own face, watching as the person in the mirror did the same. He saw the tears welling in his eyes, but they did not drop.

Oh god. This was him.

Touching the scars didn’t hurt. They were long and thick, rising up from the rest of his face as he ran his fingers over his skin. He pressed down on it with his nail, hissing when it throbbed. He reached up to touch the beginning of the long scar, feeling where part of his eyebrow had been scratched off and would never grow back.

He didn’t… He didn’t look like Lance anymore.

There was a stranger looking at him in the mirror.

Lance didn’t know how long he stood there, frozen to the ground. His eyes were glued to the mirror, his fingers continually rubbing, poking, and prodding at his… New face. He only snapped out of it when he heard a knocking on the door. His hands came away from his skin and he realized that his nails were digging into the scars. He got distracted by the deep red crescent moons on his cheek.

The knocks were louder this time.

Lance exited the bathroom, switching off the lights and ripping his eyes away from the mirror as the door closed. With shaky hands, he tightened his robe and stopped just in front of the door, taking a deep breath before opening it. As expected, Keith was on the other side. He didn’t miss the way the red paladin glanced down at his barely-dressed body, his ears red. At this point, Lance was too tired to revel in it.

Keith was pinching his hands again, his eyes flickering to the fingernail marks on Lance’s face. “Are you…”

Lance sighed, about to run a hand over his face before he stopped himself. His hand dropped back to his side and he shrugged, avoiding Keith’s gaze.

“Can I come in?”

Lance stepped aside to let Keith in, his arms wrapped around himself. Normally, he would feel jittery about having his rival (read: mega crush) in his room, but he was too weary. Even though he just came out of the pod, he was so tired.

Keith sat on the edge of Lance’s bed and patted the empty side next to him. Lance didn’t even protest, walking over silently and sitting next to the red paladin. He sat straight up, not knowing if he could lean on the other or not.

“Do you think this is karma?” Lance said quietly. His body felt heavy. Maybe that was the guilt weighing down on him.

Keith was quiet, side-eyeing the blue paladin. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just…” Lance sighed heavily, mentally cursing when his eyes stung. “This all happened because I-” He faltered, his throat tight and mouth dry. “Because I killed that k-kid.”

Lance jolted when Keith snatched up his hand in his, the grip so tight that his fingers ground against each other. Keith’s eyes were angry, but there was another emotion in there. The sincerity and understanding that swam in his gaze made Lance light-headed.

“Don’t you dare say that. You didn’t mean to do it and you tried to save him. It’s not your fault he didn’t want the help.”

Lance turned his head away, trying to hide the tears in his eyes. “I wanted to forget,” he whispered. “And I knew it was selfish, Keith. I was completely aware.” A stray tear slipped from his eye and he let it trail down his cheek.

A calloused hand touched the scarred side of Lance’s face affectionately, guiding his head back up to meet Keith’s eyes. They were so soft that he wanted to never look away. Keith wiped away the single tear with his thumb, careful not to press against the scarred skin. “I wanted to forget the feeling, too. It was, no, is a hard thing to live with. It never goes away, Lance. Not ever.”

Lance’s furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

Keith’s grip on his hand tightened even more if that was possible. “I know what you’re going through, Lance. I’ve… I’ve seen it too. I’ve done it too.”

Lance’s eyes grew impossibly wide, his jaw dropping. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even consider that-”

Keith cut him off by pinching his lips together between his thumb and pointer. “Stop, it’s fine. I’ve had time to reflect on it and let me tell you something, Lance.”

“It’s okay if you want to try and forget, but it’s never going to happen, at least, not completely. You should instead keep the memories and learn from them. Learn from your mistakes, push forward. Try to save more lives, but remember the ones you took.”

Keith’s voice grew thick and Lance wasn’t surprised to see his eyes watering. Lance took one of his hands away and cradled Keith’s cheek. They both sat there on the bed for a long time, reflecting to themselves in their own heads while touching each other to keep themselves grounded. Their hands were clasped together in their laps and the others touching the other’s face. As time passed, they slowly gravitated towards each other until their foreheads touched, neither of them moving away. It was different than when they butted head during arguments. It was more… Intimate than usual.

“It’s hard,” Lance murmured.

“I know,” Keith whispered, looking deep into Lance’s eyes and absentmindedly admiring the color.

The silence returned before suddenly, Lance snickered uncontrollably. He struggled to get himself to stop before choking out, “Well, I sure won’t be able to forget. It’s written all over my face.”

It took a moment for Keith to get it, but when he did, he sputtered and broke away from the contact, laughing loudly. “Oh my god, that was awful. And here I thought-”

It was Lance’s turn to silence Keith. Without a word, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Keith’s, nothing more than a prolonged peck. Lance pulled away before Keith could do anything, only then registering what he just did.

It was like his face exploded with red, sputtering and waving around his hands erratically. “Oh, oh God. I’m sorry, I should have asked first or something. Um, I’m sorry-”

Keith leaned in and kissed him back, his whole face lit up like a Christmas light. Lance froze before melting into it, pressing back gently and enjoying the feel of the red paladin’s lips. They were more chapped than he thought they would be, but not unpleasantly. His hands found their way into Keith’s hair, pulling him closer as he closed the space between them. Lance lifted his leg over the other and straddled him, only pulling away when he eventually had to come back up for air.

Keith swore he saw stars. “Wow.”

Lance snickered, resting his head on Keith’s shoulder. “Sorry, I just… It felt right.”

Keith tentatively wrapped his arms around Lance’s middle, his back pressed up against the wall. “Why are you saying sorry? I… I liked it. A lot. I really liked it.”

Ugh, he was sputtering now. He could still feel the heat radiating off his face.

Lance chuckled on top of him before sighing. “Thank you, Keith.”

His embrace tightened. “Thank you, Lance.”

Keith fell asleep first, but Lance stayed awake to admire the other’s face up close. His finger traced over the faint freckles dotting the other’s cheeks, half tempted to find a marker and play connect-the-dots. Absentmindedly, he touched his own face, tracing the outlines of the scars forever marked there on his cheek.

It was true he would never forget what happened. The Galra boy was a part of him after that mission. But, the scars gave him something new.

Lance snuggled closer to Keith, letting his own eyes slip shut and breathing in the comforting scent of the red paladin.

Would he go back and change things? He didn’t know anymore.

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swishandflickwit · 7 years

Text

living in color 1/4

Summary: A year following the events of ACOWAR, Feyre tries to build a better world but struggles to cope. How is she supposed to heal the world if she can't even heal herself? Luckily, words are not the only form of expression.

Post-war AU in which the Court of Dreams use art as a form of healing.

WARNING: ACOWAR SPOILERS AHEAD!

Rating: Mature for language and mentions of sexy times.

Read: part i | part ii

Also on: ff.net | AO3

AN: This is my first ACOTAR fan fic. I hope you enjoy it! Next part coming up soon.

If you want to cry about all things ACOTAR (which I pretty much do everyday) with me my chat’s always open :)

part i. green & yellow

“The world is my canvas and I create my reality.” -Unknown

She doesn’t start painting till a year after the war’s end.

The High Lords rarely see eye to eye but despite their differences, peace negotiations finally start to become productive, and Velaris slowly but surely stitches itself back together. She hasn’t been home in weeks, opting to split her time between the private residence in the Night Court and Vassa’s court in the continent instead of winnowing to the town house at the end of every day. Her obligations as High Lady dictate that she be present for nearly every (if not all) meetings amongst the seasonal and solar courts. Her vow to help severe the spell that bounds the rebel human queen to transform into a fiery winged creature during the day means that her pursuit as Cursebreaker is never far behind.

The titles have never felt more prominent as they do now, not even during the war – weighing over her shoulders like an anvil along with all the responsibility they bear. And while she wouldn’t trade her life, her experiences, all of it, for anything… still, Feyre is hard-pressed to find room in her daily routine to catch a break that even nights with Rhys are spent laying side by side and just breathing.

So it’s no surprise that the sight of a paintbrush laying innocently on the sidewalk of the shops that line the Sidra startles her so badly that it stops her in her tracks. She stares at it like it’s a foreign object cause it might as well be, given how long it’s been since she last held such a thing.

Mor doesn’t notice that Feyre is no longer beside her till she’s more than a couple steps away. A small panicked shriek escapes her before she whirls towards the direction they came and she spots her friend hovering in front of an opening of an alley.

“Feyre,” she huffs as she jogs back to her side, “you could at least warn a girl before you drop off like that.”

“Where did this come from?”

The humor falls from Mor’s face at the seriousness in her tone. She frowns.

“It’s a paintbrush.”

Feyre rolls her eyes and gives the blonde a flick on the forehead. “Thanks, genius, I got that.” Mor sticks out her tongue in response. “But what’s it doing here?”

Mor examines the paintbrush, then quickly glances at the alley yawning ahead before the dawn of recognition lights her features.

“Oh!” she exclaims. “They must be moving onto the next phase.”

“The next phase?” Feyre just stares at her in confusion. “The next phase of what?”

“Well, with all the damage inflicted during the Hybern attack, Velaris has been hard at work restoring the parts of the city that were affected the most. The process has been slow, unused as they are to such things but,” a small but proud smile graces her lips, “it appears they’re at the tail end of their plans, if they’ve already moved on to putting on fresh coats of paint.”

Feyre shakes her head, in admiration of her people but mostly in shame. She had no idea this was still going on, the attack having been a little over a year ago. Had she really been that far from home? For so long?

“Show me.”

Mor, who had been ready to resume their walk, whips her head towards her.

“What?”

“Take me to where the reparations are heaviest.”

“Now?”

“I’ll only be a minute.”

Mor looks at her with incredulous eyes. “But Feyre, we’re due to meet with the Palace governors–”

“Please.” She places her hand in Mor’s arm and squeezes. “Please.”

Mor studies her – eyes the tremble in her hand as she withdraws her touch to the haunted gleam in her gaze – and reads the truth etched into the lines of her gaze.

She nods.

“A minute,” she concedes, though they both see it for the lie that it is.

Still, they exchange smiles as they link arms and step into the alley, where Mor leads her through a couple of turns to one of the busy squares of Velaris.

A burst of sunlight hits her face and she has to shield her eyes against the blinding brightness. But when her vision clears, the sight that greets her takes her breath away.

Fae of all kinds, high and low, old and young, different shapes and sizes and color – are scattered about the square, holding various tools necessary for construction and, even this early in the morning, covered in sweat, paint and grime.

But still bright-eyed. Still standing tall.

The ring of laughter, strong and loud amidst what was once a site of destruction, is as much a symphony to her ears as it is a balm to her frayed nerves. The fume of paint is heavy in the air and almost dizzying in its intensity yet it is nothing compared to the proud smiles that are etched upon the expressions of the citizens of Velaris. She eyes the groups that are mixing buckets of paint and rolling fresh coats of their desired colors onto their walls. When was the last time she had even an inkling of a desire to paint something, anything? Surely, longer than Starfall – the itch to hold onto a paintbrush even longer than that.

(She doesn’t count her time playing spy in the Spring Court, every movement, word and image wrapped in a deception then – even her desire to paint.)

The once absent urge to paint, truly paint and not just a wisp of an image, now flares hot and irresistible in her veins. Like a beacon, her gaze is drawn to the lone roller brush nestled innocently amongst the unopened cans of paint and paint trays laid haphazardly in the middle of the square. Perhaps she should have hesitated and reconsidered her presence in the square. She definitely should have never made the venture from the start – her duties call to her, after all.

Yet all it takes is a single heartbeat for the brush to be in her fingers, two to approach a fae and ask if there might be “room for one more set of hands” and just another to dip that brush into a tray of paint – lub – and make an experimental sweep up the length of a wall – dub.

Her heart beats a thunderous rhythm in her chest but in lieu of the wariness she expects to fill her as she holds the brush aloft, she finds anticipation coiling in her bones. Excitement.

“Are you alright, High Lady?”

In this instance, the title makes her blush and automatically she replies, “It’s just Feyre.”

The fae, with yellow-skin and upturned eyes that remind her of Amren save for the soft smile that covers her lips, merely continues with, “I could show you, if you’d like?”

Feyre, heavy with an emotion she cannot place, nods. “Please.”

She’s painted on canvas for sure and on the furniture of their old cottage, but never has she painted walls or storefronts. So she listens and observes with apt attention as the fae, Tyla, instructs her on the basics of wall painting and demonstrates the direction with which she should drag her roller brush, up and down, till her lines form the letter ‘W’ in wide, sweeping strokes.

When she finally does it herself, well… she must look a fool, for all she can do at the moment is stare at the lines of paint she’s swabbed upon the wall, at the brush she holds aloft her, and find wonder in how so simple an action can turn another into something different, something so purely made… anew.

And she did that.

So she stays. She stays in the square, with Mor as she runs amok with the village children (causing more mischief than assistance, much to the adults’ amusement and fond exasperation) and with Tyla, Feyre tailing after her and following in her tasks – till every roughened surface is sanded to silky smoothness and every chip and gap is made whole again with the right plaster. Then she paints. She paints one coat to patch up the uneven coloring of the current store’s building materials, two for evenness and three for protection and reinforcement. She paints till she can no longer see the cracks that once lined the walls, as if every stroke of her roller brush brings with it the ability to heal and mend (she ignores the voice within that asks her if she’s still talking about the wall, or is she referring to herself). She paints till her mind quiets and the brush is nothing but an extension of herself and she paints and she paints and she paints.

Lub.

Paint.

Dub.

Brush.

Lub.

Stroke.

Dub.

Breathe.

It’s probably why she doesn’t notice him till he’s directly behind her. She jumps at his smooth voice whispering silkily at her ear.

“That looks wonderful.”

She lets out an undignified shriek, the hand holding the brush flailing as she reaches up to cup her throat and she squeaks out his name. He laughs.

“Hello, mate.”

He winds an arm around her waist and kisses her brow. She sighs into his embrace. “Hi,” she breathes into the skin of his neck, and they stay just as they are – the noise of the square fading into a dull thrum as they remain wrapped up in each other and they share their day in an exchange privy to just the two of them.

What are you doing here? She asks.

I missed you. The words are a soft whisper in her mind and she hums in response. His voice is laced in amusement though, when he continues with, as did the governors, when you didn’t show up at their meeting.

She abruptly pulls away at the words, her eyes wide as saucers when she lets out a curse. Rhys only laughs harder, pulling her close and nuzzling into her neck even as she groans miserably into his shoulder.

“Oh Cauldron, I must have lost track of time! And the governors…” She shakes her head. “Are they angry?”

“More worried for you than anything.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s the High Lords of Prythian I’m more concerned about.”

“The High Lords?”

“I thought that the meeting could wait another day, and I told them as much. Beron, of course, threw a fit.” Rhys rolls his eyes again, an action she happily mirrors. She makes a mental note to discuss with her mate their bargain with Eris and his plans to depose his father, later. “Regardless, I told them they were free to carry on without the Night Court present.” She raises her eyebrows expectantly, as if knowing that isn’t the end of it. Her thoughts are confirmed when the look she gives him urges him to divulge, “All right, so maybe I gave them a…” he smirks, “gentle, reminder of who they were dealing with.” An image of the most powerful High Lord in centuries in his true form echoes through her mind, and she shakes her head in exasperation. What she’s come to realize about her mate is that some days, the mask is harder to shake off than other days. He huffs at her look. “What? Like they know what to do with themselves without us!”

He shakes his head then turns to her, a sudden seriousness overcoming his features. “When I heard of my High Lady’s absence, naturally, I was concerned.” Sorry, she whispers sheepishly. He just holds her to him even closer and places a chaste kiss to her neck. Nothing to forgive. You come first. Our family and our court come first. Always, is what he says with a warm smile before continuing. “Even if I’d already arrived at the Dawn Court, I was ready to winnow back here, but I figured I should check with Mor first. She told me where you were, what you were doing.”

She frowns. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Your shields were up.” Her eyebrows raise in surprise. “Nothing I couldn’t get through, if I really needed to.” Even as he says it she can feel him there, a gentle hand caressing the walls of her mind that she’s barricaded – quite loosely, now that she’s aware.

“But there was something calm about their presence, peaceful. Like the solitude was a comfort, a way for you to center yourself.” He shrugs, as if the action of leaving her alone when he was probably worrying himself sick isn’t a big deal. “It didn’t feel right to intrude.”

He shifts so that her back is to his front and his arms encircle her. “I’m glad I didn’t.” He rests his chin on her shoulder. “Look at everything you’ve accomplished here, on your own.”

“It’s just paint,” she mumbles, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks at the praise, “and I was hardly alone…” But even as she says the words, pride seeps into her veins at the work she’s done, small as it may be, here in the city and with the people that she loves so much.

“I mean it you know, this place looks even better than it did before.” It’s true, the fresh paint of the square glistens beautifully under the afternoon sun. But Feyre thinks it’s not so much the look of the buildings but rather, it’s the expressions in everyone’s faces as they, too, admire the square and beam at the storefronts – pride and healing outweighing the exhaustion of a hard day’s work.

“Rita better watch out,” he jokes and they share a laugh, content to let the hustle and bustle of the city pass by them. He entwines their fingers. “You’re painting,” he whispers, his breath hot against the back of her hand as he brushes his lips on a smear of dried paint there. She swallows heavily.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “It felt…” she struggles to convey just how much this moment means to her, how burdened she’s felt the past year – trying to fix so much of this broken world when she hasn’t even gotten a moment to catch a breath and process. Yet every stroke of the brush felt like a brush on her soul, patching up the parts of her that have been battered and hurt by the events of the war. The closest she could compare it to was –

“Like flying,” she utters, recalling their first ever flight together post-war and the feeling of freedom and hope it had given her – that her promise to the Suriel of building a world that would be better than she left it now, would be fulfilled. Yes, the events in the square that day were ones she’d akin to, “healing.”

“It’s been a hard year,” Rhys says in quiet understanding, the prior assumption (or should they have known it was mere fantasy?) that things would be easier after Hybern left unspoken but weighing heavy in the air between them. She agrees.

“It has, but…” She catches Tyla’s eye and the fae gives her a happy wave before bounding over to Mor, who remains engaged with the children but this time accompanied by the remaining paint, drawing figures and colors on the young ones’ faces. Feyre smiles. “I guess I just forgot…”

A burst of laughter erupts somewhere in the square and Rhys turns at the catch of her breath. His concern fades when he catches the expression on her face. Feyre laughs quietly when a group of fae shriek. The children have apparently tired of the art aspect of the day and begun a paint fight amongst themselves, their dreaded next target the older faes. At the head of their assembly stands who else but Mor, the biggest child amongst them – leading her little paint warriors into the fray of adults.

Despite his confusion, his lips melt into a crooked smile. “Forgot what?”

Another ray of yellow sunlight bursts through the clouds and the brick of the square floor glimmers.

“I’ve been so focused on trying to purge all the bad from the world,” But Feyre’s gaze is brighter – like all that is light in this life was born right there, right in her eyes. “I forgot about the part of it that was already good.”

She nods to herself. “I’m going to paint again.”

He grins excitedly. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh. In fact, I’m going to start…” a calculating look overcomes her face and it doesn’t occur to him to sift through the bond till it’s too late and she’s shouting, “now!”

A bucket of paint appears in Feyre’s hands just as Mor winnows behind him and all at once – The most powerful High Lord in Prythian, Night given form and Death Incarnate, finds himself soaked all the way through.

With paint.

And nothing so flattering on his color like the violet of his eyes or the jet-black hue of his hair or even the golden brown of his skin. Rather, the two demons have doused him in the most mortifying shade of green paint ever created in all of existence.

Rhys can only stand in shock, the latex already stiffening onto his skin, his hair (thank the Cauldron he didn’t have his wings out), as Mor cackles behind him. Then she saunters, saunters, to his wife’s side.

His wife. His mate, his queen and his equal in every way… who is now doubled over laughing her ass off. At him.

The High Lady and his cousin are bent at the waist, Mor’s hand on Feyre’s shoulder like she needs the support lest she falls to the ground. She wipes a tear from her eye.

“Oh Feyre, I admit I’ve yet to see any of your paintings but,” she takes one look at Rhys before erupting in giggles again. “But this,” she hiccups once she catches her breath and makes a sweeping gesture towards Rhys, “has got to be your greatest masterpiece yet!”

Feyre bites her lip. “You’re not wrong.”

His jaw drops. “Brazen, wicked thing.” She waits till he rubs the paint off his eyes to shoot him a feral grin.

Strangely, he purrs down the bond. I am both angry and aroused. Her grin widens. He shakes his head, as if it will dislodge the lustful thoughts circling his brain. He makes a show of command by glaring. Mostly angry, make no mistake.

“You two, are in big trouble.”

Feyre smirks, outwardly unruffled despite the sizzle of heat that tingles down her spine. “Is the big, bad Illyrian coming out to get us?”

“Oh I’m so scared!” Mor adds, feigning a faint as she leans against Feyre. The two break out in laughter again and Rhys, in annoyance, shakes his head at the pair, causing paint to fly everywhere. The girls hardly flinch, flicking off splatters from their skin as they snicker between themselves and comment about how the green clashes horribly with the wounded look in his eyes, which flash as their teasing only serves to raise his hackles.

He summons his magic, intending to splash them with the paint from his body, when this time his cousin yells, “Attack!” and the kids launch a handful of paint at him.

And, High Lord he may be but Rhys is not ashamed to admit that the girlish shriek heard across the square comes entirely from him as he runs from the pint-sized cavalry, and for his life.

(Dramatic as always, my lord, Feyre teases down the bond.)

Just as Rhys manages to free himself from the clutches of the little ones, he launches himself on Feyre who, caught off guard, slips on a small puddle of paint, and though Rhys manages to wrap his arms around her and take the brunt of the fall, the trip down remains as unpleasant as ever.

You’re going to pay for this, he says. This time, it’s Feyre who says with a purr, I look forward to it.

At this point, the older faes have joined the brawl – using their magic to build forts and find creative ways to launch paint bombs at each other, much to the children’s (and, admittedly, the adult’s) entertainment.

The square becomes a battlefield – albeit a joyful one – to replace the more horrifying one that took place before because today, they paint a new memory here, onto the walls, the loam and the very foundation of this square.

Rhys, ever the general, commandeers his own battalion of young and older faes and Feyre takes a moment to just stop and appreciate the scene before her as she sees everyone having such a grand time – her family members included, because it seems to hit her over again that there was a time when she could have lost this, lost it all.

And the square is a mess, true.

Still, she finds.

It could not have looked any better.

(That night, Rhys makes good on his promise that she “pay” by using his entire sexual arsenal on her – tongue, fingers, cock, everything – only to pull back just as she reaches the very brink.

The blessing – or in this case, the damn curse – with being immortal is that they have the leisure of time, and each fucking time she gets close to completion …

The payoff, however, is amazing – when the light of dawn breaks and they chase the shadows from Rhys’ face. It reminds her.

There is no light without darkness.

And her dark, fallen prince is all aglow when he enters her just as she least expects it and brings her to the edge of that golden peak once more. With that one, swift move she shatters around him in an orgasm so powerful.

This time, it is her keening that makes the mountains tremble.)

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kaen-ace-of-diamonds · 7 years

Text

Homecoming

(AO3 Link) (FF.Net Link)

Word Count: 3300+ (Chapter 2)

(Chapter 1)

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: One-sided Emerald/Cinder

Characters: Cinder Fall, Salem, Arthur Watts, Emerald Sustrai.

Summary: Making it out of Beacon alive turned out to be the easy part of the whole disaster. Returning home in agony and shame, learning how to take the first steps forward into living in this newly broken state…That, Cinder has decided, is definitely going to be the hard part.

Warnings for mild gore/eye trauma and a panic attack being handled absolutely horribly.

~0~

“My breathing gets faster and so does my heartbeat

I wish this was over, I wish that this was a dream, but - !

I created a monster, a hell within my head

Nowhere to go, I’m out on my own; oh, I’m so scared...”

- Nightmare, Set It Off

~0~

As she slowly floated back up into consciousness, the first thing Cinder became aware of was pain. There was a dull burning in her chest, in her face, in her arm, that spread and grew sharper with every second.

What...What happened to me?

Everything was dark, and her body felt so heavy and stiff. She tried to move, but found that she couldn't. From very far away, she heard a series of tiny, muffled whimpers.

“Ah. She's waking up.”

What? Had those noises been her? No, there was no way. She would never sound so pitiful.

Her eyes felt as if they had been glued shut - well, one of them did, the other just felt strange beneath the burn, in a way she couldn’t place. With what seemed like much more effort than it should have taken, she forced one eye open, and the piercing white of the walls and ceiling above her stung and made it water.

Where am I? Am I...I shouldn’t...Wasn’t I somewhere else?

“Cinder.”

Her right eye immediately flicked over towards the gentle voice at that side, though it made her nauseatingly dizzy even to do that. Despite her confusion, despite whatever was wrong with her vision, seeing Salem’s familiar face calmed her somewhat.

Home. I'm home...? But why?

She startled, sending a jolt of pain through her chest, when Salem laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Cinder, can you hear me?”

That was something simple, at least. She started to open her mouth to say an automatic, Yes, ma’am, but her mouth and throat felt so raw and swollen, and it hurt to even breathe. She wondered fleetingly if she’d had some sort of tube down her throat while unconscious. After failing to produce anything more than a weak exhale, a jerk of her head was all she could manage.

“Very good. Listen carefully, now. Your mouth and throat were badly damaged, so either nod or shake your head when I ask you something. Do you understand?”

Damaged?! How?! She tried again to ask, but panicked choking noises were all that came out. What is going on? What happened to me?!

“Calm down,” Salem said, gently but firmly. “And listen. You completed your mission. You did everything just right, there’s no need to worry. However, on Beacon Tower, you were - ”

But the rest of her words were lost as the memories came flash-flooding back into Cinder’s mind, hitting her like a punch, throwing her back into --

Cold night sky above Beacon, the dragon’s screech and the girl’s wailing in her ears, blinding burning light pouring over her in waves, caught in a star going supernova, tearing her screams away as pain beyond pain overwhelms her, searing flesh from bone, burning burning burning her alive -

And in one horrible split second, everything clicked into place.

Oh...No, oh, gods, please, no - !

Her arm, it had hit her left arm first. She tried to lift it, to make a fist, to do anything at all with it. But though she could still feel it hanging off of her, it wouldn’t move, just lay there limp and useless at her side.

No, this isn't happening!

Her left leg moved, but searing pain lanced through it at the slight twitch. Bandages were wound around her face, she realized, thick and far too tight. But despite that, she couldn't feel her ear against them, only flat skin against the rough cloth...Was it gone?!

And the eye, her eye...

Cinder remembered feeling something burst, remembered visceral, boiling liquid gushing down her cheek, but that couldn’t be right, it couldn’t. She tried to blink under the bandage, to glance back and forth, but though her right eye closed and moved as it should, she felt nothing at all in her left. She tried again, faster, and again and again, and still nothing, still nothing!

She realized then that she was trying to scream, but only a guttural, terrified rasp was coming up from her burnt throat.

No! No, no, no, no, please, no! Not this!

Reflexively, she tried to lurch out of the infirmary bed, heedless of the pain it caused her, only to be firmly held down. “Cinder, calm yourself,” Salem repeated, her hand tightening on her subordinate’s shoulder.

I can’t! I’m sorry! I can’t!

Her vision blurred and swam, and the world spun wildly around her. Salem was still talking -- trying to soothe her? Reprimanding her? She didn’t know. Though she tried, she couldn’t hear any of it over the shrill ringing in her ears and the spinning mess of panicked thoughts in her head.

Can’t move can't hear can’t see can’t move can't hear can't see can’t move can’t hear can’t see

Her heart raced harder than it ever had in her life, so hard it hurt, so hard she was sure it would stop cold any moment. She was breathing too fast and not enough, her chest was seizing up, like something had a death grip on her throat and lungs and just wouldn’t let go. Everything was closing in on her -- the walls, her mistress, her own destroyed body -- and all she wanted to do was get away, but her numb and shaking body wouldn’t move.

Can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe - !

“Cinder - ” Salem trailed off into a sigh, realizing that mindless terror was all she was going to get out of the girl at the moment, and looked up past the bed at something Cinder couldn’t see. “Put her back under.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said a voice she recognized as Watts’, and she picked up on the sound of softly approaching footsteps behind her.

What?! No, wait, don’t - !

But before she could do anything, something cold was running through a vein of her intact arm, up into her head, and all of a sudden she could no longer form coherent thoughts, her mind a directionless haze. For a second, she felt as if she were sinking into the sweat-soaked sheets of the infirmary bed, then floating, and then she knew no more.

~0~

She didn’t know how long it was before she was awake again.

Her eyes -- eye, she remembered with a jolt, that woke her up even faster -- fluttered open more easily than last time, but the heaviness and spinning in her head still remained; whatever she’d been shot up with had been strong, she thought with a shade of irritation. It didn’t help: the world still swam in front of her and the memories, the fear, came rushing back through her far too quickly.

Again, she tried to jerk her body up, into at least a sitting position, but the searing pain that shot through her chest at the motion sent her down onto her back again. Almost immediately, someone was taking her undamaged hand, enveloping it in two of their own. She jumped, thinking of Salem, but then realized at once that that was wrong. These hands were slender, warmer, softer...

“I-It’s okay. Just...Just lie still, all right?”

Cinder froze. She knew that voice.

Her vision was still cloudy but slowly clearing, and she looked up again, hoping she’d been wrong. But no, she’d been exactly right. The smile Emerald put on when their eyes met was trying to be comforting, encouraging, but it was too shaky and small to be anything but nervous. And the way those red eyes stared down at her broken body, with a poorly hidden mix of horror and pity, made her stomach go cold.

No, no, a tiny, mortified voice at the back of her mind protested. You can’t be here, you can’t see me like this...

But despite her gut reaction, she wasn’t entirely sure whether her good arm shot out towards the younger girl to push her away or pull her closer. It didn't matter either way; the instant she moved, Emerald was laying her arm back down onto the sheets and tentatively holding it there.

“Don't, don't do that,” she murmured. “You still have that IV tube stuck in you, it'll hurt if you tear it out.”

On some level, Cinder knew full well that she looked ridiculous. But any embarrassment she felt was drowned out by how loudly her heart was still pounding in her ears, how pathetically desperate she was for something to calm her. So without thinking about it, she grabbed Emerald’s wrist and held on tight, tugging her closer, trying to speak.

“Ehh...Ehh...” She choked and whimpered, and hated herself for it, sharply and deeply. If she just kept trying, she thought hysterically, her voice would come back. It had to, it had to! “Eh-ehhh!”

Emerald’s eyes widened. “I...” She swallowed hard, and though her voice was steady enough, it was clearly taking a lot to keep it that way. “It's okay. Y-You don't have to talk, not right now. Not if it's hurting you. It's all right, I...I’ll help you. Just breathe, okay? Slow and easy, with me. You're all right. Y-You're going to be all right. Breathe...”

The words only half registered with her, but the soothing tone was enough to slow her mind down enough to listen, to make her realize that she was close to hyperventilating again and that her throat still felt like it was on fire, only made worse by how hard she was straining it.

Breathe. Okay. Okay. Slow. Easy...

She had to focus. She tore her eyes away from Emerald’s face, instead watching her shoulders and chest rise and fall, steady and calm.

In, out...In, out...In, out...

It took a good few minutes for her own breathing to get anywhere near normal. Though she knew that the death grip she still had on Emerald’s arm had to hurt, she couldn't make herself relax it, let alone let go. Emerald didn't react, however; she was still murmuring comfort to her, still gently stroking her forearm.

But even so, her fingers rested hesitantly on Cinder’s skin, as if afraid to be touching her without permission. And yes, that same little voice was telling Cinder that she would never allow Emerald to handle her this way, to tell her what she should do instead of the other way around, but in this moment she could not for the life of her remember why. Nor could she remember how to make her heart stop pounding, her body stop trembling, how to make the fear she knew was written plainly on her face go away -

“Is this better?”

To her immense relief, Cinder only jumped a little at the voice on her other side and the cold fingers in her hair. Stop doing that! she wanted to shout, but she knew that even if she could speak, she wouldn’t have dared.

If Salem noticed her irritation, she didn’t show it, only smiled serenely. “You seem to be adjusting. Very good. I thought bringing your teammate in would help keep you calm.”

Cinder glanced back at Emerald. Well, it had worked, she supposed. There was no way she was going to let herself break down like that again in front of her subordinates, whether that had been Salem’s true intention or not. She had humiliated herself enough.

“Now,” Salem went on, bringing Cinder’s attention back to her. “Are the painkillers working?”

Cinder thought for a moment, then nodded. She still felt as if she'd been skinned alive and dumped in a vat of boiling water, but the pain wasn't nearly as unbearable as before.

“Are you ready to listen to me?”

Nod.

“Can you answer when I ask you a question?”

Nod.

“Will you control yourself until we’re finished?”

Nod, with a reflexive squeeze of Emerald’s arm to go with it.

“Good girl. As I told you before: you were badly wounded on Beacon Tower as you neared the end of your mission. You’ve noticed by now what you’ve lost, I doubt I need to remind you. I know that you're frightened and upset, and I forgive you for overreacting earlier,” Salem assured her, with a gentle stroke of her hair -- which, she realized, felt as if most of it had been singed off.

At the last few words, Emerald looked alarmed, and glanced between them for an answer that neither of them cared to give. Cinder wondered how much Salem had told her before allowing her back to her leader’s side, but just nodded at her mistress again, hoping she would recognize it as gratitude.

“Do you remember being injured?”

Nod, nod, nod.

“You...Hm. I wish you could tell me, what is the last thing you remember?”

Before Cinder’s brain could catch up with her body, she was already trying to lift her head and answer. “Ahhh - ”

“Hush.” Salem’s hand moved down to cup her jaw. “Understand, my girl, that your wounds are treatable, but not if you insist on making them worse.”

A tiny, chastised noise escaped Cinder’s throat, and she lay still. Emerald looked stricken. “I-I think you could - ”

She broke off, looking for all the world like a puppy caught misbehaving. Salem smiled indulgently at her. “Don't be afraid, child. What did you have in mind?”

“Well...” Emerald looked down at Cinder. “Do you want to try, maybe, tracing the letters into my hand? Like...” She took Cinder’s hand and ran her finger over her palm: A, B, C. “That?”

Cinder supposed that that was better than nothing. She flipped Emerald’s hand over and traced the lines into her palm with one unsteady finger: L-I-G-H-T.

“...Light?” Emerald read, brows furrowing. “White light, right? That's what Mercury and I saw.”

Nod, nod, and she was still writing. H-U-R-T-S-O-M-U-C-H

“Hurt...Hurts...” Emerald swallowed again, but it wasn't enough to hold back the pain in her voice. “It hurt so much.”

W-H-A-T-W-A-S-I-T

“What...was...Wait, you didn't know?!”

“You were caught off-guard. We all were,” Salem cut in smoothly, before Cinder could answer. She paused, considering how to explain. Both girls were silent, watching her, waiting. “There exist in this world certain people, who were born with great power dormant in their souls. And until that power is awakened and unleashed in some way, the only way to identify them is by their silver eyes. Your teammates have orders to kill on sight any silver-eyed person they come across. I was under the impression that they had extinguished the last of their kind’s presence in Vale long ago, years before you came to us, and so it would be safe to send you there now.”

Cinder couldn’t help it; she stared, jaw hanging open. Even if she weren’t wounded, she wouldn’t have been able to speak. A thousand questions choked her, all pushing to be asked at once: What? What are you talking about? Who are those people? What did that girl do?! How could she be stronger than me?! How could you not tell me?!

“Clearly, I was misinformed. One must have been overlooked. And she managed to find you, after...” Salem paused again, looking at Cinder curiously. “This was after you claimed the Maiden’s power. I wonder...How, exactly, did she find you when this happened? Did she attack immediately? Or did you do anything to frighten or upset her?”

Oh, had she ever. She remembered the sound of her arrow hitting home, piercing Nikos’ heart and spine, and a flicker of the fierce satisfaction she had felt at the act returned. But it faded just as soon as it had come, at the memory of what had come immediately after...

No. She had to answer, focus on now. She nodded, and wrote: I-K-I-L-L-E-D-N-I-K-O-S.

“Killed...Oh. Her.” Emerald turned to Salem. “She was fighting the girl that Ozpin wanted to turn into a Maiden instead. Ruby’s friend; supposed to be really strong. We got rid of her, but...”

“The silver-eyed girl arrived, and found Cinder at the wrong place, at exactly the wrong time,” Salem finished. “I see. I should have been expecting Ozpin to be keeping an ace up his sleeve...”

None of that meant anything to Cinder right now. She continued to stare up at her mistress, unable to form anything but a pleading expression. What’s going to happen to me now? What am I going to do?

For a moment, the room was unsettlingly silent, save for the noise of her heart monitor and the steady drip-drip of her IV bag, as Salem seemed to be mulling something over. Then, as if abruptly remembering where she was, she looked back down at Cinder, and the reassuring smile returned to her face. “It’s all right, Cinder. This was in no way your fault. You completed your mission admirably, on all counts, did you not?”

Nod, nod, but at the moment, not one little bit did that help.

“Now, I know you told me that you would make this part your highest priority, after obtaining the powers of Fall, and I know you would never lie to me. But I would so love to hear it confirmed.” Salem’s voice was already starting to drip with self-satisfaction as she spoke. “Did you kill Ozpin?”

A ghost of a smile passed over Cinder’s face. The sparks flying and fire flashing in front of her eyes in the dark vault, the sweet smell of flesh burnt black and hot ashes sifting through her fingers...Remembering that did make her feel somewhat better. She scratched shakily into Emerald’s palm: B-U-R-N-E-D-H-I-M-A-L-I-V-E.

“...She burned him alive,” Emerald reported. “He...Yeah, he’s definitely dead.”

“Excellent,” Salem said. She stroked Cinder’s hair again -- almost lovingly, Cinder allowed herself to think. “You would never let me down.”

No, certainly not. It might have become part of her mission anyway, but the way Cinder saw it, using her newfound powers to kill her mistress’ lifelong enemy was the least she could do to repay her for helping her to get them in the first place. Even so, the thought that this had been a job perfectly done still rang hollow in her head. And then there was another problem...

W-H-A-T-N-O-W

“What...now?” Emerald said, looking as unsure about the answer as Cinder felt.

“What now?” Salem, on the other hand, seemed slightly puzzled as to why they would ask. “Now your treatment begins. You do wish to be healed, don’t you?”

Again, all she could do was stare. Heal...Yes, of course she wanted that; right now, having every part of her just go back to the way it should be was the only thing she wanted. But everything’s ruined...There’s no way...

“Don’t look so downcast. This...” Salem took Cinder’s left arm in her hands. “Can be fixed.”

Again, Cinder tried to move the arm -- just one little twitch. But she couldn’t do it, couldn’t even feel the limb, and a small, defeated sigh escaped her.

“Yes, it can,” Salem said patiently, running her fingers over the bandages covering the charred flesh. “After all you’ve done for me, I’m not going to just abandon you. There are several ways we can deal with your injuries, and I’m sure you’re willing to cooperate. We’ll have you back to fighting form soon enough, I promise.”

On the one hand, Cinder still didn’t see how that could be. But on the other hand, that didn’t necessarily matter; she trusted her mistress, had agreed long ago to put her life in Salem’s hands. So she gripped Emerald’s arm tight, and nodded once more, trying to look at least a little bit confident.

“Very good. Don’t worry, you’re a highly adaptable girl. I’m sure that if you give it time, you’ll adjust perfectly well to your new situation.”

~0~

#RWBY #cinder fall #rwby salem #emerald sustrai #team wtch #kaen's fics

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whumppile · 7 years

Text

Whump fic: I’m sorry, Tony.

Based on that two seconds we got in the infinity wars trailer with Peter and Stark, because I cannot wait till next year for what looks to be a wonderful whump scene.

Explosions shook the ground and fire raged around them, as twisted metal lay scattered. Tony blocked it all out until he heard that scream.

Gangly limbs, those of a teenager that hadn’t yet reached the end of his growth spurt, flew across his vision, and his heart leapt in his chest.

Peter hit the ground hard, thrown by one of the twisted alien figures that Thanos had summoned. He rolled, body smashing over rocks and debris until finally coming to a stop, in a crumpled heap.

The battlefield was nothing but sound, and destruction, but it was all silent as a church for Tony. All he could see was that body, writhing in agony, weakly trying to protect himself from the monster looming above him.

Every thought left Tony’s mind, every distraction and sound, except his need to protect the kid that he’d brought into this mess.

Lights flashed and explosions boomed loud in his ears as he pummelled the alien creature into the ground, killing it for the transgression of even touching his kid.

He panted as he looked down at the body of the thing he’d killed, out of breath, but not from the fight. He almost didn’t want to turn around, he didn’t want to see Peter so hurt. But what else could he do.

He could hear the small whimpers coming from the wounded form behind him, and he swallowed his guilt and ran towards the boy, kneeling down beside him as he took off his own mask.

“Peter, shh, I need you to calm down and take some deep breaths for me. I’m going to take your mask off.”

The battle around them raged but it was growing distant, the others taking the fight away from their new team member.

Peter was trying to curl into himself, hands shaking as he tried to press against his damaged chest to stop the bleeding. But it hurt so badly he could only let out pained gasps as he tried to follow his hero’s instruction.

He tried to remain still as he sucked air into his trembling lips, and he blinked against the light as his mask came off.

Tony’s worried face hovered above him, scratched and bloodied from his own wounds in battle.

Peter tried to speak through his fear and pain, his crushed ribs making it difficult to pull in air.

“I’m sorry, Tony.” The older man held his shoulder as he surveyed the damage to the kid. The alien had smashed into him, breaking bones across his chest, and one of its clawed hands had pierced through his suit. He was bleeding, badly, and if they didn’t get help for him soon…

“Shh, kid. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tony shook his head, tears threatening to fall as he took Peters shaking hands and pressed them to the wound. There was too much blood, slipping down the teenager’s side to stain the ground beneath him, and Tony knew that image would visit him in sleep for the rest of his life.

He took a deep breath and tried to quell his rising panic.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. You did great out there, but you have to stay still now and let me fix this.”

Peter managed a weak nod, breath coming in erratic pants as his eyes grew unfocussed.

“Okay.”

Tony didn’t know what to do, they’d never reach help in time. God, this was all his fault.

“I’m so sorry Peter, I shouldn’t have gotten you into this.”

Those intelligent eyes, usually so bright and excited, were glassy as he blinked up at the sky, body growing weaker under Stark’s hands.

“No, this is the dream. I mean, not this part…this part sucks.” His voice was growing faint, and Tony quickly sent a message to another team member through his suit, hoping they’d be able to help.

“But I get to be a hero and help people…or got to, I guess. Aunt May is gonna be so upset.”

Damn this kid. Tony quickly wiped at his eyes, knowing he had to do something before Peter bled out under his hands.

“Peter, I have to-“

Those eyes snapped to Tony’s, pleading and so, so young.

“Can you look after her for me? She doesn’t have anyone else. I wrote…her a letter, just in case anything happened to me…I wrote one for Ned too. Can you…make sure they get them? Please?”

Tony shook his head, clenching his teeth, because no, he would not be losing Peter.

“You can talk to them once we get you fixed up and back home, all right?”

Those blood slick fingers curled around Tony’s as the kid looked up at him.

“I wrote one for you and Happy too. To say thank you…They’re in my bedroom. Well, I guess you’ll…be able to see them in the camera footage from the suit huh.”

He was already giving up, he hadn’t even finished school yet and he was bleeding out in the dirt, and saying goodbye. Tony’s voice was harder than he meant it to be.

“No! You’re not going anywhere, you’re going to be fine because I am going to fix this.”

Peter squeezed Tony’s hand and coughed, red coating his lips in a splatter of colour.

“It hurts so bad. And I’m-“ He coughed again, eyes squeezing shut from the pain it elicited in his chest. He finished his sentence with a raspy breath that tasted of copper.

“I’m scared.” His voice shook, as tears pooled in his eyes, trailing down his temples, and he looked so damn young. Tony’s strength crumbled, and he ducked his head as tears fell. Peter was a child, he didn’t deserve this.

“Peter.”

Footsteps came, quick and quiet across the debris around them, and Tony spun to face whoever it was.

Mantis, came across the rubble to meet them, her gentle face awash with concern as her huge eyes took in the figure on the ground.

“You called for my help. I cannot heal him.”

Tony relaxed a little, and nodded at her. “I know, but I need to seal this wound and it’s going to hurt. I need you to help him with the pain.”

The girl…alien… being, came to kneel at Peters head, gently placing her hands at his temples. She tilted her head, as if thinking about something, before looking to Stark.

“He is in agony, he is also afraid. He wants to see the people the loves one more time.”

Tony clenched his teeth. “I know. I need you to make him feel better.”

She blinked and turned back to the boy, his heavy eyes finding it hard to stay open. His face relaxed a little, the lines of pain smoothing just enough to allow him to breath deeper.

Tony didn’t want to do it, but he needed to if he wanted to save the kid.

“Peter, I’m so sorry but I have to close this wound. I have to stop the bleeding. It’s going to hurt but I need you to try and stay awake. Do you understand me?”

Those eyes slowly drifted to Stark, blinking a few times, before he finally nodded. He was fading fast.

Tony made a few adjustments to the blast settings in his suit, selecting a beam he’d never had the cause to use before now. Lifting a hand, he hovered it over Peters chest, and moved the kids shaking hands away.

He looked to those eyes once more, seeing the trust in them. Trust he didn’t deserve.

“I’m sorry.”

The light beam turned on, and Peter began to scream. His body writhed underneath Tony’s hold, as he tried to escape the pain. Tony did his best to hold him down but he had only one arm to use.

He was attempting to cauterize the stab wound with a low beam, and although it worked, it was not an ideal option. Peter could go into shock from the pain alone, and Tony would have done anything to take the pain away.

Screams of agony tore through Peters throat, piercing the air, and making Tony’s heart ache with guilt and grief.

Mantis was quietly trying to shush the boy, grunting in discomfort as she tried to take some of the pain for him. She could block some of the pain, but there was so much of it, it all came rushing through at once.

It was almost done, the wound was sealing, but the air smelt like burnt flesh and blood, and Peters screams were turning into broken sobs, and Tony couldn’t listen anymore.

“Please, stop! Please, it hurts!”

“Knock him out, make him go to sleep, Mantis, now!”

The alien nodded, sending a command to sleep through the boy’s head. It was like a gentle hand across a cheek, or a soft smile and a whispered word; it calmed the mind and left nothing but peace. The screaming faded to weak sobs, and his body slumped to the ground, tear-filled eyes falling shut as he succumbed to the darkness.

The sobs faded, leaving nothing but shallow pants behind, and the sound of the beam burning.

Tony shut the beam off once the wound was sealed, and placed two fingers at the kid’s throat, watching that chest rise and fall in shallow, strained heaves as he listened to Peters heartbeat.

Thhumpthump…thump…thump…..thumpthump

It was much too weak and erratic, but it was there, and Tony sighed in relief as he took one of the younger man’s hands in his.

“You’ll be okay kid, just hang on.”

Mantis released her hold on Peter and watched as Tony gathered the teenager in his arms. Being as careful as he could, he cradled the limp body to his chest.

“I’m going to get him somewhere safe, I’ll be back but I have to make sure he’s okay first.”

The alien nodded, and touched a finger to Tony’s forehead. Suddenly his mind was calm, and he could think clearly about what needed to be done. Her voice was kind.

“You will save him.”

He nodded to her in thanks and left. He would save him.

(Come talk to meeee about this or the trailer or the new spiderman or whatever and let me know if you want more of this. You can find this and all my 141 works on ff.net and ao3 in the links below

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11596725/chapters/26065626

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12584623/1/I-m-sorry-Tony

#whump #spoilers #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man homecoming #infinity wars #marvel #sad #blood #gore #graphic violence

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